The Secret of Kolney Hatch (27 page)

Now, on this day, Paul stood up from his sofa and made his way over to a mirror against the maroon wall of his drawing room. He placed his hands on the oak table under the mirror and hunched his body; his head hung low as he stared down at the table. When he looked up and into the mirror, he examined himself. Just a few weeks before, he had looked like a savage. His hair was long and haggard, and he had grown a fairly long beard.

 Now, his light brown hair was neatly trimmed and his beard shaven. His clothes were neatly pressed; he wore charcoal colored trousers, a white dress shirt, and a matching charcoal colored vest.

On the surface, besides the dark circles from his lack of sleep and his still healing bruises, Paul appeared pristine and well, but he knew underneath that appearance was a deeply tumultuous mind. He heaved a sigh.

“Good morning, Eda,” Paul said in a gentle tone as he shuffled into the kitchen.

“How did you sleep last night, Paul?” Eda asked softly, as she fixed Paul some breakfast. Eda was very kind and patient with Paul during this traumatic time, and he was especially grateful for her company.

“Same as the last two weeks.”

“In time,” Eda replied with a halfhearted smile.  “In time.”

Paul nodded.

“You can’t stay locked up in this house forever, Paul,” Eda said, setting a plate of eggs in front of him. “You’ve been through an awful ordeal, but you’re still surrounded by the people that love you.”

“I know.”

“I got you something for Christmas,” she said.

“Eda, you didn’t have to get me anything,” he said.

“Oh, but I did Paul, you’re my family.”

She made her way over to a kitchen cupboard and pulled out a brown paper wrapped package.

Paul opened it slowly, offering Eda a smile. Inside was a fresh, new brown leather notebook.

“Thank you, Eda,” Paul said, a slight tear in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“Paul, you must take Oscar’s offer to work with him at Maudsley, at least for now. You’re safe there, with Oscar.”

“Oh, I don’t know Eda. I don’t think I’m up to it just yet.”

“How about the Loxley Masquerade Ball? You’ll go there? You’ve never missed it.”

Paul did not say anything. He did not want to go anywhere.

“Christmas only comes once a year,” Eda continued.  “You can’t just miss it because you aren’t feeling up to it.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Paul said. “And what will you do?”

“I’m going to visit Amicus’s daughter. She’s all alone out there in Hemsby. Told her I’d go visit her.”

“Bring her back with you,” Paul said. “We have the extra room. She could stay as long as she likes.”

“But Paul, you’re in such a fragile condition. It’ll be too much.”

“Eda, you’re my only family, and so she’s my family. Plus, she’s an orphan like me. Perhaps I could teach her a thing or two.”

forty five

A RETURN VISIT

The grandfather clock chimed eleven in the morning. Richard and Claire had come to visit. Paul still did not feel well, so Claire brought him food—a casserole. She sat in the leather chair across from Paul while Richard sat on the sofa. Paul had a headache, and his stomach throbbed in pain. Oscar came in the morning to dress the wound. It was healing but still tender. He told Claire and Richard a little about the horrors of Kolney Hatch, but left out the girl in the tunnels.

“So let me get this straight. Right before you left for Whitemoor, you reconnected with a friend from your childhood, Amy Rose.”

 “Yes. She warned me about Kolney Hatch in her letters. She told me to stay away from it and what the townspeople thought about the asylum, but I didn’t listen to her at first. I wish I had.”

“This Amy, where is she now?” Claire asked curiously.

“I wrote for her to visit,” Paul answered.

He wrote a letter to Amy as soon as he got home, telling her he was safe and that now that he was away from Whitemoor, she should come and visit him.  

“You did?”

“Yes, well, I think that’s a great idea,” Richard said. “We could all get together. Dinner at our house. Claire will cook up a nice warm meal, won’t you dear?”

Claire seemed taken aback by the suggestion, but then complied.

“Of course,” she said.

“So tell me more about what happened at that asylum,” Richard said.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Paul said as he sank further into the leather chair in his drawing room.

“Alright, fine.” Richard changed the subject. “I see you’ve finally moved that painting from the stairwell to the fireplace mantel.”

“Yes. I have, and I plan to make many more changes around here as well.”

Paul had decided to start his life fresh. He had bought all new clothing, rearranged much of his furniture, and donated some old linens, tableware and books.

“I must meet Petunia,” Claire said frowning at the clock. She stood up and kissed Richard on the cheek and then hugged Paul. “I’m so happy you’re home.”

When Claire left, Paul and Richard sat in silence for a long time.

“It’s over, right?”

“I’m sorry?”

Richard still sat looking down toward the glass of brandy in his hand.

“The...thing...that happened between you and Claire. It’s over, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paul looked at Richard whose dark eyes pierced his own now.

“Come on, Paul,” Richard said, standing up and pacing with impatience. “I’m not that thick. I see the way she looks at you. Something happened between you two.”

Paul stayed reticent. He did not want to betray Claire, but somehow Richard knew something had happened.  

“I don’t want to know the details of how you seduced my wife, Paul. I just want to know that it’s finished.”

Paul hesitated before he answered.

“It’s over,” Paul said quietly.

“I’m not angry, you know,” Richard said still pacing.  “I’m not. Well, I am, I’m furious with you actually, but I have no right to be. Suppose I deserve this anyway. I took her from you, and you paid me back royally for that.”

“I’m sorry, Richard,” Paul said calmly. “I never meant...”

“Don’t tell her I know, Paul.” Paul noted Richard’s menacing tone in his voice. “Let her think she has a secret. It’ll keep her on her toes. A woman with a secret is always worried about being found out. She’ll work harder to please me.”

Richard continued to pace the floor, and then sat for a few seconds before standing again. Paul noticed Richard’s pretentious attitude toward Claire. He thought Richard would have been much angrier with him. The fact that he wasn’t could only mean one thing.

 “Who was she, Richard?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Paul sat upward in his chair.

“Now you assume I’m the thick one. The Richard I know would never just forgive someone for something like that, especially me.”

Richard hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Just some woman. Loxley got me involved with her, and I got caught up in it.”

“Is it over?” Paul asked.

Paul was angry with Richard, but he had no right to be.

“Of course,” Richard said curtly.

“Are you going to tell Claire?”

“No, and I pray you don’t either. Like I said, let her have her secrets, and let me have mine.”

forty six

THE UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN

Petunia did not want to slip on the ice.

A slight snow fell from the gray skies. The bitter wind blew against her cheeks as she hurried down Peddler Street toward her home. She made a promise to honor her son by feeding the sparrows in the park every day at noon with Claire, and not even ice or snow would deter her from her mission.

At four in the afternoon—after all, it was Saturday—Mrs. Wendell and Beatrice arrived for their usual get together in Petunia’s drawing room. Petunia had set out the three tea cups, the pot of tea, the tea cakes, and the fruit buns as usual.

“The Loxley Masquerade? What a dreadful idea,” Mrs. Wendell said, taking a seat in her usual chair.

“Oh, I wish to have been invited to a ball. Just once,” Beatrice pouted as she poured the tea into the three cups.

“Phillip insists I go, otherwise, I can promise I would not’ve. As much as I like the Loxley affairs, I can’t bear another moment with them and their lot.”

Petunia took a bite of her fruit bun.

“They’re scoundrels, Petunia. I told you that a hundred times over,” Mrs. Wendell said.

“I hear Paul Watson’s returned,” Beatrice said taking a sip of her tea.

 “With some rather unusual wounds,” Mrs. Wendell sneered as she put a tea cake on her small china plate.

“Oh, yes, well, as he escaped from the burning building, he said he cut himself on something sharp and fell multiple times attempting to escape,” Petunia said.

After all, that was how Paul had explained his stomach wound and facial bruises, though Petunia did not believe that was
 all
 that happened. Paul appeared different to Petunia somehow, as if he lost his innocence. He seemed a hardened man, older and wiser, and that made Petunia wonder what he had actually experienced at that asylum.

“Oh, I did overhear something interesting,” Beatrice announced.

                      “What is it now, Beatrice?” Mrs. Wendell said, fixing the top button on her black dress.

                      “Well, I overheard…”

                      “Let me guess, Constable Wyatt?” Petunia asked.

                      “Exactly!” Beatrice said, “How did you know?”

                      “Oh dear,” Mrs. Wendell said flashing Petunia a scornful look. “I don’t like you spying, Beatrice. You’re going to get caught.”

                      “But Auntie, you say that every time, but I have not been caught yet.”

                      “Well, what did you hear?” Mrs. Wendell asked.

                      “Well...two weeks ago, I was just taking a walk, honest. I wasn’t following him or snooping. Well, I was but, I...”

“Beatrice...” Mrs. Wendell warned.

“Constable Wyatt was walking alone, just left the headquarters, when suddenly one of the policemen came to his side, saying the constable received a message all the way from Scotland. ‘What is this about?’ he says to the policeman. ‘You better come back inside, sir,’ he says, ‘They found a woman wandering in the snow, they think it may be the missing girl, Agatha.’”

                      Both Mrs. Wendell and Petunia gasped.

                      “Well, was it her?” Petunia asked. “Did she say what happened?”

                      “I didn’t hear anything else. But I did hear something about another one of Lord Dellington’s affairs.”

                      Petunia stayed lost in thought as Beatrice rambled on to Mrs. Wendell about Lord Dellington. She wondered if the wandering woman in the snow was Agatha. If it was, would she tell the police about Thomas Reid, the man with whom Roger had Phillip exchange the money? If Agatha was alive and would expose her kidnapper, and Louisa’s death was in fact connected to Agatha’s kidnapping, then Petunia knew a great revelation would come to the people of London very soon.

forty seven

A LOXLEY MASQUERADE BALL

The sleek, black mask covered Paul’s eyes, nose, and some of his face. The swirled design seemed to make it fancy enough. He wore it every year and did not see a reason to buy a new one.

It was Christmas Eve, and though Paul was not fully healed, as per tradition, he attended John Loxley’s annual Masquerade Christmas Ball at his mansion. A butler greeted Paul at the front door and took his hat and coat, which were wet from a gentle snow that began just as Paul arrived.

The party had already started. He could hear the sounds of the orchestra: the violins, the cellos, the oboes, the saxophones, and the baby grand piano. The laughter and chatter of the masked guests echoed from the grand ballroom into the grand hall.

He took a deep breath as he prepared to walk into the throng of masqueraders, many of whom were his close friends he had not seen since he arrived home.

He walked straight through the grand hallway, toward the large archway of the grand ballroom. The Loxleys only used this room for their masquerade ball. John had told Paul once that any other event held in the room would spoil the masquerade’s memory, and he could not have that.

Inside the golden-colored ballroom were tall archways and mirrors that made the room appear much bigger than it actually was. Three crystal chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. The largest one was in the middle, while the two smaller ones hung at the front and back of the room. Tables, dressed in white and covered with
hors d'oeuvres
, surrounded the dance floor, which was already filled with about a hundred or so guests all dressed in their masquerade attire.