Chapter Forty-Three

As soon as she arrived back home, Helen was met by the cook, Mrs Westley, who had also taken on the role of housekeeper since the beginning of the war. Mrs Westley knew Helen had been at the hospital all night as the mistress of the house, Mrs Crawford, had told her.

Taking one look at Helen, Mrs Westley ushered her upstairs to get herself cleaned up and changed and told her to come back down to the kitchen when she was ready. Helen didn’t mind being bossed about by Mrs Westley. She’d been part of the family since Helen was a child and had ended up being more of a mother to her than her own ever had.

‘You’re not leaving this house until you’ve put something in your stomach,’ the portly cook nagged.

Helen acquiesced to Mrs Westley’s command, realising that she hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Besides which, she knew she needed to have some kind of sustenance to fortify her for her next port of call.

When she was sitting at the kitchen table, blowing on a bowl of home-made soup, Helen asked how Mrs Westley might feel about increasing her hours and looking after her great-aunty when she was discharged from hospital. Mrs Westley didn’t need to think about it. More hours meant more money.

Half an hour later, Helen arrived at the asylum. Hurrying past Genevieve and throwing her a look that was far from affable, she hurried to her grandmother’s room. When she got there, she found two cleaners leaving. One was carrying a bucket and mop, the other a box overflowing with cleaning implements. Stepping into the room, she was accosted by the smell of polish and floor cleaner. Every surface shined. Every inch of the place had been scrubbed and sterilised.

Her grandfather had covered his tracks.

Leaving the room, she walked back along the corridor, turning right at the top. When she arrived at Dr Eris’s office, she stopped.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked.

‘Come in!’

Helen was glad Claire was there and she didn’t have to hunt around the asylum to find her.

‘Helen!’ Dr Eris seemed genuine in her welcome when she saw who it was, but also a little surprised. ‘John told me the good news.’ She looked at the phone by way of an explanation. She, too, had barely slept since Henrietta had fallen ill, considering herself ‘on call’ should John need her help.

‘I’ve just been to Henrietta’s room and the cleaners were coming out. Looks like they’ve done a thorough job,’ Helen said, looking at Dr Eris.

Dr Eris shook her head. ‘Why doesn’t that surprise me.’ She had just spoken to John and they had agreed it was clear who was responsible for Henrietta’s illness, just as it was equally clear it could never be proven.

She fixed her attention on Helen. ‘I am surprised that you’re here, though?’ She continued to inspect Helen, who sat down on the chair in front of the desk. ‘I’m guessing you’ve been home, but have come here before going back to see your grandmother, who is doing really well by all accounts?’

Helen smiled. ‘She is … And I have to say, it’s thanks to John – and Dorothy and Bobby.’ She paused. ‘And you too.’

Dr Eris raised her eyebrows in surprise.

‘You found the antidote,’ Helen said. ‘And if you hadn’t been giving Grandmama the sugar pills, I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be here now, but lying on a slab in the morgue.’

Dr Eris knew that to be the truth. Henrietta’s liver would have given up the ghost had it also had to cope with the calibre and dosage of drugs she was purported to be taking. Unsure of what to say, Dr Eris shuffled a little uncomfortably in her chair. The basis of her relationship with Helen had shifted these past twenty-four hours and she was uncertain of her footing.

‘I appreciate your gratitude,’ Dr Eris said, tentatively. ‘I genuinely care for Henrietta. I really am incredibly happy and relieved that she is going to be all right.’

The two women looked at each other.

‘I sense, though,’ Dr Eris said, narrowing her eyes, ‘that there is another reason you have come here – other than to thank me?’

Helen let out a light laugh. ‘Something tells me that you’re good at your job, Claire … Yes, you’re right. I have come here for another reason.’

‘You want something from me?’ Dr Eris guessed.

‘You’re right. I do,’ said Helen.

Dr Eris looked puzzled.

‘You know when we talked that afternoon you caught me coming to see John?’ Helen said. ‘When you gave me a choice – or rather, an ultimatum?’

Dr Eris nodded.

‘And you produced two documents that proved “Miss Girling” was my grandmother? The original admissions form and the forgery?’

‘Yes?’

‘Well,’ Helen said, ‘I have a proposition for you. And one I think you will like.’

‘Go on,’ Dr Eris encouraged.

After leaving Dr Eris, it took Helen longer than usual to drive across to her grandfather’s house due to the snow and ice on the roads. Pulling up in the gravelled driveway, which thankfully had been shovelled clear, she stepped out of the car and took a deep breath. She stood still. She could smell burning. A bonfire. She looked around to see where the smoke was coming from. It didn’t appear to be from the neighbours. She walked up the steps to the front door. Pulling the brass lever, she heard the bell ringing inside the house. She stamped her feet on the ground, not just because it was freezing, but because of the adrenaline coursing around her body.

A few moments later, Eddy answered. He opened the door and moved aside to allow her to enter the house. Helen glared at him as she stepped over the threshold. She knew he was no innocent in what had happened to her grandmother. The same went for Agatha. The question in Helen’s mind now, though, was whether or not either of them had got the little boy to give the note to Dorothy and Bobby.

Helen walked into the large, square hall and was immediately taken aback by the huge, beautifully decorated Christmas tree that was standing sparkling in the foyer. She put down her handbag on the polished tiled floor and turned her back to Eddy, showing him that he was to help her out of her coat.

‘Gosh, someone’s getting into the Christmas spirit this year,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘Grandfather must feel like he has a lot to celebrate, don’t you think, Eddy?’ Helen shrugged off her woollen winter coat and turned to face him. She felt nothing but contempt for both her grandfather’s servants. She was one hundred per cent sure they were involved in his attempts at poisoning her grandmother. Just as they had known exactly what her grandfather had been up to all those years ago and had done nothing to stop him. They hadn’t even warned the poor girls who looked likely to fall prey to his perversions.

Helen watched as Eddy walked over to the stand on the other side of the hallway and hung up her coat.

‘I’m guessing you’re here to see Mr Havelock,’ Eddy said, his voice not betraying any emotion.

‘Who else would I be here to see?’ Helen said, turning and walking towards the study. The large oak door was open, but there was no one there.

‘Where is he?’ she demanded.

‘I’m afraid the master is indisposed at the moment,’ Eddy said.

‘Indisposed, my foot,’ Helen said, walking towards the door that led to the servants’ quarters and the kitchen.

‘Where are you going?’ Eddy hurried after her, wanting to give his master a warning.

‘Don’t worry, Eddy,’ Helen said. ‘I can take it from here. I don’t need to be announced. I am family, after all.’ She continued walking down the narrow corridor. ‘As I could smell smoke when I arrived, I’m going to take a stab in the dark and say that Grandfather is in the garden having a bonfire.’

Helen reached the kitchen.

‘Ah, Agatha,’ she said, seeing the housekeeper appear from the depths of the large pantry. ‘Don’t mind me, I’m just cutting through to the garden. Carry on with whatever you’re doing.’

‘Oh, Miss Crawford, is something wrong? Is there bad news?’ Agatha couldn’t stop herself from asking. They weren’t supposed to know that Henrietta was unwell. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eddy throw her a dark look.

Helen surveyed Agatha. ‘No, quite the reverse. Good news. Very good news. Grandmother has been ill – very ill – these past twenty-four hours, but has pulled through.’

Thank God! Agatha tried to keep the relief from showing on her face. ‘That is good news,’ she said.

Suddenly feeling sapped of energy, she pulled out a chair next to the kitchen table and plonked herself down.

Helen looked at Agatha, trying to read her. Had she been behind the note?

‘Yes, it is,’ Helen said, before turning and making her way to the back door.

‘Oh, you don’t want to go out there,’ Eddy panicked.

Helen stopped by the back door.

‘Why ever not, Eddy?’ Helen stared at him and saw the guilt in his eyes.

‘Perhaps you’d like a cup of tea or something?’ he asked, stepping towards her.

For a moment, Helen thought he was going to grab her and stop her from going out. Ignoring him, she opened the door and stepped into the garden.

Sure enough, there was her grandfather, standing by a small bonfire that was crackling and hissing. Smoke was billowing up and over the house due to a slight westerly breeze.

‘Hello, Grandfather, I thought I’d surprise you,’ Helen said, walking down the snowy pathway. She looked over at the greenhouse and saw the door was open.

‘Well, you’ve certainly done that,’ Mr Havelock said, from behind a large white handkerchief he was holding over his mouth. He turned away from the fire and walked towards Helen.

‘I’m guessing if I had a look around your greenhouse, I would most likely find a patch of earth which has recently been dug over,’ Helen said, cutting straight to the chase.

‘My, my, Helen, since when have you been interested in horticulture?’

Helen gave a loud burst of mirthless laughter. ‘I am when it comes to the cultivation of poisonous plants,’ she goaded.

Mr Havelock’s eyes were dancing. ‘And why on earth would you be interested in such a strange pastime?’

‘I’m not – but I believe you are,’ she sniped, walking over to the greenhouse. ‘There you are – I was right. There’s a section over there which has obviously just been cleared.’

‘How observant. Sinclair has been having a good clear-out. Hence the fire …’ Mr Havelock took one last look at the bonfire, which had served its purpose. It could dwindle and die out now.

‘Well, I don’t know about you, Helen, but this old man needs to get himself indoors before he freezes to death.’

He walked past Helen, forcing her to follow. She looked about the garden. The white snakeroot plant could be right under her nose, but she wouldn’t know as she had no idea what it looked like. Judging by her grandfather’s cool, self-satisfied demeanour, though, she would guess that there was not even a leaf of the poisonous plant left anywhere on the property.

When they were back indoors, Mr Havelock demanded that Eddy bring him a hot toddy in his study. This time it was Agatha who asked if Helen would like something. Helen shook her head.

‘Although,’ she added cryptically, ‘I’m tempted to have a glass of eggnog.’

The colour immediately drained from Agatha’s face.

‘I’ve heard it’s rather delicious,’ Helen said, putting her finger to her mouth as though considering whether to indulge or not. ‘No – no, I’d better not. I’ll leave it this time.’

Helen threw Agatha one last questioning look, before turning and walking out of the kitchen.

‘So, to what do I owe this visit from my only granddaughter?’ Mr Havelock asked as he entered his warm but slightly stuffy and smoky study.

Helen followed and stopped in the middle of the Turkey-red carpet. She watched as her grandfather headed straight over to the fire and added another log.

‘I just wanted to come and tell you personally, Grandfather, that your wife – who you have seemed keen to ingratiate yourself with of late with presents and the like – is doing well. Very well. The doctors have predicted she will be up and about and back to her old self in no time. No time at all.’

Helen scrutinised her grandfather’s face through his reflection in the mirror. Unaware that she could see him, he silently cursed, his face creasing up in frustration. Helen watched as he slowly turned around.

‘Really? I had no idea she was unwell,’ he said, walking over to his desk. He sat down in his chair.

Helen smiled. ‘Oh, but I think you did, Grandfather.’

She watched as Mr Havelock picked up a half-smoked cigar from the ashtray, lit it and sat up in his chair. He eyed his granddaughter. His gaze did not leave her as she remained standing on the other side of his desk.

‘Grandmama’s made of strong stuff, though. The doctors were amazed her body managed to keep functioning – especially with the amount of drugs she’s been on.’ She stared at her grandfather. ‘They believe that she was poisoned by a plant – coincidentally, one brought over by yourself from North America, called white snakeroot. It apparently has quite deadly properties.’

Eddy arrived with the hot toddy, put it down on the desk and left without a word.

‘Well, isn’t that a coincidence,’ Mr Havelock said. ‘I do believe I may have donated some seedlings many years back.’

He took a sip of his drink.

‘That’s the only problem with being a resident in a lunatic asylum,’ he mused. ‘God only knows to what extremes those who are mentally afflicted will go to hurt themselves or others.’

Helen looked at her grandfather. He had it all worked out. It would be a good argument in court. It would be nigh on impossible to prove that he was the culprit. She looked into her grandfather’s dark eyes. They were almost black. As she did so, she swore she saw the Devil himself in them.

‘It horrifies me,’ she said, her mouth tight and her eyes narrowed, ‘that a person can be so evil, so dark, so murderous. That a human being can be wholly without any kind of goodness is truly quite terrifying.’

Helen stepped forward so that she was standing in front of his desk. She put her hands on the top and leaned towards her grandfather as though needing to see what true evil looked like up close.

‘You have a black hole where your heart should be. It’s you who should have been locked up in an asylum. You are the one who really is insane.’ She paused. ‘Inhuman.’

Mr Havelock didn’t move a muscle, despite her proximity. A sickening smile, though, spread slowly across his face.

‘I know what you did,’ Helen continued. ‘Or rather, I should say, what you tried to do. Because, of course, you failed. And I know how much you must be hating that.

‘Grandmama is going to be just fine,’ she went on, rubbing salt into the wound. She straightened herself up. ‘Actually, she’s going to be more than fine. In a funny kind of way, what you tried to do has ended up working in her favour – and mine.’

Mr Havelock leant forward. His gnarled hands came together in a knot.

‘You see,’ Helen said, ‘you were right in what you just said – about the dangers of living in a mental institution.’

Mr Havelock looked surprised, as well as a little suspicious.

‘You know,’ Helen explained, ‘about how you don’t know to what extremes those who are mentally afflicted will go to hurt themselves or others.’ She paused. ‘So I’ve come to the conclusion that Grandmama is not safe there. Not safe from the actions of those who are insane. Inhuman.’

She took a deep breath.

‘I’ve decided Grandmama is not going back to the asylum,’ she said, holding her grandfather’s stare. ‘When she’s deemed well enough to be discharged from the Royal, she’s going to come back to live with me – and Mother, of course. The house is big enough.’

Helen opened her handbag and started rummaging around.

‘I thought she could have Father’s old room,’ she added, a little distracted as she pulled out a piece of folded-up paper. ‘Mrs Westley had agreed and is going to keep an eye on her.’

Helen gave her grandfather a piercing look.

‘She’ll make sure she gets all the right food and drink.’

Mr Havelock returned his granddaughter’s stare. ‘Over my dead body!’

‘If only!’ Helen quipped.

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ he spat. How dare she talk to him in such a way. ‘There’s no way Henrietta’s going to be let out into the real world. That’s not your decision to make.’

‘I think you’ll find it is,’ Helen said. She held up the document so that her grandfather could read it. ‘This just happened to fall into my lap very recently.’

Mr Havelock made to grab it, but Helen was too quick and snatched it away.

‘Where the hell did you get that from?’ Mr Havelock demanded.

Helen ignored his question.

‘As you can clearly see, it’s the original document showing Mrs Henrietta Havelock’s admittance to the asylum. A document, I’m guessing by your reaction, you thought was no longer in existence.’

Mr Havelock’s eyes were glued to the admissions report. Why had it not been destroyed? He could feel his heart pounding in his ears. If it ever got to see the light of day, he’d be finished. Ruined. His secret would be out. His mind was spinning. He could still make out Henrietta was as mad as a hatter – that he’d had her sectioned for her own good – but he’d still be hauled over the coals for lying about her death. He could be done for fraud. Twice over – for falsifying her death and her identity. If Henrietta started to sing his sins from the treetops like she had originally threatened, there was a good chance she might be believed. Henrietta’s Little Match Girl and the parents of little Gracie would undoubtedly make an appearance. And worse still, more former employees might well come out of the woodwork.

‘This,’ Helen added victoriously, ‘is evidence you can’t burn.’

Folding up the document, she put it back into her bag. She stepped away from her grandfather. Suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get out of there.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Helen, making to leave. ‘Grandmother will still be known as Miss Girling. That secret is safe – as are all your others.’

Mr Havelock felt his body sag with relief.

Helen stopped and looked him straight in the eye.

‘For now, anyway.’

And then she turned her back and left.