The notes didn’t prove too much of a problem, because Morgan had the idea of taking those of a long-deceased patient and simply adapting them. We had only to copy them out and make a few alterations here and there. There was a certain tension in the air because we could not be absolutely sure that someone wouldn’t stumble upon O’Reilly’s lifeless corpse, although Morgan assured me it was extremely unlikely, as no one but her or he himself ever went up those attic stairs. Still, I was mighty relieved when, around midnight, we crept back up to the scene of the crime and found her just as we had left her.
‘We had better clear up all this spilt food while we’re here,’ I said, indicating the debris strewn over the staircase.
‘Good grief!’ said Morgan. ‘She has not been fed! My – the woman up there.’ And just then we heard a low whining from the room above. ‘I can’t let her starve, no matter what she has done.’
He began to pick up pieces of bread and cheese. I put a hand on his arm.
‘No, stop. It’s too risky. If you go in to her it may cause a commotion and wake up the attendants below; we can’t risk that. Leave her be. It may seem cruel but if she is hungry, she will be more manageable in the morning.’
He looked up reluctantly at the woman’s door. ‘All right. I don’t like to do it but you have a point. It may be possible to bribe her with food in the morning to make her more cooperative.’
We put all the things back on the tray and left them outside the door of the room. We could not risk being seen taking food from the kitchen in the morning, so stale bread and cheese would have to suffice to end the woman’s fast; it could not be helped.
We went back down the stairs and picked up O’Reilly, I taking her head and shoulders, Morgan her feet. The body was surprisingly light for one that had seemed to contain such a force of nature when it was living. We had just begun to move when Morgan hissed, ‘Wait!’ and motioned me to put her back down. Then he ran up the stairs to the madwoman’s door. He was back down a moment later. ‘Her keys!’ he said, brandishing them. ‘It would be odd if they were not on her belt. She never went anywhere without them.’ He detached one. ‘We shall need this to open my wife’s door tomorrow.’ He put it in his pocket and attached the remainder to a loop on O’Reilly’s belt.
We picked up the corpse again and began our journey to the main staircase. I was in an awful funk, terrified we would run into another member of the staff, even though it was the middle of the night and no one had any reason to be abroad. The silence was ominous and every time it was broken – once by the hoot of an owl, another time by the wind beating the branch of a tree against a window as we passed – I near jumped out of my skin. We encountered nobody on our journey and eventually reached the main staircase and placed O’Reilly on her back at the bottom, making sure the arrangement of the body was consistent with a fall.
When this was done, we stood and looked at each other with that bond of guilty complicity that comes from a shared wrongdoing. It was as well Morgan and I would never work together again. It would have been impossible to carry on after this. It was as I was thinking this that Morgan stuck out his hand, taking me by surprise. ‘Thank you, Shepherd,’ he said as I took hold of it. ‘I won’t forget this, I promise you.’
I simply nodded. The strong man. The saviour. The handshake done, we arranged to meet outside his wife’s room at five next morning, to put her in the straitjacket, and then we parted.
I had precious little sleep that night. No sooner did I close my eyes than Caroline Adams appeared before me, a hoary ghost, clad head to toe in a shimmering layer of frost, and when she vanished I heard the deathly clinking of O’Reilly’s keys. The wind buffeted the house and it seemed that every window in the place rattled in its frame, every door banged to and fro and every floorboard creaked, a nervous symphony that played upon my dread. It was a relief when morning finally came. Until, that is, I looked out the window. The sky was clear blue and the sun a hot golden ball. Half dreading to do so, I looked down at where the snowman should have been. He wasn’t there. He had stolen away during the night. The lawns in front of the house were practically clear of snow, with only a few patches here and there stubbornly lingering on. The warmth of the sun through the glass felt like July to me, rather than December. I cursed whatever weather god had fixed his mind against me. I realised that it was entirely possible that Caroline Adams’s corpse was already exposed and, if not, soon would be. It was touch and go whether I would get off the island before it was discovered.
I dressed hurriedly and went to meet Morgan. It was still very early and no one was stirring. He was waiting for me outside his wife’s room. He had in one hand a glass of water and in the other a small travelling bag. ‘I thought you would have no overnight bag, so I brought this for your stay at the city asylum. I have put the patient’s papers and your travel permit for the boat inside, together with the straitjacket. You must show the documents to the captain to prove you have my authority to take the patient ashore.’
I thanked him. He held up the glass. ‘It’s a sedative. It will keep her calm for a short time, I hope until you get her across the river. I can’t be certain how long it will take effect for. I have erred on the side of caution because we don’t want her so sleepy she can’t walk, but in case she becomes too animated during the trip, I’ve left more in the bag. It’s a soluble powder and has hardly any taste, so you can give it to her in water. Just don’t use it all at once, or she’ll pass out. Here, hold the glass while I open the door.’
I stood well back as he inserted the key in the lock and turned it carefully so as not to make any noise. It was exactly what you might do with a caged wild animal. Slowly, he opened the door. I stood ready for the woman to rush out screaming, a picture I had put into my own mind by my story to Morgan about O’Reilly’s death, but there was no movement or sound from within. Morgan stepped through the doorway and I followed cautiously. The madwoman was lying in the foetal position asleep on her cot, as peaceful as a child. She was still fully clothed because it was O’Reilly who normally prepared her for bed each night, and Morgan when O’Reilly was ashore. Last night he had not dared venture in upon her.
He sat down on the side of the bed and gently stroked her arm. ‘Bella, time to wake up, my darling. I’ve brought you a drink.’
Her eyes blinked open. There was something so sudden about it, it made me jump and a little of the liquid in the glass spilled over the rim. Morgan gestured for it and I held it out to him. He got one arm behind the woman’s head and lifted it and then took the glass from me. A look of panic sprang into her eyes and I thought for a moment she was going to dash the glass from his hand, but instead she bent her head to it and drank eagerly, gulping it down. Morgan looked at me and silently mouthed the word ‘Thirsty’. Of course, the woman hadn’t been given any food or drink the night before.
Morgan handed the glass back to me and sat her up fully, exactly as you might an invalid, and seeing him so gentle with her in contrast to the way he was with the patients in the treatment rooms, I understood that this was how he saw her, as someone sick, not as a dangerous lunatic. ‘Fetch the food,’ he said.
I went and got the tray from where we’d left it the night before and placed it on the bed. Immediately the woman grabbed the hunk of bread and started tearing it with her teeth. She devoured it and the cheese in a few brief minutes and then looked around wildly as if for more.
Morgan had his hands around her shoulders and was making comforting cooing noises to her. She smiled and seemed quite at ease. I could see the drug was already taking effect. ‘Look in the bag,’ Morgan said to me, his voice calm and even. I went outside to the landing and opened the bag. There was the straitjacket, with the travel permit and patient dossier on top, and a paper packet that I presumed was the sedative powder. I lifted them up and took out the jacket, then replaced the other stuff and closed the bag. I had sense enough to put the straitjacket behind my back when I went back into the room.
Morgan was talking softly to his wife and she was looking at him and paid me no attention. ‘Now!’ Morgan suddenly cried and I held out the jacket in front of her. He grasped the top of her right arm, the one next to him, and held it out toward me. The woman tried to struggle but I took her wrist and thrust the sleeve of the jacket over it. She was obviously a little drowsy and hadn’t the strength to resist and when she lifted her left arm to ward me off, I slipped the sleeve over it and within a few seconds Morgan was securing the buckles and she was held fast before she knew what was happening. She began kicking out with her legs and wailing.
‘Leave us a moment,’ said Morgan.
I must have looked puzzled. His face crumpled. ‘Please, my good man. I would like to say goodbye.’
I went out and gently closed the door upon them. Between the woman’s cries I could hear Morgan murmuring to her and eventually her noises calmed. After a few minutes the door opened and Morgan beckoned me inside. The woman was sitting in a chair beside the bed. Morgan went to a cupboard in the corner of the room, opened it and took out a woman’s travelling cloak.
‘Put it on her when the time comes to leave,’ he said. ‘And make sure the hood is over her head.’
We left her there, sitting in her chair, dozing under the influence of the sleeping draught. Morgan consulted his watch as we hurried down the stairs, for once not out of habit but of necessity. ‘We must get back to our rooms before the discovery of O’Reilly’s body,’ he said. ‘When we two have made an examination of her, I will call the staff meeting in the day room, and the start of it will be your cue to slip back up here and take Bella down to the boat.’