Page 52 of The Journal of a Thousand Years
We’d had several visits to Rosebank Gardens throughout our recent investigations. The hospital for returned soldiers suffering severe shell shock had once been a private facility that subjected the artless children of magician parents to cruel treatments in an attempt to draw out their magic. Since magic didn’t lie dormant within them, the treatments failed.
Rosebank Gardens was where Bertie Hobson spent time many years ago. The Hobson family knew it well. They must have first met the orderly with the reddish-brown hair then, and hired him more recently to conduct the experiments on Gabe. Perhaps the Hobsons were coerced by Thurlow. By the time we’d first visited the hospital, Thurlow was already known to us, and shortly afterwards, he made himself known to Mrs. Hobson. The links were there, as solid as an iron chain. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.
Alex, Willie and I drove to the hospital, located at the north-eastern edge of London. The guard at the front gate recognized us and let us through. Not that the gate was locked to keep visitors out. It was locked to keep the patients in.
The overcast day threatened rain, but even so, several patients sat on chairs or wheelchairs on the lawn near the rose beds. Nurses and orderlies mingled with them, playing cards with those former soldiers who weren’t suffering too greatly, or simply reading to those who’d retreated so far into themselves they could no longer communicate. The sight of fully grown men plunged into the deepest, darkest dungeons of their minds because of their wartime experiences never failed to disturb me.
The staff and some of the patients looked up upon our arrival. One of the nurses approached, a matronly woman witha confident stride and direct gaze. “Willie? What are you doing here?” Sister Matilda Wallbank asked.
We’d first met Willie’s current lover at the hospital during an investigation. They liked and respected one another, despite their obvious differences. Willie was loud yet emotional, whereas Tilda had a quiet, inner strength. I suspected it was a case of opposites attract. Apparently, Tilda was a lot like Willie’s first husband, who had been a detective with Scotland Yard. People had tended to misjudge him at first, apparently, but he was cool under pressure with a quick mind. He had also been completely besotted with Willie’s fiery nature, so I’d been told. Tilda was too, going by the way she gave Willie an admiring look.
Willie showed her the sketch the artist had given us. “We’re looking for this man. He works here as an orderly.”
“Not anymore. He resigned not long ago.”
Willie swore, earning a scolding from Tilda. “Sorry,” Willie muttered.
“What’s his name?” Alex asked.
“Frank Alcott. Why are you looking for him?” When none of us answered, she prompted, “Willie?”
Willie folded the sketch up and tucked it into her jacket pocket. “He was seen talking to a man known as Mad Dog Mitchell in a pub. Mad Dog is a thug who hires himself out for jobs that require some muscle. Gabe’s maid saw him in the house moments before Gabe was abducted from his bed in the early hours of this morning. There was another man with Mad Dog, but she didn’t see him.”
Tilda gasped. “Good lord. That’s awful. You’ve mentioned there have been attempts before, but Gabe always escaped unharmed.”
“They used chloroform this time,” Alex said. “He couldn’t fight back.”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “To go to such extreme lengths because they want to harness the magic theythinkhe has…it’s madness.”
Clearly Willie hadn’t told her everything yet. Perhaps feeling guilty for not confiding in her lover, Willie shuffled her feet and cleared her throat. “Tell us about Frank Alcott.”
“He was a good orderly. They don’t have to mingle with the patients, but he often did. He would play cards with the more social men or share a smoke and conversation with them.” Tilda indicated a group of patients chatting quietly in a group. One or two cast anxious glances our way, and another’s hand shook so much he had difficulty placing the cigarette between his lips, but they otherwise seemed well.
“I thought he liked working here,” Tilda went on. “Then he left, so I assumed I was wrong, or he found a better position elsewhere. I did think it odd that he left without saying goodbye to staff he’d worked alongside for years, as well as those patients he’d bonded with. His sudden departure hasn’t helped those who think they’re still in the war. They think the Germans got him and are coming for them next. No amount of reassurance allays their fears.”
“When did he resign?” I asked.
“Nine or ten days ago.”
Around the time Gabe was subjected to the paper ball projectiles and gunshots at Epsom Downs. The timing couldn’t be a coincidence. Any final doubts I harbored about Frank Alcott’s involvement vanished.
Tilda set off toward the hospital building that had been a grand country manor in its former incarnation. “Come with me.”
We followed her inside. The director we’d dealt with in the past no longer worked there, and his replacement was behind the closed office door. Tilda asked his assistant if we could see Frank Alcott’s file. Knowing we worked with the police, theassistant gave us his full cooperation. He retrieved the file from the cabinet and handed it to Alex.
Alex memorized the address given for the orderly and handed the file back. “Thank you for your help.”
Tilda followed us outside to the Vauxhall. Willie cranked the engine and the motor rumbled to life. Before she climbed into the front passenger seat, she and Tilda had a quiet word at the front of the vehicle. I couldn’t hear what they said, but the looks they gave one another were tender.
“Do you think it’s love?” I asked Alex.
“Not the forever kind. Not for Willie. She’s fickle by nature. She’ll grow bored eventually.”
“Did she grow bored of her husbands?”
“The first one died before she could tire of him, although they were married for several years. The second…” He smiled. “Lord Farnsworth was a unique character, like her. They got along well. Perhaps too well. They were like naughty children who got up to twice as much mischief when they were together. But they were more friends than husband and wife. I think Willie really likes Tilda. She acts like a normal human around her.”
“Perhaps you should ask her to move in. It would make for a more peaceful household.”
