Page 39 of The Missing Maid
‘Oh, I see,’ Mildred replied. ‘One, I think. It’s hard to be sure.’
‘Of course. And the footsteps you heard, was the tread heavy, like a man’s? Or lighter, like a woman’s?’
‘Lighter, I think,’ she said, after a moment’s consideration. ‘But the kicks were heavy like a man’s.’
A strong woman, then, Harry surmised. Or a man who was light on his feet. The former seemed more likely, since a fellow inmate was suspected, although there were plenty of male prison guards. ‘And you’re sure you didn’t see the face of your attacker?’ Oliver pressed.
Mildred’s lips were bloodless, as pale as the rest of her. Her auburn hair was hidden beneath the bandages; the whiteness of her complexion only made the green of her eyes more intense. She blinked, hesitated, then closed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘There’s no need to apologise,’ Harry said. ‘You’ve been through a terrible experience. Perhaps you’ll remember more in a day or two.’
The girl did not answer, although Harry thought she caught a minute shake of her head. They waited, in case she was gathering her strength, but it became clear after a few minutes that she had fallen asleep once more. ‘Come,’ Oliver murmured. ‘We can visit again tomorrow.’
With a reluctant nod, Harry got to her feet. It was then that Mildred’s lips parted, although her eyes remained shut. ‘I hope you admired the flowers at the cottage,’ she said slowly. ‘They must be quite arresting at this time of year.’
Harry’s brow furrowed. Did she mean the cottage in Foxley? As far as she could recall there hadn’t been much in the way of flowers, just the treacherous climbing roses that threatened to behead anyone walking in and out. Perhaps there was a gardenbehind the house, although quite why Mildred would expect either Oliver or herself to have seen it was a mystery. ‘I’m sure it is lovely,’ Harry said kindly. ‘Try to get some rest.’
Mildred’s fingers twitched against the white bedlinen as though she was fighting to stay awake. ‘Arresting,’ she whispered feebly. ‘The flowers…’
Oliver shook his head. ‘That blow to her head must have shaken her more than we realised.’
But Harry wasn’t really listening. She was watching the approach of two guards, who stopped to briefly confer with the man who had been guarding Mildred. He gestured towards the bed and the new guards approached Oliver and Harry. ‘Deputy Governor Short would like a word before you leave,’ one said, unsmiling.
A stab of unease needled Harry’s insides. ‘Why?’
The guard turned a dead-eyed stare her way. ‘Because she’s in charge here and what she says goes.’
‘Of course,’ Oliver said smoothly. ‘It will be our pleasure. Lead on.’
The deputy governor’s office was up two flights of curving stone steps in one of the prison’s peculiarly Gothic turrets. Harry half expected it to be cold – the rest of the prison had a dank chill to the air – but the room was warm, almost cosy. A fire burned in the small grate and thick rugs covered the floor. The deputy governor herself was seated in an armchair facing the flames. She stood as they entered and turned to face them.
Harry wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting – a figure of some stature, perhaps, like most of the guards she had encountered during her time in Holloway. But the woman before her now was small, almost birdlike. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a neat bun and she wore round, black-rimmed glasses that put Harry in mind of a librarian. A neat, cream blouse sat beneath a grey pinstripe jacket, which matched herskirt. She looked like the kind of fussy spinster to be found between the pages of an Agatha Christie novel, Harry thought. She did not look like she should be in charge of a terrifying women’s prison but Harry was well aware appearances could be deceiving.
‘Oliver Fortescue, have you grown since I last saw you?’ she said, her voice warmed by a soft Irish burr, but it was the words themselves that caused Harry to swallow a sudden, wildly inappropriate snort of laughter. This was not at all what she had been expecting.
‘I don’t think so, Bridget,’ he said, stepping forward to embrace her. ‘How are you?’
‘Tolerable,’ she said, then turned a bright-eyed gaze to Harry. ‘And who is this? A new clerk?’
Oliver hesitated. ‘A temporary assistant,’ he said, his tone dismissive.
Harry wasn’t surprised he hadn’t introduced her. He had been careful to smudge her name while signing in on both their visits and she guessed he was protecting them both, in case anyone asked questions.
Bridget cast a quick, curious eye over Harry but if she thought it strange that Oliver hadn’t given her name, she did not say so. Instead, she waved them to the chairs beside the fire. Oliver declined, saying he preferred to stand, but Harry took the seat opposite Bridget and warmed her hands in the heat from the fire. ‘So you’ve been to see Mildred Longstaff,’ Bridget said, but it was more of a statement than a question. ‘How is she?’
‘Awake,’ Oliver said. ‘Slipping in and out of lucidity, however. I’m afraid we didn’t learn much.’
Bridget shook her head. ‘A bad business. Conditions here are improving every day. We’re introducing sports and handicrafts to keep the women busy but there’s always a few bad apples.’ Sheeyed Oliver shrewdly. ‘She wasn’t able to identify her attacker, then?’
‘No,’ Oliver said. ‘I’m hopeful she might remember more in the days that follow.’
Harry let her gaze drift around the room. An oil painting hung above the fireplace – a rather fine still life that she decided was probably worth a significant amount of money. Bookshelves lined one wall. Photographs adorned another, mostly group shots of women who were clearly also prisoners, dressed in sporting outfits and standing together as teams. That wasn’t a surprise, Harry thought as she considered the pictures. Hadn’t Bridget said the prison had introduced sport as a way to keep the inmates occupied? ‘Do you have a football team?’ she asked suddenly, interrupting Oliver mid-flow.
Bridget blinked at the incongruity, then nodded. ‘Quite a successful one, as it happens. Why do you ask?’
‘I was just admiring your photographs,’ Harry said, but her mind was whirring. Mildred had mentioned her attacker had light footsteps but a strong kick. Did that suggest a footballer?
‘That’s the current team in the centre,’ Bridget said, as Harry stood up to take a closer look. ‘They’ve won a trophy or two.’
