Page 38 of The Missing Maid
The fact remained that Mildred had been attacked on this woman’s watch, Harry thought pensively. Her gaze came to rest on the notebook lying open on her desk, the pages scored with interconnected strands, with the shadowy spider at its heart. She’d assumed the mastermind behind the burglary must be Mrs Haverford but what if the web went deeper than she orOliver guessed? ‘Someone tried to silence Mildred, Oliver. This can’t be a coincidence.’
‘No,’ he conceded. ‘I don’t think it can. Let’s see how she is in the morning. With a bit of luck she’ll be able to tell us who did this to her.’
Harry stood with the telephone in her hand for a long time after he had rung off, staring at nothing. Mildred’s worst fears had come true, she thought dully, and she was trapped inside a prison with someone who might want her silenced for good. Slowly, Harry replaced the receiver and went back to her desk. It was going to be a long night for them all.
Harry wasn’t sure if it was her imagination but the clouds that hung over Holloway on Tuesday afternoon were ominously dark. Thunder had rumbled during the drive from Holborn, punctuated by the occasional jagged spark of lightning, but the storm that was threatening had yet to break. Dusk was falling earlier than usual; Oliver had managed to make an appointment for three o’clock and Harry had not hesitated. She had called Mr Babbage and advised him she had an appointment with the dentist. Shortly after that, she was sitting beside Oliver and speeding through North London.
Neither of them spoke much, not when they were waiting beside the enormous wooden doors and not when they were being shown through the maze of grey corridors that led to the prison hospital wing. By the time they reached Mildred’s bedside, the journey had blurred in Harry’s memory. She hoped they were not expected to remember their way back.
Mildred was the only patient in this section of the ward and somehow managed to look paler than the bandages that swathedher head. She lay with her eyes closed as they approached, an ugly black and purple bruise peeping out on one temple. The guard stationed at her bedside stood up as Harry and Oliver approached with their escort. ‘Oliver Fortescue,’ he said, by way of introduction. ‘How’s she been?’
‘Asleep, mostly,’ the guard said. ‘No one’s been near her, apart from the doctor and the nurses.’
‘Good,’ Oliver said. ‘I’d like to consult the doctor – where is he?’
The guard pointed to an office in the furthest corner. ‘You might find him in there.’
Oliver eyed Harry. ‘Do you want to stay here, in case she wakes up? I won’t be a moment.’
Harry nodded absently, unable to take her eyes off the girl on the bed. Guilt surged through her. If only she’d done something – anything – to prevent this from happening. But what could she have done? The chain of events had been set in motion long before she’d ever heard the name Mildred Longstaff and yet she still felt she had failed the young woman. Her thoughts strayed back to another conversation she’d had with Oliver on the journey to Holloway. ‘I spoke to the Prison Reform Society,’ he’d told her. ‘You won’t be surprised to hear they don’t have a Mrs Jones working for them, and nor do they visit families at home, at least not without an appointment. The woman I spoke to sounded faintly horrified at the mere suggestion.’
He was right – it wasn’t really a surprise and yet Harry had still found it shocking. It was the brazenness that sent her reeling. It shouldn’t have – everything she had read about gangs like the Forty Elephants suggested these were people who were supremely confident in taking risks. But Harry hadn’t fully appreciated how many of its members seemed to be hiding in plain sight, unafraid of getting caught and perhaps even prepared for it. It was that boldness that had culminated in theattack on Mildred, just as the girl herself had predicted, with little apparent fear of repercussions. Harry had no doubt the gang had people on the inside of the prison. The question was who those people were.
They were dependent on Mildred for answers, Harry thought now as she gazed at the supine figure. Oliver had been given the green light to visit, which suggested Mildred had been conscious at some point, even if she was not awake now. And then Harry saw her eyelid flicker as the girl stole a glance at her. The eye closed fast but not before Harry understood her meaning: she wanted the guard to leave before she would speak.
Oliver returned with the white-coated doctor in tow. He checked Mildred’s charts, took her pulse and shone a light beneath her eyelids. At length, he gestured to a pair of chairs on the other side of the bed. ‘Her vital signs are as good as can be expected but I couldn’t say when she might wake up. I hope you’re prepared to wait.’
‘As long as it takes,’ Oliver answered as he and Harry took the empty seats. Once the doctor had gone, Harry nudged Oliver and whispered in his ear. Oliver fixed the guard with a purposeful look. ‘I’d like a moment alone with my client, if you don’t mind.’
The man looked mutinous. ‘What, now? I’m not supposed to leave her.’
Oliver smiled. ‘I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of her entitlement to confidential consultation with legal representatives.’
The guard threw Mildred a disbelieving look. ‘She’s not even awake. I don’t think she’s consulting with anyone, except maybe Mr Sandman.’ He chuckled at his own joke.
But at that moment, Mildred opened her eyes. She blinked several times. ‘Oh, Mr Fortescue,’ she said, in a voice that was little more than a hoarse whisper. ‘It’s you.’
The guard’s demeanour changed. He scowled first at Oliver and then at Mildred. ‘There you are, she’s awake,’ Oliver said. ‘Now give us some space, please. You’re not here to protect her from us.’
While clearly disgruntled, the man did as Oliver demanded, going to lurk a short distance away where he could keep his eyes upon them. Harry rose from her seat and poured water from a jug on the bedside table. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘Drink this.’
Wincing, the girl sat up a little and took a sip from the glass. She lay back immediately, as though the effort exhausted her. ‘Thank you for coming.’
‘Of course we came,’ Harry said, forgetting once again that she was meant to be a lowly assistant. ‘You’ve been attacked.’
Beside her, Oliver cleared his throat. ‘We learned from your sister that you feared for your life. Do you know who is responsible for hurting you?’
Mildred looked away. ‘No.’
Harry and Oliver exchanged glances. Did she genuinely not know or was she still scared about who might be listening? ‘Why don’t you tell us what happened?’ Oliver said gently.
‘I don’t remember much,’ Mildred said. ‘I was in the kitchen, helping to scrape the plates – some of us get to do that if we’ve behaved ourselves. There weren’t many people about; most of the women had gone back to their cells, and I suppose I must have been alone.’ The girl lifted a hand to touch her bandaged head. ‘I was bending down to pick up the bin when I heard footsteps but before I could turn around, there was this blinding pain in my head and everything went sort of grey.’
She trailed off, as though reliving the moment, and Harry felt for her. ‘Go on,’ Oliver encouraged. ‘You were struck on the head. Then what?’
‘I fell, I think,’ Mildred said uncertainly. ‘They were kicking me – all I could think of was getting away.’
‘How frequent were the kicks?’ Oliver asked but she did not understand the question. ‘Did it seem to you that there was one person or two?’
