Beyond the Veil of Tears (20 page)

‘What are you saying?’ Angeline stared into the cold, calculating eyes. ‘Stop it, you’re lying.’ Appealing to the doctor, she said, ‘Please, Dr Owen, you must
help me.’

‘I am going to help you, my dear. We all want to help you. There are places where such maladies can be treated very successfully. Now, why don’t we get you dressed and then
we’ll go for a little ride.’

He was talking as though she were a simpleton. Trying to keep her voice from trembling, Angeline said, ‘Places? What places? What are you suggesting?’

‘Now, now, do not agitate yourself, Mrs Golding. All will be well, you’ll see.’

‘I’m not going anywhere.’ She was pressing back against the pillows, and then her terror mounted as Dr Owen called out, ‘Blackett, Hopkins’ and two bulky figures
appeared behind the slight person of the doctor.

‘Now come along, Mrs Golding. This is helping no one.’

As she scrambled out of the far side of the bed, the doctor motioned for one of the men to walk round to her. It was then that she began screaming.

Betty Ramshaw had never felt such a conflict of loyalties. She admired Dr Owen greatly and was more than a little bit secretly in love with him, but when she had arrived at
work earlier that morning and one of the staff had told her what had befallen Mrs Golding, she’d been horrified. Now it was lunchtime, and she stood outside Hector Stewart’s residence
in a fever of indecision, one hand fingering the envelope in her pocket.

If, as Dr Owen seemed to think, Mrs Golding wasn’t in possession of her faculties, then she wasn’t in a position to endow this maid with such a large sum of money. On the other hand
– Nurse Ramshaw’s brow wrinkled worriedly – Mrs Golding had seemed perfectly lucid to her. Frail and depressed and upset certainly, but in the circumstances was that surprising?
As for the husband, he was a nasty piece of work. She wouldn’t put much past that man, and if his wife had become an inconvenience, what better place to ship her off to than Earlswood Asylum
north of Newcastle? Out of sight, out of mind. The poor dear. Dr Owen had been hoodwinked by Mrs Golding’s husband, she’d bet her last farthing on it.

Well, she couldn’t stand here all day. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath, Betty marched up the drive and round to the back of the house, where she hoped to find the kitchen door.
She intended to have a word with Mrs Golding’s uncle before she left, but wanted to see the maid’s young man first and any other staff employed here. She wouldn’t mention the
envelope in her pocket initially, but would get a feel for what was what. She prided herself on being a good judge of character, and if she felt in any way bothered by what she discovered here, she
would leave without handing the envelope over. She could say she had come to tell them about Mrs Golding’s admittance to the asylum, which was true in a way.

It was Olive Upton who answered the knock at the back door and she stared in surprise at the uniformed nurse standing on the doorstep. ‘Can I help you?’

‘I hope so. I’ve been nursing Mrs Golding, at the Golding estate, for the last weeks and she asked me to pass on her best wishes to Myrtle via her young man. She – Mrs Golding
– was most insistent.’

‘Oh, come in, come in.’ Olive’s austere face broke into a smile. ‘How is Miss Angeline – I mean, Mrs Golding?’

Betty Ramshaw followed the housekeeper through a scullery and then into a large warm kitchen where a young couple were sitting at a table, cups of tea and half a large fruitcake in front of
them. Olive turned, saying, ‘You can speak to Myrtle yourself, she’s popped in to see Albert. Myrtle, this is the nurse who’s been looking after Miss Angeline.’

Myrtle had jumped up and now she came round the table and clasped Betty’s hand eagerly as she said, ‘How is she? The mistress? Oh, I’ve been that worried. Is she feeling
better?’

Betty looked into the bright young face and liked what she saw. Her voice gentle, she said, ‘I think you’d better sit down, lass.’

‘She’s not . . . ’

‘No, no, nothing like that. But it’s not good news.’

Albert had stood up and now took Myrtle’s arm, making her sit down, before he said, ‘You look like you could do with a cup of tea, Nurse. Take the weight off, and tell us why
you’ve come.’

Betty plumped herself down, gratefully accepting the cup of tea from Olive before she said, ‘Well, I’ve been nursing Mrs Golding, like I said, and she rallied at Christmas, came to
herself so to speak, but of course she’s very weak and poorly still. She was beginning to pull round when he – Mr Golding – suddenly announced yesterday that I’m to leave
and she doesn’t need a nurse any more. Which is nonsense, in my opinion. Anyway, when Mrs Golding knew I was going, she wrote a letter and enclosed some money and asked me to deliver it to
your young man, as she didn’t know where you were. But then this morning . . . ’

‘What?’ Myrtle leaned forward. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Well, I can only repeat what I’ve been told, lass. It seems Mrs Golding attacked her husband last night, and this morning he saw Dr Owen and they’ve got the magistrate to
issue a lunacy order. They’ve taken her to an asylum, I understand.’

Myrtle blanched. ‘No, not the mistress. Not in one of them places. That can’t be true. There’s been some mistake.’

‘Apparently her husband insisted on it.’

‘But Miss Angeline isn’t mad.’ Myrtle appealed to Albert and Olive, ‘She isn’t, is she? Tell her.’

‘I don’t think Mrs Golding is mad, dear, or else I wouldn’t be here. But folk are admitted for all sorts of reasons, and some of them . . . ’ The nurse shrugged,
indicating she didn’t agree with the system, but was powerless to do anything about it.

‘I have to do something.’ Myrtle stared at Albert. ‘It’s him – that devil.’ Turning back to Nurse Ramshaw, she said, ‘She was swept off her feet from
the moment she met him, but he never loved her, I know it. He caused her to lose the baby, Nurse. I can’t prove it, but it’s true. From the day she married him she’s been a
different person, and not in a good way. And now this. An asylum. And her the gentlest of creatures. Whatever he said she did, he’s lying.’

‘Well, my dear, that might well be true, but I’m afraid there is little you can do. Here’ – Betty reached into her pocket and drew out the envelope – ‘Mrs
Golding wanted you to have this, for your kindness to her. She was very upset you had been dismissed. She thinks a great deal of you, you know, lass.’

Myrtle gasped in shock when she saw the money, but after reading Angeline’s letter she burst into tears. When after some minutes she was still crying and would accept no comfort, Betty
Ramshaw said briskly, ‘Smelling salts, I think.’ They had just held the vial under Myrtle’s nose, causing her to cough and splutter, when a voice from the doorway into the hall
caused every head but Myrtle’s to turn.

‘What on earth is going on here?’ Hector stared in amazement at the scene in front of him. ‘I could hear you in my study. Stop making that dreadful noise, Myrtle, and someone
tell me what is wrong, for goodness’ sake.’

‘It’s Miss Angeline.’ Albert had not forgiven his master for allowing Oswald Golding to talk him round, the day after the miscarriage. When Hector had left the big house that
morning and climbed back into the carriage without a word, Albert hadn’t taken the hint and got up into his seat. Instead he had stood with the carriage door ajar and said, ‘Sir? Miss
Angeline?’

‘She is most unwell, but they are doing all they can.’

‘But him, Mr Golding? Myrtle said—’

‘I know what Myrtle said, Albert, but she is mistaken. I understand from Mr Golding that he had occasion to reprimand Myrtle before, and could have dismissed her then, but did not do so
out of regard for my niece’s feelings for the girl. Do you know about this?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Then I suggest you ask the girl about it. It might put a different complexion on things. That aside, Myrtle herself admits she was not in the room at the time of the fall, and I see no
reason to assume Mr Golding is to blame in any way.’

When he had asked Myrtle later what Angeline’s uncle had meant, Myrtle had shaken her head in bewilderment. ‘I don’t know what he’s on about, Albert, truly. I’ve
never liked Mr Golding, I admit that, and he’s picked up on it, I’m sure, and was always finding fault with me, but nothing specific was said.’

Remembering this now, Albert’s voice was accusing as he went on, ‘Mr Golding has had Miss Angeline committed to an asylum this morning. This is her nurse, and she came to tell us.
He’s had her put away, for no good reason. That’s what he’s done, and it could have been prevented if you’d listened to Myrtle. Golding’s a devil, an’ you handed
her to him on a plate.’

Nurse Ramshaw stepped forward. ‘Could I have a word with you, sir?’ she said quietly, aiming to dispel some of the tension, which was palpable.

Hector was bristling with fury. To be spoken to like that by a mere servant was insupportable. Drawing himself up, he glared at Albert. ‘You are dismissed. I want you out of this house by
the end of the week, for which you will be paid in full.’ Clicking his fingers at Nurse Ramshaw, he said, ‘Follow me.’

He was halted in his turning when Olive Upton said, ‘If he goes, I go an’ all, sir.’

Hector looked at his housekeeper. In his temper he had forgotten that Albert was the woman’s brother. Mrs Upton was excellent at her job and she suited him down to the ground; it had only
been his regard for her that had persuaded him to write a reference for Myrtle when Oswald had dismissed her without one. But he couldn’t be held over a barrel like this by a servant, even
one as good as Mrs Upton. Stiffly he said, ‘As you wish.’

Once in his study he closed the door after he had waved Nurse Ramshaw to a chair at the side of his desk. He didn’t sit down himself, but stood with his back to the window. ‘Tell me
what you know, Nurse . . . ’

‘Ramshaw, sir. Betty Ramshaw.’

‘Nurse Ramshaw. So where is my niece as we speak?’

‘Earlswood Asylum, sir. It’s on the outskirts of Newcastle.’

‘She is sick in her mind?’

‘I wouldn’t say so. No, sir.’

‘Perhaps you had better start at the beginning.’

Nurse Ramshaw started at the beginning. After a few minutes, when she stopped speaking, she stared at Hector. His eyelids were blinking rapidly and he jerked his chin up and down before he said,
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you seem to suggest there is a possibility that my niece
has
been ill-treated, as the maid claims.’

‘A possibility, yes, sir. Of course I was not witness to any physical assault, but Mr Golding’s manner with his wife was uncharitable at best.’

He had known, hadn’t he? Deep down he had known, but he had tried to shut his mind to it, which was one of the reasons he hadn’t gone back to the estate over the last few weeks. It
had been easier to accept at face value what Oswald and the doctor had said. He had enough problems of his own; he didn’t need further aggravation.

After questioning the nurse a little more he rang the bell for a grim-faced Mrs Upton to see the visitor out, and stood at the window watching her walk down the drive. Myrtle was waiting by the
large open gates for the nurse, and as the two of them disappeared out of sight they were talking avidly.

Sitting down in his big leather chair, Hector put his elbows on the desk in front of him and dropped his head into his hands. He remained thus for some minutes. Then he rose and again rang the
bell, and when Mrs Upton answered the call, he told her to tell Albert to bring the carriage round to the front of the house. ‘I shall drive myself,’ he added as the housekeeper turned
with a flounce and a curt ‘Yes, sir’.

It was beginning to snow in the bitter north-east wind when Hector approached the elegantly proportioned gatehouse entrance of the asylum more than two hours later. The journey
on the icy, snow-packed roads had not been an easy one, for several reasons: Hector was not used to driving himself; the weather conditions were not good; and he had been unsure of the actual
location of the asylum. He brought the horses to a halt and stared at the neoclassical half-circular arch, large and solid, over the tall barred iron gates, which incorporated a small pedestrian
gate with its own key-lock. The harsh, architecturally sturdy lines were softened somewhat by the ivy that enveloped the upper parts, but Hector felt a shiver snake down his spine. A ten-foot-high
stone wall stretched on into infinity on either side of the gatehouse, and it was impossible to see anything of the asylum itself from the road, but one of the men he’d asked directions of
had told him it was surrounded by fields and farmland, where some of the patients worked.

‘Them as are not too far gone,’ the man added grimly, tapping the side of his head to emphasize his point. ‘There’s others who never see the light of day, if half the
tales are true. Poor blighters. You wouldn’t let a dog suffer like that, would you?’

The gatehouse-keeper came out after Hector had rung the bell attached to the side of one of the massive gates. And after Hector had given his name and explained that he was here to see his
niece, the carriage was allowed through onto a wide drive that snaked through a small area of woodland, before opening up to reveal a snow-covered lawn beyond which stood the asylum. The huge,
prison-style building had a high, square central tower with clock faces on each side and tall, narrow windows with semicircular brick arches at the top of each one. Hector felt the hairs on the
back of his neck prickle as he gazed at it. He assumed, correctly, that the fields and farmland stretched away at the back of the asylum, but the forbidding facade that presented itself initially
was enough to quell all hope in the most optimistic of minds.

After bringing the carriage to a stop in the courtyard in front of the building, Hector tied the horses’ reins to one of the posts provided and walked up the wide stone steps. The massive
front door had a well-polished brass knob and bell, and almost immediately swung open in response to his ring. After stating his business to the hall porter, he was asked to wait, and sat down on
one of the chairs lining the vast expanse of green-and-brown-tiled floor. The doors opening onto the entrance hall were all closed, but in the background he could hear sounds, and once or twice a
scream that curdled his blood.