Relatively Strange (34 page)

Miss Merry may have been thin as a rake, but to Glory lying underneath, the woman felt more like a lawn mower. She was also dribbling unpleasantly on Glory’s hand. Glory lifted her gently, surprised at how much of a mental effort it cost, she must have been pretty deeply unconscious to still feel so woozy, God knows what he’d injected her with. She sent the limp Miss Merry sailing unsteadily across the room to land, as softly as possible, in a corner, tucked neatly next to and partially supported by a drip-stand.

She’d pushed back the bedclothes, a far more gargantuan task than it should have been and was struggling to get out of bed as Ruth and Rachael arrived. Nobody wasted time talking. They’d brought underwear, slacks and a warm jumper and simply slipped these on under and over her nightgown, but their timing was out. They all three became aware at the same instant, of the Doctor heading purposefully towards them. He was keeping himself calm by chanting a meditation mantra, but it wasn’t helping.

They exchanged a few quick thoughts. They’d hoped to get out with as little fuss as possible and no confrontation. There was the window of course but Ruth vetoed that. Did she look, she inquired, like she was built for slipping through windows? The only other door led to the bathroom so, with Glory supported between them, that’s where they headed. There wasn’t a great deal of room in there, but they hoped they wouldn’t be stopping long.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

The first thing to meet the Doctor’s eye, when he flung open the door was Glory’s empty bed. The second was the estimable Miss Merry propped, incommunicado, next to the drip-stand. His mind skittered, sought for and failed to find any kind of logical explanation. On top of the nurses’ behaviour it was really all too much.

He automatically bent to feel for a pulse, relieved to feel it strong and regular. He had no personal feelings for her but she was an extremely capable and reliable assistant. He regarded her sagging form with distaste and all three women in the adjoining bathroom, little as they liked the lady, were not sorry she was unconscious. A noise from the corridor outside made him straighten. Silently he moved across the room. He was most uncomfortable with the way things were going, not in their usual ordered fashion at all. And, until he had a better grasp of the situation, he had no intention of being caught unawares by any more unpleasant surprises.

Doors to patients’ rooms are hinged to open completely flat against the wall, allowing free entrance and exit for beds. It’s never a good idea to stand behind one. This was something the Doctor should have considered. When the door to Glory’s room burst open, it did so with some considerable force and cracked him soundly on the nose. Reeling from the blow, blood flowing freely through his fingers and seeing a lot of stars, he stumbled forward, to be confronted by an extremely unhappy Mrs Millsop.

As the Doctor had discerned, much as she liked and indeed needed her job, over the last weeks Mrs Millsop, an excellent and ethical nurse, had become subject to increasing concerns about what was going on. She didn’t know all the ins and outs, she did know though that when she’d come across Glory Isaacs doing something fishy with the drugs cabinet, she hadn’t had to think twice where her sympathies lay.

She was a down to earth sort of a woman and didn’t hold with a lot of airy fairy, arty farty theories, but things had been getting uncomfortably tense recently – take that incident with Peter and Glory – maybe mass hysteria, maybe not. In any event she was twitchy and when she’d taken a few gulps of eagerly anticipated coffee and detected an odd, bitter grittiness, she’d laughed at herself but had thrown it down the sink nevertheless and made fresh. Then, she’d found herself unable to keep her eyes open and had nodded off, jerking awake in annoyance because it was a crucial episode of the Forsyte Saga, highlight of the week, and she never ever fell asleep in front of the telly, however tired she might be.

When it kept happening, she was forced to concede, ridiculous as it seemed, that she’d been right, her coffee’d been interfered with, no other explanation. There must, she concluded, be some dodgy goings-on tonight that they wanted going-on behind her back. She was so angry she could spit nails. She, it was, who administered medication to others. The thought she’d been given some sort of a drug herself, violated and offended her on a deeply personal level. She suddenly didn’t give a toss what was transpiring with Fleur, Irenée or any other member of the flipping Forsyte family. She switched off the television, splashed cold water on her face and headed down the war-path, to have it out with whichever so-and-so she came across first, whether it be Miss bloody Merry-go-round or the damn Doctor.

As luck would have it, it was the damn Doctor and she uttered a strangled scream when he staggered gorily out from behind the door, just as angry as she was. The sedative, albeit a fraction of the intended dose, was still kicking in and she was doing a fair old bit of staggering on her own account and could only focus by closing one eye. To the impartial observer it would all have looked a little odd; the tall thin doctor and the rather more substantial matron, both seeing stars, both trying to maintain their balance and, any port in a storm, eventually clutching each other in an effort to stay upright.

To Miss Merry, drifting gently upwards through the mists of the unconsciousness to which Ruth had consigned her, it appeared at baffled first glance as if they were dancing. She shut her eyes again briefly, while she digested this. She recalled that the evening’s programme had included a brain operation but was pretty certain there’d been no dancing scheduled. She opened her eyes again cautiously, maybe she’d imagined it but no, there they were, swaying and executing a sort of syncopated two-step. As if this in itself weren’t problematic enough, she couldn’t imagine what she herself was doing sitting on the floor and started to get up, pulling herself hand over hand up the drip stand. This worked to a certain point, whilst she was pulling it towards her and it was anchored firmly against her feet but once she was upright, the equipment did exactly what it was designed to do – roll easily on its little wheels to wherever it was pushed. Miss Merry, still not very steady and therefore holding on tightly, found her only means of support, heading briskly away. She landed painfully back on her knees.

In the small bathroom, Ruth and Rachael, with Glory seated on the toilet seat between them, were having a silent but heated debate as to the best next step. Rachael was for knocking them all out and be done, Ruth favoured a diversion.

By now, Matron had given up the ghost for the evening and in a last moment of sense and self-preservation had taken the two necessary steps to the bed and collapsed thereon, absent-mindedly pulling the Doctor down with her. All of a tangle, they looked as if they were auditioning for the next Carry On film and the Doctor, struggling to extricate himself from the situation, found a supine Mrs Millsop wasn’t to be taken lightly. Miss Merry meanwhile had finally regained her feet and although still a mite coltish, was doing her best to help him get out from under. They were both coldly livid, the loss of dignity anathema to each of them.

They had no idea exactly what was going on, nor how it had been engineered. It was a fair assumption though that Glory Isaacs was involved and they each, for their own reasons, itched to get their hands back on her and get her under the knife. They both had the same thought at the same instant. The door at the front of the building was rarely locked until after midnight – that’s where she’d be headed, although she wouldn’t be getting far, not with the amount of valium pumped into her. With a last, desperate, mutual heave they rolled the unfortunate Mrs Millsop onto her side, not batting an eyelid between them as she slowly rolled off the bed and hit the floor with a bruising thump.

They didn’t waste time. The Doctor swiftly dampened his handkerchief at the sink and removed the worst of the blood from around his nose, gingerly fingering the swelling, he didn’t think it was broken. Miss Merry, her back modestly turned, quickly straightened her clothing. Then without a backward glance at the unconscious woman on the floor, they headed off to retrieve Glory – two minds with a single thought.

Having effectively planted that single thought, the Misses Peacock deemed it prudent to get weaving. It wouldn’t be long before the happy couple reached the front of the building and started to think for themselves. They hauled Glory up and stopping only to ensure Mrs Millsop was lying on her side in the recovery position, had a clear airway and was in no danger of anything other than a splitting headache, made their way to a side door of the clinic which was locked, but only briefly. Without Ed’s finesse to hand, they simply blasted it open and as they hurried through, heard faint shrieks of laughter still issuing from the sluice room – at least the evening hadn’t been a wash-out for everyone.

Chapter Forty

“And then?” In the darkness of the van’s interior I strained to make out their faces.

“We went home.” said Miss Peacock, “But you can see why we’re persona non grata at Newcombe, even though that was over five years ago.”

“Didn’t they come after you?”

“How could they? We were perfectly within our rights to take Glory.”

“How did you explain everything?”

“Phoned the next day. Said my sister and I had been too nervous to take the pills, had consequently slept only briefly then gone to sit with Glory. She’d woken and was so distressed we simply decided to take her home there and then. Of course it was dreadfully impolite of us to do anything without notifying him but … middle of the night … terribly upset … did what seemed best.”

“And he swallowed that?”

“Stuck in his throat but what could he say, we were her legal guardians.”

“But the nurses … Miss Merry?”

“He thought they’d been drinking, I didn’t mention them and neither did he. As for Miss Merry, he assumed Glory must have hit her.”

“The door you forced?”

“Panic, we wanted to get home quickly, panicked when we couldn’t get out. Appalling behaviour… so rude … don’t know what came over us. Profound apologies and a cheque in the post.”

“Mrs Millsop?”

“The sack, probably not a bad thing, she’d not have lasted there much longer, she’s much happier where she is now.”

“Now? You’re still in touch?”

“You could say. Now I want to talk about tonight.”

“No, hang on. You can’t just leave it there. I want to know what’s been going on at the Foundation since then – has he found others, before Sam I mean?”

Glory, who’d been leaving the talking to the others, filled a silence that went on a little longer than it should have.

“Some. It’s not always easy to keep an eye on things, certainly nobody like Sam. But the focus has changed a bit.”

“You mentioned that before. How?”

“We really don’t have time to go into all that now.” Miss Peacock was brisk, “All you have to do tonight is nip in, get Sam and nip out.” Put like that it sounded a doddle, though I had my doubts.

“You’ll go in at the back of the clinic. Glory will talk you through, so you’ll know exactly where you’re headed. Ed will unlock all doors as you reach them. The tricky bit will be when you reach Sam. Timing’s crucial, we need him as un-sedated as possible, so you’re going in just before his next medication, he’s got to come willingly.”

“And if he doesn’t want to?”

“Persuade him.”

“How?”

“Oh for goodness sake – rely on your instincts.” Miss P’s confidence in my instincts were stronger than mine. Ruth leaned forward from her seat behind us,

“You know, we wouldn’t be asking you to do this if you weren’t our best bet.”

“How dangerous is he?” I asked the question but didn’t need to catch their concern to know the answer – they couldn’t really say. They suspected though and they were all, even Miss Peacock, a darn sight more nervous than they let on. Hamlet, in the back of the van whined quietly, I was tempted to join him.

Why didn’t I say, there and then I wanted out? Perhaps the revelations of the last forty-eight hours had totally skewed any vestige of common sense I may have had left. Despite the fact they’d just spun me the most unbelievable story since Goldilocks had the problem with the bears, I was setting out, on their say so, to rescue a child I didn’t know from Adam, who’d already killed once. Was I crazy? Given the choice again would I follow the same path? Actually, I didn’t think there was a choice.