Read The Winter Foundlings Online
Authors: Kate Rhodes
I gazed back at him. ‘He was hurting kids like himself, as an extension of his self-harm.’
Burns’s frown deepened. ‘It’s the other kids from Orchard House and St Augustine’s who worry me. We’ll have to interview the ones who spent most time with Kinsella and see who needs counselling.’
By midday I was exhausted; either I was on information overload or the fire had hypnotised me. I was stretching out on the sofa when my mobile buzzed in my pocket – there were twenty-seven unanswered messages, and the most recent one was from my mother, updating me on her cruise. She was spending the next day in Athens, exploring the Acropolis. The fact that she was enjoying herself filled me with so much relief that I could have wept, but I closed my eyes and slept instead. The flames were low in the grate when I woke up. It was already getting dark outside and Burns was still there, feet resting on the fireguard.
‘What time is it?’ I asked, rubbing my eyes.
‘Nearly five.’
‘Shouldn’t you go? You’ve been here all day. Tania’ll be waiting for you.’
‘She’s in London dealing with the press.’ He looked crestfallen.
‘Have you two had a row?’
He stared at me round-eyed, then stifled a laugh. ‘We’re not a couple, Alice. She’s been a mate for years; we were at Hendon together. She’s had a lot of crap lately – her ex is suing for custody of their daughter.’
Something loosened in my chest, like a knot untying. That explained why Tania had been so tetchy. It had nothing to do with me or Burns; her life was coming apart at the seams. I felt stupid for assuming the worst and believing the rumours. I got up to look out of the window, stalling for time, but the sky gave me no help whatsoever. There was nothing there apart from a black expanse of cloud. Burns was on his feet too, standing behind me as though he expected me to fall. Maybe he felt the same, half tempted to bolt. I kept my back turned when I spoke again.
‘Are you staying here tonight?’
‘What do you think? I promised to supervise you for the next twenty-four hours.’
I turned to look at him. ‘Didn’t Lola offer?’
‘I sent her packing. I said there’d be questions for you when you came round.’
‘What questions?’
He took a step closer. ‘They’ve slipped my mind.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of time.’
His shoulders looked wide enough to support small towns, and when the sound came from outside, he didn’t even flinch. It was loud and high-pitched as a siren, an owl hovering above the house. The next call was quieter and more plaintive, but Burns’s expression was unchanged. There was a mixture of shock and anticipation in his face as he gazed down at me.
I arrived at Judith’s house clutching a bunch of flowers. She looked tired, but her smile was welcoming when she opened the door.
‘It’s not your birthday, is it?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve got a surprise for you.’
Her garden was a riot of spring flowers, spears of iris and gladioli standing tall under the trees. Two deckchairs stood beside a brazier, which was already crackling. It seemed odd because the afternoon was so warm.
‘Are we having a barbecue?’
She shook her head. And when I looked again, a large plastic box caught my eye.
‘Kinsella’s letters,’ I whispered.
‘I told Alan Nash they were lost, but he’s bound to come looking one day.’
‘Let’s get to work then.’
I threw the first handful of envelopes into the fire and watched the flames consume them, the paper dissolving into long orange flames. Judith didn’t join in; she stood beside me, studying her phone.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Getting rid of Garfield’s messages. He’s moving back to London next week. If we’re having a ceremonial burning, I should let him go too.’
I put my hand on her shoulder as she pressed the delete button, and her face slowly brightened as the flames rose. We gathered batches of envelopes and hurled them into the brazier. Kinsella was still alive, locked in his cell at Northwood, but his words had become an inferno. A plume of black air sailed high above the roofline as his credo went up in smoke.
I would like to thank my agent Teresa Chris for her unstinting encouragement and Ruth Tross for being such a wise and insightful editor. Nick Sayers deserves to be mentioned here, because he continues to be the kindest man in publishing and the most convivial. Karen Geary and Rebecca Mundy are also due much gratitude for publicising my work so tirelessly. Many thanks are also due to Andrew Martin at Minotaur, Hope Dellon, Dave Pescod, Miranda Landgraf, Penny Hancock, Sophie Hannah and the 134 club for their readings and sound advice. The helpful staff of the Foundling Museum gave me invaluable guidance on the history of the Foundling Hospital and allowed me to trawl through their archive. Thanks to the media teams at Broadmoor and Rampton Hospitals for advice on protocols at high security units. Thanks as ever to DC Laura Shaw for her excellent guidance on police matters.
Note: most of the locations in this book are real, but many are imaginary. Apologies for changing some of London’s geography and street names; my motive is always to tell the best possible story.
A Killing of Angels
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE WINTER FOUNDLINGS
. Copyright © 2014 by Kate Rhodes. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
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First published in Great Britain by Mulholland Books, an imprint of Hodder & Stoughton, an Hachette UK company
First U.S. Edition: February 2015
eISBN 9781466866928
First eBook edition: February 2015