The Locked Room (Ruth Galloway #14)(45)

Ruth pours herself a glass of wine and contemplates supper. Should she make some for Nelson? What did he mean by ‘later’? She doesn’t think she’s ever cooked for him before and has no doubt that she will show up badly compared to Michelle’s culinary skills. She always imagines Michelle putting perfect meals in front of Nelson, like a 1950s housewife. Well, things are a little different chez Ruth. She decides to cook a bolognaise sauce which can be heated up later with fresh pasta if necessary. Flint comes in to remind her that he likes uncooked mince. She cooks it for him all the same.

While the sauce is cooking, Ruth takes her wine into the garden. She doesn’t want to join Kate in front of Pointless and she feels too restless to read. When she was at work, she would buy the Guardian from the campus bookstore and do the quick crossword in the evening. A daily newspaper is one of the minor casualties of lockdown. Ruth sits on the doorstep and watches Flint prowling through the long grass. She thinks of Eileen alone, or almost alone, in the empty halls of residence. She imagines Joe’s locked room – she is sure that Nelson will have shoulder-barged the door – the dust covering every surface, the photographs on the noticeboard. Photographs of her. A shrine, Nelson said. The word gives Ruth a slight shiver, one that seems to be echoed in the breeze ruffling the leaves of the apple tree. She thinks of Walsingham, England’s Nazareth, a place of pilgrimage since the eleventh century, the Anglican shrine, the Slipper Chapel, the archway of the ruined monastery. She remembers a woman’s body being found under that same archway. Shrines aren’t always healthy places.

According to Janet, Joe thought of Ruth as a ‘mother figure’. If he’s about twenty (Ruth thinks he’s slightly older than the other first years but it’s hard to tell with the beard) then, biologically, it’s perfectly possible. Even so, the words seem suddenly sinister. Presumably the Virgin Mary was a mother figure for the pilgrims at Walsingham. But not everyone worships their mother.

It’s almost dark now, the sky navy blue behind the trees. The security light comes on as Flint appears, tightrope walking along the fence. Zoe’s voice floats into the twilight. ‘Derek, De-rek.’ She must be anxious about her cat, unused as he is to the outside world. Ruth wonders whether to call out to her neighbour, to say that she’s sure Derek is fine, but somehow she doesn’t feel like talking. It’s a comfort to know that there’s someone on the other side of the fence though. A woman and a cat. The perfect combination.

Still, she can’t sit on her back-doorstep all evening. Ruth goes back into the kitchen and stirs the sauce. It needs something but she can’t think what. She adds some salt, pepper and a splash of her wine for luck. She puts on some water for the pasta. Then she goes into the sitting room where Kate is still watching the quiz show. Ruth thinks of the English teachers and their Zoom quiz tomorrow. Which of Shakespeare’s heroines said this? Well, she’s got better things to do. Or has she? Will Nelson still be with them tomorrow? If so, it’ll be the first time she’s ever spent a complete Saturday with him. What will they do? It’s not as if they can have a day out after all. They can take Bruno for a walk, she supposes. They can have supper together and watch a film on Netflix. Don’t think about it, Ruth tells herself, and then you won’t be disappointed. She opens her laptop. She’ll get some more marking done.

She sees immediately that she has new emails from Peter and Shona. She opens Shona’s first, to put off the other.

Shona has sent the text of ‘To Althea, from Prison’ by Richard Lovelace.



When Love with unconfinèd wings

Hovers within my Gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the Grates;

When I lie tangled in her hair,

And fettered to her eye,

The Gods that wanton in the Air,

Know no such Liberty.



When flowing Cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with Roses bound,

Our hearts with Loyal Flames;

When thirsty grief in Wine we steep,

When Healths and draughts go free,

Fishes that tipple in the Deep

Know no such Liberty.



When (like committed linnets) I

With shriller throat shall sing

The sweetness, Mercy, Majesty,

And glories of my King;

When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how Great should be,

Enlargèd Winds, that curl the Flood,

Know no such Liberty.

Stone Walls do not a Prison make,

Nor Iron bars a Cage;

Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an Hermitage.

If I have freedom in my Love,

And in my soul am free,

Angels alone that soar above,

Enjoy such Liberty



‘Wrong but romantic,’ thinks Ruth. It occurs to her that Lovelace is the ideal name for a Cavalier. She is sure that Richard loved his lace, not to mention his plumes and velvet. She’s not sure what to make of the poem. ‘Tangled in her hair’ is quite an image. She imagines Althea with miles of golden hair, like Rapunzel. But being trapped in hair is another imprisonment of sorts. ‘Fettered to her eye’ is unpleasant too, when you come to think of it. There’s lots of flying imagery, lots of wings. Even fish get a mention. Are they flying fish? Maybe Lovelace, too, found comfort in nature while incarcerated. Maybe he too had a pet crow called Corbyn. ‘If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free . . .’ Ruth thinks of Nelson. Are they free because they are under lockdown?