A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(17)
Sarah frowned. “I’d like to disagree with you, but I have the dreadful feeling you might be right. What do you think John and Mary will say?”
“I think they’ll brandish the possibility of Sherlock Holmes turning up here at him,” Nan replied, and chuckled. “If he’s doing anything dubious, that will be the very last person he would want to see on these premises. It’ll be subtle, I expect. Huntley isn’t some common thug. But the implication will be very clear: release this child to Memsa’b, or be prepared to have every secret of this place revealed—possibly to the public.”
“And if he actually has nothing to hide—” Sarah said thoughtfully, “—I suspect the next rabbit to be pulled from the hat will be Lord A.”
“Very likely.” Nan moved off the bed so the poor girl could spread out a little. Sarah followed her example and took the chair by the window. “I have to say, this seems to be a pleasant enough place. I find myself hoping Huntley is merely a man who yielded to temptation, and is about to learn his lesson.”
“Or already has,” Sarah suggested.
“Or that,” Nan agreed. “And if that is the case, John and Mary can steer him gently into the path of righteousness, and we’ll have a physician-believer who can keep alert for patients who we can help. Clearly, young Amelia made a believer out of him, if he wasn’t one already.”
Sarah picked up one of the books on the table, and examined it. “Well, she’s a good reader, and a serious one.” She held it up. “The Sermons of John Donne.”
“Too deep for me,” Nan chuckled and looked at the next volume. “I’ll take the companion here—the Poems of John Donne.”
“I like her very much already. I think Memsa’b will too.”
Sarah moved to the arm of the chair where she, being smaller, could perch comfortably. Nan took the seat. They immersed themselves in their respective books, glancing up now and again at the girl to make sure she was still sleeping peacefully.
Amelia continued to sleep, and they continued to read. Outside, the snow-covered landscape was peaceful, serene, without a single footprint to mar it. Inside, it was quiet, but not ominously so. There were distant sounds, of conversation, perhaps. Nan spared a hope that even those who were deranged were taken care of with kindness. Normally she had to put up mental defenses as strong as stone walls to get anywhere near an asylum.
Eventually, there was a tap on the door, and John cautiously stuck his head in the door, saw that Amelia was sleeping and the two young women were reading, and he and Mary entered quietly. “It’s all arranged. I’ll tell you in the cab.”
They all went back downstairs, collected cloaks and coats from the attendant. By the time they were at the door, so was the cabby—who looked warm and fed and satisfied with his wait.
John waited until they were actually past the gate before speaking. “Well . . . Huntley is a bit of a humbug, but only a bit. As you might expect, he takes in . . . people who are inconvenient to their relatives. Most of ’em shouldn’t be here, frankly, and I imagine that you have good ideas of why.”
“He does have some genuine convalescents who need skilled nursing, and not a ham-handed chambermaid,” Mary put in. “And some very aged people who need round the clock care. There may even be a few who genuinely are mad, but most of his ‘patients’ with that label have merely so displeased powerful and monied relations that they’ve been sent here—out of sight, out of mind.”
“He’s not a monster; once they’re here, he treats them well . . . but . . .” John made a face. “It’s a very comfortable prison, but it’s still a prison.”
“But as long as the law is written the way it is, it’s perfectly legal to declare a disobedient daughter or eccentric uncle insane and lock them up,” Mary said with disgust. “Nevertheless, that gave us the chance to mention Holmes, which of course, is the very last person on the face of the earth he wants prowling about. So he’s going to quietly transfer Amelia without telling her parents—who won’t care, frankly, since they haven’t written or made a call since she volunteered to be locked up here.”
Nan sighed. “That’s a relief. What was he doing with her, anyway? I began to very much doubt he was trying to help her repress her visions.”
“Not with the drugs he was giving her, he wasn’t,” John said, his expression darkening. “And I wish I could prove he knew what he was about, but I can’t. I think he was trying to turn her into his own little window into places he couldn’t otherwise get to . . . collecting secrets. Again, I don’t think he was intending to turn blackmailer—I fancy he was looking for business secrets he could use to increase his fortune by investing. But he was trying every line of drug that I know of that is reputed to open magical and psychical senses, and I think we’re damned lucky he didn’t kill the poor girl with them.”
“Then she can’t get to Memsa’b soon enough,” Sarah exclaimed. “The poor child!”
“Child, indeed, she’s barely fourteen,” said Mary, confirming Nan’s suspicions. “John made arrangements for Memsa’b herself to come collect the girl in two days, and believe me, Huntley will make no fuss about it.” She held up a hand. “Don’t worry, once he consented to it, John and I both sealed a geas on him, by Water and Air, to keep his word. No matter how badly he wants to change his mind, he’ll still have to give her up, and smile about it. So no fear there.” She finally smiled. “At least our magic has had some use in this situation.”