Twelve Minutes to Midnight (8 page)

XII

His pimply brow knitted in a frown, the young orderly stared at Penelope. The key in his hand hovered in front of the keyhole, but for the moment, the door to the cell remained locked. With his free hand, the orderly nervously scratched at his cheek.

“I don’t know if I can let you see her, Miss,” he said finally. “Dr Morris’s instructions were quite clear. He said that I was to let you and your uncle visit any patient you liked, but now you tell me that Mr Flinch isn’t even coming. It’s not right for you to be here alone – you’re just a girl.”

The prim smile Penelope had kept fixed to her face from the moment she had arrived at Bedlam again tightened in reply. The telegram she had sent in the name of Montgomery Flinch from the offices of
The Penny Dreadful
had got her this far, but with Monty still holed up in his club, and this orderly, who was only a handful of years older than she was, standing in her way, it looked 
as if she might not get any further. There was only one card she had left to play.

“I’m so grateful for your concern,” Penny simpered, clasping her hands to her purse. “But my uncle was quite adamant that his absence today shouldn’t delay the work that Dr Morris has tasked him to do. I’m fully aware of the questions he wanted to ask this patient and will report back to him straightaway. My uncle said that if there was any kind of problem, I should give you this envelope.”

Penelope drew out a plain white envelope from the depths of her purse and handed this to the orderly. As he opened it, she kept her face composed into an expression of the upmost innocence as she watched the orderly’s eyes widen in surprise.

Beneath the flap of the envelope, was a
five-pound
note – nearly half a year’s wages to him. As a blush rose in his cheeks, the orderly quickly closed up the envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of his trousers.

Avoiding Penelope’s eye, he fumbled for his keys again, fitting one to the lock and then placing his hand on the handle.

“Ten minutes, that’s all you can have,” he muttered. “And you need to be careful of this one. Most of the time she’s meek as kittens, but if she’s upset, you’ll hear her snarl.”

He turned the handle and the door to the cell 
slowly swung open.

“I’ll be waiting right outside. If she starts to give you any trouble, you just call.”

Penny nodded in reply. As her heartbeat started to quicken, she stepped forward into the cell.

From a high barred window, faint rays of sunlight fell into the dismal room, its dusty furnishings laid out like a servant’s bedroom. A wooden bedstead covered in a faded counterpane, a chest of drawers, a washstand and a dressing table. Next to this table, turned half away from her, was an armchair, and in this sat a
black-veiled
figure. A shiver ran down Penny’s spine as the door closed behind her.

For a moment, Penelope thought that it was Lady Isabella Cambridge herself. Then, with a rustle of black crêpe, the veil was pulled back and, as the figure turned towards her, Penny found herself staring into the face of an old woman. Her wrinkled skin was as pale as parchment and the woman’s blue eyes gleamed like faded sapphires as they slowly focused on Penelope.

From the snatched glance at Lady Cambridge Penny had caught at the museum, the family resemblance was unmistakeable. This was her mother – the Right Honourable Lady Marie Charlotte Ross.

She was wearing a lustreless dress, the black linen faded to charcoal in places and its crêpe cuffs and collars crumpled with age. The grief 
that had brought her here to Bedlam showed in every stitch that she wore. As Lady Ross leaned forward in her chair to peer at Penelope, a single strand of white hair escaped from beneath her widow’s cap.

“Who is it?” she asked in a quavering voice. “Is that you, Izzy?”

Her heart still thumping in her chest, Penny stepped out of the shadows.

“No, My Lady,” she replied. “My name is Penelope Tredwell.”

She walked towards Lady Ross, her eyes taking in the widow’s possessions hoarded on the dressing table beside her: a lacquered hairbrush, a looking glass and a framed photograph which showed a distinguished-looking gentleman and a young girl. Behind his whiskers, the man’s face was set in a stern frown as he stared into the camera lens, whilst the girl gazed up adoringly at him.

“You must be one of Izzy’s friends then,” said Lady Ross, shaking her head in confusion. “Well, I can’t have you girls under my feet now – your father will be home from the museum soon.”

Penny stared at the frail lady in sympathy as the realisation dawned. In the disorder of her mind, Lady Ross thought that her daughter was still a young girl and her husband still alive. She lifted her palsied fingers from the chair, her hand shaking as she shooed Penny away. 

“Run along now.”

Penelope stood her ground, her thoughts racing as she tried to decide what to do. She’d spent most of
The Penny Dreadful’s
petty cash to get in here today; she had to try and make her visit worthwhile. Maybe somewhere in Lady Ross’s mind there was a fragment of information that could help her, something that might explain what Lady Cambridge’s connection to these strange events actually was.

“Your daughter is the reason I’m here,” Penelope began. “I want to talk to you about Lady Cambridge.”

At the mention of this name, the old woman sank back in her chair, her eyes suddenly filling with tears.

“Don’t hurt me, Isabella,” she whimpered. “I did what you asked. Don’t make me take the medicine again.”

Aghast, Penny watched as the old woman shook in her chair, her withered hands gripping the armrests as the floodgates of her madness opened in a babbling flow.

“Just take me away from this place,” Lady Ross moaned. “Every night they torture me in my sleep. I’ve seen you, Izzy, my own flesh and blood in the cell next to mine.”

In the midst of her raving, the woman’s quavering voice changed, a harsh new tone entering her words as if somebody else was 
speaking them.

“I’ll never be like you, Mother,” she snarled. Lady Ross turned towards the dressing-room table and pointed an accusing finger at her own reflection in the looking glass. “We may both have lost our husbands, but only you have lost your mind.”

She raised her hand in anger, and then reeled as if struck by the same blow.

“Lady Ross,” Penelope cried, reaching out a hand to calm her agitation.

“Don’t touch me,” the old woman shrieked. She grabbed hold of Penelope’s wrist, her bony grip unnaturally strong. “You’re trying to poison me – just like all the rest.”

As Penny struggled to free herself, the old woman spat in her face.

“I can hear them,” she hissed as the door to the cell slammed open, the orderly racing to Penny’s aid, “the spiders crawling inside my mind.”

The orderly wrenched the old woman’s fingers from Penny’s wrist, and threw Lady Ross back into the depths of her chair from where she let fly a volley of curses. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small brown bottle and uncorking this, pressed it to the old woman’s lips. Lady Ross struggled, but the orderly held the bottle firmly in place until it was drained; only a fraction of the brownish liquid dribbling from her lips and staining her chin. 

As he straightened, the orderly glanced back at Penelope, who had retreated, horrified, to the door.

“You need to go now, Miss,” he said as Lady Ross slumped in her chair, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Visiting time is over now.”

A low moan escaped from Lady Ross’s lips, her ravings now reduced to an insensible mumble.

“The spiders … the spiders…”

Penny turned and fled. She pulled out her handkerchief as she hurried away down the corridor, her only thought to escape from this loathsome place. But as she wiped the spittle from her cheek, Penelope couldn’t escape the image of Lady Ross’s snarling face that was burnt into her mind.

The woman was truly deranged – that much was clear. No hope of finding any clues from her about how Lady Cambridge was tied up with this mystery – only ravings about spiders and poison. The madness that stalked these walls had already overwhelmed her. Penny’s visit here had been in vain.

As she reached the entrance lobby, she glanced across at the spot where she had seen Lady Cambridge pause in front of the scar-faced guard. She remembered the envelope that had passed between them. What secrets had it held? The mystery of Bedlam still remained and if she couldn’t solve it, then Montgomery Flinch’s latest 
tale would remain unwritten.

She only had one option left – to pay a visit to Lady Cambridge herself. But what excuse could she find to call on a woman who that journalist had said was even more reclusive than the elusive Montgomery Flinch?

As Penelope stepped through the doors of the asylum and out into the wintry chill, a cunning smile slowly spread across her lips. The answer was staring her right in the face. She knew the person with the perfect reason to call on Lady Cambridge. All she needed to do now was convince him to agree.

XIII

“Absolutely not!”

Monty sat defiantly in the leather armchair, its shabby armrests stained in several places. “There’s no way on earth I’m getting myself involved in that madness once again!”

Penny sat primly on an armchair facing the actor, waiting patiently for his storm of protest to blow itself out. Monty swayed slightly in his seat, the last dregs of his brandy spilling out over the edge of his glass.

“The place was filled with crackpots and maniacs.” Monty slurred his words as he jabbed a warning finger in Penny’s direction. “We were lucky to get out of there alive – you should be thanking me.”

His cheeks shone with an intoxicated glow and, as his stentorian voice filled the club’s saloon-room, an elderly gentleman dozing in a nearby armchair woke with a start. The old man blinked, his eyes fixing on Penelope for a 
moment. Then, shaking his head in disgust at the sight of a young girl in his club, he fell back to sleep with an angry
harrumph
.

“I’ve already told you, Monty,” Penny spoke softly, her tone trying to soothe Monty’s troubled countenance, “I don’t want you to go back to Bedlam. You’ve just got to help me get inside Lady Cambridge’s house.”

Monty shook his head decisively.

“You hired me as an actor, my dear – someone to bring Montgomery Flinch’s stories to life on the stage. Not as some sort of charlatan who would help you to prey on elderly members of the aristocracy.”

Penny frowned. “We wouldn’t be preying on anyone – I’m just asking you to stick to your side of the bargain and play the part of Montgomery Flinch. Besides,” she added, “at twenty-four years of age, I’d hardly call the widowed Lady Cambridge elderly.”

At this morsel of information, Monty raised his eyebrow in interest.

“Twenty-four years old? Widowed, you say?”

Penny nodded her head.

“So you’ll come with me?”

There was a long moment of silence. The fingers of Monty’s free hand drummed against the armrest as though considering the matter, but then, with a sigh, he shook his head again.

“No, no, no,” he replied. “I refuse to be a part 
of this deception. No good will come of it, you mark my words.”

Glancing up at the waiter standing unobtrusively in the corner of the room, he motioned for him to refill his glass.

The waiter glided across the threadbare carpet to Monty’s side.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Monty brandished his empty glass.

“Another fine measure in there, my good man.” He nodded benevolently in Penny’s direction. “And a drink for the young lady too – a lemonade perhaps – something to take the edge off her disappointment.”

With an apologetic cough, the waiter slowly shook his head.

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir.”

Monty looked up in surprise, his glowering face reddening to an even deeper hue.

“What do you mean ‘won’t be possible’?” he demanded. “Do you know how long I’ve been a member of this club?”

The young waiter nodded, his features composed in a sympathetic manner.

“I do, sir,” he replied, lowering his voice in deference to Penelope’s presence, “but I have strict instructions from the club steward not to serve you with any more drinks until your subscriptions have been paid and the drinks bill settled in full.” 

“This is ridiculous,” Monty blustered. “I’m only a couple of weeks in arrears.”

“Three months, sir,” the waiter replied. He reached down and took the empty glass from Monty’s hand, placing it on his tray.

“The steward can be found in his office if you would like to discuss the matter further with him.”

Monty’s face fell like a child who had unwrapped a brightly-coloured Christmas present and found only coal. He turned to Penelope for assistance.

“It’s a trifling amount,” he told her. “If you could just—”

Penny rose to her feet, straightening her dress as she stood.

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon at two,” she replied firmly. “The address is Stanley House, 2 Egerton Gardens, South Kensington. I’ll send a telegraph ahead so that Lady Cambridge is expecting our arrival.”

With a mournful glance at his empty glass as the waiter bore it away, Monty slowly nodded his head.

Penelope turned and headed for the exit, her excitement mounting with every step that she took. Now she could start getting somewhere.

“I’ll speak to the steward on my way out,” she called back over her shoulder as the saloon doors closed behind her.

With Monty’s money worries for the moment taken care of, Penelope stepped out of his club with a new spring in her step. Now she just had to head back to the offices of
The Penny Dreadful
to write the telegram that would gain their admittance into Lady Cambridge’s home.

The fog that had clung to the streets since morning was clearing now, but Penny’s mind still swirled with questions. She was convinced that the key to unlocking this mystery lay with Lady Cambridge, but how exactly? Penny was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice the man walking in step beside her until he spoke.

“Been paying a visit to your uncle, Miss Tredwell?” the man enquired. “How is the illustrious Montgomery Flinch?”

Penelope’s gaze swivelled in surprise and she found herself looking up into the face of the
Pall Mall Gazette’s
inquisitive reporter, Mr Robert Barrett.

“When you said he was staying at his country house residence,” Barrett continued, casting a dismissive glance back at the worn façade of the gentlemen’s club, “I was expecting somewhere a little more luxurious.”

Penny’s mind raced as she quickened her step. How had Barrett found her here?

“Mr Flinch was called back to London on urgent business,” she replied, her mind struggling 
to keep pace with her mouth as she improvised desperately. “This gentlemen’s club is his place of residence in the city whilst he attends to matters at
The Penny Dreadful
.”

Barrett raised an eyebrow as he quickened his step to keep pace with Penny.

“I would have expected such a celebrated man of letters as Mr Flinch to be a member of the Arts Club or the Athenaeum, not such a low-rent establishment as Rathbone’s Club for Gentlemen of Leisure.”

Penelope sharpened her smile in reply.

“I’m really not familiar with the merits of different gentlemen’s clubs, Mr Barrett,” she quipped as she stepped smartly past a barrow being wheeled along the pavement.

“Of course, of course, it’s unfair for me to ask a young lady such a question,” said Barrett, holding his hands up in apology, as he dodged past the same barrow, “but there is just one small matter that I wonder if you could help me with.”

At the end of the street, Penelope saw a row of hansom cabs waiting for a fare. With a sigh, she grudgingly nodded her assent. She’d soon be in a cab back to
The Penny Dreadful
and have this nosy journalist out of her hair.

“It’s a puzzling trifle, but one that I’m sure you can explain,” Barrett continued with an inquisitive gleam in his eye. “Why is Montgomery Flinch listed on the membership rolls at Rathbone’s as a 
Mr Monty Maples?”

Penny stopped in her tracks, unable to hide the panicked look that flashed across her face. She’d told Monty to cover his tracks. If Barrett pulled too firmly on this one loose thread, then the whole plan could unravel. Her secret would be out and the world would know the truth about Montgomery Flinch. She couldn’t let that happen. Thinking on her feet, Penny turned to face Barrett.

“You don’t really think that a man of Montgomery Flinch’s fame would be able to keep his privacy if he put his real name on the rolls of his club?” she replied, her lips pursed in a scornful half-smile. “He’d spend all his time signing autographs rather than writing the stories that have made his name. Now if that’s all you wanted to ask me, Mr Barrett, then I’ll bid you good day.”

Barrett frowned, but before he had the chance to reply, Penelope had already turned on her heel. As she hurried towards the line of horse-drawn cabs, her smile quickly turned to a scowl.

Penny hailed the nearest hansom and clambered up into the cab before Barrett could follow her.

“The offices of
The Penny Dreadful
,” she told the cabman. “38 Bedford Street, just off the Strand.”

As the driver whipped his horses into life and the cab clattered across the cobbles, Penny 
settled into her seat with a frown. Barrett’s prying questions were getting too close for comfort. She needed to shake him off Montgomery Flinch’s tail for good. Her fingers drummed against the seat’s upholstery as her mind searched for a solution.

The answer came to her in an instant. When she got back to the office, she wouldn’t just write a telegram to Lady Cambridge, but also one to Barrett’s editor at the
Pall Mall Gazette
. It was time to give this pestering paper their exclusive interview with Montgomery Flinch, but on her terms. And that meant throwing this busybody journalist off the story and out of the picture. Otherwise, the Gazette could say goodbye forever to the pots of money
The Penny Dreadful
spent on advertising in its pages.

The cab driver turned right into Trafalgar Square. From the window of the cab, Penny could see Nelson’s Column, the top of the towering monument still wreathed in mist. She sank back into her seat with a satisfied sigh. With Barrett out of the way, she’d be able to concentrate on solving the strange mystery that haunted Bedlam. Tomorrow, she would pay a visit to Lady Cambridge and find out if she had any answers.