There was no one in the passage, by the stairs, or in the hall to bid him farewell. I threw a blanket around my shoulders and went out to the ambulance they had sent for him. In the end, I put the blanket around him on the bed to which he was chained, for there was nothing to cover him against the cold.
The driver waited impatiently, and I could see clearly what it was he was thinking-that I was wasting pity on a man who should have been hanged, if his family hadn’t had the money or position to send him to an asylum for the insane instead.
I went back into the house and slammed the door, unwilling to watch the ambulance pull away and turn back the way it had come.
Timothy appeared at the head of the stairs.
“He’s gone, then.”
“An animal would have been treated better,” I snapped without thinking about the fact that I was a guest here and should hold no opinions about circumstances of which I was ignorant.
“He is an animal,” Timothy said. “You saw him ill and weak. Not in his full strength.”
“I’m a nurse,” I said, trying to rein in my anger. “Not a keeper. I look at a patient, not a prisoner.”
“As you did with Booker.”
“Yes.”
“Which says much about your capacity for compassion.”
Timothy turned away and was gone.
I went back to the room to clear away the bedding and the spirit lamp and what was left of the broth, but Susan was there before me.
She said, “I’ll boil these sheets, Miss, and see that everything’s put away.”
I thanked her and went about collecting my own things.
“We was all amazed that he didn’t die. Mrs. Graham said it must be your fine nursing that did it. To tell truth, I don’t know how you could bear it!”
“He was ill. A nurse doesn’t ask who her patient is, or if he’s acceptable in Society.”
“No, Miss. I think his mother would have preferred to see him dead. It was a terrible blow to the family, to have a son of the house taken up for murder.”
“I don’t understand why he wasn’t sent to prison-or hanged.”
“Because he was so young and never right in his mind, Miss. And the doctor and the rector and his tutor all spoke to the magistrate. It was decided that the asylum was for the best.”
“But who did he murder?”
“I don’t know, Miss. It didn’t happen here. Mrs. Graham had taken him to London, to see a specialist. He hadn’t been well, there was nausea and vomiting, and he walked like a drunken man, hardly able to keep his feet. Dr. Hadley didn’t know what else to do. When she came home from there, she was as distraught as I’ve ever seen her, and Mr. Peregrine was locked in a room at the rectory. She sent for the rector and then for the magistrate, and I never saw Mr. Peregrine again, not even when they brought him here the other night. Mrs. Nichols and I were told to stay belowstairs.”
“And then what happened? After Mrs. Graham spoke to these people?”
“He was taken away. And Mrs. Graham cried for days. It was the saddest thing.”
“Arthur was here?”
“Oh, yes, Miss, as grim as I ever saw him. He didn’t speak to anyone for days. Master Timothy tried to comfort his mother, he kept putting his little arm around her shoulders. Master Jonathan paced the floor until Mr. Robert came and spoke to him, and after that he was quiet. Still, he sat in his room, pale as his shirt, worrying about his mother because she was crying. I tried to tell him that she was a strong woman, she’d be all right. But he wouldn’t hear me. He was angry with everyone, because he didn’t understand what was happening. Mr. Robert explained that Master Peregrine had been taken away because he was ill in his mind, but they were too young, they blamed him for everything, especially for having to cut their holiday in London short. But Mrs. Graham was strong, she stood up to all of it like the lady she is. All the gossip, the stares. I heard her tell Mr. Robert that those were the worst days she’d ever lived through. No soldier could have been braver. I couldn’t help but admire her.”
“But what about the victim, the person he murdered? Surely the victim’s family came to the inquest and gave evidence against him?”
Susan was confused. “I don’t know-I never heard they were there. And she wasn’t killed here. That’s why the inquest was in London.”
“What was the finding?” I asked.
“I don’t know, Miss, I wasn’t there. But Mrs. Graham came home, her face red from crying. Mr. Peregrine was already in the asylum, had been for days, and she told us all that he’d never leave it, he’d stay where he couldn’t harm anyone else.”
I was more than a little confused. “The inquest was held in London, but Mr. Peregrine had already been taken away?”
“Yes, Miss, it was decided in London that he was in no state to be shut into a prison. There was a doctor at the asylum who treated such cases, and it was his opinion that Mr. Peregrine should be brought to him straightaway. That doctor, and Dr. Hadley, here, the rector, the tutor, the local magistrate, they all sent depositions to London, asking that Mr. Peregrine remain in that asylum where he could be cared for properly. I heard Mrs. Graham tell Dr. Hadley it was a great kindness. She said she couldn’t have faced her husband in heaven, if she’d let his son go to the hangman. But I don’t think it would have come to that. I don’t think they’ve hanged anyone his age in a hundred years. Not at Maidstone, they hadn’t.”
I shivered at the thought. “How old did you say he was?”
“He wasn’t even fifteen when it happened and not well, in the bargain. If he’d been taken away and put into prison, it would have been a terrible burden for the family to carry, wouldn’t it?” She collected the bundle of sheets. “I’ve said enough, more than I should.”
I handed her the pillow slips that I’d been removing, and asked, “You aren’t going to have to do all these by yourself, are you?”
“No, Miss, thank you for asking. There’s a laundress comes to see to the washing and ironing.”
After Susan had gone, I stood in the empty room and thought about the man who had lain so ill in that bed.
Perhaps it wasn’t the first time Peregrine Graham had attacked someone. But that was neither here nor there. His brothers had had to grow up in the shadow of his crime of murder, and it must have been exceedingly difficult. While Peregrine had for the most part been civil and seemed perfectly sane, as far as I could judge, who knew what lay beneath the surface? I had glimpsed the force of his anger once, and that had been enough.
It was to his credit that Peregrine acknowledged what he’d done. He hadn’t tried to pretend to me that he was an innocent man, or that he didn’t deserve his fate. He knew very well that he must return to the asylum, and he went back peaceably. But his family, knowing his history better than I did, must have spent a good many uncomfortable nights while he was under their roof.
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN WE GATHERED in the dining room for our noon meal, Mrs. Graham was profuse in her apologies for using a guest so poorly, and added her gratitude for saving her son’s life. I wasn’t sure I believed the latter. The Grahams could decently mourn the dead, and admit that they’d loved him. Even if they choked on the words.
How would my own parents feel if I were taken up for murder?
A sobering thought that made the Grahams’ dilemma strike home. And yet I couldn’t forget that they had protected themselves-at whose expense?
“My training wasn’t solely for the battlefield, Mrs. Graham. I was taught to work with the sick as well,” I reminded her.
“We heard almost nothing from the sickroom except the endless sound of his coughing. Did-was Peregrine able to speak? I worry that they were treating him well, that he’d had proper care.”