Chapter 12

Cecilia found she was tired when the matron showed her to her room. She didn’t like that the fatigue was real. The walk she and Sarsh had taken to the linen drapers that morning, while healthy, sapped her energy.

The room assigned to her was small but well-appointed, decorated in shades of blue, burgundy, and cream. It looked as if it might have at one time been part of a larger room divided in half. The drapery and bed curtains were in shades of blue, the walls covered in wallpaper with a subtle floral print. The furniture was red mahogany, its burgundy tone carried forward in the rug on the floor, the tufted velvet headboard, and with burgundy color brushed across the raised designs of the cornice pieces otherwise painted in a cream tone as was the door. She looked at the narrow bed and sighed ruefully. She hadn’t slept in a narrow single bed since she’d been a child. She would miss James in the night.

“I trust this will suit you, Lady Branstoke,” said the matron. “Should you need anything, you have only to pull this bell pull and either I, or one of the floor maids will answer.”

“Everything looks lovely, thank you.”

“Dinner is served in the grand dining hall at five. I shall return to show you the way. You are looking fatigued. I suggest you rest until then. Time enough for meeting others later,” the matron said. She walked toward the door. “Is there anything else you need now?”

“No, not at all,” Cecilia said. “I plan to do as you suggested and lay down for a rest.”

“Very good, ma’am,” the matron said as she closed the door behind her.

Cecilia sat down at the edge of the bed. She saw her portmanteau had preceded her into the room and was sitting on a bureau. She removed her shoes and laid back against two pillows.

Cecilia didn’t know how long she slept until a faint scuffling close by woke her. She carefully opened her eyes without moving. Over by the bureau, she saw a young girl stealthily attempting to open her portmanteau. She watched her. The child looked about eight to ten years old. Her brown hair was pulled back away from her face and fell in ringlets down her back. She wore a plain cream-colored dress with one deep flounce at the hem. On her feet were serviceable black boots.

The child glanced toward her as she silently opened the case and saw Cecilia watching her. She squealed and jumped away from the bureau.

“I…I…” she floundered, then turned and ran from the room, throwing the door to Cecilia’s room open with a loud bang.

“Stop!” Cecilia called after her. From out in the hall somewhere she heard a woman’s voice call out, “Liddy! What have you been up to?”

Cecilia swung her feet to the floor and put her shoes on, then walked to the door and looked down the hall. A woman stood in the middle of the hall, turned away from Cecilia, looking in the direction the young girl fled. She hitched her shawl up her shoulder and shook her head. She turned in Cecilia’s direction.

“Who was that girl?” Cecilia asked the woman as she walked out into the hall.

“Miss Lydia, or as we here call her, Liddy,” the woman replied.

“She lives here?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I woke up to see her in my room trying to get into my portmanteau.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The woman walked up to Cecilia. “I’m Lady Stackpoole, but please call me Julia. Many of us are quite informal here.”

“Benjamin Stackpoole’s mother!” Cecilia exclaimed.

“Yes. How do you know my son?”

“I beg your pardon. I am Lady Branstoke, you can call me Cecilia. We met your son on our way here. He had suffered a carriage accident.”

“Accident? Was he all right? Where was this?” Julia wrung her hands. “That is what I do dislike about being here, missing my son,” she lamented.

“He survived the accident with just a sprained wrist. He’d been on his way to see you.”

“To see me? It isn’t time for his quarterly visit. Why would he be coming to see me now?”

“Because of Mr. Montgomery.”

“Malcolm Montgomery from here? His death you mean? But why would Mr. Montgomery be of interest to Benjamin?—No, wait,” she said, looking around the hall. “Let’s go into my room to talk,” she said looking around the broad hall. “More private. In our small piece of the world, everyone is curious about everything around us, and poor Mr. Montgomery’s death has been on all tongues since it happened.” She led Cecilia into her small room and carefully shut the door after them.

Lady Stackpoole’s room appeared as a mirror of Cecilia’s, save for the coloring. Whereas Cecila’s room was blue with cream and burgundy, Lady Stackpoole’s was shades of green, cream, and burgundy. There were several large planters in her room as well, filled with ferns and small palms. They reminded Cecilia of the plants in Soothcoor’s stepmother’s conservatory at Appleton—without the poisonous Gloriosa Superba plants she’d discovered there. A small painting of a younger Benjamin Stackpoole stood on the fireplace mantle.

Cecilia crossed to the fireplace to look at the picture closely. “When was this painted? He looks much older now.”

Julia joined Cecilia by the mantle. She smiled in affectionate memory. “He is. He was seventeen in that picture before he went to university. Now he wants to travel the world while serving his country on diplomatic missions,” she said with pride.

“Which, I gather from Mr. Stackpoole, his father opposes.”

Julia’s face fell. “Yes, this is true. Be assured, Benjamin will not bow to his father’s edicts. It has become a subject of estrangement between my husband and Benjamin.”

“Are you aware Mr. Stackpoole has a fiancée?”

“A fiancée! Last time he was here, he said there was a young lady he was courting but wouldn’t say anything more until he’d asked for her hand. I take it he has asked and she said yes? Is that why he was coming to see me?” Excitement crept back into Julia’s voice.

“I am probably speaking out of turn as this is your son’s tale to relate; however, I will admit Baron Stackpoole opposed the match initially because the young lady is Scottish.”

“Scottish?!”

“Yes. I do not know Aileen—that is her name—or her siblings. I only know her mother, Mrs. Montgomery.”

“Montgomery?” Julia stared at her.

“Yes,”

Julia worried the fingertips of her left hand together. “Do you know if my Benjamin’s fiancée’s family has any relation to our Mr. Malcolm Montgomery?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Aileen Montgomery is his daughter.”

Julia sat abruptly down on the foot of her bed. Her brows drew together, and she shook her head as she considered what Cecilia told her. “It was our understanding,” she said slowly and carefully, “that Mr. Montgomery was single, that he’d never married.”

Cecilia sat down by the window in the room’s lone chair. “The story is more convoluted than that.”

“If you mean about the multiple people he believed himself to be? Most everyone here knew about them and indulged him.”

“Is that how you saw them, as people he believed himself to be?”

“Yes, a way for him to express his emotions. When he was angry, he believed himself to be someone named Archie, a most vile person who gave him liberty to act outrageously. I told him on several occasions that pretending to be another person does not absolve him from his behavior and he should be ashamed of himself.”

“What was his reaction to your scolding?” Cecilia asked.

She laughed abruptly. “He’d merely bow his head and say, of course, I was right, and apologize—not that that ever stopped him from pretending to be Archie!”

“Did you ever say anything to Dr. Worcham about this inappropriate behavior?” Cecilia asked carefully.

“Several times! Dr. Worcham said that was part of Mr. Montgomery’s affliction, the inability to control himself. He encouraged all of us to endeavor to see we did nothing to cause Mr. Montgomery to take up that character. We didn’t mind Gregory when we met him. He was a polite sort, acting like a butler, or majordomo, doing for others in a subservient manner.”

Cecilia nodded, now wondering, what was the truth? When she thought of Mrs. Montgomery relating to her and James the night he found himself lusting for his own daughter, she feared the ‘others’ residing within him was more likely the truth of his illness.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“Come in!” called out Julia.

“Lady Stackpoole, have you seen…Oh! Lady Branstoke, here you are,” said Mildred, the matron who’d showed Cecilia to her room earlier. “I came to wake you for dinner and show you to the dining hall. I was rite concerned when I couldn’t find ya and your door bein’ open.”

“My apologies, Mildred. I woke and walked out into the hall where I met Lady Stackpoole. We just started talking and came in here,” Cecilia said.

“All right then. Would you like me to take you to the dining hall to get you oriented?”

“I’ll do that, Mildred,” Julia offered. “Imagine! She has met my son, so we have had a comfortable coze discussing him.”

“I guess that’s all right then,” the matron said slowly, frowning.

Cecilia cocked her head to the side. “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asked.

“Mr. Turnbull-Minchin doesn’t like patients in other patient’s rooms, is all.”

“Since when has that rule come about?” Julia asked. “On this floor, we have always visited each other, and I have visited the north dormitory to see Miss Dorn on several occasions.”

The matron shook her head. “That may be in the past; but, in the future he says as how as we are to discourage such visits. Visitin’ only to happen in common areas. But seenin’ as Lady Branstoke is new, it will be all right for now.”

Julia compressed her lips. “We shall see,” was all she said. She looked over at Cecilia. “Let’s go down to dinner. There are a couple of people I would like to introduce you to.”

“Dr. Worcham has ordered a light dinner for you, milady,” the matron told Cecilia. “Said yur to go straight to bed after dinner, too. Doesn’t want too much excitement for ya yur first night here. I’ll see that it’s brought to where ya sit with Lady Stackpoole.”

“Thank you,” Cecilia said.

The dining hall surprised Cecilia. It was one half of the former monastery chapel, a wall dividing it down the middle through where the altar would have been. It made for a pleasant dining room as the wide, tall chapel windows were not all stained glass. At their arched peaks were stained-glass biblical stories while the rest of the window glass was beveled clear glass that let in light and provided a view of the east Camden House grounds and, further, over the canal to the fens beyond.

“This is a pleasant room for a dining hall,” Cecilia observed.

Julia agreed. “In the morning,” she said, “the stained glass that’s at the top of the window arches can glow with the morning light, if it is sunny, and reflect color on the opposite side of the room. A very nice breakfast and wake-up room. But not so much,” she added with a laugh, “if it is a gloomy day.”

“What’s in the other half of the chapel,” Cecilia asked as they took a seat.

“The chapel dormitory. It’s a men’s dormitory,” Julia said. “Don’t get used to this service,” she added as women came around with plates of food to serve all. “Mr. Turnbull-Minchin says this is a luxury that other sanatoriums don’t have. As of next week, our food service will be buffet style.”

“I understand from things Mr. Stackpoole told my husband and me, and from what you have said, that Mr. Turnbull-Minchin has made many changes since he arrived here.”

She nodded. “Many,” she said, her voice heavy with displeased meaning. “Ah, here come some of my friends, and Liddy is with them so you can meet the miscreant who invaded your room,” she finished, her voice changing to indulgent pleasure.

“The older woman majestically leading the way is Mrs. Vance. Hilda Vance. Mrs. Vance’s family claims she has dementia. She doesn’t, but she likes it here, so doesn’t fight them about it. Yet, now they want to take charge of all her money and control everything. She is preparing for that fight by revealing secrets about them. In other words, she is planning to resort to blackmail to get them to leave her alone.”

Cecilia suppressed a laugh and decided she was going to like Mrs. Vance.

“The gentleman escorting her is Mr. Quetal. Mr. Quetal had a nervous breakdown six months ago. He was the estate agent for an impecunious new heir to a peerage. The heir harangued and pressured him to make the young man’s new estate solvent, but the heir kept spending money the estate didn’t have. Mr. Quetal tried desperately to do a good job. He cracked under the pressure—especially when threatened with the loss of his job without a referral.”

Cecilia studied the man. About thirty, she thought, a little too thin, but not worrisomely so. His brown hair thinned at the top of his head. What was nice to see was how he didn’t stoop. He walked with his shoulders back, and the manner of his attire was conservative but neat.

On the man’s other arm, he escorted Miss Liddy. The young girl had obviously changed clothes and had her hair attended to. She aped Mrs. Vance in her posture, looking over at her from time to time. What Cecilia hadn’t seen before was the port wine stain birthmark that wrapped halfway around her left eye and came down in an arc across her cheek to just below her ear.

“Can you believe little Liddy is here because her mother can’t stand to look at her?” Julia whispered.

Cecilia’s head turned sharply to look at Julia in shock then back to the threesome approaching the table. Behind them were two others, a frazzled strawberry blonde in a plain brown gown and a beautiful young man—there could be no other words to describe him—in an elegantly tailored suit of a rich blue over a waistcoat of figured pale-blue silk.

Julia introduced Cecilia to Mrs. Vance, Mr. Quetal, and Liddy. As they were taking seats, she introduced her to Miss Dorn and Mr. Hobart.

Cecilia nodded to them, then hurried to grab her handkerchief out of the long sleeve of her dress. She could feel the pressure of another cough coming. And she’d had so few this day. She turned her head and coughed into her handkerchief, then turned back to the others at the table.

“My apologies!” she said, her voice hoarse, another cough threatening. “I promise you my illness is past.”

“Yet the cough won’t say goodbye, so naughty,” said Mrs. Vance. “I have experienced the same.”

“Thank you for understanding,” Cecilia said. “I just can’t seem to recover completely. That’s why I’m here.”

“It’s always nice to meet new people; however, I hope for your sake it is a short acquaintance,” Mrs. Vance said, reaching across to pat her hand.

“You’re too kind,” Cecilia said meekly.

“And what she is not telling you is she is enceinte as well,” Julia said.

Next to Mrs. Vance, Miss Dorn let out a yowl of anguish and began to cry. She stumbled out of her chair, knocking it over as she turned to run from the room. All eyes followed her exit except for Mrs. Vance’s. She looked up and rolled her pale-gray eyes, then looked over at Julia.

“Julia, my dear, that was ill-done.”

Julia had the grace to look contrite. “It was not done out of malice, and it is true. Miss Dorn needs to learn not to react so strongly,” she said.

“Excuse me, what happened? Why did Miss Dorn start to cry and run from the room?” Cecilia asked. She noted the men looked studiously down.

“She lost her baby, now she cries when she hears of another woman having a baby,” little Liddy said shrugging, her young, singsong voice carrying across the room. She took a bite of buttered bread as all eyes in the room turned from following Miss Dorn out of the room to Liddy’s pronouncement.

“Hush, child,” Mrs. Vance gently reprimanded.

“Why?” Liddy asked, her voice softer. Her head tilted to the side. “It’s true. And she’s always wanting a baby or saying she’s going to have a baby when she’s not.”

“We know, dear, she’s just having a difficult time right now,” Mrs. Vance said.

Liddy shrugged. “She even asked Mr. Montgomery if he would give her a baby. He said no and told her he’d report her to Dr. Worcham if she kept bothering him.”

“Quite right of Mr. Montgomery,” said Julia with a definitive nod. “He had standards too high to deal with the likes of her,” she finished.

Liddy looked at Julia, a sly expression on her face. “Then she said she bet Archie would.”

“What!” Julia exclaimed. Both Mr. Quetal and Mr. Hobart looked aside to hide a laugh. Mrs. Vance closed her eyes and shook her head.

“When did this occur?” Cecilia asked softly.

“A couple of days before he died…I miss him,” Liddy said, slumping in her chair.

Cecilia’s thoughts went into a whirl. While the other men might find the idea of Mr. Montgomery’s playacting persona allowing this woman to believe his character would bed her, Cecilia knew the Archie inside Mr. Montgomery could well act upon baser instincts. None of these people knew Mr. Montgomery’s true turmoil. They would likely think of him as some monster if they did know. What had been Miss Dorn’s experience with Archie? And if she couldn’t get Archie to come out, could she have killed him in a fit of anger? She was a sturdily built woman. Did she have the physicality to do that? Or could she have acquired another lover—a jealous lover—here at the sanatorium? Cecilia didn’t know, but she would like to talk to Miss Dorn about Mr. Montgomery and Archie. Did she see him again after their discussion? Did she see or hear anything that could provide clues as to how he died?

“Did you see Mr. Montgomery often, Liddy?” Cecilia asked, her voice cracking around another threatening cough.

“Oh, yes! He was teaching me maths. I saw him every day in the library or outside if the weather was nice—unless he had appointments with Dr. Worcham.”

Another paroxysm of coughing gripped Cecilia, try as she might to hold it back. Matron Mildred heard her and came over.

“Lady Branstoke, I am concerned to hear you cough so. Too much excitement for your first day. I heard from Mrs. Worcham how you were in the village today, too. Best you return to your room now and have an early night. That is why you are here, after all. Lots of rest. I’ll have a floor maid bring you a tisane to help you sleep.”

The others at the table chorused in solicitous comments, encouraging her to retire. Cecilia had no choice but to acquiesce. She had so many questions to ask about Mr. Montgomery and who he associated with! But she acknowledged she was tired, and her chest and throat hurt from her coughing. She really thought she had been getting better. Perhaps an early sleep would help her. She could be of no help to Soothcoor if her sickness relapsed. Time for bed. She rose from her chair and bid the others good night.