No Escape Page 4

  With a muttered curse Jane stooped, to gather them up. There were strings of beads of varying lengths and colour, earrings to match some of the beads, an artificial pearl necklace, a very pretty marquesite bracelet and brooch. Besides all these there were a few worthless objects, bits of table decoration, trinkets from Christmas trees, obviously sentimental souvenirs of dances and parties that girls of Sheila’s disposition hoard and treasure.

  When Jane had filled and fastened the suitcases she took them on to the landing. There was no sign of Mrs Coates either there or on the stairs, but she heard voices from the hall, one a man’s, and concluded rightly that another visitor must have arrived.

  She hesitated. Perhaps the man would carry down the suitcases, while she took the overcoat and mackintosh. She could not possibly manage the lot in one journey. But if it was only a tradesman below, or worse still a prospective lodger, he would almost certainly be unwilling to help. Moreover, Mrs Coates would be annoyed and might become disobliging. Besides, the cases were not locked. If the man came up and handled them he would probably discover this and might help himself to some of the contents while she went upstairs again to take a final look at the room before leaving. Jane reproved herself for taking such a poor view of her fellow-men, but she carried the two suitcases down herself.

  A man several inches taller than the tall Mrs Coates was standing in the hall, supporting his weight by a hand against the wall, and smoking a cigarette. He had a thin face with regular features and dark grey eyes, well-brushed dark hair and a neat suit, with a shabby raincoat pushed back from his shoulders. If he had not been standing in such a careless, negligent fashion, Jane would have thought she recognised a plain-clothes policeman. But unless he was putting on a very careful act, she decided, she must be mistaken.

  His first words supported this, also his behaviour. For he heaved himself away from the wall, pulled up the raincoat, which was hampering his arms and stepped forward.

  “Let me take those,” he said, quietly. “You oughtn’t to have lugged them both down at once.”

  The voice was pleasant, the manner agreeable, if a little too confident.

  “I’m a friend of Miss Burgess’s,” he said forestalling Jane, answering the question that had leaped at once into her eyes. “Mrs Coates tells me she’s ill in hospital and you are also a friend of hers. Did she get in touch with you? None of us—I’m a friend of the family, you see—have had a word from her.”

  Jane hesitated.

  “Actually I hadn’t seen her for ages,” she said, stalling, not answering his question. “I was very surprised when—when I did see her.”

  This was true, if not explicit. The stranger frowned. Mrs Coates intervened, holding out a folded piece of paper.

  “Here’s the receipt you wanted, miss. I’ve told Mr Stone she’s paid up her room to the end of the week.”

  She fixed a stern eye on Jane.

  “I’d be obliged, miss, if you’d see the rest of her things is taken out by Saturday. I’ll be wanting the room come Monday.”

  “Oh, but—” Jane was too shocked to go on.

  “It’s no use your arguing,” Mrs Coates said. “She’s not sent hut one week’s rent and how do I know when shell be back or how she’ll pay in future, if she’s ill and that?”

  It was hard sense and clearly Mrs Coates was not a woman to be swayed by sentiment of any kind. Jane was roused by the man’s voice.

  “Mrs Coates should have introduced me properly to you. My name is Stone. Gerald Stone. I know the Burgesses. Have known them for years. Sheila’s parents live in Reading.”

  This was correct. An address in Reading had been on the letter Jane had posted the night before. She felt relieved. Some of her strange unwanted responsibility could be shared.

  “I see.” she said. “Well, I wonder if you’d mind very much getting hold of a taxi for me while I run up to Sheila’s room to get her mac and coat. I won’t be a minute.”

  “I have my car outside,” Stone said. “It’s entirely at your service.”

  “Oh, but I can’t—”

  No one must know I’m leaving hospital, Sheila had said. No one must know I’m going from Paddington. But that was absurd, Jane thought, as she hurried upstairs again. Mrs Coates must guess, had already done so and as for Mr Stone, Gerald Stone, nice name, he knew her parents. He was a valuable link, surely? He ought to speak to Tim.

  Back in Sheila’s room Jane, feeling more alive, more strenuous than when she first entered it, took a swift look round, partly to see what was left to take away before Saturday, partly to check on anything she had forgotten. Gloves. Better take the warm ones. The others were very fancy, very horrid. Anything under the bed, anything that had rolled away out of the jewel box?

  She got down on her hands and knees. The light was poor, but she saw something near the wall beside one of the legs of the bed. She pulled it out. It was a roll of film, used but undeveloped, of a make she did not know, probably not retail, tightly fastened with an extra strip of plain green paper to make sure it could not come undone. Jane slipped it into the pocket of her jacket, fastened her duffle outside, hung Sheila’s coats over one arm and ran downstairs again.

  Gerald Stone was in the hall, waiting. The suitcases had disappeared.

  “They’re in my boot,” he said. “Come along.”

  Mrs Coates had gone.

  “She was tired of waiting,” he said, one hand under Jane’s elbow.

  “Good-bye, Mrs Coates!” the girl called. “And thank you!”

  Outside in the road a long low sports car stood at the kerb. Jane got into the passenger seat.

  “Where to, Miss Wheelan?”

  Mrs Coates must have given him her name. She was sure she had not. She hesitated. If she gave the name of the hospital she would have to take the big suitcase to Paddington later, because Sheila had asked her to leave it there and also to buy her a ticket. It would mean less bother and delay tomorrow, Sheila said, though how that worked out except in relation to the ticket, Jane did not understand. But if she asked him to go to Paddington first he would know Sheila’s intention. Jane had promised to tell no one.

  “The West Kensington Hospital,” she said. “That’s where Sheila is at present.”

  He said nothing, did not even look round at her, but drove off swiftly with almost ostentatious skill. At the first red lights he turned to her, his face lit now with boyish pride.

  “Like my car?” he asked and laughed.

  “Of course,” she answered, laughing too. Bless his heart, she thought, he’s human, after all.

  Chapter Four

  Jane led the way into the front hall of the hospital, her companion following with the two suitcases. As he put them down she said, holding out her hand, “I can’t thank you enough. Don’t wait. You’re parked in the Staff reserved bay, so the sooner you’re out of it the better. I’ll tell Sheila of all your kindness.”

  A shade of annoyance crossed Stone’s face.

  “No. Don’t do that. She might think I was interfering. Unless—” He paused and went on, “unless I could just see her for a minute. Literally one minute.”

  “I’m sorry. She’s not allowed any outside visitors at all. And anyway it’s right out of visiting hours at the moment.”

  “Then don’t say anything. Not even that I went to her digs.”

  He took Jane’s hand, holding it still when the formal leave-taking clasp was over.

  “It is good to know Sheila has a friend like you, Miss—”

  “Wheelan. Jane Wheelan.”

  “Of course. Jane. I’d like—”

  She was aware of a presence behind them. Pulling her hand away she turned to see Timothy Long in his white coat, moving out of the head porter’s office near the front door.

  “Thought I knew the voice,” he said, cheerfully. “What’s that? Sheila’s luggage?”

  “Yes.” she answered, feeling unaccountably embarrassed. “This is a friend of hers. We met at her place. Mr
Stone, Dr Long.”

  The two men shook hands warily.

  “I’m glad to know she has some London friends,” Tim said. “Outside the hospital, I mean.”

  I Jane began, “It was Dr Long who—” but a savage look from Tim silenced her. Gerald Stone smiled.

  “I’m not to be allowed into the mystery, I see. Never mind. I’ll get it from the Burgesses—in Reading.”

  “He knows her parents,” Jane explained.

  “I see. Are you going down there?”

  “I’m not sure. I want to help any way I can.”

  “Well, she leaves here tomorrow and as far as I know she’s going straight home. She’s written to her people to say so. At least I presume that’s what she put in her letter. So if you ring them up you can get all the latest gen, can’t you?”

  Timothy’s voice was perfectly polite but there was unveiled antagonism in the look with which he regarded the other man.

  “Thanks,” said Stone, quietly. “Thanks a lot.”

  He nodded briefly and turned away. Jane went with him to repeat her thanks for the lift and see him start his car. Timothy, left alone in the hall with the two suitcases, stood looking after them.

  He was raging inwardly and his surprise at finding himself in this state only augmented it. That smooth operator was no surprise acquaintance as Jane had led him to believe. A man you had only met a couple of hours before did not hold your hand and gaze into your eyes with a goofy expression. And that was what he had seen from the porter’s office when he was on the telephone there, listening to words of wisdom from Beech-Thomas. No, she knew him all right. After all, why shouldn’t she, since she was a friend of Sheila’s? He reminded himself that the friendship had been broken for several years, according to Jane. So perhaps— He swung round, still angry, still puzzled and walked off to the common room in the residents’ quarters.

  Having seen the sports car sail away through the main gates Jane went in again to the hall. She found the head porter stooping over the suitcases with an expression of strong disapproval on his face.

  “I haven’t abandoned them,” she said, gaily.

  “I’m glad of that, miss.” The porter smiled at her. He liked Miss Wheelan and was sorry for her and for the other girls under Miss Gleaning, who was not loved by any of the non-medical staff.

  “They belong to Bed 12 in Alexandra,” she said.

  “Miss X. I know. The Press have been up again. Can’t seem to lay off. Inquisitive—” He sought for the polite equivalent of what he would naturally say, but let it go.

  “Quite,” said Jane. “Anyway, she’s leaving tomorrow, so can I park the big case with you until then? I’ll take the other one up to the ward.”

  The porter tried the locks on the case.

  “This here’s open,” he said, severely.

  “I know. She lost her keys with her handbag in the—er—the accident.”

  “It’ll be at her own risk,” the porter said. “I’m not down here all day. I’ll tell my mate to keep an eye, but with the comings and goings—you know what it is.”

  “Of course,” Jane assured him. “But Sister would have a fit if I tried to take it into the ward.”

  “Alexandra? You’re right there. You take the little one, miss, and I’ll put this fellow out of sight somewhere. Tomorrow morning, did you say?”

  She had not said it to him, but Tim had told Gerald Stone, and no doubt the porter had heard. The porters heard everything that went on in the hall. Everyone knew that. It spoke well for their loyalty that they never gave anything away to outsiders.

  “Well, yes, tomorrow morning as far as I know,” she answered cautiously. “I mean, unless there’s a relapse or she alters her plans.”

  Jane went away and changed into her white coat, though she was off-duty. Then she went up to Alexandra Ward. Sister was pleased to see her.

  “Yes, you can go in,” she said, with relief in her voice. “She’s been getting hysterical again. Really, I think they ought to persuade her to go away for treatment as a voluntary patient. It’s obviously mental.”

  Jane disagreed but said nothing. She found Sheila sitting up in bed staring in front of her, the old listless expression on her face again.

  “Well, here I am,” Jane said, cheerfully.

  “Pull the curtains,” Sheila answered sinking back on her pillows.

  Jane did so and in the seeming privacy of the cubicle drew her chair close to the bed and described her afternoon, her conversation with Mrs Coates, her success with the packing and her encounter with Gerald Stone. In spite of his instructions she felt she was justified in disregarding them. Something must be done to pull Sheila out of her present apathy.

  She was only too successful. At the first mention of his name the girl shrank down in the bed, covering the lower part of her face with her hand in a gesture Jane had seen several times and which appeared to express an extreme horror.

  “You do know him?” Jane asked gently, puzzled by the unexpected and violent response.

  Sheila nodded.

  “He said he knew your family. Is that true, too?”

  With an effort the girl murmured, “He’s met them, yes.”

  “But he’s not an old friend of theirs?”

  “Is that what he said?”

  “Not exactly. Not in so many words. But I gathered he meant it. Was he making it up to impress me?”

  “No. Why should he?”

  Sheila’s hand dropped back on to the bed. The look of hopeless despair was on her face again and for the first time Jane began to have serious doubts of her sanity. But she attempted once more to get at the real cause of the girl’s condition.

  “I wish you could trust us here,” she began. “You know we only want to help you. At least you could tell me. You know me. I don’t live in the hospital. I’m sure I could help you if you’d let me.”

  “No one can help me,” said Sheila, dully. In the same quiet voice she went on, “I’ll be all right when I get home. I’ll go for a job in Reading and live with Mum and Dad. If they’ll only leave me alone.”

  “Who? Your Mum and Dad? Or the Press? You mean the newspapers, I suppose?”

  “The newspapers?”

  “You said ‘If they’ll only leave me alone.’ Did you mean journalists or who did you mean? Tell me, Sheila! Please, please tell me!”

  They were back where they started, with Sheila cowering on the pillows, speechless, shaking.

  Jane gave up. She had learned nothing and she no longer trusted Sheila to speak the truth, even about her immediate plans. If they let her go tomorrow, would she travel to Reading or would she dive straight back into her bedsitter in Shepherd’s Bush? She might even dive straight back into the Thames.

  As she left the cubicle, she saw Sister at the end of the ward and went up to her. Sister was not helpful. She was a plump, motherly-looking person, but she clearly had no maternal feelings for Bed 12.

  “You can tear yourself to pieces for that type of girl,” she said, “but you get nowhere in the end. Nowhere at all.”

  “But surely she isn’t fit to leave hospital?”

  “I thought you disagreed with me when I said so just now? Not that I want to keep her in my ward. We aren’t a psychiatric unit. Physically she’s fit enough. Or as fit as many are that do leave.”

  “Her strapping isn’t off yet.” Jane was now convinced that Sheila ought to stay where she was.

  “Her strapping came off this morning. A good old strapping rash right round to her back.” Sister gave a short laugh. “Trust her to be allergic.”

  “You don’t like her, do you? I think she’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Sister sighed.

  “You know her, of course. I’ve got three genuinely pathetic cases in this ward. Tragedies, all of them. They don’t compare with Miss Burgess. They want to live, for one thing, and they won’t be able to.”

  It was what Miss Gleaning had said. Jane only felt the more obstinat
e.

  “I still think she needs to stay a bit longer.”

  “It rests with her as much as anything,” Sister said. “We can’t hold her, you realise that? She wants to go, there’s nothing wrong with her now physically, her mental state isn’t extreme enough for a compulsion order, so there’s nothing we can do, is there?”

  Still hating Sister’s complacent tone, Jane had to agree. She looked back down the ward. Sheila, her curtains drawn back again, was beckoning to her with an agitated hand. She went to her and as soon as she reached Bed 12 Sheila caught hold of her, drew her down close and asked in a whisper, “Where are my things? You didn’t give me my things!”

  “Your clothes for wearing tomorrow are in the small suitcase I’ve left with Sister. The rest of your clothes and the things out of your top drawer are in the big suitcase. It’s in charge of the head porter at the main entrance. It’ll be quite safe there.”

  “I thought you were going to put it in the left luggage at Paddington and bring me the ticket.”

  “Well, as Mr Stone was driving me back from your place I didn’t like to ask him to go so far out of his way. Besides, you didn’t want anyone to know where you were going.”

  “He’d know,” she said. “You told him I was going home.”

  “Because he knew where your home was.”

  “So of course it’d be Paddington. He’d know,” she repeated, “but thanks all the same.” She looked sadly into Jane’s face. “That other case of mine. Where exactly has the porter got it? Will it be absolutely safe?”

  “It isn’t locked,” Jane said, truthfully, “because you haven’t got your keys. But it ought to be all right.”

  She regretted this speech immediately. Sheila pushed her away in one convulsive movement. Oh God, Jane thought, these crackpots! You never knew—

  “Please, Jane, bring it up here! I won’t feel safe with it down there near the entrance, not locked. Anyone could get at it. I daren’t leave it there! Please!”

  Jane was exasperated, but she clung to what patience she had left.

  “All right, I’ll get it. I don’t know what Sister will say. But I’ll bring it up. Do stop being so upset, Sheila. You’ll make yourself really ill if you go on fussing about nothing at all.”