Someone—someone was in his room.
His unsteady gaze rocked to and fro as a figure reached for him, pushing up his sleeve, and a stunning pain took hold.
Something was wrong...terribly wrong. Then all went dark.
Two
Two Days Later
ScotlandYardInspectorHenryField studied Hollowgate Heights from the coach window. Built from red brick, the sanatorium shone like a beacon in the late May sun, sitting atop a small knoll in Enfield, just north of London. According to their driver it had once been a grammar school; now it stood apart from the town behind an expanse of green lawn lined with a wrought-iron fence.
The place beckoned to those desperate enough to brave the unusual medical treatments offered within its walls. Its advertising had gained many patients and its miraculous cures had gained it a reputation. What might they discover inside, Henry pondered. Did it truly offer miracles, as many claimed, or did something more sinister lurk within?
“It appears surprisingly welcoming,” mused Mrs. Amelia Greystone, his companion on the relatively short journey from London via the new railway line.
Her quiet words drew Henry from his rapid thoughts. He was quickly growing accustomed to having the attractive widowat his side, their friendship over the last year or so blossoming from a tragic beginning to…well... He hoped the day would soon arrive when having her by his side was an even more frequent occurrence.
Once again, they were embarking on a potential investigation. Together.
Henry still had mixed feelings about that. The very last thing he wanted was for Amelia to be drawn into danger again, yet there seemed to be no way to escape it. The woman appeared fated to be involved in his murder investigations by one means or another.
“Surprisingly welcoming?” he asked, his gaze lingering on the purple hat with its wide ribbon tied beneath her chin. The hat matched her gown, the color making her skin glow with good health, her wide brown eyes sparkling.
Amelia smiled faintly. “After all we’ve heard about the place, I presumed it would look more sinister, like a prison, rather than a country estate.”
Arthur Taylor, the surgeon who performed postmortems for Scotland Yard, had mentioned his concern about the sanatorium to them just a few days ago. Apparently there had been a cancer patient who’d died there under what the medical expert considered to be mysterious circumstances. That had been enough to prompt Amelia to request Henry accompany her to the establishment. A friend of Amelia’s beloved aunt was apparently a patient, hence the reason for this trip to ensure the friend’s well-being.
The stated reason, that was. With no actual evidence to justify opening an investigation, either into the cancer patient’sdeath or this friend of Amelia’s aunt, this trip was merely to gather information. Perhaps they would find Amelia’s friend in good health and Arthur’s concern all for naught.
Somehow, Henry had doubts that would be the case.
The coach soon rumbled to a halt before the broad sanatorium gates, and he alighted before helping Amelia to do the same.
“If you’d please wait, we won’t be long,” Henry told the driver, who tipped his hat in response.
“I hope we’ll be allowed to see Miss Elmcroft.” Amelia took his offered elbow as she studied the building. “I have been so worried about her since we spoke with Mr. Taylor.”
They’d enjoyed dinner with the surgeon and his wife just a few nights ago, which was when Arthur had mentioned his concern about the sanatorium—worries which had clearly not left Amelia ever since.
“As have I,” Henry said as they started up the walkway, their footsteps crunching on the gravel. “Although you mentioned your aunt received a letter from her?”
“Yes, but that was well over two weeks ago, shortly after Miss Elmcroft arrived. The letter was brief, only stating that she had settled in and started treatments. Aunt Margaret said she sounded quite…hopeful.” Amelia shook her head. “Though I understand Miss Elmcroft’s desire for better health, I’m not certain hydropathy and strict fasting are the answers.” She gave a mock shudder. “A steam bath is one thing, but some of the other methods are...well, they sound invasive, not to mention unappealing.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” From what Arthur had shared, hydropathy was a varied beast; it could involve taking cold or hotbaths, drinking significant quantities of water, or even enemas. Enemas might have been used to…well, to clear one’s system since the Ancient Egyptians and Greeks, but according to Arthur, they had never been proven to actually cure any disease.
The stately building had two wings, a slate roof, and tall windows with red drapes on the lower level. The smaller, upper windows all had simple white curtains. A tall boxwood hedge lined one side of the garden, and several more feet extended toward the rear, hiding it from view. No one was in sight.
They reached the impressive front door, and Henry paused at the sight of a bell, thinking it strange to have one on what was rather like a hospital. He rang it but no sound could be heard within. After several minutes, he tried again, before knocking. Still no one came. He attempted to open it only to discover it was locked.
“Why would it be locked?” Amelia stepped back to look curiously over the building. “Surely the place is open.”
Henry knocked again, pounding hard enough with his fist that he felt certain someone would hear.
Despite his vigor, it took several minutes before a young man in a white coat that reached mid-thigh opened the door. He looked between them politely. “May I help you?”
“We are here to visit a patient,” Henry stated politely. Better to save his rank as detective for another time.
The man’s polite smile did not waver. “I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed to see our guests.”
