On that, they agreed. With a nod and a smile, Amelia stepped out of the room and went in the opposite direction of their escort. She hurried across the large hall lined in dark wood with a high ceiling toward a corridor, determined to see as much as possible before someone stopped her.
A glance down the length of it suggested patient rooms were located there as numerous doors lined the walls. The chances of her finding Louisa’s before being caught seemed slim, especially since nothing other than numbers marked the outside of each door.
She continued past the corridor toward the back of the sanatorium, where a row of tall windows brightened the hall, hoping to find a room where the patients gathered. Surely they didn’t remain in their individual rooms all day?
It took several tries, her heart hammering, before she found an unlocked door located near the windows that looked as if it might serve that purpose. Unfortunately the room was empty other than a few chairs and tables. No clues there.
A window at the rear overlooked the grounds; gardens, paths, and numerous benches. Aware the woman who’d let them in might already be searching for her, Amelia strode toward it to look out. Only a few people sat in the fresh air, none of them Louisa. They all wore gray robes, and only a few conversed with one another. Most stared across the garden as if lost in thought. No one read a book or did needlework. Were those activities not allowed?
Amelia considered where else to look, preferring to avoid the area where Dr. Thorne apparently kept her office. But perhaps that was exactly the place to look? Some of the staff might also have offices nearby with patient files or paperwork, anything that could be helpful.
If she couldn’t speak with Louisa, that was her next best option.
She left the room, pausing to glance around. How odd not to come upon any patients or staff. Where was everyone? With a breath to gather her courage, Amelia continued her search, moving as quietly as possible.
How could she tell Henry that she had slipped past the door’s guards, but found nothing?
The next door she came to was closed, and she paused to listen before easing it open. The distressingly medicalized room contained a metal table with several hoses nearby, but was otherwise empty. She didn’t want to know what manner of treatment was performed in there.
She closed the door and moved on to the next room. Moans sounded from behind the door, unease curling through her. Though tempted to see if someone needed assistance, she forcedherself to continue on, fairly certain she wouldn’t be of much help.
Frustration simmered from her lack of success thus far. Clearly her investigative skills required work. If she didn’t find anything soon, she would simply join her aunt for the conversation with Dr. Thorne to see what she could learn—though while curious about the woman who’d founded the sanatorium, she doubted how helpful talking to her would be. Given the popularity of Hollowgate Heights, Dr. Thorne must be clever and intelligent. Henry’s interrogation skills, not her own, would be needed to gain information.
At the next door Amelia again paused to listen, but heard nothing. A peek inside revealed two desks with filing cabinets behind them.An office of some sort, at last.
With no one in sight, she entered, heart pounding. Was this how a thief felt? If so, it proved she wouldn’t make a good one, even if information was all she sought. Mouth dry, she rushed to the closest desk, pleased to find several files on top of it, and opened the first one. This would be much easier if she knew what she was looking for, but surely the chances of them documenting improper treatment of patients were unlikely.
Doubt swirled, her resolve faltering. Perhaps she should give up on the search and join her aunt? No doubt the poor woman was beside herself with nerves.
Still, Amelia couldn’t resist quickly scanning the contents of the file. The patient’s name was a Mr. Walter Dunn. He’d been diagnosed with cancer and had entered the sanatorium well over a month ago. Treatments were listed on the subsequent page, the last one just over a week ago.
Final Treatment.
What an odd way to describe it. Had it been final because his stay was scheduled to end?
Amelia glanced at the next sheet in the file, her breath catching: the patient had died the next day. Died?
The faint rattle of keys caught her notice, followed by the murmur of voices. She quickly closed the file, hands shaking. A quick scan of the room showed there was nowhere to hide. The voices drew closer, pausing right outside the door.
Fighting back strangling panic, she decided to use her original excuse—that she was in search of a water closet. She rushed to the door and reached for the knob, only to feel the handle turn beneath her gloved hand.
The door opened to reveal a tall man in a familiar white coat, who stared at her in disbelief.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Amelia pressed a hand to her chest and hoped her flushed cheeks could easily be explained by her excuse. “I am in desperate need of the water closet and can’t seem to find it!”
“That’s her,” a voice announced from behind him. The woman who’d allowed them entrance shifted to one side of the man, her eyes narrowed in anger. “You were told to wait in the reception room.”
“Yes.” Amelia attempted a disarming smile, though it clearly didn’t work. “But I couldn’t wait a moment longer to...” She grimaced, hoping her red cheeks could be considered embarrassed. “If one of you could point me toward the washroom, I’d be so grateful.”
“I’ll take her,” the tall man said, his voice gruff. “And I’ll keep a closer eye on her.”
Rather than move aside to allow her to pass, he looked over her shoulder to the room beyond, studying the two desks as if wondering what she might have seen.
Guilt flooded Amelia, but she kept a smile on her face with the hope it would help her look flustered and innocent. “If we could hurry along,” she began with a grimace, shifting slightly on her toes.
“This way,” the man said reluctantly, taking one last look at the desks while the woman continued to glare at Amelia.
Several minutes later, after a detour to a water closet that was as clean and sterile as the rest of the rooms, the man escorted Amelia to a spartan office where a woman who appeared to be in her forties sat in a high-backed chair behind a heavy oak desk with perfect posture and cool, watchful eyes.
