Henry chuckled warmly. “From what I can tell, she does that every evening.”
“True. I am quite spoiled by my staff.” Amelia didn’t know what she’d do without them—they were as much family to her now as her own parents.
“You are as good to them as they are to you.” He glanced about, his eyes always seeking danger. “Are you certain I can’t see you home?”
“There’s no need.” Even if she desperately wished it. “I know you have many cases awaiting you upon your return to Scotland Yard, and Fletcher too no doubt. But I look forward to tomorrow evening.”
“As do I.” His gaze lingered on her face. “Do not worry overmuch about your friend. I will be in touch sooner if I learn anything helpful. You may trust the matter with me.”
“Thank you, Henry. And thank you for your time today.” With a nod, she turned and walked away, determined to keep a smile in place.
No matter her worries, she had much to be grateful for, including Henry. If only she didn’t have the nagging worry that she had missed something at the sanatorium…or in Louisa’s note.
Four
HenryreturnedtoScotlandYard after departing from Amelia at the train station, and spent the remainder of the day updating notes on his cases and providing additional instructions to constables on a few others. A new case involving the theft from a jewelry shop had been assigned to him and would require his attention come morning, but for now, the workday was nearly at an end. He tidied his desk and decided to call on his way home on the family of the deceased ‘guest’ of Hollowgate Heights who Arthur had told him about.
Henry hadn’t wanted to worry Amelia more than she already was, but he was anxious to make a few inquiries regarding the sanatorium. The situation didn’t feel right; and while he hesitated to rely solely on a hunch, that was all he had—merely a feeling something was amiss.
If not for Amelia’s connection to a patient, would he be taking the time to dig deeper?
A question he couldn’t answer. Of course, Arthur’s opinion mattered too, but the surgeon didn’t have proof either—only an inconclusive postmortem examination. How often did one of those come across his slab?
Between the two, Henry felt compelled to do a preliminary investigation on his own, without the weight of a warrant. Hopefully the family wouldn’t mind him calling to ask a few questions. The last thing he wanted was to add to their grief, so he needed to tread carefully. Given that he had so recently experienced the loss of a family friend, he well knew how tender their hearts must be. That reminded him he also needed to call on that family to see how they fared.
It didn’t take long to locate the house on Portman Square, carrying Arthur’s note with their address in his pocket. Henry knocked on the door of the Georgian-style townhome, showed his warrant card to the maid who answered, and waited in a small reception room by the front door for Mr. Compton to be advised of his presence.
A man with shirtsleeves rolled up and wearing a vest soon approached from the rear of the house with a puzzled look. “Good evening, Inspector. How may I help?”
“Forgive the intrusion.” Henry dipped his head in greeting, trying to ignore the awkwardness of overstepping into someone’s life without an investigation to stand behind. “And please accept my condolences on the recent loss of your father.”
“Thank you.” The man folded his hands before him, pointedly not inviting his visitor to sit down. “I confess, I don’t quite understand the reason for your visit.”
Henry offered a polite smile in an attempt to ease any alarm. “A few questions have arisen regarding the sanatorium where your father was staying prior to his death.”
“Hollowgate Heights?” Mr. Compton’s brows lifted in what appeared to be genuine surprise. “Indeed. What sort of questions?”
Henry paused, wanting to phrase his queries with care. One only had a first chance to ask a witness questions. “I understand he was suffering from cancer?”
“Yes.” Mr. Compton drew closer, grief tightening his features. “His physician prescribed a few different pills and the like without success, and said there wasn’t much more that could be done to help him. Then my father heard from a friend that Dr. Thorne’s sanatorium offered something different than traditional medicine.”
“And that idea appealed to him?”
The man cleared his throat as he studied Henry. “Sir, is there something amiss? A reason for these questions?”
“Someone has expressed concerns about the establishment, so we’re informally looking into the matter. We want to ensure that any and all patient deaths at Hollowgate Heights are not a direct result of the treatments they received.” While Henry didn’t want to alarm the man, he also wanted to encourage him to share any details he could.
Mr. Compton released a pensive sigh, staring out the window which overlooked the street while seeming to gather his thoughts. “In all honesty, that concern crossed my mind. Then again, cancer had already taken such a toll on my father’s health, and with no end in sight… I can’t say I cared for the description of treatments they offered. Enemas seem like a questionable solution for someone with cancer of the lung.”
Henry nodded. He had to agree, and waited to see what else the man might share.
“As for the fasting, my father already suffered from a poor appetite because of his illness. To take things a step further—would not eating weaken him further?”
That seemed like a logical conclusion. “How often did you visit him while he was at the sanatorium?”
The man’s expression did not change. “Visitors aren’t allowed, which was another reason I didn’t like it. Dr. Thorne met with us prior to my father’s admission to explain their policies, stating that news from family and friends, even if well-meaning, could distract guests and impact the success of their treatments. My father was adamant. He wanted to be a guest.”
Annoyance flickered through Henry, and it was all he could do not to comment on the term.
