Page 72 of A Murder in Bloomsbury

He ushered us inside.

The hall smelled of lavender and beeswax. Everything was spotless. Everything was respectable. Grimshaw showed us bright sitting rooms, a dining room, a small chapel, and a walled garden where the patients took the air.

It was all very nearly persuasive. That, I realized, was the cleverness of the place. The more carefully a thing is arranged for visitors, the more one ought to ask what it is hiding.

So I began asking questions.

How were the ladies admitted? Families provided the necessary orders and certificates.

Who supplied the certificates? The attending physician.

Where were they kept? Safely lodged within the house.

I stored away every answer.

Then Grimshaw brightened. "You are fortunate, Mrs. Marsh. The doctor is here today."

A door opened farther down the corridor, and a man emerged. I knew his name before Grimshaw spoke it. "May I present Dr. Strode."

He was handsome in a cold, careful way. Immaculately dressed. Composed. Trusted. The sort of man who entered the best drawing rooms in England and was welcomed into all of them. "Mrs. Marsh."

His voice was pleasant. His eyes were not. He studied me as though taking measurements.

"You have an aunt, I understand." He asked several questions. More than I liked. More than I expected.

“I will have to examine her.”

“Yes, of course,” I said.

When it was finally over, I was relieved beyond measure. I had seen enough. I wanted only to leave.

Grimshaw accompanied us outside to where the carriage was waiting.

Without warning, a harsh screech cut across the forecourt.

I looked up.

A sash window had been forced open above us.

"Help. Help me. Please help."

A woman stood at a barred opening, her hands clawing at the iron. Her eyes fixed on mine. Not wild. Not empty.

Desperate. Intelligent. Rational.

She had seen a visitor and understood instantly what that meant. A chance. A witness.

"HELP!"

Movement stirred behind her. Hands seized her own hands and her shoulders and yanked her away.

The window slammed shut. The curtain fell.

She’d vanished.

The entire thing lasted only seconds.

I had already taken a step toward the house when Miriam's hand closed around my arm. Not now. Not here.