Asylum Lane: from the Victorian Carriage mystery series Read online

  Round Freddy could see that she was breathing hard and in short gasps.

  “Andrews, please fetch a drink of water for the young lady. In fact, make it a brandy. I believe she could use the fortification.”

  He patted Jane’s shoulder. “All that unpleasantness is over now. You’re safe with us. I promise that I shall look out for you.”

  Jane’s teary eyes searched Round Freddy’s face. “I shall hold you to that promise, sergeant.”

  •••••••

  The bells of York Minster struck exactly at the stroke of noon, their deep notes resonating off the stone walls of the surrounding buildings. Fletcher huddled closer to the front wall of the massive cathedral, scanning the forecourt and the adjacent pavement for the vicar’s arrival. As the last peal of the bells died away in the weak sunshine, Fletcher spotted the Reverend Elsworth walking briskly along Minster Yard toward the forecourt entrance. The vicar turned in toward the Minster and, seeing Fletcher, slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll.

  Fletcher cocked his head toward a grassy expanse adjoining College Street, and the two of them walked side by side in silence. Beneath a spreading elm tree, Fletcher stopped.

  “Ye brought the money?”

  “It’s right here.” The reverend patted his jacket’s breast pocket.

  “Let’s have it here, then.”

  The reverend looked behind him toward the forecourt, then back toward the rear of the Minster. Scores of people strolled the grounds; some rested in the shade of trees, while others made the most of the spring sunshine.

  “What? Right here in front of everyone?”

  Fletcher laughed. “Worried about me causing little bit of unpleasantness, vicar? You know what I did for you. Now it’s your turn to do something for me.” He held a gnarled hand out. “Let’s have it.”

  The reverend hesitated, then reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a fat, white envelope. He handed it to Fletcher.

  Fletcher moved toward the side wall of the Minster, counting the banknotes as he walked. When he finished, he turned back toward the reverend.

  “All here, just as you promised.”

  The vicar looked surprised. “Surely you did not think I would cheat you?”

  A big grin broke across Fletcher’s face. “Actually, I did, vicar. I really did.” Then he turned and loped across the grass and disappeared around the side of the Minster.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The Dealer snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and ordered a double measure of whiskey. He sat in a plush, overstuffed chair in the member’s room of the Lendal Club, the day’s paper at his feet, soaking up the waning sun streaming through a nearby window. The Dealer closed his eyes and thought of the thousands of pounds that would be at his disposal as soon as he and Goodwin concluded their fleecing of Reverend Elsworth and the banker, Lund. And Goodwin, he thought, snapping open his eyes. Where was he?

  As the waiter set his whiskey down on a side table, the Dealer caught sight of Goodwin weaving between the islands of chairs and tables scattered throughout the large room.

  “I’ll have one of those too,” he told the waiter.

  “Where the devil have you been for so long? You know I hate to be kept waiting?”

  Goodwin plopped into a chair facing the Dealer and shrugged. “It takes a while to get information sometimes. This was one of those times.”

  “So the two of them are in league over the money?”

  “Everything points in that direction. In fact . . .” he stopped abruptly as the waiter set down his whiskey and waited until the man was out of earshot before continuing. “In fact, Lund handles the books of the trust that the reverend administers for his niece. I’ve had reports that the police are snooping around the books of the trust, probably looking into the possibility of money being embezzled.”

  “That sounds as if it fits neatly with the banker and the vicar having plenty of excess funds to hide.”

  “And there’s another thing. The vicar’s niece disappeared recently from Bootham Park Lunatic Asylum.”

  “Disappeared from a lunatic asylum? What was she doing there anyway?”

  “I’m told that the reverend committed her there for her own safety. Said she was going to harm herself.”

  “And she simply disappeared from the place?”

  “Not so much disappeared as was taken. She was kidnapped. And the word from the police is that they found her body in the river. Dead, of course.” Goodwin took a large swallow of whiskey.

  The Dealer said nothing for a few moments, then raised his glass in a toast to Goodwin.

  “You always manage to pry out the important bits of a story, my boy. I think these dealings with the vicar and Lund may prove to be even more profitable than we could have imagined.”

  •••••••

  The day had grown dim and the shadows in Round Freddy’s office deepened to hide the accumulation of papers, reports and pieces of evidence that were strewn on every level surface in the room. Round Freddy picked up a miniature mountain of papers and cocked his head toward the chair.

  “Please, Miss Waddington. Sit down. I have one of my constables making arrangements for a safe place where we can hide you until this case is resolved.”

  “Then you think I am still in danger from the men who kidnapped me?”

  Round Freddy pulled at his chin and frowned. “I am not certain that the ones who perpetrated the kidnapping are your worst threat at the moment. However, I would be remiss if I dismissed them entirely, especially this man called Fletcher.”

  “And how do you know his name?”

  “Throughout the course of our investigation into your whereabouts, he has appeared again and again. An individual who we interviewed supplied us with his name.”

  “If you know who he is, why haven’t you arrested him?”

  “First, we do not have enough evidence linking him to your kidnapping, or for that matter, to any other crime. Second, we have been unable to locate the man. We know where he lives, but it appears that he has not been home for some days.”

  “Yet you seem to think he is not a great threat to me.”

  Round Freddy nodded vigorously, then sat heavily in his chair.

  “I believe that Fletcher’s actions are orchestrated by someone else.”

  Jane stared at the detective for a few heartbeats. “I am not sure that I want you to continue.”

  “That’s understandable, miss, but you should be apprised of the entire situation.” He waited for a few moments and only continued after she gave an almost imperceptible nod. “We believe your uncle to be involved in your kidnapping.”

  “You are not serious, are you?”

  “Dead serious, miss. We have plenty of evidence that Reverend Elsworth, with the assistance of a banker named Lund, embezzled thousands of pounds from your trust fund. I think that your uncle wanted to prevent you from discovering the money was missing and had you kidnapped.”

  Before Round Freddy could continue, an insistent rapping sounded through the door.

  “Who the devil could that be? I told them I did not want to be disturbed.” He yanked on the latch and pulled the door open to reveal a young boy standing with his cap in hand.

  “Is there still a thruppence for information about Mr. Fletcher?” the boy asked.

  Round Freddy’s face broke into a grin.

  “William Hall, I believe.”

  “Aye, that’s me. What about the thruppence?”

  “Indeed, thruppence for the information, just as I last said.”

  “Then you better hurry over to number eighteen in Haver Lane. The man you call Fletcher, the one with the black eye patch, he’s back.”

  Round Freddy fished a three pence piece from his waistcoat pocket and flipped it to the boy, who snatched it out of the air, then turned and ran through the main room.

  “A stroke of luck, Miss Waddington. It seems time for me to become better acquainted with Mr. Fletcher. As for you,
please remain here until I return.”

  •••••••

  As the little Austin shuddered to a stop outside Number 18 Haver Lane, Round Freddy stood up in the vehicle and nearly catapulted over the open top. Regaining his balance, he stepped quickly to the tenement door as Constable Andrews followed.

  Round Freddy raised a forefinger to his lips, then made a circular motion with his hand. He wanted the constable to cover the rear entrance to the building.

  Andrews nodded vigorously and disappeared down a narrow alley between a dilapidated house and a plasterer’s workshop.

  Round Freddy counted to fifty to allow Andrews enough time to get to the rear, then pulled the latch and softly opened the door, not letting it bump against the wall. The hallway was empty, as was the ancient staircase. Upstairs, on the third floor, Round Freddy stood silently outside of Fletcher’s door, his fist balled tightly. He rapped on the door.

  He could hear scuffling sounds from inside the room and tried the door latch. Locked. He banged again on the door, louder this time.

  “York Police, Fletcher. Open up if you’re in there.”

  The sound of furniture being dragged over a wood floor screeched through the door, and Round Freddy hammered the door a third time.

  “I am warning you, Fletcher. Open the door this instant!”

  At the sound of a window frame sliding in its tracks, Round Freddy leaned back, then bashed his shoulder into the door. It sagged, but held fast. He went at the door two more times before it finally gave way, splintering away from a rusty hasp secured by a metal spike.

  The room was empty.

  A scraping sound followed by a dull thud and a muffled cry came through the open window, partially covered by dirty curtains billowing softly in the spring breeze.

  Round Freddy raced to the window only to see a small scruffy man with a black eye patch limp out of the rear yard into the alley that Andrews had used.

  “Andrews, where the devil are you. Fletcher’s getting away.”

  Exasperated, Round Freddy leaned out of the window, looking down at the roof of the porch directly below him. Fletcher must have jumped to the roof and then to the ground. As Round Freddy stretched farther out the window, a pair of legs in blue uniform trousers splayed on the ground came into view.

  “Andrews! Can you hear me?”

  No response.

  Round Freddy hurried back down the three flights of stairs as fast as his bulk would carry him. As he turned the corner into the rear yard, he saw Andrews sitting on the ground, holding his head.

  “Are you all right, man? What happened.”

  Andrews shut his eyes tightly as if he were trying to remember the answer to a difficult riddle.

  “Can you speak? Are you injured?

  “Me head and shoulder hurt.”

  Round Freddy looked up at the roof of the porch where broken shingles dangled at the edge.

  “Fletcher escaped through his window to that roof,” Round Freddy said, pointing. “He must have leaped from there directly on top of you. I expect you were knocked unconscious.”

  Andrews tried to stand, but fell back into a sitting position quickly.

  “Woo, me head’s spinning now.”

  “You sit there and don’t move. I shall go for help.”

  “No, sir. Give me a minute to get me bearings. I’ll be fine.”

  Round Freddy stared hard at the constable.

  “Very well, then. We shall wait a few minutes for you to recover. But there’s one thing I shall insist on.”

  “What’s that, detective?”

  “I’ll do the driving.”

  “But you’ve never driven before, sir.”

  “How difficult can it be, Andrews? After all, you’ve mastered it.”

  •••••••

  Fletcher rubbed his eye socket through the black patch, digging his fingertips into the peeling flesh at its edges and mumbling as he plodded down the filthy alley. Ahead of him, rats skittered along the base of the building walls among litter and trash, rushing from one side of the alley to the other in front of his boots. As a rodent approached from the side, Fletcher kicked at it, sending the rat hurtling against the brick wall with a liquid thud.

  “At least t’others will have a supper tonight,” he said aloud, glancing back the way he had come.

  The wooden door to Snow’s house had been repaired with heavy planking laid both horizontally and vertically to reinforce the decaying condition of the original planks. Fletcher cursed when it refused to yield by pulling on its latch, and he kicked its base three times, shaking dust from in between the old boards. In less than a minute Fletcher heard the sound of a bolt being thrown back and the door creaked open on a wizened old woman, squinting into the outside light from the dim room.

  “Snow. Is ‘e ‘ere?”

  The old woman did not reply but simply stood aside as Fletcher entered and then passed through the small front room to the rear of the house. Snow sat at a dilapidated table, munching a slab of dark bread lathered with a red jam.

  “Snow, me boy, how’s your foot feeling?”

  Snow smiled widely, exposing two blackened teeth along with a mass of partially-chewed bread. His voice quavered like the sound of a ghostly apparition, the result of a bout with scarlet fever during his toddling years.

  “A tad better. I’m hardly limping.” Snow stood and walked the length of the narrow room, as if to prove his contention. “And how are your . . . jewels?”

  Fletcher looked over his shoulder toward the front room before replying.

  “Aye, lad, have your bit of fun. I’ve come for the bundle I left with you.”

  Snow crammed the remains of the bread in his mouth, then took a long swig of water from a crockery mug. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, dripping crumbs down the front of his shirt.

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  Fletcher eyed him up and down, but couldn’t suppress a smile. When Snow returned from the back room, he held out a long bundle, wrapped in a stained, threadbare blanket.

  “What’s in it?” he asked.

  Fletcher stared at him. “Ye mean ye didn’t look inside?”

  “Nay. You told me to hide it well and leave it alone. I did.”

  Fletcher shook his head and chuckled. The kid was more of a simpleton than he first surmised.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Behind the wheel of the Austin, Round Freddy decided that he had made a potentially deadly mistake. As he came abreast of the intersection with Groves Lane, he wrenched the steering wheel hard to the left to avoid two dray horses pulling a heavy goods wagon. The wagon driver’s curses followed him down the street. Round Freddy glanced over at Andrews and was stunned to see a tight smile on the constable’s face.

  “Something particularly amusing, Andrews?” Round Freddy asked as he narrowly avoided a collision with a stationery lamp pole.

  Andrews bit his lip and the smile disappeared. “No, sir.”

  “Damned machinery. Nothing like driving a horse rig,” Round Freddy mumbled. “The horse seems to know his way around, but this metal contraption has to be told everything.” He winced as the right fender scraped the wheel of a tinker’s cart at the side of the road, sending tools and grinding wheels crashing into the street.

  He looked at Andrews again. “It’s a lucky thing for you that you’re injured. I expect you won’t be able to remember any of this.”

  Andrews had the tight smile on his face again. “No, sir. I’m sure I won’t.”

  Ten minutes and four brushes with wagons and post boxes later, Round Freddy braked to a halt in front of the station.

  “Do you require any assistance, Andrews?”

  “Only a wee bit of support to get into the station, sir.”

  Round Freddy studied him for a long moment, then grasped Andrews’ arm at the elbow.

  “You can be sure this is the last time you’ll see me doing this.”

  “One can only hope, sir.”


  In his office, Jane leaped to her feet as Round Freddy came through the door.

  “Have you caught the man?”

  “Regrettably, no. He gave us the slip. But please don’t worry. We shall get him. In the meantime, we shall get you to a place where you’ll be safe. I imagine you’re tired of this place by now. Sergeant Wallace has made all the necessary arrangements.”

  “And where do you intend on taking me?”

  “Southwest across the river, past the railway station, there’s a country house called Ashfield. It’s the retirement home of a former sergeant on the force. He and his wife have agreed to shelter you until we can bring this case to a conclusion.”

  “How long do you expect that to be?”

  Round Freddy shrugged. “I wish I could give you a clear estimate on that point, miss, but I cannot. I would expect a week would not be out of the ordinary. Perhaps more.”

  “Will I be allowed to go outside?”

  “Indeed, you will. Ashfield House is in a rural setting and is well protected by a high wall. The house sits well back from the road amid some fields, has a protective wall around it, and there are plenty of gardens where you should be able to amuse yourself if you choose.”

  “It seems as if I have no alternative.”

  “No, my dear, you do not. At least not at the moment. Your safety is my chief concern.”

  •••••••

  The Dealer sat at a scarred pine table in the back corner of the Hound and Hen public house, his gaze flickering over the tall constable who stood in the doorway backlit by the noonday sun. The Dealer motioned with his chin toward the door, and Goodwin slowly looked over his shoulder.

  “Looking for someone, I would guess,” Goodwin said, turning back toward his pint. “It can’t have anything to do with us. We’ve left a clean trail.”

  The Dealer watched the constable thread his way through the crowded public room, his head swiveling slowly from side to side and his face expressionless. As the constable reached the back of the room, the Dealer looked him straight in the eye and let a smile curl one side of his mouth. The constable nodded and moved back through the room and out the door.