Page 28 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

There was nothing for it. He would have to take the day off and deal with the problem himself.

Readying himself as quickly as possible, he hurried out of his rented rooms above the cheese shop on the promenade and went to hire himself a horse. From there, he made his way to site, leaving a brief explanation of his absence and written instructions for Ridley and Ludlow of the progress he expected to see by tomorrow morning.

By six o’clock he was well on his way to Hollywell House. The sultry heat of yesterday had disappeared as quickly as it had arrived and the morning was cold with thick grey clouds tumbling in an uncertain sky overhead.

He made good time, arriving on the outskirts of Tunbridge Wells as a distant clock struck ten.

Hollywell House was an elegant building, large and well-proportioned with large windows that looked out upon countryside and well-kept gardens. Anyone who did not know might think it only a gentleman’s country residence.

It was not.

Gideon handed his mount into the care of a groom and walked around to the front door. His stomach clenched, his heart thudding dully in his chest, and for a moment his courage almost failed him. It wasn’t as if anyone but him would know if he didn’t go in. And if Damian found out, he’d not care either way.

Except that Gideon would know he’d backed out, and it went against every grain of moral fibre he possessed. Like it or not, he was the only one prepared to do a damned thing, so he’d better get it over with.

A smiling nurse in a pristine white pinafore apron greeted him as he opened the door and went inside.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I’m here to see Doctor Grantham,” he said, trying to ignore the disquieting smell and the faint but unmistakable sounds of weeping.

“Is the doctor expecting you?”

“He wrote to me, asking me to come,” Gideon explained, jumping as a bellow of rage came from upstairs, followed by a short scuffle and then silence. The nurse didn’t so much as bat an eyelid.

“Ah. Then, if you would come this way, I shall ask if he can see you now.”

Glancing warily at the stairs, Gideon nodded and followed her down the hall. She asked him to wait in a comfortable parlour, furnished with taste and everything in the latest style. Neat piles of newspapers occupied a small table, and the window offered a view of the entrance and the front gardens. It bore every resemblance to a respectable family’s parlour, and yet the air felt heavy and charged. That unsettling smell, somewhere between boiled cabbage, damp, and carbolic soap, lingered insistently and Gideon knew he’d smell it on his clothes long after leaving.

The walls of the room felt too near, his desire to bolt increasing with every tick of the blasted clock that shredded what remained of his nerves.

Wiping his damp palms on his coat, he jumped as the door opened.

“Dr Grantham,” he said in relief, striding forward to take the man’s hand.

The doctor was a serious looking man in his fifties, with iron grey hair and sad blue eyes. Gideon always sensed the fellow was on the edge of despair himself, though he did his best to help the wretched souls whose only safety was to be found in this place. They were the lucky ones, he knew, for it could be much, much worse.

“Mr Bramwell, come through.”

Gideon followed the man to his office and sat in the visitor’s chair as the doctor took his place behind an enormous oak desk.

“Can I offer you tea?”

“No, I thank you,” Gideon said at once, wanting to get whatever it was over with as quickly as possible.

Grantham sighed and reached for a folder, which he opened, scanning the notes quickly and then closing it once more.

“I’m sorry to have written to you as I did, but I felt it was for the best,” he said, meeting Gideon’s eyes.

“Is she worse?” Gideon didn’t know why he asked, the answer was inevitable, but he felt the need to say something, to give some show of caring, though he could not do so in truth. What he did, he did out of a sense of guilt, of responsibility and morality, not because he cared.

“I’m afraid so. Her paranoia has become such that she believes we are all trying to kill her. Last week she attacked the nurses, leaving one badly bruised and scratched. I understand that your relationship is somewhat strained—”

Gideon let out a bark of laughter. He had not meant to do so, but the words understated the case so dreadfully that he could not help it.

Grantham winced but carried on, undeterred. “We felt it might be prudent to ask you to speak to her, to reassure her.”

“What you mean is, you needed to get me here to prove how bad the situation is, and you wish me to be aware of her accusations, so I don’t get the idea in my head that you really are trying to do away with her.”