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She faced him, wrestling with horror as much as fury.

‘It’s better than prison.’ He swallowed hard, nodding at her. Her astonishment deepened at his resignation.

‘You have to help me fight this, Matthew, not give in!’

‘Too late, Alex. We’ve been fighting this on Matthew’s behalf for years. He’s no warrior – we did our best for him but his depravity won out.’ Chetwin’s voice was not as unkind as his words but his tone was hard, to match his granite-like expression.

She closed her eyes momentarily to find calm. These were unnavigated waters for her and Alex was unsure what was best to say. She desperately wanted to confront her father about Harry and admit just how much to blame her lover was for the mess she now found her marriage and parents in. Words were queueing behind each other – she wanted to unleash all of her frustration about love and loyalty, duty and family, but instead she choked out, ‘Well, I’m coming with you,’ in a tone that brooked no defiance.

The policeman nevertheless tried. ‘Mrs Britten-Jones, I think it’s best if —’

‘Sergeant Dickson, forgive me for my candour, but I don’t care what you think right now. You are carting my husband off to an institution whose reputation is hardly lauded. I will be accompanying him. Is that clear?’

He nodded. ‘It is, Mrs Britten-Jones.’

Alex now swung to point a finger at Chetwin. ‘After you leave my house, Chetwin, you are no longer welcome here . . . ever. That goes for you, your wife and Matthew’s brothers. I can put my hand over my heart and say to you that I hate you all for this.’ She could feel her mother’s horror behind her although nothing mattered now but saving Matthew. ‘I can’t stop what’s happening tonight but I’ll be damned if I don’t hire a lawyer immediately to advocate for Matthew. You’d better have all the proof at your fingertips because I’ll fight you through the courts for his release, if it costs me my entire fortune!’

Alex was aware of her breathing coming far too shallow, and her voice had reached an uncomfortable and unfamiliar pitch of anger to match the rage in Chetwin’s reddening face. No one else said another word but the look of awe in Matthew’s expression shored up her confidence and she felt as though she was riding Blackberry at full gallop on a crusade.

24

The carriage arrived under cover of darkness and light snowfall at the gates of Bootham Hospital. They’d emerged from the house like a party of people on their way into town but if anyone had studied closer, they’d have heard only awkward instructions, muted voices and not a sound of revelry. Minerva was left behind with Norma and a pot of soothing tea in Alex’s private salon while Alex was seated next to her father in the carriage, and Matthew was sandwiched by Chetwin and the sergeant. A constable drove the carriage to ensure absolute discretion.

Alex peered out of the carriage window to see the pillars at the entrance of the hospital grounds that flanked the looming gate to the County Lunatic Asylum, whose reknown as an establishment of horror since the previous century was already well documented. Her body gave a fresh involuntary shiver and she noticed how Matthew hunched deeper into his overcoat and scarf. He suddenly looked like a helpless child – a runaway or a little thief, finally caught and having to face the consequences of his actions. She couldn’t help herself but feel immense pity for him as well as a determination to help. Alex knew she was likely still in shock but Matthew was a person she loved; if he was in pain, so was she. That’s what friends did, didn’t they? Forget husbands and wives, lovers or passing ships . . . friends looked after one another because friends chose one another. Her mind raced to all the tasks required to try to build a case for Matthew as they paused between the pillars topped by glass lamps that threw a ghastly, almost otherworldly glow onto the gatehouse.

‘We’re just waiting for the porter,’ Dickson explained to no one in particular as they all looked towards the pretty Victorian gatehouse, which she had passed often enough during her life and admired for its quaint proportions, like her old doll’s house. Right now its flint roof tiles were slick with melting snow but there was talk of sleet in the next few days. If that were true, she might not be able to even visit Matthew.

Alex threw a fresh worried glance at him. In the ghostly glow from the lamps he appeared ashen, trembling too, with all of his trademark bravado having deserted him. She felt lost for him, for if there was one constant with Matthew, it was his ever-reliable confidence that could entertain a roomful of people or just her. She realised only now that she was shaking too. Was this really Harry’s doing? She heard the sergeant exchanging a few hushed words with Chetwin and seized her chance to whisper to her father.

‘Dad, did you see Harry today?’

‘I did,’ he murmured and her heart felt as though it sank an inch. So Matthew had been right. ‘He came to the club. I’m afraid he was the one to tell me about —’

‘Mrs Britten-Jones?’

Alex looked over at Sergeant Dickson, not entirely annoyed to be interrupted for she had no desire to hear any more from her father of Harry’s revenge, as Matthew called it. Nevertheless, she was reserving her disgust for all the older men she shared this carriage with because each was now complicit in changing her life forever, it seemed. And there was one missing person who was part of this conspiracy; it was curious how she could love someone with so much desire and suddenly, with equal passion, hate him. Harry had let her down in the most spectacular of ways; in trying to prove his love for her, he was effectively dismantling her life, hurting people she cared for the most. ‘Erm, I just thought I’d mention that you won’t be allowed past the reception. Once your husband is admitted to the County Asyl . . . er, Bootham Hospital, he will be taken to the men’s ward.’

‘I understand. He won’t be there long, Sergeant, I assure you.’

Her father whispered again. ‘I was going to say that young Blake —’

‘I don’t wish to hear any more about Harry,’ she snapped.

Nothing further could be exchanged as they were interrupted by the arrival of others as their family solicitor emerged with the man from the gatehouse.

‘Ah, here’s Giles,’ Charles said into the frigid silence.

‘Good evening, sirs, madam,’ the porter said.

It was the policeman who took charge. ‘We’ve brought Matthew Britten-Jones. He’s being committed for assessment with Dr Ely, who is expecting us.’

‘Right you are, Sergeant. Dr Ely will meet you at the main entrance – I shall let him know you have arrived,’ the porter said, touching his cap as Giles clambered into the carriage, squashing Alex between him and her father.

‘Hello, Alex, Matthew, Mr Britten-Jones. I’m so sorry about all this.’

‘So am I, Giles,’ Alex said, for all of them.

‘I shall speak to you both in private once we go through the formalities,’ he offered to the husband and wife, his voice kind, but she was no longer listening as the carriage jerked on its way deeper into the grounds. They were travelling down a long avenue, tall trees like soldiers guarding the path that would lead them to the place she’d only heard about but never seen.