Mad Hatter

CHAPTER 7

From North street, where the next day’s observations had led him, Moscrop heard the boom of the mid-day cannon. He kept his hands stubbornly away from his watch-chain. The curious thing about an annual summer holiday was that one spent the rest of the year looking forward to the escape it would provide from the daily round of breakfast, cab, business, lunch, business, cab, dinner, bed-and promptly surrendered to a routine just as rigid, reinforced by a pier cannon and a landlady’s gong. By the end of the first week one was telling the days by the menu. Quite innocent events, the first chord of the lunch-hour concert, or the hoot of the steamship Brighton, took on an awful, inexorable sameness. It was impossible not to count the days already gone and, with increasing agitation, the few left. Harassed visitors in their second week could be observed wading out determinedly into the unfriendliest of seas. The ultimate defeat was the visit to the promenade photographer to set the holiday on record; by then one was mentally already back in London.

His own case was not quite like that. The pressures he felt were not to be resolved in some shabby photographic studio. It seemed to him that a situation of tragic proportions was being revealed to him. There was nothing he could do to intervene. He had to submit to its inevitability, watch it progress in its own time, like the tide. Each contact with the Protheros laid bare a fresh layer of deceit, the deceit being practised on an innocent woman by everyone around her, husband, son, servant. If anything could be depended upon, it was that Zena Prothero’s pathetically misplaced trust would soon be shattered. The prospect was hideous, unspeakable, too awful to contemplate, and he could do nothing but watch and wait.

At this moment she was admiring North Street’s window-show with her two sons, Guy and Jason, and the maid, Bridget, the four of them idling along the pavements towards East Street, stopping frequently and remarking on things that caught their attention, the very image of family harmony. In a lemon-coloured gown, sealskin jacket and black bonnet, she looked particularly frail this morning. Oh for the reassurance of her robust style of conversation!

Obviously they would turn into East Street and make their way down to the front, so with a touch of brilliance he got ahead of them on the other side of the street, turned the corner, walked some fifty yards and stepped out of sight into a shop entrance. Not by chance had he chosen the finest toy-shop in Brighton for cover. He was fast learning the tactics of the chase.

They came with suspenseful slowness, stopping at several other shop-fronts before they reached the toy-shop. It was double-fronted. In the first window a topical set-piece had been mounted, hundreds of toy soldiers engaged in battle. ‘The 4th (Royal Irish) Dragoon Guards on the Field of Tel-el-Kebir,’ announced a card. ‘We salute our Heroes on their Return to Brighton.’ Jason left his mother and pressed face and hands against the glass.

‘It accounts for the flags all over the town,’ Guy was saying to her in that insufferably conceited voice, as they came within earshot. ‘The 4th have their barracks somewhere out along the Lewes Road, you know. Any excuse for a bit of flag-waving. I suppose we shan’t be able to move for the militia after tomorrow. It’s really too bad when one has booked for the season.’

She did not answer. She stood behind Jason and submitted to the spell of the toy-shop window, looking past the battle-field, which was lined with soldiers of all Her Majesty’s Imperial armies, like unfavoured guests at a ball. The dolls on the shelves at the back had caught her fancy, pretty porcelain things with real hair and perfect clothes in miniature. Moscrop watched her from his position in the shop entrance, through the glass angle of the projecting shop-front. He was near enough to hear every word they said, and they would recognise him at any moment, but he wanted to prolong watching her through the glass until the last possible second.

It was Guy who interrupted his reverie. ‘Look who is here, stepmother. Jason’s guardian angel.’ Spoken without a trace of good will, nor even the courtesy of touching his cap.

‘Mr. Moscrop! But darling, how absolutely charming to meet you again.’

What a gulf there was between these two!

‘The pleasure is all mine, Ma’am, I assure you,’ said Moscrop. ‘I trust that your little boy suffered no aftereffects from his adventure the other day.’

‘Good God no. The brat’s as tough as a mountain goat. But, my dear, I shudder every time I see that dreadful groyne where you found him. You’re a hero, did I tell you? I’m dashed if I know why Brighton gets excited over battles in Egypt when acts of valour are performed by spunky little shopkeepers on its own beach.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

‘But that’s what’s so ridiculous, my chuck-we haven’t thanked you. You wouldn’t let me tell Prothero.’

‘Quite proper, Ma’am.’

‘But there must be something I can do.’

‘Since you mention it, Ma’am, there is one small matter over which’-he coughed discreetly-‘you might indulge me.’

‘Of course! What is that?’

‘Allow me to renew my acquaintance with young Jason. We were becoming quite firm friends. I should dearly like to take him into this establishment and purchase some small memento for him.’

‘Memento? Darling, I couldn’t possibly allow that! We are in your debt.’

He raised his bowler politely. ‘Then with all due respect, Ma’am, you have no choice but to let me have my way. Come, Jason.’

The child took his hand obediently and they went inside. He hoped to find a wooden telescope, but the plan was frustrated. Almost everything else was available, hoops, tops, toy guns, model yachts, cricket bats. Even, suspended ominously over the counter, a selection of birch-rods. He allowed Jason to make his own choice from the variety of playthings the assistant produced.

The others were waiting when they came out into the sunshine. ‘My stars, Jason, how lucky you are!’ said his mother. ‘What a beautiful thing! What is it, Mr. Moscrop?’

‘A wooden crocodile, Ma’am. Once it was placed in his hands he wouldn’t let go of it. The jaws open and close like nutcrackers, you see. I don’t think he can injure himself with it.’

‘He’s partial to crocodiles,’ said Guy, with a sly smile at Bridget. ‘Most civil of you to stand treat to my stepbrother in this way, sir. Now we must be moving on. I was planning on a swim before lunch. Good-day to you.’

‘Perhaps Mr. Moscrop is going our way,’ said Zena, with emphasis.

‘As it happens, I had it in mind to take a look at the sea, Ma’am.’

‘Splendid! Then we shall all go together.’

They passed down the street without much conversation, Guy, since it suited him, demonstrating his role as protector and marching moodily between Moscrop and Zena. Bridget followed, with Jason in the push-chair repeatedly snapping the crocodile jaws. ‘Guy likes to bathe farther along, towards the West Pier,’ said Zena, when they reached the promenade.

‘That’s the direction I planned to take, Ma’am, if I’m not intruding, that is.’

There was a blustery wind, splendidly invigorating, but difficult for a lady to contend with. She managed her dress and hat with that elegance that was natural to her, but she was unable to walk quickly enough for Guy. ‘Let’s have my costume and towel, dammit,’ he finally called over his shoulder to Bridget. ‘I’m going ahead.’ As he went, Moscrop took his place beside Zena and the sea shimmered with a brilliance he had not been aware of before.

‘None of us is allowed to enjoy the day before Guy has had his swim,’ said Zena. ‘If his pa knew he was bathing from the beach I don’t know what he would do. Prothero says the water is polluted. Cholera and typhus. But hundreds of others are just as much at risk, aren’t they? I can’t stop the wretched boy from going in, so I don’t try.’

‘He gives the impression of being a strong-willed young man,’ ventured Moscrop.

‘He suffers from asthma periodically. We try not to cross him for fear of bringing on an attack. Prothero has made quite a study of the disease. Guy’s natural ma was a sufferer, too. Lord, darling, what a breeze this is! Let’s sit in the wind-shelter there for five minutes.’

Bridget, in keeping with her status, remained standing beside the push-chair. As soon as it stopped, Jason threw his crocodile on the pavement and made noises of protest.

‘Push the little fiend along the promenade for a short way and come back,’ Zena ordered, adding, for Moscrop’s ears, ‘The girl has no idea how to keep a child amused. Prothero was off his head when he engaged her. She can do no wrong in his eyes. Once he’s made up his mind, he’s implacable. Guy’s the same.’

‘That must make life difficult for you.’

‘Difficult? My dear, if my lips weren’t sealed I’d tell you a tale more harrowing than you’ll find in any penny dreadful.’

‘A problem in the family, Ma’am?’

‘It’s made my marriage a continuous ordeal, darling, and I can’t disclose a word of it, not even to Jason’s gallant rescuer. That child is my one consolation, the undivided joy of my existence. A noisy little pup, I’ll grant you, but if I lost him it would be the end of everything. You may imagine how I felt the other afternoon.’

‘Absolutely. Tell me, is your husband visiting former patients again today?’

There was not a trace of hesitation in her answer. ‘Why yes. Prothero’s the most generous-hearted man alive, darling, known through the county for his companionable ways. Everyone recognises him when we walk out in Dorking. He has a joke that if someone would invent a machine for raising hats it would be more use to him than his stethoscope. He keeps a book with the names and addresses of all his former patients and he visits them at every opportunity. He’s the world’s worst at writing letters, so he goes in person and surprises them. He’s always sure of a cup of tea and sometimes something more.’

Moscrop blinked, thinking of Lewes Crescent. ‘It must make excessive demands on his time. Not easy for you, I should think, being alone.’

‘Not quite alone. I have Jason, my dear. And Guy and Bridget are never far away. You’re right, though. I miss Prothero more than he knows. Why am I telling you all this, Mr. Moscrop? You don’t want to listen to a woman’s nonsense.’

He looked earnestly into the bright eyes. ‘Not nonsense at all, Ma’am. I count it a privilege to listen to you. I only wish there were some way in which I could help with the- er-crisis you spoke of.’

‘That? Foget about it, darling. An unspeakable thing. Unique to our family. We’ve faced the worst of it and made our arrangements. We all agreed not to speak of it during these weeks. Shall we walk on now? I’ve recovered my breath a little.’

He took his place on the side of her nearest the kerb and they did battle again with the breeze as far as the Grand. A riding instructor passed, leading a cavalcade of black-habited, pink-cheeked girls, veils flapping against their hats. Today they held no more interest than the rest of the King’s Road traffic. He was far too occupied with what he had just heard. An unspeakable thing. What could she mean? A bereavement? Unlikely-the family were not in mourning. What was the other expression she had used? A tale more harrowing than you’ll find in any penny dreadful. Exaggeration? Even allowing generously for her flamboyant style of rhetoric, it was clear that something markedly unpleasant had happened in the Prothero family. His first thought-that the husband’s indiscretions were to blame had to be discounted when she spoke of Prothero with such undisguised affection. Either she suspected nothing, or the most generous-hearted man alive was lucky enough to be married to the most generous-hearted woman.

‘This is far enough for me, darling,’ she said when they reached Hobden’s baths. ‘I generally sit on the beach, but it’s too gusty today. I shall watch Guy from here.’

He nodded. No lady would take up a position any closer to the gentlemen’s bathing station. ‘I must take my leave then, Ma’am. It’s been a pleasure walking with you. Perhaps I shall see something of you and your family in town tomorrow when the regiment returns. Are you going to watch the homecoming?’

‘I’m sure we shall. Jason will adore the uniforms and the brass band. Where’s the best position, do you think?’

‘I don’t know Brighton very well, but I think I shall try to secure a place in the Old Steine-on the Pavilion side. Shall you be attending the civic reception at the Dome tomorrow evening?’

‘Sweetheart, I didn’t know one had been arranged. I’m not at my best in the evenings, which is a shame, because that’s the only time I see Prothero, apart from breakfast.’

‘You get tired, I expect. The sea-air is very exhausting.’

‘Not really. Almost the reverse, darling. My brain is overactive, Gregory says. He must be right, because I can’t sleep without the preparation he gives me. Isn’t it convenient being married to a doctor?’

‘He gives you a sleeping-draught?’

‘Something like that. Oh look! There’s Guy going down to the water. I wonder if he’ll look round and wave. He likes to be noticed. They do at his age. Have you seen him with his tin of snuff? For all the world like a man of forty.’

‘Do you take this potion every night, Ma’am?’

‘Without fail, darling, ever since the trouble I mentioned. You see, since then I get into a nervous state about nothing at all. Simply sitting in a room with Prothero and Guy is enough to start my hands shaking. Isn’t it ridiculous? There he goes, straight in, without hesitating. That boy loves the water. Oh God! The button’s come off my jacket. It’s all right. I can sew it on again. Nothing to be concerned about.’

‘So you take the potion to alleviate your nervous manifestations?’

‘Exactly, darling. It’s miraculous. I lose consciousness in no time at all. Prothero usually suggests I take it immediately after dinner. By eight I’m insensible. I swear that sometimes I’m asleep before Jason! You don’t think it’s dangerous, do you?’

Moscrop looked across the beach, evading the question. ‘Your stepson is certainly a strong swimmer. How do you feel when you wake up?’

‘Like a print gown after five washings, darling. It takes half-a-dozen sniffs at my sal volatile to make me believe I’m alive.’

‘What kind of sleeping draught is it?’

Her eyes opened wide, like a child’s. ‘That’s what bothers me, my dear. I don’t know. Prothero doesn’t tell me, and I don’t like to enquire. I believe he prepares it from white crystals that he keeps in a jar, but I’ve never enquired too closely what they are. I shouldn’t want him to think I don’t trust him.’

‘Perhaps someone else could help.’

‘Darling, I’d quite forgotten that you were a medical man. But how charming! It will so relieve my mind.’

What had he volunteered for? ‘Medicine isn’t quite my field, Ma’am. Optics, you understand.’

‘But of course you know about these things! How marvellous of you to go to so much trouble.’

‘I dare say that if you could obtain a small sample of the solution I could get it analysed somewhere in the town,’ he conceded. ‘Though I’m sure your husband can be depended upon.’

‘So am I, Mr. Moscrop, so am I. But if your chemist found that the medicine were a trifle strong, perhaps I could prepare a weaker solution without offending Prothero. It’s just a little unnerving being insensible for thirteen hours at a time, you understand.’

‘Quite so, Ma’am. When would you be able to obtain this sample for me? It would have to be done unobtrusively, would it not?’

‘Darling, you’re so perspicacious! If you came to the croquet lawn at the Albemarle at two this afternoon, I could leave Bridget dressing Jason. Prothero will be in the billiards-room with Guy. How droll-we shall feel like two conspirators!’