I kept him in my sight right from the first. I studied him closely from the corner of my eye during inspection, trying to appear dull and deferential while looking him over. I watched his expression for quickness, for sparks of cunning and intelligence. I listened to his words and the tone of his voice for bad temper, for erudition and intelligence. I watched the rest of him to see how strong he was, how quick he might be. I watched the leather briefcase he carried in his right hand.
I saw nothing. No sign of deviousness, or unctuousness, or evil that would indicate a man who played a very deep game. No marks of obvious ostentation or pride or money. Just a tired-looking man with a slightly weak chin and a well-made, but not too expensive, three-piece suit.
He did not pay Matron particular attention. He arrived after breakfast and took a brief cup of tea in the front parlor with Matron and Boney. Nurses’ inspection came next. Then we were dismissed to our duties. I had arranged it so that my duties took me close to the corridor to Matron’s office, where I could see that she was closeted with Mr. Deighton for some thirty minutes, alone, without even Boney in the room. And that is it, I thought. It’s done.
They mustn’t have discussed the incident from the day before, because when he emerged his face was as impassive as ever, the pouched eyes still holding their distant expression. Matron, behind him, looked grim and more tired even than she had earlier, as if something had drained her. If she had handed over the incident reports, I thought, then she had possibly just handed him her own doom as Matron. Even so, she didn’t look well, and I wondered whether perhaps she had a headache.
I was just figuring what my next move should be, my mind traveling the possibilities, when I passed the head of the corridor and heard him say, “Matron, I would like to have a tour of the building.”
“Of course. I would be delighted,” she said, sounding not delighted at all.
“No, no. I would not want to take you from your duties. One of the nurses will do.”
And there I was, lingering. I had nothing in my hands and was on my way to nowhere in particular, but Matron didn’t seem to notice. “Nurse Weekes,” she called to me, sounding relieved. “Please give Mr. Deighton a tour, if you would.”
“What would you like to see, sir?” I asked him when we were alone. “The patients are at morning exercise. They’ve been behaving very well today.”
For the first time an expression crossed his face, one of such startlement it was almost horror. “The patients? No. No, I do not wish to see the patients.”
“Oh, no, sir?” I asked sweetly. I could never resist. “They’re your customers, after all. Wouldn’t you like to see how they’re treated here?”
He looked at me as if I’d started barking like a dog. “That won’t be necessary. Not at all. I will start downstairs.”
We began in the kitchen, where Nathan and the kitchen boys gave us surprised looks. We did not tour the gardens—the patients were there, of course—but looked at the laundry and the storage rooms before coming back upstairs and going through the empty dining room and common room. “Has anyone reported this crumbling masonry here?” he would say randomly to me, or, “Nurse, this stair seems crooked. Please make a note.” And I, quite obviously carrying no means of making notes, would say to his back, “Yes, sir.”
It went on and on. I stuck to him as he toured every section of the main floor, dictating notes to me along the way. I stuck to him as we climbed the stairs and started down the corridors of the men’s bedrooms. Here he questioned me about supplies, meals, medications, and any sundries the men received, like newspapers—everything, of course, except for the health of the men themselves. He grilled me, spoke down to me, but he never did the one thing I wanted him to do: He never set down his briefcase.
As we approached the lav, he stopped and turned to me. “Nurse, please excuse me for a moment.” I nodded, hopeful; any other man would have left his briefcase before using the facilities. But Mr. Deighton walked through the bathroom door, briefcase in hand. Time was running out. I let out a groan of frustration.
“Are you all right, Nurse Weekes?”
I turned. Captain Mabry stood in the corridor at the top of the staircase, regarding me calmly from behind his spectacles.
“Captain,” I said. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be at exercise.”
“I came to get my book,” he replied. “I’ve been given permission to read on the veranda. Are you supervising the lav?”
“I’m giving Mr. Deighton a tour.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “He’s in there now.”
A look of alarm crossed Mabry’s face as he whispered back. “Ah. I do hope the pipes behave. The lav can be . . . a little upsetting.”
“I know.”
He blinked at me. “You don’t look very happy.”
“I’m fine.”
He looked closer. “You are up to something. What might it be?”
I opened my mouth to tell him, and then I remembered his revoked access to his wife and children. “It’s nothing, really. You needn’t get involved. I’ll figure something out.”
“Well,” he said. “Now I really must know.”
I sighed. I could tell him, I supposed, without getting him in trouble. “You don’t know how to get a man’s briefcase out of his hands, do you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Mr. Deighton. In his briefcase are the incident reports, including Matron’s report about yesterday. I’d hoped he’d put it down before going in there, but he didn’t.”
Mabry’s voice grew carefully neutral. “And you wish to get these incident reports out of the briefcase.”
“Yes, I do.” I looked at his expression and said, “It has nothing to do with me, Captain. My days here are numbered. But I’d rather not be the cause of the other nurses getting dismissed, or the orderlies. Or Matron.”
He seemed to consider this critically for a moment, frowning behind his spectacles. “The likelihood is, Nurse Weekes, that he’ll find out eventually.”
“Possibly.”
“And you still wish to do it.”
“I have to.”
As we heard water running in the lav, Mabry leaned closer and whispered in his crisp voice: “If you want a man to drop something, you have to give him something else to grab onto. Bring him by my room.”
And then he was gone, quick and quiet on his long legs, and Mr. Deighton emerged to continue his tour.
Perhaps I should have spared him, but when Captain Mabry gave a command in that patrician voice, you followed it. I led Mr. Deighton down the corridor. He looked a little pale. “Are you quite well, sir?”
“Yes, fine, thank you.”
“The air in that lavatory can be rather oppressive, or so I’ve heard. And there is sometimes a problem with mold. I can make a note.”
“There is nothing the matter, Nurse. I appreciate your concern. What is that noise?”
A great racket was coming from Mabry’s room. I paused, hoping I wasn’t about to heap one catastrophe over another. Then I pressed forward.
We found Mabry in the act of sliding his bed across the room toward the window, sweat breaking out over his pale forehead. He did not look at us as we approached the door.