It sounded like an order.
Jake sat silently on a padded office chair, his right hand resting on the counter, his eyes fixed on the painting on the wall, on the boy in the painting. ‘So, you know Martha?’
‘Not at all. Although the nurses do their rounds, including the private wing, as a receptionist on this desk, I’m not meant to cross over to the other side.’
Jake raised his eyebrows, wondering what he meant.
Lawrence chuckled. ‘I meant not crossing to the other side of the house – obviously unless something in particular warranted it, or in emergencies.’
Jake looked at his old bandages as Lawrence unfurled them. ‘Am I an emergency?’
Lawrence whistled. Jake glanced at him, then down at his hand as the last of the bandages gave way to a pretty ugly sight. ‘Do I need stitches?’ Jake was not in the mood for a visit to a hospital.
‘No – they’re clotting nicely. It looks worse than it is.’ He cleaned the wounds. ‘Looks like you went a few rounds with a pit bull, though.’ He chuckled.
Jake offered a weak smile, his attention drawn back to the painting. ‘What can you tell me about the child?’ Jake’s gaze was riveted on those fierce blue eyes.
‘Swap seats.’ Lawrence got up, and they exchanged seats. Jake placed his left hand on the counter. He held his newly bandaged hand up for inspection. A light bandage neatly covered his hand, extending around his wrist. His fingers were completely free.
‘The kid in the painting?’ His eyes roved to the painting on the wall behind Jake. ‘Ralph Delaney – the son.’ He returned his attention to Jake’s hand. ‘That’s a sad story.’
‘What happened to him?’
‘Apparently, his mother wasn’t well – it was her nerves.’
‘Her nerves?’ Jake didn’t understand.
‘People with what we now recognise as mental health conditions like severe anxiety, depression, post-natal depression, were little understood. They would be diagnosed with a nervous disorder. Some were sent to psychiatric hospitals for a considerable time. They were institutionalised. Sent away.’
‘His mother was sent away?’
Lawrence nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. Soon after she went, when the boy was still very young, his father sent him away to boarding school. It was not long after that portrait was taken, I believe. And that’s the last anyone heard of him.’
‘But he was so young to be sent away from his home.’
‘Yes, he was just a wee little thing.’
‘What happened to him?’ What Jake was wondering, which he knew Lawrence couldn’t answer, was why he had changed his name.
‘We can only presume that he couldn’t forgive his father for sending his mother away, sending them both away, and that was why he never returned to this place. That was how all this came about. With no son and heir to claim his inheritance, the hall was left to a charitable trust as a hospice to accommodate elderly people with certain mental health conditions. There was a caveat. The daughter could remain living in part of the property if she so wished.’ He paused, the bandaging not quite complete, and looked at Jake. ‘Rumour has it,’ he said in a hushed voice, ‘that his younger sister, who inherited a substantial sum herself, used the money to bribe the doctors to deem her mother fit to return home.’
‘Is that true?’ Jake said.
‘I don’t know about that.’ He resumed dressing Jake’s hand. ‘But I do know that after Mr Delaney died, when his son was inhis teens, the newly appointed executors of the will went to see Ralph Delaney at school, before they made any decisions with respect to the will, only to find he was no longer there. They say he was afraid of his father.’
‘Why?’
‘One can only speculate. He’d seen his mother sent away to a psychiatric hospital. Perhaps he was afraid his father would send him away, like he did his mother.’
Jake looked at him, shocked. ‘Why would he do that to his son? Are you saying he has … had … mental health issues?’
‘Not at all. Perhaps he was a shy, introspective child, and his father couldn’t understand him. Rumour has it the boy was very close to his mother and he was afraid his father might look for traits in him that his mother had. But we were never sure where those rumours came from.’
Jake stared at Lawrence as he continued telling the story. ‘When the executors discovered that the son had disappeared, they waited, with the assurance that no rational person would not turn up to claim what was rightfully theirs. But he didn’t reappear, and they got on with the job of redirecting some of the assets, namely the house, to a new charitable foundation which they set up as per Angus Delaney’s wishes. That’s when the executors took on their new role as trustees looking after the place.’
‘How do you know all this?’
‘My father was a local history enthusiast. When my late mother came here with late-stage dementia, my father saw that painting and wanted to know more. Of course, some of it is fact, about the house, and a little of what happened to Mr Delaney’s wife, but we can only surmise why Ralph Delaney disappeared from his school and never returned. Perhaps he met with some unfortunate accident, and died when he was at school, and the school covered it up.’
