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It had been an unusual past several weeks at the Stanley residence – a veritable hive of activity. Women and doctors coming and going. Things felt... odd, and... off... and it all started around the time Arthur Stanley was sent off for 'treatment.'
It was all a bit hinky if you asked him. He was wary, especially of those highfalutin doctor types. Using their fancy words to hornswoggle regular folk, let alone the toffs. For all he knew, they were probably fleecing Mrs. Stanley but good. He shook his head. Bastards! That was just one of the problems inherent in the system. Mrs. S. was no dumb bunny, but in light of the events of the last month... well...
Bert's employer, The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher, had asked him and his partner, Cec, to keep an eye on things at her Aunt's. For some unknown reason, Prudence Stanley had volunteered her home as temporary housing for a Women's Sanitorium!
Bert was fairly certain that Mrs. Stanley was unaware of the mandate issued by her niece, and he planned to keep it that way. Prudence was under the impression the cabbies were there for the sole purpose of assisting with gardening, landscaping, pool maintenance, and anything that would require their handyman skills or the use of their taxi. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. Never let it be said Miss Fisher didn't take care of her own.
Since Cec's wife Alice had become Mrs. Stanley's Head Housekeeper, and there was more than plenty of room at the great house, the Yates and Bert had been given quarters in-house for the sake of convenience. It was, after all, quite an enormous residence for one lone woman. Prudence's husband, Edward, had passed a number of years ago and her eldest son Guy, and his wife Isabella, were currently in England. Her youngest son, Arthur, had been living at home, save for this last month. He had been in the care of his primary physician receiving treatment for his weak heart. He had been having more difficulties of late, and his doctor wanted to keep him under close supervision. Things had finally been on an upswing and improving, so Arthur was allowed to return home. The doctor had been coming by every other day to check on his condition and progress. That had changed one fateful morning not long after his return home.
Bert couldn't imagine what it had been like for Mrs. Stanley to have entered Arthur's room that morning to wake him, only to find him cold to the touch, having passed in his sleep. Alice had told Cec, who in turn told Bert. Alice had found Mrs. Stanley sitting on the bed behind Arthur, cradling him, and rocking. Ceaselessly rocking him back and forth as a mother does when her child was sitting on her lap. One hand was cradled around his chest, securing him to her bosom, the other lightly stroking his cheek. She calmly muttered reassurances to him while silent tears poured down her face in a steady stream. She was focused only on him; her vision encompassing only him. It was hours before she would let anyone enter the room, and some time before anyone could break through her haze, and her hold on Arthur.
When the doctor finally managed to pry her away from her son, she collapsed on his bed, exhausted and bereft. Thinking it better to leave her where she lay, the doctor gave her a sedative to calm her and let her sleep. He'd asked Alice to keep an eye on her for the remainder of the day, with instructions to inform him if Mrs. Stanley's condition changed.
Since that terrible day, a pall had been hovering over the estate, most especially over that of its matron; she wasn't herself these days. After Arthur was laid to rest, Prudence seemed to just shut down, operating as if by rote. She wouldn't talk about him. Whenever she passed one of his photographs, she'd grab it and place the frame face down on its table. Anytime anyone brought him up in conversation, she would get agitated and flustered, stumbling over her words then quickly disappear.
Dr. Samuels had been trying a number of treatments in an attempt to help her, including various herbal tonics. Most recently he tried hypnotism to address her insomnia. Unfortunately, the underlying cause of her unrest lay firmly in her grief. Her stubborn denial that there was anything amiss was doing nothing to help her cope with her heartbreaking loss.
One particular bout of insomnia had led to the unsettling incident last week. Bert and Cec had returned to the house quite late after a night at the pub. They'd quietly snuck in, taking care not to wake the household. Cec had departed immediately to his quarters, while Bert headed for his. Halfway back to his room, he realized he was a mite peckish. He decided to sneak into the kitchen, grab a bit of nosh, then retire for the evening.
He tip-toed back towards the kitchen when something stopped him dead in his tracks. In the dimly lit hall, a short figure, clad all in white, was slowly shuffling in his direction. Soft words floated just out of his range of hearing. He cautiously approached the figure, not wanting to startle whomever it might be. As he got closer, he could hear a woman's voice. "Now don't you worry, my sweet boy. Because you were very good today, I'll get you some scallop pies. Mummy knows they're your favorite. I had Cook make a fresh batch today, just for you. We'll have some tea, too. Won’t that be nice, darling?"
Bert sobered up immediately upon realizing it was Mrs. Stanley roaming the halls in her night dress like the legendary Lady in White. He sidled up to her, keeping slightly behind, following as silently as possible. She ambled on, oblivious to her new companion, continuing to converse to her deceased son as if he were standing next to her. When she stepped into the kitchen, she reached her hand back to the son who was not there, and glommed onto Bert's arm. His eyes went wide as she pulled him along, patting his arm, reassuring him that they would soon have his favorite food.
As far as he could see, she was utterly unaware she was sleepwalking. He looped his arm in hers and gently tried to steer back towards her rooms, but she was having none of it. "Come along, Arthur. Cook is expecting us." He decided to play along for the meanwhile.
Moments later, Prudence stifled a yawn, which was just the opportunity he was looking for. He leaned over and spoke softly to her. "Mum, I'm... mum... I'm sleepy. Can... can we have scallop pies after a nap?" She patted his arm again and paused. "Of course, my dear. Of course. Let's get you back to bed for a kip. Cook will keep them warm for you."
Bert gently guided Mrs. Stanley away from the kitchen and back towards her rooms. They had almost made it when she stopped short in her tracks, shaking her head, a confused, pinched look on her face.
"Albert?" She sternly queried, eyes pointedly narrowed at him.
"Aw'right there, Mrs. S.?" He asked, as if it were an everyday occurrence for them to encounter each other in the hallway in the wee hours of the night.
"What... what are you doing skulking about at this late hour, Albert? Shouldn't you be in bed, sleeping?" She demanded, trying to cover the fact she had no idea how she had come to be in the hall. In her nightdress. In the middle of the night. Arm in arm. With the ex-wharfie.
"Was on my way back to me room, Mrs. S. Got a bit peckish. Thought I'd grab a bit of nosh before bed. Seems you had the same idea, eh? Scallop pies was it?" He grinned and winked at her.
"I... don't know what you're talking about Mr. Johnson." Her forehead creased, a frown spread across her face. "That's utter nonsense! I was merely..." she flustered... "I was thirsty. I was getting a glass of water." Her words rapidly tumbled out. She nodded sharply, as if trying to convince herself of her words.
"I'll leave you to it then?" Bert wiped his hand over his cheek and mouth trying to hide his look of concern. He straightened up and tipped his hat. "G'night then, Mrs. Stanley." He paused a moment more, breaking away when Prudence inclined her head, her mind still preoccupied. She popped out of her haze enough to return a "Goodnight Albert."
He departed down the hallway to his room, shaking his head in concern. Poor Aunt P. Moments later he heard the familiar click of her door closing. He'd have to keep a closer eye on things. If this became a regular pattern, he'd have to let Miss Fisher know. But in the meantime, he'd stand sentry, watch and wait.