‘Interesting. So Jackson’s Blood Purifier was useless?’
‘Yes. I’m not sure the ones on the shelf behind me are much better these days, but all medicines are properly monitored now. The British Medical Association clamped down on all those obscure remedies before the war.’
‘Thank you. That’s very interesting, Mr Barrett.’
‘Don’t forget your headache powders, Mrs Peel.’
‘Thank you. I almost did!’
Augusta was deep in thought as she returned to her flat with Sparky. Why had Alexander Miller thought the blood purifier helped him when it had probably had no effect whatsoever? It was no wonder John Gibson hadn’t been helped by it at all.
She placed Sparky’s cage on the dining table and opened it so he could flutter about. Then she stepped over to the window and opened it a crack so some air could get in, but Sparky couldn’t get out.
A man in a dark suit was standing in the street, looking up at her window. As soon as she saw him, he looked away.
‘That’s him!’ she said to Sparky. ‘The intruder!’
Augusta left her flat and ran down the stairs. She planned to confront the man and ask him who he worked for.
As soon as she stepped out onto the street, he walked away at a brisk pace. ‘Excuse me!’ she called after him. ‘I want a word!’
He began to run, so Augusta followed. At the top of Marchmont Street, he turned right into Compton Street again. And when he turned left by the hospital into Judd Street, Augusta guessed he was taking the same route as before. She did her best to keep up, knowing she was going to tire very soon. All she had to do was maintain her pace until they reached King’s Cross station.
The man turned right into Euston Road, then dashed across it towards the underground entrance of King’s Cross. Augusta did the same and felt pleased she was keeping pace with him a little better this time. Once again, the man dashed down the steps of the underground station. The ticket hall was busy again, but Augusta decided she had no time to be polite in the ticket office queue. She dashed to the front of it.
‘Do you mind?’ said a man with a neat beard.
‘I apologise, but this is an emergency.’ She swiftly got hold of a ticket, waved it at the ticket inspector, then headed for the escalator leading down to the platforms.
The fugitive was at the foot of the escalator and turning left towards the Piccadilly Line. Augusta ran down the escalator after him. The tiled corridor on the left was busy. A man bumped into her. ‘Oh goodness, I’m sorry. Are you alright?’
‘Yes, I’m fine, thank you,’ said Augusta. She rushed on, trying to catch sight of the man she was following. It was hard to spot him in the crowd.
The corridor eventually opened out onto a platform. The fugitive had turned right and was making his way along the platform. It was busy and a dank wind blew from the rail tunnel.
The fugitive didn’t stop on the platform. Instead he continued to an exit at the far end. Augusta followed. A flight of steps led upwards, and the man took them two at a time before turning right at the top.
Augusta was tiring. He was leading her on a wild chase around the underground station and she was running out of energy to keep up.
She turned right at the top of the steps, and she was met with an empty corridor. Having just been among crowds, there was something eerie about the quiet. Where had the man gone? She walked on and reached another empty corridor which led to the right. She paused, catching her breath and listening to the distant rumble of a tube train approaching the station.
She was tired, and the man had got away. She had no urge to continue searching the station for him. She vowed to herself she would find out who he was sooner or later. She turned and made her way back to the staircase which led to the platform.
A train had arrived and she could hear its doors opening. She was just about to take the first step down when she felt a sharp shove in the small of her back.
There was nothing she could do to stop herself as she tumbled forwards down the steep, tiled steps.
Chapter 47
‘Will I be able to leave soon?’ asked Augusta as the nurse tucked in her bed sheets the following day. Plump white pillows supported her aching head. The hospital bed was comfortable, but Augusta didn’t want to waste her time lying there.
‘Not for a while, Mrs Peel,’ said the nurse. ‘You’ve got concussion and suspected broken ribs.’
‘They don’t feel broken,’ said Augusta, trying not to wince at the pain when she breathed. ‘I’m sure it’s just bruising.’
‘Well, I’m afraid you can’t go anywhere, Mrs Peel, until the doctor is happy for you to leave us. In the meantime, please get some rest. It will be visiting hours shortly, that will be something to look forward to.’
The sun streamed through the tall ward windows of the Middlesex Hospital. An elderly woman in the bed opposite kept grumbling about pain in her back. The lady in the bed next to her coughed every few minutes. Augusta felt irritable and grumpy.
Someone had found her at the foot of the steps near the northbound Piccadilly Line in King’s Cross underground station. She didn’t know who had found her because she had been unconscious at the time. No one had seen who had pushed her.
That afternoon, Philip arrived with Fred who pushed Lady Hereford in her bath chair. Lady Hereford clutched a large bouquet of flowers and a bowl of fruit.
‘Goodness me, Augusta, you look exhausted,’ said Lady Hereford.
‘I’m fine.’
‘You can’t be fine, Augusta. They don’t keep people in hospital for no reason.’
‘I suspect you’re putting on a brave face,’ said Philip.
‘It’s not a brave face, it’s just an impatient face. I want to get back to my shop. I’m not used to lying about here. I’m taking up a bed which could be used for someone in greater need than me.’
‘Well, I think the hospital knows best,’ said Fred. ‘They wouldn’t keep you here if they didn’t have to.’
‘That’s right,’ said Lady Hereford. ‘They need to keep an eye on you. You’ve had a nasty fall.’ She turned to Philip. ‘Have your lot caught the man yet, Mr Fisher?’
‘Not yet. But they’re working on it.’
