by Megan Chance
He didn’t pause but climbed into the carriage and shut the doors. I struggled against the women, who held me fast. One of them said, “Now, now, dearie, it’s best if you don’t fight.”
The driver slapped the reins, and the carriage was off. I tried to think what to do, but my mind was still so fuzzy. It was dark; the road the carriage had disappeared down was deserted. It ended here, at a tall iron gate that was being closed by two men. There was darkness all around: trees, bushes . . . the only lights were the lamps at the entrance, whose light we stood within.
“Your husband is quite concerned about you, Mrs. Carelton,” Dr. Little said in a soothing voice that only fed my fear. “It seems you have lately caused your family much worry.”
“No,” I whispered.
He said, “Please believe me when I tell you that it would be best if you let Charlotte and Greta show you to your room. I believe you will be quite comfortable.”
There seemed no other option. I was drained, and all of this was impossible, like some terrible nightmare. I wanted sleep. I wanted to wake up and find this was all an illusion.
He led the way from the gate onto a cobbled path that opened to the vast stone entryway. Lamps gabled from the door, which he opened to usher us in. The nurses did not release their hold, and I was grateful for it. My legs were weak with my acquiescence, with my growing horror.
They took me upstairs to another great door, which the doctor opened with a key from the chatelaine hanging inside his suitcoat.
“This way,” he said, and we were past the door and into a hallway that was softly lit by gas lamps and lined with doors, all closed. For a moment I relaxed. I felt oddly as if I were a guest in some well-appointed house in the country, being led to my room for a fortnight’s stay; there would be chocolate brought in the morning with freshly baked buns and nothing but a day of riding and socializing to look forward to.
Then I heard the scream. One of the nurses tightened her grip on my arm. The doctor looked up but kept walking.
“Mrs. Meyers again?” he asked.
“She wouldn’t take her medicine tonight, Doctor,” said the other nurse.
“Send Maddy to take care of it,” he said. Then he smiled at me. “These interruptions are quite infrequent, I assure you. They shouldn’t intrude upon your sleep.”
Before I could answer, we stopped at a door. Dr. Little swung it open easily. “Your room, Mrs. Carelton.”
I had a vague image of dimity curtains closed against the darkness, hangings of chintz, carpets, a bed.
“It’s quite late,” Dr. Little said. “Will you need anything else this evening?”
I shook my head, feeling numb and strange. “Nothing.”
“Then we’ll wish you good night.”
He backed from the doorway. The nurses released my arms. I didn’t move as they left me there. The door closed; I heard the clinking of his chatelaine, the key in the lock, and then their footsteps.
I stumbled to the bed, hitting my shin at the corner, which was oddly sharp. I lifted the bedcover and saw that the wooden posts were heavy, with iron bands fastened by screws. The whole of it was bolted to the floor, as were the bureau and the chair in the corner.
I sank onto the mattress, burying my face in a pillow that smelled vaguely of dirty hair and sweat beneath the scent of harsh soap. I turned my face away. Then I saw what had been carefully hidden by the closed curtains: the pattern cast on the window by a light from outside. Narrow bars.
I woke to a loud, insistent knocking on my door. I slitted my eyes—it was still dark outside—and turned over, ignoring it. I heard the click of the lock, the door opening, and then someone was shaking me.
“Get up, Mrs. Carelton.”
“It’s too early, Sadie.”
“I ain’t Sadie, Mrs. Carelton. Wake up now, dearie. We’ve a schedule here.”
The shake was rougher, the voice coarse. I started truly awake, uncertain where I was, and then I remembered.
“Leave me be,” I said. “Let me sleep.”
“Get up, Mrs. Carelton.” The woman’s hands were on my arms, pulling me up. “Come on, now. I guess you’re dressed already—that won’t happen again, will it? You can get yourself washed. Or you want me to do that too?”
I was bleary-eyed. Her face, round and plain as a potato with severely pinned brown hair, wavered before me. I blinked to bring her into focus. Her expression was unpleasant, her dark eyes narrowed.
“This ain’t your house in the city, and I ain’t your servant. You’ll do what I say or you’ll regret it. Do you understand me?”
I was taken aback. “Who are you? Where is Dr. Little?”
“My name’s Maddy. I’m your nurse,” she explained. “If you just follow my orders, we’ll get along fine.”
“I demand to see Dr. Little.”
Maddy smiled smugly. “You’ll see him, all right.” She grabbed my arm hard, so I had no choice but to get to my feet, and then she shoved me over to the tin washbasin painted in crude flowers. “Let’s just start off on a good foot, hmm? I’ll ask you again. Are you going to wash yourself? Or do you want me to do it for you?”
“I’ll do it,” I said.
She smiled again. “I thought you might.”
I waited for her to leave, but she only crossed her arms over her breasts and stood back to watch. I poured tepid water into the basin, splashing my face. I could not bear to do more than that while she watched me. It seemed to satisfy her, in any case. When I was finished, she said, “We’ll go on down to breakfast now.”
“I’d prefer to have it in my room.”
“Oh, you would, would you?” She shook her head, muttering something about the spoiled rich, and then she went to the door and opened it. “Come on. They’ll throw it out if you don’t get there.”
I hesitated, and her eyes narrowed again.
“I’ll put a jacket on you if I have to, dearie, and take you down in chains. I promise you won’t like that one bit.”
I didn’t know what a jacket was, but the thought of chains was too much, so I did as she commanded. I would not be here for long. I held to that conviction desperately. I could bear anything for a day, even two. I would tell Dr. Little everything the moment I saw him. I would explain it all: how William had sent me here against my will, not because I was insane, but because he was humiliated by my affair with Victor. I would tell the doctor how much better I’d become, how the fits that had once plagued me were gone, how I should not be here. I would demand that he call my father.
Other doors were open now, other women being led to the stairs. They were dressed soberly, for the most part, with their hair simply done. They were quiet and subdued, pasty-faced and sad-looking. I saw curiosity in some of their expressions. Others were so blank-faced they disturbed me. They all walked with their hands folded before them. I realized that some of them walked that way because their hands were encased in leather mittens bound by chains.
I tamped down my panic violently, forcing myself to remember that this would end soon, that it was a mistake.
They led us down the stairs and through the foyer. Beechwood Grove had apparently been a great estate once. The foyer was large, marble-floored, with a great wooden stairway rising from the center with carved polished banisters and stained-glass windows cut in patterns above. Paintings on the walls depicted calm, gold-lit landscapes and bucolic rolling farmlands dotted with sheep and horses. It was beautiful, much like our summer home on the Hudson, though much larger, and I felt it wrap around me with familiarity and comfort, as if to belie my words that I didn’t belong here. That frightened me more than anything else.
We were taken into a large room that had been an elegant dining room. A gasolier hung overhead, and deep brown drapes were pulled back to reveal barred windows through which the faint light of dawn cast the sky slate blue, with dark trees shadowed against it. The room was nearly filled with two long tables, upon which were set bowls and spoons. The nurses ushered each of u
s to a stiff, high-backed chair. A far door opened, and out came two women pushing carts of heavy, steaming pots laden with the scent of cornmeal. Together, as if they’d done this many times, they went down the length of the table ladling mush into each bowl with quick, efficient movements. They spilled scarcely a drop.
But for the wet slap of mush into tin bowls and the squeak of the cart wheels, there was not a sound. The nurses stood against the wall watching us, and as if on cue, each woman dipped into her bowl, eating silently. There was no sugar, no cream, and only black coffee to drink.
I did as the rest of them did, only because Maddy stared evilly at me from the wall. The women on either side of me kept their elbows close to their sides, as if concerned they might bump me, and neither even glanced at me as we ate. The mush was foul and tasteless, with lumps the size of peas, but I was hungry. It settled like a stone in my stomach.
When we were finished, the nurses came again. Maddy took me aside as the others were led out a side door. “They’re going for exercise,” she explained. “You’ll get your turn tomorrow. For now the doctor wants to see you.”
Dr. Little. I went with her gratefully as she led me from the dining room into the foyer and back down another hallway. We passed more closed doors and one or two that were open to show nicely appointed sitting rooms, empty but for upholstered chairs and bookcases and small tables. At the end of the hallway, Maddy stopped and opened the door.
“Mrs. Carelton, Doctor,” she announced.
“Yes,” came an unfamiliar voice. “Bring her in.”
I frowned. “Dr. Little?”
“You’ll see him later this afternoon,” Maddy said. “This is Dr. Rush. He’s going to do your examination.”
I felt hot. “My examination?”
“Come along, now, Mrs. Carelton,” she said. Her hand curled around my arm, and she pulled me through the door into a small room that held a desk and two tightly jammed bookcases. A graying, jocular-looking man waited by a small window.
“Welcome to Beechwood Grove, Mrs. Carelton,” he said, squinting at me with rheumy blue eyes. “You came in so late last night that we didn’t have time to get acquainted.” He seemed to expect some kind of response.
“Yes,” I said.
“Every new patient receives a full examination. We’ll be seeing each other regularly.”
Maddy closed the door. The room felt too small, too close. The doctor went to a door in the far wall and opened it, and I saw an examination table, instruments, things too familiar to mistake.
“I’ve had enough examinations,” I said.
“I’m sure you have.” He smiled, revealing stained teeth. “I assure you, this is quite necessary. Dr. Little and I have taken over your care. Therefore I will need to examine you.” He jerked his head to Maddy, and she pulled me ungently to the other room.
“Let’s get undressed, Mrs. Carelton,” she said to me.
There was no dressing screen, and when I glanced at her in question, she gestured to me roughly, and I understood that I was expected to undress in the open. When I did nothing, she came over and stripped off my gown and petticoats with practiced movements. Her broad, flat fingers tugged at the fastenings of my corset until it came loose. When I was clad in only my chemise, she bade me sit on the examination table, and Dr. Rush came in, wiping his hands on a towel.
I hugged myself, feeling exposed and miserable and powerless in a way that I had never felt before. I had had examinations like this so many times, but always because I wanted to be well, always because I hoped the doctor would find the answer.
“Now, Mrs. Carelton,” the doctor said. “You’ve been diagnosed with uterine monomania. Your husband indicates that you’ve been unable to conceive during the length of your marriage.”
I could almost see the goose pimples on my thighs beneath the thin lawn of my chemise.
“I’m sure this is familiar to you, Mrs. Carelton. Maddy?”
The nurse forced me onto my hands and knees. I closed my eyes against her rough hands pulling my chemise up over my hips, baring me to the doctor. I felt his hands, the cold speculum, and I could not stand it. “I don’t belong here.”
The doctor sighed. The sound was tired and irritated; there was no attempt at pity. “Yes, my dear, I know. No one does.”
Chapter 26
Through all of this, I refused to think of Victor, though he was always hovering in the back of my mind. I told myself that I would think of him and his abandonment after I convinced Dr. Little of William’s treachery. When I was free again, I would decide what to feel about Victor. Beyond that I would not contemplate. For now all that mattered was freedom.
When Maddy led me to Dr. Little, I was resolved. His office, through a maze of close hallways and many rooms, seemed to take forever to reach. When she closed the door behind me, I heard the squeak of a chair in the hallway—she was waiting—and that filled me with an odd sense of importance, as if they expected me to turn into a raving lunatic at any moment. Dr. Little sat at a large desk in the corner of the room, against a window where the sun came streaming in. The room was quite warm, and I had a moment of confusion—the office was so like the one I’d visited him in before, with its plaques and books. But here the wallpaper was plain brown with no design. Only the chairs, with their rich silk upholstery of deep maroon, and the highly polished desk gave any nod to decoration.
I stood in the middle of the room, my hands folded before me, feeling nauseated. There was so much at stake; I had to convince him, and yet I could not think of the words.
He studied me through round spectacles—like Victor’s, I thought briefly, though they perched on top of a fleshy nose. “Mrs. Carelton,” he said, rising. “Please, sit down.”
I settled myself on the very edge of a chair.
He took up a paper from his desk and scanned it, then his brow furrowed as if he sought some answer in my face. “You’ve had your examination with Dr. Rush this morning?”
“Yes.”
He tapped his finger on the desk. “His examination seems to bolster my previous diagnosis of uterine monomania. According to your husband, you’ve only grown worse in the time since I saw you last.”
“No,” I said. “I haven’t. I’ve been much better.”
The doctor sat on the corner of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, dangling the paper from his fingers. He looked thoughtful. “Your husband says that you were engaging in delusions and hysterical fits, Mrs. Carelton. That you were immodest and uncontrollable. He lists several examples of your unacceptable behavior: that there were several instances of”—here he reddened—“reckless and disturbing sexual conduct, that you began drawing obsessively, and that you frequently embarrassed neighbors and friends with your talk and actions.”
When his words registered, I was so disbelieving that all I could think to say was “But that’s not true.”
“Which part?”
I felt a rising panic. “William knows . . . he knows I’ve been getting better. That’s why he sent me here, you see, because he was threatened by it, because I humiliated him.”
“How did you humiliate him?”
“I—I had an affair,” I said desperately. “With my doctor.”
“Your doctor?”
“Yes. Yes. William found out and he sent me here. He drugged me first, so I wouldn’t protest.”
“You had an affair with your doctor, so your husband sent you here,” Dr. Little repeated.
“Yes. He says I’m insane, but he’s lying.”
“Lying?” Dr. Little gave me a sad smile. “My dear Mrs. Carelton, why would he do that?”
“To keep me here. To imprison me.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Yes, I do. I do.” I could no longer contain my anxiety. I rose jerkily from the chair and began to pace. “I embarrassed him, and this is all simply to remind me of who I am.”
“I see.” Dr. Little exhaled. “You did not begin drawing obsessively?�
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I jerked to a stop. “What?”
“It’s a simple question, Mrs. Carelton. Were you drawing obsessively? I have here several reports—not just from your husband but from others, your father as well—that you were.”
“My father?” I sank again into the chair. “My father knows I’m here?”
“Yes.” Dr. Little’s look was pitying.
Papa had helped William imprison me. The realization silenced me.
“Mrs. Carelton, it says here you were drawing in your every spare moment. Your maid says it. There is also an account of how you left a party to draw in the courtyard. Is this true?”
“Yes,” I said, unable to think. “I suppose it is.”
“Did you embarrass your friends?”
“I suppose so. I don’t know.”
“Did you display uncharacteristic sexual behavior?”
I could not believe this was happening. Not this interrogation, not Papa’s involvement, not anything. I began numbly to see that I would not escape this place, that the reprieve I’d hoped for was not coming. Papa would not help me. William had put me here. And Victor . . . oh, Victor. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I only wanted William to kiss me. But he was afraid I would sap his energies.”
“In other words, Mrs. Carelton, you have done every one of the things I’ve mentioned.”
I felt the chains binding me ever more tightly.
“Mrs. Carelton, I understand how this must all seem quite overwhelming, but the fact remains that your husband loves you and wants the best for you. He informed me of your mother’s unfortunate history, and I know that he and your father fear you will repeat it. They both believe that Beechwood Grove is where you should be just now. I must admit that, confronted with your behavior these last months, I have no choice but to agree. Rest is what you need. Rest and medication.” He came before me, squatting until his face was even with mine. “Mrs. Carelton, is your husband lying?”
I thought of how I had changed beneath Victor’s care, how I had become someone I didn’t know, how it must have seemed to William. He was my jailer, true, but I knew also that William believed he loved me. We had been bound together in hope and hopelessness for years.