by Rhys Bowen
“Who on earth—” Clara began, but Belinda had already leaped to her feet.
“Dr. Birnbaum—it’s really you. How wonderful of you to cornel”
The man shook hands with a curious little clicking of heels and bow. Belinda grabbed his sleeve and dragged him up the steps.
“Theresa, this is the Dr. Birnbaum I told you about. He’s the one I met in Paris and he said he might be coming to America, so I said of course he had to promise to come to Adare and here he is.”
I was intrigued by Belinda’s choice. I should have thought that the pale and rather shabby doctor was not her type at all.
Theresa held out her hand. “Dr. Birnbaum. Any friend of Belinda’s is most welcome,” she said. “Do sit down and have some tea.”
“How kind.” The doctor bowed again.
“May I introduce two members of my family—my cousins Miss Tompkins and Miss Gaffney.”
“Your servant, ladies.” Another bow. He turned back to Theresa. “Then you must be Mrs. Flynn, the one I have come to help.” He spoke English fluently but with a pronounced German accent.
“Come to help?” Theresa looked puzzled. “I don't understand. I thought you were a friend of Belinda’s.”
“He’s my alienist friend, Theresa. I told him all about you and he said he might be able to ease your depression.”
“An alienist?” Theresa’s voice had grown sharp. “You brought him here to treat me? But I don't need an alienist. I'm not insane. You didn't imply that I was insane, did you?”
“Of course you are not insane, Mrs. Flynn.” The doctor said, pausing to take a sip of tea, then wipe his mustache. “Anyone can see that. But depression is also a disease of the mind and can be cured. I told your sister of my work in Vienna with Dr. Freud.”
“Dr. Freud is doing wonderful things, Theresa,” Belinda said. “He has learned to analyze dreams and he can tell you what’s troubling you through your dreams.”
“I know what’s a troubling me,” Theresa said. “I grieve for my child. I don't need an alienist for that.”
“But we have made great advances recently, Mrs. Flynn,” Dr. Bimbaum said. “If you let me treat you, I can help you to let go of these terrible memories. Dr. Freud has worked very successfully with hypnotism and I studied under him for two years. You would be amazed at the cures he brings about. A girl who had not spoken for years is restored to sanity and health. It’s like a miracle.”
Belinda leaned across to her sister and placed her hand delicately on Theresa’s arm. “You do want to feel better, don't you, Tessa dear? To be able to enjoy life again? To look forward to the future? If this man can make your black cloud go away, why don't you give him a try?”
“It would be wonderful to enjoy life again, I agree,” Theresa said, “but he will have to treat me here. I am not going to be put in any institution.”
“There’s no question of an institution of any kind, Mrs. Flynn,” Dr. Bimbaum said. “I may want to hypnotize you, with your per-mission, but other than that, we will just have little chats together. You will treat me like an old and trusted friend.”
“Very well,” Theresa said. “You seem to have come at an oppor-tune moment, Dr. Bimbaum. I just lost my spiritualist friends who contacted my dead son for me. Maybe you have been sent to take their place.”
“I'm sure I can guide you to the road to recovery, Mrs. Flynn,” the doctor said. He accepted an eclair from the plate offered him by Alice, patting neatly at the sides of his mouth after each bite.
I watched him with interest. Until this week I hadn't heard of alienists. I hadn't even realized that diseases of the mind could be treated, apart from locking up lunatics in asylums. I hoped I'd have a chance to watch Dr. Bimbaum at work, if ever I recovered from this disease. In truth I was feeling dizzy and nauseous just from sitting propped up and after a short while I had to ask the footman to get me back to bed.
“Poor Molly, she doesn't seem to be getting better, does she?” I heard Theresa’s voice float up from the veranda below. “I do hope Dr. Chambers was right and it’s not more serious than we thought.”
“I remember one of the Butler cousins contracted a similar ailment,” I heard Clara, loud and clear. “Nobody could do a thing for her. She just wasted away before our eyes.”
“How terrible. What do you think we should do for Molly?”
“If she really is dying, maybe she would want to go home to the bosom of her family,” Qara suggested.
“Don't say that word, Clara. I couldn't bear to think of it,” Theresa said.
“Of course Molly’s not dying. You do dramatize everything, Cousin Clara,” Belinda said. “You know how common food poisoning is in summer. She ate something that had gone off, that’s all. Shell be right as rain in a few days.”
“If she’s not, I'm going to have Bamey bring out a specialist from the city,” Theresa said.
“Just in case you should perhaps write to her family,” Clara suggested. “Better to prepare them for the worst.”
I lay there agonizing over this. I would certainly have to get better before a letter had time to reach Ireland. I wasn't intending to die, either! I was feeling so weak after two nights of retching and my excursion down to the veranda that I fell asleep before it was dark and didn't stir until morning. I awoke on Friday morning feeling much better. I washed, dressed and came downstairs to find another mood of high drama.
Theresa and Bamey were facing each other in the hallway.
“Honestly, Theresa, I have never heard anything more ridiculous,” Bamey was saying. “I agree that an alienist might be able to help you, but what do we know about this fellow? He could be some wandering quack that Belinda bumped into on her travels for all we know. Where are his credentials? And as for hypnotism— that is surely the stuff of fairgrounds and not medicine.”
“Dr. Bimbaum says it has produced some miraculous cures. It brings out hidden fears and worries.”
Barney’s voice softened a little. “But we know what your worries are, don't we, sweetheart? If the fellow could give you a pill to cheer you up again, I'd be all for it. But if he hypnotizes you, I'm afraid of what he might unleash.”
“You're just afraid the truth will come out,” Theresa said. She turned on her heel and strode in the direction of the dining room, leaving me feeling embarrassed halfway down the stairs. I would have crept back to my room again, but Bamey looked up as he headed for his study and saw me.
“Ah, Molly, you are on your feet again. That is good news! Theresa was insisting I write to your family about you—thought you were wasting away, I gather.” He laughed. “We Flynns are made of sterner stuff, aren't we?” He came up the stairs toward me. “This alienist fellow,” he whispered, “did you get a chance to meet him yesterday? What did you think of him?”
“I'm in no position to judge a doctor’s qualifications,” I said. “If he helps Theresa, what harm can he do?”
That’s just it,” he said. “I'm scared he might push her over the edge. She’s so fragile. Still, I suppose it can't hurt to let her talk to the man. I'm just not going to allow the hypnotism.”
Having made up his mind to his own satisfaction, he ran down the stairs again in the direction of his study. I joined the others at breakfast and Clara kept commenting on my miraculous recovery.
“I thought you were for the churchyard, Molly. That terrible sunken look to your eyes—and now look at you, well on the road to recovery again. Did you pray to a particular saint? They say St. Jude can work miracles in the case of lost causes, but then St. Luke was the physician.”
“No, I can't say it occurred to me to pray to a saint,” I confessed. “I was feeling too sick to think of such things.”
“Next time it recurs try St. Jude then,” Clara suggested.
“I hope it won't recur,” I said. “If it was food poisoning, as Dr. Chambers suggested, then hopefully it is now out of my system.”
I ate sparingly at breakfast, not wanting to tempt fate, and spa
ringly again at lunch. Theresa had herfirstsession with Dr. Bimbaum and apparently it went well.
“It is more complicated than I thought,” he reported to us as Theresa went to lie down in her room. “She brings a lot of hurt and anger from her childhood—a father who could never show affection, a mother who was jealous of her beauty. Yes, I would say that the anger she keeps bottled up inside her is greater even than her grief.”
“And how will you be able to release this anger?” Bamey asked, and there was a tightness to his voice.
“I will strip away the layers, like an onion,” Dr. Bimbaum said. “Then, when all the anger and hurts are brought out into the open, we will put her into a hypnotic trance to find if there are any angers and hurts that even she is afraid to admittor She will awake like a newborn baby, with heart and soul pure and cleansed. You will have your wife back, Mr. Flynn.”
“I just hope you know what you're doing, Bimbaum,” Bamey growled. ‘You're to keep me consulted at every step of the way, and you are not to attempt to hypnotize her without my permission.’
“Naturally, Mr. Flynn. Your full cooperation will be needed for Mrs. Flynn’s full recovery.” He put out his hand to prevent Bamey from walking past him up the stairs. “She is resting at present. I suggest we let her recover in peace until she is ready to get up.”
Theresa stayed in bed until teatime. When she joined us, I was shocked at her appearance. I thought she looked paler and sicklier than ever before, with hollow eyes and ashen complexion. So did Bamey.
“You call yourself a doctor, man?” he demanded. “Look at her. That’s not getting better.”
Dr. Bimbaum rose to his feet. “I assure you, sir, that the treatments will help Mrs. Flynn, but patience will be required. It will be painful to peel away the layers of this onion, as I described it. She may well suffer until she realizes that by speaking the words she fears most out loud, she will be free.”
“I am feeling a little better, honestly, I am,” Theresa said. “I know Dr. Bimbaum will be able to help me.”
“I'm still far from convinced that this is a good idea,” Bamey said. “I'm sitting in on the next session whether you like it or not. I won't have my wife bullied and intimidated.” He glanced across at Joe Rimes, who was standing in the doorway. “What do you think, Joe?”
“If you really want my opinion,” Joe Rimes said slowly, “I think there are clinics that specialize in this sort of thing. I think what Theresa really needs is to get away from this place and all its memories. Send her to Switzerland for a few months. A healing process like this can't be rushed.”
“I quite agree with you, sir,” Dr. Bimbaum said. “A clinic in Switzerland would be ideal. I myself have been consulting physician at afineclinic on Lake Geneva. I could write a letter of recommendation for you if you wished to pursue this.”
Barney looked from Theresa to Joe Rimes and back again. “It might be worth considering,” he said.
Theresa shook her head. “Don't send me away, please. I know that once I am locked up, I shall never return.”
“There is no question of locking you up, my sweet.” Barney put a hand on her shoulder. These places are more like sanitariums. You would be restored to good health in notimeat all.”
“I'd go if you come with me,” she said.
“I could come for a couple of weeks, to see you settled in,” Barney said, “but then I have to be back here to return to Washington. I can't abandon my constituents, and I have my reelection campaign to think of.”
“Then I won't go,” Theresa said. “I have faith in Dr. Bimbaum. He and I will work together and he will cure merighthere.”
Barney sighed. ‘You can be very obstinate, Theresa. I wish you would understand that others are trying to do what is bestforyou.’
“Are they?” she asked sweetly.
Twenty-five
Cook had outdone herself with dinner that night. Lobster followed by a soufflé followed by enormous steaks topped with mushrooms and pâté, and the meal culminating in a light mixture of brandied fruit and cream. I ate cautiously, as my stomach was still delicate, but the odors were so enticing that I tried a little of each course. I did ask Alice to bring me up a cup of peppermint tea in case I had overdone it. And obviously I had as the sickness returned that very night.
I lay there, heaving and groaning, remembering Clara’s comments about the relative who had wasted away before their eyes. Was I never going to be able to eat proper food again without this sickness recurring? Was I never going to feel well and strongenough to escape from this place?
Dr. Bimbaum was sent to examine me in the morning. He tapped and prodded me all over, then smiled. “I think this is just an un-happy coincidence, my dear Fraulein. You ate shellfish last night, did you not? Most unwise. Shellfish spoils so quickly in this heat and one bite is all it takes. And you were already in a weakened state from your last bout of food poisoning. This time I warn you to be extra careful. Drink plenty of liquids, but take nothing else by mouth until your digestive system has had a chance to recover. I will have the cook make you a good veal bone tea for nourishment later. Apart from that, barley water, remember. Nothing but barley water.” He wagged hisfingerat me seriously.
“Thank you,” I said. “So you don't think it’s anything really serious? I'm not going to waste away and die, am I?”
“What rubbish. A young girl with your healthy constitution. Youll be back on your feet in a few days if you obey my instructions.”
I lay back, too weak even to sip the barley water that sat on my bedside table. I didn't ever recall feeling so bad in my life. My head ached, my stomach felt as if it had been trampled by a herd of bulls. I was hot and clammy all over one minute, then cold and clammy the next. Lights danced in front of my eyes. Everything seemed to have a strange color to it. I couldn't help wondering if they wererightand I really was dying. If that were true, shouldn't somebody be told? I managed to drag myself to the writing desk and scrawl a note to Daniel.
“I am very unwell,” I wrote. “If you couldfindany way to get me out of this place and safely home, I would appreciate it. I don't want to die here.”
Then I addressed it to Mrs. Priscilla OSullivan at Daniel’s address asked the maid to have it taken to the mailrightaway. It would take at least twenty-four hours to reach New York and then another twenty-fourfora response. I just hoped I'd be alive that long.
I had forgotten that the next day was Sunday. The week had passed in a blur of feeling terrible. So it would be more than twenty-four hours before Daniel even received the letter. I stayed away from any kind of nourishment all day on Saturday, as instructed by Dr. Bimbaum. In fact, I felt somewhat comforted by knowing there was a physician in the house, even if he was a specialist in diseases of the mind. By evening I was hungry but re-fused the calves foot jelly that was sent up to me and only took some sips of broth and barley water. Even that didn't seem to agree with me and I had another unpleasant night.
I woke to a clear, cool Sunday morning and I lay listening to the twittering of birds and the distant church bells on the breeze. Theresa and Barney came to see me before they went to church.
“I just wish we knew what to do for you, my dear lamb,” Theresa said. 'Dr. Bimbaum suggested that you see a specialist, and wants us to send you to a hospital, but I don't want you in one of those terrible places.”
“The man is a quack,” Bamey said. “I have little faith in anything he says.”
“Oh no, you're wrong, my dear.” Theresa touched his arm gently. “I really believe he is helping me. He wanted to have another consultation with me today, but of course it wouldn't be right on a Sunday. But tomorrow, maybe, and I think I may allow him to hypnotize me this time.”
“I absolutely forbid it, Theresa,” Bamey said.
“It could help, Bamey. You can come and observe if you want to.”
“You looked ten times worse after that first session,” Bamey snapped. “I'm all for sending the fellow packing right now.”
“It’s Sunday, Bamey. Let’s not argue, especially not in front of poor, dear Molly. Well say a prayer and light a candle for you, my pet.” She bent to kiss my forehead. “Just ring for Alice if you want anything while we're at church.”
They left me then and I heard their voices as they came out of the front door.
“Do you think we should bring the priest back with us?” I heard Clara asking.
“Really, Clara, you are being too morbid,” Theresa snapped.
“Not the last rites, just to pray over her,” Clara said.
They passed out of my hearing.
That afternoon they took tea on the lawn and played croquet. I lay staring at the plaster moldings on the ceiling, willing myself to get better. I longed for a cup of tea, but wasn't about to risk drinking one. To tell the truth, I was now seriously frightened. Should I try telephoning Daniel to have him come for me? Would I recover if I were in Sid and Gus’s care? And of course the nagging worry behind everything else—did I really have typhoid?
In the evening a cup of clear broth was sent up to me, but I was too weak to drink more than one sip of it. I lay watching the sun set, feeling the cool evening breeze stirring the lace curtains and listening tQ the night noises. I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard a stirring in the vine below my window. I realized my windows were wide open to let in the breeze and wondered what wild animal, or even a rat, might be climbing up the trellis tofinda way into the house. If so, I was too weak to stop it from coming into my room. I had just decided that I was imagining things when a foot came over my windowsill.
I watched in silent horror as the foot was followed by a leg and a dark shape hauled itself into my room. I wanted to scream but I couldn't make my mouth work. If it were only a burglar, I would feign sleep and maybe he would pass me by. The shape stood up, revealing itself to be a tall man. He crept forward, reaching out in the darkness, obviously not seeing as well as I could. There was a lead crystal vase on the dresser beside my bed. Currently it held no flowers and would be heavy enough if I had the strength to lift it.