Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  “Lady Thornton has handwritten a note asking us to join them for a fox hunt the following morning as well.” Aunt Louisa lowered the invite. “My, my, Lady Thornton is not known for hosting many parties. Seems whatever transpired this afternoon has made an undeniable impression on her. Perhaps she means to make you her next daughter-in-law.”

  Margaret nearly spat out her tea. The effort to keep herself from doing so sent her coughing uncontrollably. Jonas stepped closer as Ainsley handed her a napkin. Once composed, she patted her chin and gave a look of embarrassment to those watching her. “My apologies,” she said, looking to Jonas, who stood over her. “I’m not quite sure what brought that about.”

  Aunt Louisa furrowed her eyebrows before relaxing as she looked back to the invitation. “Your attempts at refinement lack…refinement,” she said, clearing her throat. “Perhaps we should review some skills before the dinner.” Aunt Louisa pressed out the skirt of her dress, as if drawing attention to her posture. “Dr. Davies might benefit as well.”

  Ainsley cleared his throat and placed his teacup and saucer on the table. “I’d promised Jonas I would accompany him to town to see some of the burn victims,” Ainsley said, feigning regret. “And Margaret, didn’t you promise Miss Ivy that you’d show her a few dresses you’ve grown tired of?” Ainsley said.

  Margaret looked at him surprised. “Yes, of course. How remiss of me to forget.” The pair stood up in unison, both eager to be free, as Jonas placed his teacup and saucer on the table.

  Ainsley and Jonas stopped a pace short of the door and allowed Margaret to walk through ahead of them. In the hall, she turned to Ainsley slightly as they walked. “Do you think the duchess will rescind her invite?” Margaret asked quietly as they approached the base of the stairs.

  “She risks committing a calamitous faux pas, if she does,” Ainsley answered. “I doubt she would risk drawing such attention to herself.”

  Margaret nodded. “She may not even know. Suppose Blair and Brandon did not say anything to her about this afternoon.”

  “All the more reason to believe they have something to hide.”

  Chapter 23

  Nor think ye'll have to tell

  Jonas had been curious to see the hospital in Tunbridge Wells and his intended professional visit presented Ainsley with a convenient excuse to gain access to the patients who were admitted after the fire. The nurse stationed at the front door of the hospital wasn’t surprised to see Ainsley and Jonas when they first walked in. When they introduced themselves she smiled politely and led them down the main corridor to one of the ward rooms. A burst of coughing erupted in one of the rooms before becoming muffled and then subsiding completely.

  “I’m afraid Dr. Hollingsworth is not here,” she explained, glancing over her shoulder. “I know he would have liked to hear any insights you have regarding our treatment methods.”

  “I’ll be sure to inform him should I notice anything,” Jonas said humbly.

  The nurse slipped through an open doorway to one of the ward rooms and stood to the side as Ainsley and Jonas filed in. The room was open, with wood floors, high ceilings, and rows of metal beds spanning the entirety of the space. Between each bed was a small table that held glasses of water, books, or a patient’s spectacles. Most beds were occupied by patients, all of whom were male. Metal frames had been erected around certain cots, with white fabric curtains stretched between to offer a modicum of privacy.

  A solitary nurse attended to them all. Ainsley watched as she slipped between the beds with a pitcher of water, refilling glasses, and for the first time he noticed how both nurses were dressed primly in gleaming white and heavily starched uniforms, a stark contrast to what awaited them back in their London hospital. At St. Thomas’, only the head nurses had such pristine clothing, while the younger and less experienced girls wore the stains of their trade.

  “We have a handful of patients from the fire,” the nurse at the door said to Ainsley and Jonas. She gestured to the sectioned-off cots hidden behind the curtain before guiding them down the aisle toward them. “Most of the men were treated and sent home. These men are at further risk if they return home, so we opt to keep them here, where we can best protect them from further infection. Helen can answer any of your questions,” she said, nodding to the attending nurse. “I’ll let Miss Diane, our head nurse, know you are here.”

  Jonas nodded their thanks while Ainsley scrutinized the beds closest to the burn victims.

  Helen smiled as she approached with a basket of clean, rolled bandages. “I was just about to change this man’s dressing,” she said. The nurse slipped between an opening in the curtain frames and Ainsley took the liberty of following her while Jonas fell into conversation with another patient.

  The young man who lay in the bed tried to sit up when he saw Ainsley, who immediately recognized him as the man who led the wagon from the back of the burning barn.

  “Sir,” the man said before stopping suddenly and hissing against obvious pain. Ainsley noticed the man’s right arm was limp on the bed beside his torso and he was very reluctant to move it.

  “I’m sorry, Alistair,” Helen said, setting her basket of clean bandages down on the table beside the bed.

  The man grew alarmed when the nurse approached and looked to Ainsley imploringly.

  When Helen pulled back the white sheet Ainsley saw that the bandages on his one arm had been nearly soaked through with blood and pus, staining the white cloth. Alistair used his free arm to cover his face and then pull his black hair into a tight fist. It was clear the procedure was a painful one and the man would have done anything to avoid it.

  “Isn’t there’s a better way?” the patient implored. “A medicine or something I can take?” He looked to Ainsley and then back at the nurse, fear evident in his eyes.

  Helen looked to Ainsley as she knelt beside the bed. She filled an empty washbasin with fresh water before untying the first of two knots in the wrapped bandage. The man stiffened before she’d barely touched him.

  It was the smell that hit Ainsley first, ripe with the unmistakable pungent aroma of rot. She worked quickly, pulling back the layers of cloth that the wound was slow to release. Once finally exposed, Ainsley was able to see how the burn had become infected after only two days and would continue to do so until it was successful in taking the man’s life.

  When she reached for a clean bandage roll Ainsley held out a hand to stop her. “Are those treated with carbolic acid?” he asked.

  At first startled, Helen looked to the bandage in her hand and then to the basket. “I don’t know,” she said with reluctance.

  Ainsley peered out from their curtained enclave and called to Jonas. “Dr. Davies, your medical bag, please.” A moment later Ainsley had retrieved a palm-size bottle labelled “Carbolic Acid” and began to prepare a solution that would sterilize the cloth.

  Ainsley did not doubt the quality of care offered at the hospital, but after seeing the man’s wounds he was glad he had come. Alistair’s arm was already showing signs of a severe infection. If it continued unabated, there would have been no choice but to amputate, which often ended in death. Dressed properly, employing every measure of infection control, the patient would have a chance at recovery.

  Jonas went to the opposite side of the bed and looked over the patient while Ainsley slipped the bandages into the carbolic solution.

  “You told me to go to the pond,” the man said suddenly, eyeing Ainsley as he worked at the table. “The water felt good for a while, like the flames hadn’t even touched me. It was only after that my skin started”—Alistair hesitated and looked to the nurse—“you know.”

  “I doubt there is anything you could say to make this woman squeamish,” Ainsley said without taking his eyes from his task. “She’s a nurse, after all.”

  The man nodded but chose to end his story there.

  “It’s called hydrotherapy,” Ainsley said, pulling one of the bandages from the water basin. “It’s proven ve
ry useful for burns and other injuries.” He wrung out the strip of cloth and turned to the bed. “Can you hold his arm?” he asked the nurse.

  With Alistair’s arm suspended off the bed slightly, Ainsley coiled the wet bandage around the burn wound. The patient braced himself for pain but relaxed after a moment and even began to watch as his wound was dressed.

  “Now,” Ainsley said, carefully tying off the cloth, “what were you doing in Mr. Owen’s barn?” Ainsley grabbed a dry bandage and began a second layer of dressing.

  “I work for the Owens, sir,” Alistair said. “I share a room above the kitchens with two others.”

  Ainsley nodded. “So you were there when the fire broke out?”

  “I was at the house, sir. Seeing to some things for Mr. Owen…” Alistair licked his lips and pulled his gaze away. “I didn’t know what to do when I heard the screaming.”

  “Screaming?” Ainsley perked up at this.

  Alistair swallowed and glanced to Jonas. “Miss Ivy, sir, running from the barn screaming. I’d heard tell of her, tried to avoid her if I could. She’s unpredictable, you see. By the time I got outside, the barn was filled with smoke black as tar.” Alistair exhaled as Ainsley tied off the dry bandage and replaced his arm onto the top of the bedclothes. “Scariest day of my life.”

  “I can imagine,” Jonas said.

  “So you ran for the barn?” Ainsley pressed.

  “Yes, sir. I thought I could get it out with the water from the trough but the flames reached the roof and I knew we had to get the horses out of there.”

  “We?” Jonas asked.

  “Samuel and I.”

  “A portion of the roof caved in shortly after I arrived,” Ainsley said.

  “Yes, sir. I was just about to go back for another horse when it did. I tried pulling the wagon away but something fell on my arm and burned right through my shirt. That’s when you told me to go to the pond.”

  Ainsley nodded and turned the events over in his mind. The sequence of events he suggested made sense and was easily combined with what Ainsley had witnessed himself.

  “Did you see anything else?” Ainsley asked. “Anything strange or out of place?”

  Alistair shook his head.

  “What about Miss Ivy?” Jonas asked. “You said she is unpredictable.”

  The patient nodded. “I heard some of the other hands say things, you know, say she was damaged in some way. Not quite like the rest of us.”

  Ainsley and Jonas exchanged glances. “Do you happen to know if anyone said anything about Miss Ivy having a male friend?” Ainsley asked cautiously.

  “Perhaps one of the farmhands showed a particular interest in her,” Jonas suggested.

  “No, sir. We all keep our distance, if you know what I mean. Mr. Garret would not like anyone making eyes at his sister. He’s very protective of her, he is.”

  Ainsley nodded.

  “This is about Mr. Owen and them that killed him, isn’t it?” Alistair asked suddenly.

  Jonas and Ainsley didn’t answer.

  “I wish I could be more help. It all happened so fast. I’ve had a lot of time to think about it too, and all I remember is the roar of the flames and the fear in the eyes of those horses.” The man looked as if his soul had been chilled by the memory of that night.

  “Thank you, sir,” Ainsley said, laying his hand gently over Alistair’s.

  Ainsley stood and handed the corked bottle of carbolic acid to Helen. “You need to treat everything, bandages, clothes, tools with this, just as I have done, especially for this man. That infection cannot be allowed to get any worse, understand?”

  Helen nodded as she accepted the bottle. They left the curtained area and walked the aisle of the main room.

  “And we’re going to need the list of all patients who came here seeking treatment after the fire,” Ainsley said. When the nurse left, Ainsley saw the quizzical look on Jonas’s face. “We’re going to need to see if anyone has any injuries not relating to the fire. Bruises, contusions, that sort of thing,” Ainsley explained.

  “You mean to see if anyone fought with Mr. Owen before he died,” Jonas said.

  Ainsley nodded.

  “And Ivy? What do you make of her?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Ainsley answered. “That girl is the real mystery.”

  Chapter 24

  Of wounded hearts from me,

  Margaret was thankful to not have to spend her afternoon refining her decorum alongside Aunt Louisa. After the previous week at The Briar, Margaret was feeling gluttonous for breathing room, given all the people crammed into what was intended to be a small country cottage, not a sprawling estate suitable for numerous guests. The presence of Aunt Louisa and her boys was really beginning to grate on her and Margaret could tell Ainsley was even more displeased.

  Despite her desire for some time alone, Margaret had a duty to check in on Ivy and, regardless what Aunt Louisa might think of her, she wasn’t about to neglect the woman, who was becoming a fast friend.

  They had given Ivy their mother’s room, though there had been some debate regarding its suitability. Ainsley suggested Lady Charlotte’s room outright because it had not been used in many months and was probably one of the most hospitable rooms in the entire house. Margaret fought against the suggestion, however, and in the end she lost. There was no particular reason for her resistance other than her own desire to keep it as it was, tainted though it may be.

  Just before Margaret reached the closed door Aunt Louisa’s voice found her in the hall. “Oh Margaret,” she called out in her signature singsong tone. Margaret could feel herself bristle at the sound and very much wished her aunt had not cornered her so. How much longer would Ainsley and she have to suffer under such close scrutiny?

  “I’ve decided I won’t be joining you and Peter for the dinner at Breaside. Nathaniel is keen to go but the boys, however, are still not used to their nursery here. I should like to stay close by for their sakes.” Aunt Louisa tilted her head to the side and gave a closed-mouth smile. “You understand, don’t you, my dear?”

  “I’m sure Julia could give them some extra attention,” Margaret offered.

  “No, no, unfortunately the boys have developed quite an attachment to me. Excellent governesses were terribly hard to find in India, you understand. Much of their upbringing was relegated to me in the end and, well, this has been the result.” Aunt Louisa’s smile faltered slightly and her eyes glistened with threatening tears before she blinked them away. “I fear I may worry for them all night and I do not wish my motherly doting to impede on your budding friendships.” She winked at Margaret then, hinting at the relationship she imagined Margaret and Blair were forming.

  “Very well, Aunt Louisa. We shall offer your regrets.”

  “No need. I have already sent a note to Lady Thornton, who I am sure will understand.”

  Rendered speechless, Margaret nodded and simply watched as Aunt Louisa walked down the hall to her own room, closing the door behind her. She couldn’t pretend to know the woman, but she couldn’t agree that the boys were as attached to her as she claimed. The entire time the Banks family had been there both Hubert and George frolicked about without much care or concern for their mother. It was Nathaniel who appeared to have a special bond with Aunt Louisa. So overly concerned was he for his mother’s wishes that even Peter had noticed.

  Alone once again, Margaret gave a dainty knock and only pushed the door open when she heard Ivy’s tiny voice inviting her in. Ivy was standing at the window, her arms crossed over her chest. She would have been looking out over the front lawn and would have seen Ainsley and Jonas leave in the carriage.

  “Miss Margaret.” Ivy said the words as a breath, barely loud enough for Margaret to hear. Even their growing attachment did not erase the fact that the girl was somewhat odd.

  “I just wanted to ensure everything was all right,” Margaret said, walking into the room.

  “Oh yes,” Ivy answered. “Quite all ri
ght.”

  It was then that Margaret saw it, the hurt and mourning in Ivy’s eyes. Whether she had agreed to the procedure out of coercion or desperation, the girl would never be the same. Margaret took a seat at the edge of the bed and decided she would sit with Ivy, completely silent if need be, to show her she would not be alone.

  “It is done,” she said. “And we cannot go back.”

  A single tear rolled down Ivy’s cheek before the girl was able to look away.

  “Ivy, are you regretting your decision?” Margaret crossed the room and positioned herself so Ivy could not avoid looking at her.

  “What kind of person am I?” Ivy gasped, releasing a torrent of sobs. She slipped into Margaret’s arms easily, burying her face in Margaret’s welcoming arms. Margaret tried to soothe her as best she could, rocking her and holding her tightly. “I almost couldn’t do it. I was so scared.” Ivy sniffled loudly. “I love this baby’s father and I know he loves me.”

  “Oh, Ivy…” Margaret wasn’t sure what the girl said was true.

  “But he cannot marry me.” A wail grew from Ivy’s throat before she was able to choke it back. Ivy lifted her face, revealing bloodshot eyes and tearstained cheeks. “I don’t know what’s going to happen now. I’m so scared, Margaret. So very scared.”

  “Everything will be all right,” Margaret said, almost forcibly.

  Ivy gave a slight sniffle before pulling away. She wiped the crests of her cheeks with the heel of her hand. “Your mother said the same thing.” Ivy looked up and offered a weak smile.

  Margaret felt her heart slip from her chest to her stomach. “My mother?”

  The girl did not flinch, not even when Margaret’s body stiffened against the shock of what Ivy had just told her. Margaret licked her lips, which had suddenly become excruciatingly dry. “Ivy, this is not funny.” She couldn’t help but recoil at the shock. When had Ivy become so cruel as to bring up her mother, who had been dead for nearly five months?