Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  “James!” the nurse called out as she stuffed the money into the breast pocket of her uniform. A young man looking through a cupboard behind her perked up at the mention of his name.

  “Escort Miss Marshall…forgive me, Lady Margaret, to Miss Ivy’s room.”

  Margaret smiled. “Thank you.”

  “You will only be permitted fifteen minutes,” the secretary said, turning her attention back to the books opened in front for her. “And I wouldn’t go in farther than the door, if I were you,” she mumbled.

  “Pardon me?” Margaret asked.

  “Follow me, ma’am.” James appeared beside her then and gestured for the double doors that would take them down a long corridor.

  Margaret walked alongside him as he led the way to the third floor. Room after room passed, none empty and most with occupants desperate to leave. “It’s all right, ma’am,” James said once as they passed a particularly agitated patient who screamed through the heavy door. “They cannot get through those doors.”

  His words gave her no comfort against the dread that rose up inside her. How would she find Ivy? Certainly not like these others.

  Finally, James stopped at a door and pulled a key from his waistband. The metal door opened with a shrill creak and Margaret stepped toward it. A musty, damp smell greeted her as she stood in the doorway, and then she saw Ivy lying on the bed, cocooned by what looked like a backward-facing waistcoat with straps and buckles fastened at her sides. Shocked, Margaret took a step back. “Goodness. Take her out of that contraption at once!” she commanded.

  “My apologies, miss, but I cannot. She became violent,” James answered.

  “Margaret, is that really you?” Ivy wriggled on the bed in order to see Margaret at the door.

  Seeing Ivy looking toward her, Margaret gave a relieved smile but her elation was tempered by the circumstances she found herself in.

  “It is in her best interest and yours that she remains restrained,” James explained. “I will return in fifteen minutes.”

  Margaret took two steps for the bed before the heavy door was closed behind her with a thud.

  “I never thought I’d see you again,” Ivy gasped. Margaret could see Ivy had been crying, and had been for a good long while as well.

  “What happened?” Margaret asked, slipping onto the edge of the low bed. She pushed some strands of the girl’s blond hair from her face and tucked it behind her ears. She could not stand the sight of the confinement, the room, and the contraption holding Ivy steady, so she decided to focus on her friend’s face. “Did Garret do this?”

  Ivy nodded. “Yes. They told the doctor that I have been hysterical since Father died. They can’t control me.”

  The accusation was almost laughable given how little time they actually had spent with her since that horrid night.

  “You must help me get out of here.”

  Margaret had never seen a person’s spirit so beaten. Ivy gazed up at her like a wounded animal begging for her suffering to end. Margaret felt a lump at the back of her throat pushing against all her efforts of composure. Surely this wasn’t the way to treat a human being. “I don’t know how,” Margaret answered honestly.

  Margaret placed her hand gently on the side of Ivy’s face and saw her friend instantly relax from the touch. A single tear released from her eyes and trailed down the side of her face and into her hair.

  “They won’t visit me here. They helped me keep the sadness away for years but they won’t come here,” Ivy said, inching closer to Margaret despite her restraints. “But you came, didn’t you, Margaret?”

  “What are you talking about?” Margaret managed, stroking the side of Ivy’s face with the hopes of calming her down. “What friends?”

  “My friends, Margaret. All my friends.”

  “Ivy, stop,” Margaret said sternly. She glanced to the closed door and wondered how far the porter had gone. “You have to behave or they will never let you out.”

  “I’m not doing anything wrong. Mister Marshall sees them too, though he doesn’t listen to them like I do—”

  “Enough,” Margaret said quickly, bowing her head in defeat. “You have to stop talking about those friends. They cannot help you anymore.” It pained Margaret greatly to keep up the charade, to feed into Ivy’s delusions, but her time was running out and she couldn’t bear the thought of Ivy crying herself to sleep that night, believing she was all alone. “I will do the best I can to help you, but you mustn’t give them any more reasons to keep you here. You must take your medicine—”

  “I don’t need any medicine.”

  “Take your medicine!” Margaret said more forcefully. “I can’t help you unless you do this.”

  At Margaret’s insistence, Ivy nodded in agreement. “I will do what you say, Margaret,” she said quietly, “because I love you like a sister.”

  Margaret smiled and tried hard not to cry.

  The metal door opened and James appeared, the keys clinking together in his hands. “Ma’am,” he said.

  “That was hardly five minutes,” Margaret said, nearly growling.

  James straightened his stance and avoided eye contact. “It is time.”

  Margaret lowered her voice and drew closer so only Ivy could hear. “Do not speak of your friends again, not here,” she said. “Pretend you are”—Margaret paused, unsure what to say—“pretend you are me. Mind your manners and do as you are told.”

  “Be strong.”

  Margaret started at the suggestion and Ivy smiled. “That is what you are, Lady Margaret,” Ivy explained.

  Margaret nodded, unable to fight back a flood of tears. She leaned in and gave Ivy a soft kiss on her forehead. “I will be back,” Margaret said, “I promise.” She gave Ivy a long hug and was reluctant to let go. It was when James inched closer to them that she relented and backed away.

  Margaret charged down the corridor while James closed the metal door behind them, securing the lock. Margaret would have run if she could. She’d have run the entire distance home if only to rid herself of the heartache that was nipping at her heels. The rumours were true, Margaret realized. Though soft-spoken and friendly, Ivy was slipping into madness.

  Ignoring the budding rain, Margaret charged for the carriage, each step cementing her determination. “Take me back to The Briar,” she said to Walter as she approached. “I’ve had enough of this place for one day.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied taking hold of the carriage door and holding it open for her as she climbed in. “I daresay, I never thought I’d be standing in its shadow twice in as many days.” He snapped the door shut. “I’ll be happy to stay clear of those gates the rest of my life.”

  “What did you say?” Margaret leaned slightly out the window just as Walter turned to climb to his perch. He stopped at her words and looked to her.

  “I said I’d be happy to stay clear of those gates for the rest of my days, ma’am,” he answered, his words less assured.

  “No, the other thing. Have you been here before?”

  The driver swallowed. “I brought Mr. Marshall here yesterday, ma’am. He made me wait just as you have. I don’t mind it at all,” he said quickly, as if to reassure her he wasn’t complaining. “It’s just not the sort of place I would’ve expected to be bringing a woman like yourself to, is all.”

  He looked nervous and ill-prepared for Margaret’s scrutiny. He couldn’t have known the meaning behind his confession. If Ainsley had visited the asylum the day prior, Margaret knew he must have been involved in Ivy’s admittance.

  “It’s all right,” she said with a forced smile. “Something you said just caught my attention.”

  Walter nodded and climbed up to his bench. A few seconds later, the carriage began its journey back to The Briar, giving Margaret plenty of time to ponder her brother’s involvement with the Owen family.

  Aunt Louisa and Ainsley were standing at the front door when Margaret walked in, dusty and dishevelled from the long journey from Barning
Heath. Her aunt, who had been adjusting Ainsley’s bowtie, smiled out one side of her mouth as she took in Margaret’s state of dress. “I do hope you clean up well,” she said as Margaret passed, heading straight for the stairs.

  In her concern for Ivy, Margaret had completely forgotten about the dinner at Breaside.

  “Margaret?” From the corner of her eye Margaret saw Peter attempt to follow her up the stairs. “Where have you been? Is everything all right?”

  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. “Excuse me,” she said curtly, jogging up the steps as if to put as much distance between them as she could. “I must dress.”

  “May I suggest some rouge for those cheeks,” Aunt Louisa called up as Margaret reached the top of the stairs. “Men don’t like their women to look sickly.”

  She could feel Ainsley at her heels as she went. “Margaret?”

  She slammed the door when he tried to enter, and supressed the guilt she felt for doing so. She strongly suspected he was involved in Ivy’s current state and for that she was prepared to be done with him entirely.

  Julia was already in her room, laying out a line of lavender ribbons on the arm of the settee, no doubt intending to use them in her mistress’s hair. “Lady Margaret—”

  “We must be quick,” Margaret said. “We wouldn’t want to keep any of the family waiting.” Margaret laced her words with enough derision to hide her contempt. She was just about done with balls and fancy dinner parties. She felt an anvil of guilt weighing her down as she thought of Ivy freezing in that small cell while she was preened for a lavish dinner filled with flirting and useless conversation. Everything—her family’s wealth and the role she was expected to play to secure more of it through marriage—seemed useless in comparison. It was all Margaret could do to not to hurl her silver-plated hairbrush at the looking glass.

  The dresses, the finery, and the relentless expectations agitated her to the point where she could barely stay seated in the chair. She wanted to cry for her friend and scream at her brother for what he had done to her at the same time.

  Without a word of warning to Julia, Margaret rose and bounded from the room. She stormed the hall, paying no heed to anything else, and marched right into Jonas’s room. Nearly ready, he was buttoning the cuffs of his jacket when he turned at the sound of the door.

  She must have looked a dishevelled fright, her hair streaming down her shoulders, her attire still dusty from the roads back from Barning Heath. And she had little doubt that the look on her face would have sent anyone who did not know her into a corner. Jonas, however, smiled as he turned. “Margaret.”

  Closing the door behind her, Margaret crossed the floor, grabbed his hand, and kissed him. There was no protest. Jonas returned her affections with greater enthusiasm than Margaret anticipated and soon was holding the side of her face with one hand while the other encircled her and brought her body closer. He leaned into her, nearly scooping her off her feet as they kissed.

  When they pulled away, Jonas smiled lovingly as he stroked the side of her face.

  “When do you leave?” Margaret asked, nearly out of breath.

  “I head back to London in the morning,” he said, lowering his forehead into hers.

  “No, for Scotland. When do you leave for Edinburgh?”

  “Two weeks’ time.”

  Margaret nodded. “Take me with you.”

  “Margaret—”

  “I can’t be without you,” she said, nearly crying. “Whenever I think about it my body shuts down from the pain.” She would have collapsed then, crumpled in a heap on the floor, had Jonas not been holding her so close. Her body shook as she sobbed, grateful for the man who held to her. Grateful for his steadfast devotion and unwavering support. He was, without a doubt, the rock she had been seeking in the turbulent world that was her life.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Jonas asked, as if knowing her cries were rooted in something else. He attempted to pull her away so he could look at her, but she kept her head bowed as she clung to him.

  “The world is just so horrible, so cruel.” Margaret pulled in the scent of Jonas’s jacket as her fingers curled around his lapel. She closed her eyes against the memory of what she had seen that afternoon. “They put Ivy in the asylum.”

  “The asylum?”

  Margaret nodded slowly and tried to steady the quivering in her chin. “In a suit with arms tied behind her, secured to the bed! I’ve never seen anyone so scared.” She lifted her gaze then, aware that tears were spilling over from her lower lids and streaming down the crests of her cheeks. “I have to help her. Once I know she is free I am going with you to Edinburgh and I won’t look back.”

  “But Peter wouldn’t—”

  “My brother is the one who put her there.” Margaret brushed back a tear as she spoke the words. “And I will never forgive him.”

  Chapter 29

  Nor shines the sun alone

  Upon one favoured hour,

  Ainsley, Margaret, Jonas, and Nathaniel arrived at Breaside after a somewhat cramped journey in their carriage along waterlogged roads. A break in the rain allowed them to exit their conveyance at the base of the front steps with gratitude for the space to move about and the notably fresher air. Eager to accept Nathaniel’s arm, Margaret led the way up the damp and slippery stairs, allowing Ainsley and Jonas to follow behind them.

  “Come now, cousin,” she said, cheerily, “We shall see how a duke and duchess throw a party.”

  Nathaniel gave a look of confusion to Ainsley as he was ushered up the stairs toward the front door.

  With Margaret a few steps ahead of them, Ainsley saw her take a quick glance over her shoulder before quickly averting her gaze. She had said very little to him as they prepared for their outing and he couldn’t fathom why.

  Once in the foyer, they were invited by the staff to remove their coats and were escorted to the parlour, where Lord and Lady Thornton greeted them exuberantly.

  “I cannot tell you how pleased I am you could come,” Lady Thornton said, planting kisses on Margaret’s cheeks. “Blair hasn’t stopped asking me questions about you,” she said in a low voice, though still loud enough for Ainsley to hear.

  Margaret smiled demurely, but Ainsley saw her smile quickly melt away once the duchess turned.

  Lord Thornton approached Ainsley and Jonas then, effectively removing Ainsley from the conversation.

  “So you are the doctor, then?” Lord Thornton asked, shaking Jonas’s hand excitedly. “Please to meet you, good fellow. I hear you are making quite the impression amongst my friends and colleagues, saving the House of Lords one by one, I see.” Lord Thornton slapped a hand on Jonas’s back in congratulations.

  “Well, I wouldn’t say that—”

  A footman appeared with a tray of champagne. Lord Thornton grabbed two glasses by the stem and presented one to Jonas and one to Ainsley.

  “Everywhere I go, your name comes up,” Lord Thornton continued. “Dr. Davies this and Dr. Davies that.” He laughed heartily and pulled on the bottom of his lapel. “When my son Brandon told me that you were staying at The Briar I told my wife you mustn’t be excluded from our guest list.” Lord Thornton turned slightly and gestured to another couple. “Allow me to introduce to you Sir John Stratton, and his elegant wife, Lady Stratton.”

  Ainsley and Jonas greeted them warmly, shaking hands in turn as Lord Thornton spoke. “My son, Brandon, has proposed marriage to their daughter, Priscilla, you see,” he said, rocking back and forth on his feet. “A finer match there never was, if you ask me.”

  Jonas lifted his glass of champagne. “Congratulations,” he said before looking to Ainsley, who could only muster a smile. As the introductions continued, he stole a glance across the room and saw that Blair had approached Margaret and they were now invested in a conversation, though Margaret seemed deeply distracted.

  “Mr. Marshall.”

  Ainsley turned to see Lady Thornton approaching him slowly. “They looked well-suit
ed, do they not?” she asked, gesturing with a slight nod of her head toward Blair and Margaret. “I understand your aunt was unable to join us this evening, and so I ask you out of my own curiosity, has Margaret been approached by anyone in particular?” Lady Thornton was careful to keep a smile on her face and her voice low.

  Ainsley worked hard not to glance to Jonas, standing beside him.

  “Marriage prospects, you mean?” he asked.

  “Naturally.”

  “Not that I am aware of,” Ainsley said with a closed-mouth smile.

  He noticed Lady Thornton’s eyes light up. “Excellent.”

  Before long, dinner was ready and Lord and Lady Thornton entreated the guests to follow them to the dinner hall. Ainsley kept to the side as everyone filed out of the room before pulling at Margaret’s arm at the last moment.

  “Peter!” She looked as if she could strike him.

  He glanced over her shoulder to make sure everyone was still making their way down the hall. “You cannot keep ignoring me,” he said in a whisper.

  “Why not?” she asked, nearly hissing. “As far as I see it, you are my least favourite person in this house at the moment.”

  Ainsley’s shoulders sank. “What have I done to spur such venom?”

  Margaret let out a stunted laugh. “I went to visit Ivy today at St. Andrew’s House,” she said, scowling so deeply Ainsley thought she might spit at him. “They have her tied in this suit so she cannot move.”

  Instantly, Ainsley grew lightheaded and his heart quickened. “Certainly not.”

  “Don’t play coy with me. You were the one who had her admitted.” She raised a hand to her forehead as if fending off a headache. “If you think there is any forgiveness in your future you are sorely mistaken.” She turned to leave but Ainsley pulled her back.

  “Peter, Margaret. We are waiting.” Lady Thornton appeared at the door to the dining room farther down the hall.