Vintage Love

by Clarissa Ross

  Joy seized the bald man’s arm and bit into his flesh. She drew blood but the snarling madman paid no attention. In the meanwhile he was slowly throttling Lisa to death!

  Finally the warder came forward with a whip, followed by a helper with a long, heavy pole. The warder lashed out at the bald lunatic, but achieved nothing. Then the second man brought the pole down on the bald head so that it cracked open, and blood spurted from the gaping wound. The bald man’s eyes became glassy and he released Lisa, and then dropped to the floor.

  Joy was sobbing hysterically as the two warders lifted Lisa. Hugo still lay unconscious on the floor, with the bald man stretched out beside him. The lunatics became strangely silent as the warders carried Lisa away. Then as the ward door closed behind the rescue party, a bedlam of shrieking began in the dark dungeon!

  Joy sobbed, “You didn’t come soon enough. You should have been there to help her!”

  The warder gave her an ugly glance and spat at her. They took Lisa to the doctors’ room and placed her on a table. One of the doctors came rushing in to ask, “What is going on?”

  “One of the madmen attacked her,” Joy said between her crying spells.

  The doctor looked uneasy and then made an examination of Lisa. It did not take him long to raise his head and tell Joy, “There’s nothing I can do. She is dead.”

  She saw that Lisa’s body was shipped back to Berlin. And she carried on for another two weeks in a numbed state. She sent a letter to the Pastor telling him what had happened and that it meant the end of their mission to the Vienna hospital. She also let him know she would return to England.

  She had a final interview with the doctor in charge of the entire asylum. She told him, “I’ve giving up. This place has improved little since the Middle Ages when your Lunatic’s Tower was one of the attractions of the city.”

  The black-bearded doctor frowned. “You are merely upset by the loss of your colleague.”

  “Her death was needless. The warder neglected his duties.”

  “He claims he came rushing to Fraulein Spahn’s rescue!”

  “Then he lies.”

  The doctor sighed. “I’m sorry. You and the Fraulein Lisa have accomplished much here. The Pastor will not be pleased to hear you have abandoned us.”

  “He will be more upset to learn that Lisa was sacrificed by the hostility of your guards.”

  “I cannot accept that,” he said coldly.

  She ignored this and went on, “You say we have done much good here.”

  “I do.”

  “Then you can do something to show your gratitude,” she said. “There is a patient whom Fraulein Lisa called Hugo. She was talking with him at the time of her murder. She felt he should be transferred to another ward as he is not truly a violent case. She saw him making a recovery.”

  The doctor stroked his beard. “She did mention the case. I have not gotten around to dealing with it.”

  “I beg that you do so now,” she said.

  “Very well,” he told her. “You have my word.”

  “I shall remain here until I have your opinion on the case,” she said. “It is the one thing I can do for my friend.”

  Many nights she cried herself to sleep in the cold room which she had shared with Lisa. Often she took out the small music box, and listened to its merry, tinkling music. At last she was summoned to the doctor’s private office.

  Grandly, he said, “I have some good news.”

  “What?”

  “I have examined the patient and declare him well enough to be discharged from the hospital. His papers are made up. There they are!” And he passed them to her.

  She studied them and saw they were in order. Hugo would be free. She said, “Thank you. I would like to see him before he goes.”

  The doctor said, “He’ll be leaving tomorrow at ten. By the main gate.”

  “I shall be there,” she promised, rising to leave.

  CHAPTER 9

  It was gray and chilly when she arrived at the main gate of the ancient asylum the next morning. The pale, blond man whom she had known as Hugo, was seated on a bench. As a makeshift carry-all he held a large cotton handkerchief in which he tied his few belongings. She noticed that he wore only light clothing which could not be expected to spare him from the cold.

  Seeing her approach, he awkwardly rose, and when she came to him, he said, “Thanks to you I’m free!”

  She shook her head. “Don’t thank me. It was my friend’s doing.”

  His blue eyes brimmed with tears. “I caused her death! She would be alive but for wanting to help me!”

  Joy sighed. “Don’t think that! It wasn’t your fault. She died because of the hatreds and the poor management of the staff. Her dearest wish was to save you. To have something to show for her efforts here. And now you have been saved.”

  “How can I thank you?” he asked.

  “No need,” she said. “You have no warm clothes.”

  “I will manage,” he said, looking around him grimly. “Cold is nothing compared to being shut in that dungeon of madmen.”

  “Where will you go?”

  “To my village,” he told her. “It is a good two or three day’s journey from here.”

  She made a decision and said, “I will not leave you until you have some proper, warm clothing. We’re going to go shopping together.”

  She escorted him out through the main gates and they walked down the steep, cobblestone street to the district of tiny shops below. She found a special delight in buying him a warm outfit, and his pleasure in his new clothes was almost pathetic. She ended the shopping by taking him to a small inn for some excellent, warm food.

  Afterwards, as their moment of farewell drew near, they stood facing each other on the narrow sidewalk outside the inn. A light snow had begun to drift down. She smiled and said, “It always seems to be snowing! I wish you good luck, Hugo. That is what Lisa always called you.”

  “I shall adopt it as my true name in her honor,” the big man vowed. “And one day I shall make a pilgrimage to her grave in Berlin.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I think she would like that.”

  “And what are your plans, my lady?”

  “I’m returning to England. At the moment I’m filled with loneliness and frustration. I need to go back to my own country and my family and friends.”

  “You and she were like two angels in that damned place,” Hugo said, with a dark glance up the hill where the grim, gray building stood amid the falling snow.

  “We tried to do our best,” she said. “Have a safe trip to your village.”

  She watched as he moved further in the distance, and was at last lost by the curtain of snow falling between them. Then she turned, and went back to finish packing. Hurt welled up in her throat as she walked in the snow. The sooner she escaped Vienna the better. For her it had been much less than an enchanted city.

  Hilda was at the railway station in London to meet her. As soon as she located a porter to take care of her luggage, she and her sister-in-law rushed away from the sooty confusion and noise of the huge building. Outside, Hilda took a look at her and said, “You’re thinner! But it suits you!”

  “I’ve seen a good deal. Been through a good deal,” she said with a shudder.

  “I’m sure you have. Your letters from Vienna shocked me. That asylum must have been a terrible place. They ought never to have sent you there!” Hilda was indignant.

  “Still, I learned a lot. I know how awful conditions can be in such places. And how little nursing care is used. The worst thing of all was losing Lisa!”

  Her sister-in-law’s face shadowed. “I still find it hard to believe her death. I’m consoled by one thing, that you had the opportunity of knowing her, and became her friend.”

  “She was a truly dedicated nurse. I learned much from her.”

  “I’m certain you did.”

  “We also had our happy times together in spite of the awful challenge that faced us in
that Vienna asylum!”

  “That helps ease the tragedy of her loss a trifle,” Hilda said.

  Joy took a deep breath. “I still find it hard to talk of her without tears,” she said, as they waited for the porter to join them. “How are your children?”

  “All in good health,” Hilda said. “Joy grows more like you every day. She is a most independent child.”

  “A valuable quality in a difficult world,” Joy said. “And what about my brother?”

  “James keeps busy with politics and supervising the estate,” Hilda said. “He is critical of the policies of Lord Aberdeen. He thinks, unless there is a change, we are certain to be involved in another war.”

  “I hope he is wrong. What about my mother?”

  “As usual,” Hilda said with a wry look on her lovely face. “She has become more vague of late. That is actually an improvement. Her tongue is less sharp.”

  At last the porter arrived, dragging her luggage. She saw it installed on the waiting carriage, and soon she and Hilda were being driven through the London streets to Berkeley Square. Joy glanced out the carriage window and saw that it was foggy, and though it was chilly there was no snow. She had never been happier at returning to the old city.

  Turning to Hilda, she smiled, “How good to hear English spoken all around you. Even the Cockney accents are warming. And the fog is like a welcome home. I shall never love another city as I do London.”

  Her sister-in-law said, “We are glad to have you back.”

  “What has been happening in my absence?”

  “That fine legal mind you engaged managed to get that young woman off with a very short prison sentence.”

  “She should not have been punished for killing Ernest. He most foully betrayed her.”

  “Without the best legal aid she would have fared badly,” the woman sitting beside her said. “As it is she’ll soon be out of prison.”

  Joy promised, “I shall help her when she is released.”

  “Did I write you about Nancy?”

  “No.”

  “She has married again,” Hilda said. “I rather expected she would.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. This time it’s a Frenchman. He creates figures for the new waxworks that a Madame something or other has opened here. Rather a common fellow it would appear. But the talk is that he is devoted to her.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Joy said with a sigh. “I do not think our friendship can ever be mended.”

  On reaching Berkeley Square, Joy at once went to see her mother. Propped up on pillows, Lady Susan looked a withered caricature of herself. On first seeing Joy, she gazed at her blankly. Then as Joy came close to her bedside, her mother murmured in a tremulous voice, “It really is you, Joy. I felt at first it was a shadow.”

  “No shadow!” she said with a smile and bent and kissed the parchment-like cheek of her parent. “I worried that I was never to see either you or London!”

  Her mother’s faded eyes fixed on her blankly. “You have been away?”

  “I’ve just returned from Vienna.”

  “A lovely city! Your father and I visited Vienna many years ago.”

  “I’m afraid I found it less pleasant than you did,” she said grimly.

  Her mother, paying no attention to her, rambled on. “It is pleasant to have you here. Your father is bound to be pleased. You will have much to tell him!”

  She was startled by her mother’s senile ramblings. Hilda had warned her, but it still came as a shock. This was only a shadow of her once sharp-witted parent.

  She tried to cover her upset by saying, “Hilda is waiting downstairs. She says the children are well. And James is busy with his politics.”

  Lady Susan’s pale eyes took on a sharp gleam reminiscent of her old self. She snapped, “Why didn’t she come up here with you? She avoids me! They all do! James, the worst of them! And my grandchildren stare at me as if I were some loathsome creature! They’ve no idea of proper respect!”

  Joy sighed. “I’m sorry, mother. Hilda felt she was being considerate by remaining below. She thought we would like to talk alone after my being away so long.”

  “A good excuse,” her mother said bitterly. “You probably have heard that I was forced to send Mrs. Warren away.”

  This was another shock. “Whatever for?”

  “She is mad!” Lady Susan said angrily. “She was putting powders in my tea. Powders which muddled my mind and made me forget things. I should have suspected her long before I did. As it is my mind has been done such harm I’ll never be right again!”

  “Nonsense!” Joy protested. “Mrs. Warren was your friend. She would not harm you!”

  “You think not?”

  “No. You should have her back if she will come,” Joy advised.

  “Impossible,” her mother snapped.

  “Why?”

  “The vengeful creature is dead!” her mother said with malice. “Died not long after I sent her away. And I can promise you I shed no tears at the news!”

  Joy was unhappy to hear her mother talk in this manner about a contemporary who had been a friend. Mrs. Warren had done her mother a service in coming to be with her as a companion. It seemed it had turned out badly. Poor Mrs. Warren!

  She looked at the angry, withered face and decided she had remained there long enough. She said, “I’m going to rest now. I’ll be back up later.”

  The old woman’s manner changed, and in a pleading tone she begged, “Please don’t leave London again!”

  “I won’t,” she said quietly. “I plan to be here for some time to come.”

  Her mother looked pleased. “That is how it should be. When your father comes home, we’ll invite James and Hilda with the children and all be a family again.”

  Joy went back downstairs and gave Hilda a sober look. “Your warning was timely. She is not in her right mind. She rambles continually.”

  Hilda, who was seated in a chair near Sir Richard’s life-sized portrait, glanced up at it and said, “He was fortunate to die swiftly. He would not have liked to have lived and see her like this.”

  Joy gazed up at the military figure in the portrait with his red jacket and yards of gold braid. It seemed impossible that the stalwart figure with white hair and mustache had been dead for many years. So many were dead! John and Lisa! Memories of them still brought urgent pain.

  She said, “I often miss Father. He was a wise man.”

  “Without question,” Hilda agreed. “I shall never forget his kindness to me and the way he welcomed me into the family.”

  Joy smiled sadly. “All in the past.”

  “So it is the present we must confront. Do you have any plans?”

  “I’m going to continue my nursing.”

  Hilda’s eyebrows raised. “You mean to work as a nurse here in London? You are a titled lady.”

  “I shan’t expect to be paid for my services. I shall do charity nursing. I have never found anything which satisfies me more.”

  Hilda said, “I hear that Florence Nightingale is back here after spending some time in a hospital operated by the Sisters of Charity in Paris. Her health gave her some trouble while she was there, and made her decide to return sooner than she’d planned.”

  “Many break down under the stress of nursing,” Joy agreed. “I thought I would never survive Vienna. What does Miss Nightingale plan to do now?”

  “She has taken over a modest, private hospital. She was pointed out to me at a charity fête. She is rather plain, and thoughtful-looking, a few years older than us. But she appeared to have a gracious manner.”

  Joy said, “She is a fine person. She has dedicated herself to nursing.”

  Hilda said, “All the more commendable since like yourself she has the advantage of a prominent and wealthy background.”

  With her return to London, Joy began a new phase of her life. She plunged into work at the hospital of St. Mary of Bethlehem. The hospital’s name had been abbreviated to B
edlam by the mass of Londoners. It was anything but well run, but at least conditions were somewhat better than at the asylum in which she’d worked in Vienna.

  She was always ready to take on the worst assignments, so much of her efforts were among patients considered hopeless. She surprised the medical staff by having better results than they had ever expected. Her efforts caught the attention of one of the chief doctors at the institution, a man named Jeffrey Murray.

  She had been working for three months in the dangerous wards of Bedlam when he called her into his office for a discussion. He was a pleasant man, on the stout side, with thinning, reddish hair. His steel-rimmed glasses concealed sharp, blue eyes.

  Gazing at her across his desk, he said, “You amaze me, Lady Joy!”

  “In what way?”

  “In the risks you take. You must have the wish to die a martyr. You work daily in wards which my male nurses try to avoid.”

  “Those untrained fellows show their fear and dislike of the patients,” Joy said. “And the patients sense it. I try to be more friendly towards these unfortunates and in return they show less hostility towards me.”

  Dr. Jeffrey Murray looked worried. “I hope you are not needlessly exposing yourself to danger. I have heard that a colleague of yours was murdered in one of the violent wards of the Vienna asylum.”

  “That was the institution’s carelessness,” she said at once. “My friend needn’t have died.”

  He said, “Your story may be true. But you must also realize that should harm come to you, our staff would likewise be blamed for neglect.”

  “I have learned proper caution,” she said. “An ancient myth persists here among your attendants that the insane are wilfully obstinate. As a result they try to bully and intimidate the patients. Frequently they beat them into submission.”

  He was studying her closely. “And you do not approve of this?”

  “I do not. I favor Pinel’s method.”

  “Ah! You are referring to Dr. Phillipe Pinel of the Hospital Bicetre in Paris.”

  “Yes. He believes in treating patients as gently as possible. In spite of opposition from the more conservative doctors, he has taken the chains from patients and put an end to all brutality. This, along with wholesome food, and sunlight in the desperately unsanitary cells where the patients previously lived, have proven a great success. Pinel has had so many cures, his methods are spreading.”