Though This Be Madness

by Penny Richards

  Dr. Wesley gave her a look that said plainly that, as a woman, she, like a child, should be seen and not heard.

  “From time to time, I’m afraid it is, but it’s perfectly safe,” he assured them with a negligent wave of a plump hand. “As I’m sure you know, it releases the patients from worry and calms them down. They usually fall asleep, and the episode passes.”

  “Is there anything else you can tell me that might shed light on the situation?” Pierce asked.

  “Not that I’m aware of.” Wesley’s expression said that he was eager to get the consulting doctor out of his office.

  Pierce gestured toward Lilly, who stood. He and Cade followed suit. “Then I’d like to see the patient now.”

  “Well, I don’t know. . . . She isn’t allowed visitors.”

  “Dr. Wesley, I have traveled hundreds of miles at the urging of my friend. I will see the patient. Now, if you please.”

  “Oh. Yes, I’ll take you to her . . . room.” Clearly agitated, he preceded them to the door and started down the hall. “I’m afraid we must pass through the common area.”

  “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” Pierce said, tugging on the cuffs of his coat.

  Lilly had firsthand knowledge of it as well from her visit with Robbie.

  Wesley led them down a hallway to a large room where approximately twenty women were busy idling away the lives they were only marginally aware of living. Today the situation was different. One sprawled naked on the floor. Another sat cradling a pillow as if it were a baby and sang “Hush, Little Baby” in a pure, clear soprano.

  Wesley leaned nearer. “That’s Chloe. When she kept losing babies, she just went round the bend.”

  A young woman, no more than twenty, sat alone, her arms crossed. Her eyes were clear and filled with loathing as she watched them cross the room.

  “Kleptomaniac,” Wesley said.

  Yet another woman marched around the room, a Bible clasped against her ample bosom, her chin high. Every few seconds she cried out, “Repent, sinners! The day of the Lord grows near.”

  When the trio passed her, she grabbed Cade’s arm and looked up at him, her eyes blazing with a fervor that seemed to emanate from her very soul. “Do you know the Lord, young man? Every knee shall bow . . .”

  Wesley physically removed her hand from Cade’s arm. “Yes, he does, Betty, now go convert those lost souls over there.” She stared at him with a blank expression and turned and wandered away.

  “Religious mania.”

  Wesley turned into another hall and led the way to a small enclosure with three walls and bars. It was more of a cell than a room, but it did have a few of the amenities of home. A settee sat against a wall, and an expensive rug covered the rough floor. The Fontenot fortune at work.

  A woman sat in a blue wingback chair in the corner. As before, Lilly noted that she was not dressed in the loose-fitting dresses of rough white fabric provided by the asylum. Patricia Ducharme wore a simple shirtwaist of blue-striped dimity. Her sable-brown hair was coiled into a sleek chignon at the nape of her neck.

  Wesley unlocked the door and they stepped inside. As they neared her, Lilly noted the dark lashes that lay against her cheeks. She didn’t think she was reading at all. She thought the patient was asleep. A drug-induced sleep?

  “Patricia.”

  Wesley’s voice had no effect on her.

  “Patricia,” he said louder. He reached out and lifted her chin. As Lilly suspected, her eyes were closed, but as the supervisor kept speaking to her, they began to flutter and she managed to open them. They were green and quite lovely, filled with haziness and maybe a question.

  “You have company, Patricia. Wake up and talk to them, won’t you?”

  Though an obvious effort, she did her best to focus.

  “These two gentlemen are doctors from back East,” he said, repeating the background information they’d come up with for the occasion. “The young lady is a student. They’ve come to help you.” Wesley spoke loudly and slowly and enunciated each word with care, as if she had a hearing problem instead of a psychological impairment.

  “I don’t like doctors,” she said, trying to focus on Pierce. “My husband is a doctor. He put me here.”

  What a wealth of information that was, Lilly thought, shooting a glance at Cade, who gave a lift of his dark eyebrows.

  “Do you know where you are, Mrs. Ducharme?” Pierce asked.

  “Oh, yes. Henri believes I have lost my mind, but I haven’t. I just . . . lose things.” Those incredible green eyes filled with tears. “I lost my baby and my daughter, and, well, it’s always something. But I haven’t lost my snuffbox. I hid it so that no one can take it and say I lost it.”

  “You don’t have a snuffbox, Patricia, because you don’t use snuff,” Wesley told her.

  “I don’t?” She looked confused; then she sighed. “But I was so sure it was mine. The boy brought it to me. He told me he threw out the snuff because it made him sick.”

  Lilly’s heart skipped a beat. So Robbie had taken the snuffbox from Mrs. Fontenot’s room. She felt somewhat better about the theft knowing he hadn’t taken it for himself. But when had he had time to visit Patricia again, and how had he arranged it?

  “What boy was this?” Pierce asked, unaware of the things that had been going on at the house on Rampart Street.

  Wesley offered them an apologetic smile. “There was no boy, Dr. Pierce. She insists a boy visits her when she’s in the yard, and that he gave her a filigree snuffbox. She claims he’s one of the workers. The problem is that we only hire adults. And even if we did hire a child, where would a youngster who worked here get a fancy snuffbox?”

  Patricia’s eyes had drifted closed once more.

  “From her appearance and mannerisms, I assume Mrs. Ducharme has had her medicine this morning,” Pierce commented.

  “Of course. Unless there is a need to administer an extra dosage for some reason, we give medications immediately after breakfast.”

  “And is this how she spends her days? Sleeping in a chair, pretending to read?”

  Wesley appeared baffled by the question. “Well, uh, yes. What else can she do?”

  “She could do many things if she were not so sleepy,” Pierce said in a stern voice. “Times are changing, Dr. Wesley. There are new advances in medicine and psychiatry. Good heavens, man! It’s been almost a hundred years since Dr. Pinel urged institutions to treat their patients more humanely. One hundred years, sir, and we are still restraining patients and administering various drugs just to subdue them, mainly so they won’t cause any trouble.”

  Wesley’s face had turned beet red. Whether or not it was from embarrassment or anger at “Dr. Pierce” for giving him a dressing-down that rightly should have gone to his director was hard to say.

  “Well, I—”

  “The goal now is not just to lock up these unfortunate individuals because they’re not a fit in polite society, but to try to rehabilitate them,” Pierce said, interrupting whatever the poor man was about to say.

  “We do categorize disorders,” Wesley told him, grabbing on to anything to try to redeem himself and his superior.

  “I’m aware of that,” Pierce said, “and you and Dr. Ballantine are to be commended.” His tone and manner softened. “Forgive my passion, Doctor. It’s just that I have such commitment to changing things for the better.”

  A look of relief settled on Wesley’s face. “I understand.”

  Pierce started across the room.

  “Are you going?” The question held disappointment and sorrow.

  The group turned back to the woman in the armchair. Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Yes, Mrs. Ducharme, we must,” Pierce told her.

  “I want to go with you.” Two tears slid down her pale cheeks. “I want to go home.”

  “We’re working hard toward that end,” he said, offering another comment. “We want that, too.”

  Patricia’s eyes drifted shut and he
r shoulders began to shake with her silent weeping.

  Pierce gave Lilly and Cade a look she couldn’t interpret and started once more to leave the room. “Of course I only spoke with her for a few moments,” he said to Dr. Wesley, “but Mrs. Ducharme seems quite rational to me. She is sad and a bit confused, but that might be the effects of the drugs. I regret that I cannot do a proper evaluation with her under the influence of so much medication. Since she doesn’t seem violent, I’d like her taken off all her medications at once.”

  Obviously appalled at Pierce’s high-handedness, Wesley said, “You have, of course, spoken to Dr. Ducharme about changing her routine?”

  “I’m off to see him at this very moment,” Pierce assured the man. “And I’ll be stopping by tomorrow sometime to check on her condition, after say . . . twenty-four hours of being medication free. We should have some indication by then if we’re on the right track and I can give Henri my honest opinion for the future.”

  “Certainly.”

  “I suggest that someone trained in the science of psychotherapy spend time talking to her. Listen to what she has to say. Perhaps if she isn’t under the influence of the drugs, she will make more sense, and there can be a rational conversation about why she feels the way she does. In fact, I would do this for all the patients. And I beg you to stop referring to them as crazy and lunatics, as some are so fond of doing.”

  “Excellent idea,” Wesley said. “I’ll suggest it to Dr. Ballantine. But you’ll see him tomorrow when you come, won’t you?” He looked relieved that he would not be the one to tell his supervisor to change his methods of running the hospital.

  “Certainly,” Pierce assured. “Most importantly, they need something to do besides sit. If they are not violent, and if they are able to take simple instruction, why not give them small tasks to keep them busy?” Pierce smiled amiably. “After all, Wesley, we all know that an idle mind is the devil’s workshop.”

  Wesley’s reply was only a sick sort of smile.

  * * *

  “Patricia is no more insane than I am,” Cade said the moment they exited the building.

  “Agreed.” Pierce headed to the buggy tied at the street, his long stride eating up the sidewalk. “What do the two of you think?”

  “I don’t know if chloral hydrate calms violence or not,” Cade said, “but I lived on the streets long enough to know that it’s commonly slipped into the drink of a victim, rendering them comatose and making them easy targets for robbery or rape.”

  “True,” Pierce verified. “And along with cannabis, morphine, and opium, chloral hydrate can be purchased in any drug store for a mere twenty-five cents a dose.”

  “I’d say Ducharme has kept her drugged to keep her out of the way,” Lilly said. “The question is why?”

  “So that he can carry on with Mrs. Abelard. And maybe the woman Robbie and I saw him with,” he added.

  “People have done far worse for less reason,” Pierce agreed. “The question is how long will he be satisfied with keeping her out of the way? Will he decide to have Patricia succumb to some unexpected malaise one of these days?”

  “That’s the concern,” Cade said.

  “I saw a certain look in your eyes when Wesley mentioned the snuffbox. Do you know something?” Pierce asked the younger man.

  Cade explained how Mrs. Fontenot’s pretty gold box had come up missing before she and Lilly had gone to River Run. “Lilly’s pretty sure Robbie filched it when she was ill. She may be right.”

  “I’m certain of it,” Lilly said.

  “Fine. But if he did, did he have a chance to give it to Patricia, and more to the point, why would he?”

  “We know he went to see her once before,” Lilly told Pierce. “He feels sorry for her and thinks she’s being neglected, but I don’t know—”

  Cade swore suddenly. “He must have taken it to her when I went to pick up Lilly at River Run. He didn’t want to go with me because he had ‘things to do.’ That would have been after his round of sickness, too, so he’d have been able to pull it off, since he’d gone off on his own once before. No one would have thought a thing of him being missing for a while.”

  “It might be a good idea to have a talk with that young man.”

  “I intend to.”

  At last the case was beginning to shape up, though Cade knew they had miles to go before putting all the puzzle pieces together. The first thing he would do was ask Robbie why he’d dumped the snuff from the box.

  “So we’re going back to check on Patricia tomorrow?”

  “Of course not. I’m taking a train back to Chicago first thing in the morning. You and Lilly will do your checking on the Roswell woman. And Ballantine will . . .” Pierce let his voice trail away and smiled, the naughty smile of a boy who’d just done something very mischievous. “And Ballantine will show up tomorrow and his wards will be pure bedlam. Literally.”

  Satisfied that things were looking up in their case, Pierce took Lilly aside to say his good-bye. She thanked him for putting his life on hold to help them and told him to give Rose a hug for her and then she wished him Godspeed. Pierce placed a kiss on her forehead and said, “He’ll do.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “McShane. You’re in good hands.”

  Lilly couldn’t have been more surprised. Something about Cade must have impressed Pierce. He was not known for suffering fools.

  Without waiting for her to comment, he said, “He’s professional, always alert, and very street-smart. I’ve a feeling you can learn a lot from him.”

  High praise, indeed.

  “Listen and learn, Lilly.”

  She nodded, and Pierce hugged her once more before turning and starting down the street.

  When she returned to Cade, he was staring at Pierce’s back. “That is a brilliant man, and one of the best actors I’ve ever had the privilege to work with.”

  Lilly smiled up at him, a rather sad smile. “More importantly, he’s a good man.”

  Instead of replying, he took her hand and said, “Let’s go have a talk with our little brother.”

  They found the boy outside in the garden, sitting on a concrete bench and watching the lightning bugs flickering in the semidarkness. When he heard them coming, he stood, almost as if he were readying himself for battle.

  “I didn’t take it for myself.”

  They all three knew what he was talking about.

  “I know. Sit down, Robbie.” Cade indicated the bench.

  “I always planned to put it back, though I’ve no doubt it’s worth a small fortune,” he told them. “Like you always say, McShane, I’ve turned over a new leaf and I can’t do those things anymore.”

  “That’s true. So why did you take it to begin with?”

  He gave a lift of his narrow shoulders. “I just wanted to try the snuff and see what the hubbub was all about. I figured there must be something good about it, like chewing or smoking, since so many people take a dip now and again.”

  Typical boy, Lilly thought. Typical child. She recalled how she and the daughter of one of the other actors had snitched a paper and enough Bull Durham for a single cigarette, which they smoked in secret. It made them sicker than dogs.... She hid a smile. Robbie’s sickness while she was away made perfect sense now.

  “And?”

  “And it took me a bit to get up the courage to do it, since I’d been so sick when I tried the other tobacco.”

  Cade nodded. “But you were determined.”

  “Aye. Started out by just trying to smell it, but I accidentally sucked some of it up my nose.”

  Cade laughed. “Serves you right. And how was it?”

  “Terrible. You were here. Threw up my toenails, didn’t I?” Remembering, he gave a little shudder.

  “Why did you take the snuffbox to Patricia instead of giving it back to Mrs. Fontenot?” Lilly asked.

  He sighed. “I had to think on that a while. I was afraid that if I put it back in Madam’s room, everyone w
ould know that someone in the house had taken it, and since we’re new, I thought they’d suspect one of us.”

  Cade gave Lilly a look that as much as said, “I told you he was smart.”

  “Besides, I didn’t want Mrs. Fontenot to take any more of the nasty stuff, not with her just gettin’ over being so sick and all. Then I thought about Miz Patricia there in that terrible place all alone, and no one coming to visit her. I thought she might like some reminder of her home and her family.”

  “That was very nice of you, Robbie,” Lilly told him.

  He shrugged. “I dumped out the rest of the snuff before I gave it to her. She’s awful nice, but she’s a little barmy. I didn’t want her to be sick and barmy.”

  Lilly gave a little sigh. Perhaps there was hope for the boy after all.

  “Good job,” Cade told him, giving him a pat on the shoulder.

  “You’re not mad at me?”

  Cade smiled at him. “No, I think you learned a valuable lesson and did some good, too.”

  “You’ve taken a liking to Patricia, haven’t you?” Lilly said, recalling how he’d been so adamant about someone visiting her since she’d been abandoned by her family.

  “She’s been through some tough times,” he said. “I feel sorry for her.”

  This from a child left in a cemetery by his parents. A child who lived on the streets and survived by his wits. A child who knew all about tough times.

  CHAPTER 20

  Lilly and Cade rose before daylight and left on the early train to Baton Rouge. It took some time to find Corinne, who was no longer Corinne Markham, but Corinne Chambers. They finally located her in a small white house on the outskirts of town, complete with a picket fence and blue shutters . . . just the sort of home Lilly dreamed of owning one day.

  “It’s perfect,” she said, as Cade tied the rented rig to the gatepost.

  “What’s perfect?” he asked, lifting her down from the carriage.

  “The house. It’s just what I want someday.”

  The statement seemed to surprise him, but he made no comment. Instead, he opened the gate and offered her his arm. For this leg of the investigation, they were in agreement that they should show their badges. There was really no reason to hide their true identity.