by P. N. Elrod
“Obviously they’re not, you great fool—she’s just come from France! Been living abroad for her health and only recently returned to London.”
“How did you meet her?”
“Robert—that’s Robert Smollett”— he said as an aside to me— “had a musical evening on last night and she was one of the guests. She was there with his sister and Miss Glad and Miss Bolyn and all that crowd. She stood out like a rose in a field of weeds. She’s the most beautiful, the brightest, the most graceful creature I ever had the fortune to clap eyes upon.”
“She must be something if she can eclipse Charlotte Bolyn,” said Oliver. “But we shall have to see for ourselves to make sure your praises haven’t been overly influenced by the strength of your feelings.”
Tony smiled with patronizing confidence. “Of course, of course. Seeing is believing with you. But I can promise that you will not be disappointed. The Bolyns are giving a party of their own tonight and I’ve been invited, which means you can both come with me. It’s in honor of some foreign composer who’s gotten to be favorite in the more fashionable circles, but if we’re lucky, we won’t have to waste any time on him. Think you can come?”
“Given the chance to prepare. My cousin may need a bit of help. His clothes have been crammed into a sea chest for the last couple of months and—”
“Oh, that’s nothing. I’ll have Crispin look over the lot and dust everything off for you.”
“Dust was hardly my concern, Mr. Warburton, considering that I was on board a ship the whole time,” I put in.
Tony waved away my reservations. “Just leave it all to Crispin. You’re in the hands of an expert. He never lets me out the door unless I look respectable. I only got away with this costume because he was busy with you two. You must both forgive me, I was up very late last night.”
We protested that we were not in the least offended, then he lapsed into more praise about Nora Jones.
“I’m going to marry her, Oliver. I mean it. I’m quite serious this time, so stop laughing. Those other girls were a fool’s whim, a passing fancy This is the real and true thing. I know I even dreamed about her last night. Thought she was right there in my room, so I shall have to marry her to save her reputation. For God’s sake, don’t you dare repeat that to anyone. The gossips in this town would turn a beautiful dream into a ditch of night soil given half a chance.”
“And just how beautiful was this dream?” asked Oliver, unable to suppress a grin.
Tony’s pale skin reddened. “None of your damned business, sir! I wish I’d never mentioned it. What are you here for, anyway, besides to distract me from joyful thoughts of my one true love?”
Oliver told him about our celebrations last night and the need to recover away from his mother’s disapproving eye.
“Can’t blame you for that,” said Tony. “It’s just as well my parents and the rest of the family are away at Bath taking the waters. Lord have mercy, I can hardly wait to take my examines this year. As soon as I set up a practice, I’m getting my own place. I might even be able to take Crispin along, if I can persuade him. He’s a terribly superior sort, y’know. Might think it beneath himself to leave this household for another, even if it is mine. Servants!” he concluded with a shake of his head.
Oliver commiserated; I said nothing. Jericho could easily have come with me, but was convinced that if he left, his place in the house might be filled by another servant more suitable to my mother than myself, despite Father’s promise to the contrary.
Jericho and I had discussed the subject seriously and thoroughly and had concluded that he would be happier left at home. Though I respected his wishes, I could not be accused of being content myself with the outcome. I missed his company keenly.
It was for the best, though, for I realized he would look after Elizabeth in my absence and had left him a sufficient amount of money to post letters to me at regular intervals. I had charged him to send reports of all the other news that my sister might be unaware of or ignore from lack of interest. He knew how to read and write for I had taught him, having followed Rapelji’s example that a lesson is more thoroughly learned when one teaches it to another. However, Jericho and I had long ago decided never to speak of it, for many people thought it dangerous to educate slaves, and his busy life might be unpleasantly complicated by their disapproval. Father was in on the secret, though, and, of course, Elizabeth. They would put his letters in with theirs.
I wondered and hoped that they were all right and enjoying good health. That one hope and many, many nebulous worries about them returned sharply to mind, along with a familiar ache to my heart: homesickness.
“Why such a long face, cousin?” Oliver asked.
“I feel like ‘a stranger in a strange land,’ ” I replied mournfully.
“Eh?”
“He means he’s a long way from home,” explained Tony. “What we need is something to occupy the time until this evening. I was going to go someplace today, but I’m damned if I can remember where. Crispin!”
His shout brought the butler and a quick question got a quick response.
“You are to visit Bedlam today, sir,” he said.
“Bedlam? Are you sure?”
“Your ticket for entry is on the hall table, sir.”
Oliver was all interest. “Really? That would be a treat.”
Tony was dubious. “You think so?”
“Oh, yes. You know how fascinated I am in such things.” He turned to me. “You used to be able to get in whenever you pleased, but the governors of the hospital shut that down. It’s a shame too, because they were bringing in a good six hundred a year from the admissions. Now one has to have special permission and a signed pass. Not everyone can get it, you know. This is a wonderful bit of luck.”
“For you, perhaps,” said Tony. “I don’t feel I’m up to it, even if it is for the furtherance of my education. Why don’t you go in my place, then tell me about it later? I don’t share your passion for studying lunatics.”
“Surely you won’t want to miss this opportunity?”
“Surely I do. I have other ways to entertain myself; I’m sure of it.”
“This is hardly for base entertainment, Tony. I’ll be going there to learn something.”
His friend burst into laughter. “Oh, the things I could say to that.”
Oliver scowled. “What things? What?”
“Nothing and everything. You’re better than a thousand tonics, my dear fellow. You two go on to Bedlam and get all the education you want, but please, leave me to rest up here. After the excitement of meeting sweet, lovely Nora, I still feel quite drained and need to recover. I want to be at my best tonight.”
Oliver’s scowl vanished. “If you’re certain.”
“Yes. I shall do nothing more strenuous today than compose some sonnet, an inadequate tribute to her beauty.”
That ultimately decided things for Oliver. He pulled out a great gold watch. “Very well. We’ve plenty of time, perhaps we can even take in Vauxhall, too.”
Tony held up a cautioning finger. “But I thought you wanted to remain sober?”
“Damn. Yes, you’re right. We’d better stay away from there ’til later.”
“Come back at six and I’ll have my barber scrape your chins.”
We took our leave of Tony Warburton, redeemed our hats and walking sticks from a footman, then sent him off to secure a couple of sedan chairs for us.
“I think it’s worked out for the best for him not to come,” Oliver remarked as we waited outside. “When he’s in this kind of a humor, he’s likely to try out lines of his poem on us.”
“He’s such a bad poet?”
“Don’t ask me to judge that. One and all, my friends assure me that I can’t tell the difference between Shakespeare and popular doggerel.”
“Then what’s the probl
em?”
“It occurred to me what bad idea it is to enter Bedlam with a lovesick fool who’s sure to disrupt things by lapsing into verses about his wife-to-be whenever the fancy takes him. We might never get him out again.”
The chairs arrived, and I listened closely while Oliver haggled over the price with the men. The only way to cease being a stranger in this land was to learn how things were run and the minutiae of local customs. Since I would be living here for at least four years, it was to my best advantage to keep my eyes and ears open at all times.
This resolve, I was to find out, was somewhat restricted once I got into my sedan chair. Though it had two large windows on either side, the view was much more limited than the one I’d enjoyed on the pony cart. Owing to my natural height, my head nearly brushed the roof and frequently did so as the bearers bounced along their way. We passed by other chairs with more top room, something necessary to the ladies within who wished to preserve the state of their hair. I noticed that the leather ceiling of my own bore oily evidence that more than one woman had been here before, leaving behind a dark stain mingled with white flecks where the lard and rice flour had rubbed off.
“Have a care, sir!” one of the bearers warned when I leaned too far out a window to catch a glimpse of the myriad sights we passed. My enthusiasm was an endangerment to their balance. Having no wish to crash face first into the filthy cobbles, I forced myself to keep still and resolved to engage some other means of travel for the return trip. Anything, up to and including being pushed along in a barrow, would be considered. Confined like this and cut off from conversation with Oliver, the hundreds of questions popping into my head with each new sight had to go unanswered. There being so many, I regretfully knew I’d never remember them all later, for surely they would be replaced by others.
At least I was spared the grime of the streets and shaded from the sun, but despite these advantages, the ride was long and wearisome. If not for the guiding presence of my cousin I should also have been quite lost, for I had no idea where we were or where we had come from. Though the bearers might have little trouble navigating to and fro through the crowds steaming around us, I would not have been able to find my way back to Warburton’s unaided.
Though our destination was a hospital for lunatics, it turned out to be a pleasant and restful sight; I’d expected something much smaller and uglier than the building before us. Vast and long, three stories high, with tall towers marking the corner turning of each wing and the tallest of all in the center, Bedlam, once known as the hospital of Bethlehem, looked as fair as any edifice I had so far seen in this great city. We stood at the beginning of a wide lane leading directly to the central entrance from the street. On either side, a simple white fence enclosed sections of the front grounds, protecting the perfectly spaced trees within. If one grew tired of observing the inmates, this wholesome patch of greenery would serve to soothe the eye.
There were few people about, though the quiet air carried an odd note to it that I did not immediately identify. As we drew closer to the entry, it increased and became more varied until I finally identified it as the drone of human voices. Drone would serve for want of a better word, for it frequently broke off into high laughter or outright screaming. The hair on my head began to rise, and for the first time I questioned my cousin’s wisdom in bringing me.
Unaware of my misgivings, he presented his ticket to the proper authority and after a delay that only increased my unease, we were assigned a guide to take us around. Though Oliver was a medical student, I was not, but no query against my being here was ever raised. Oliver said the right things and asked intelligent questions, while I nodded and imitated his manner so as to not arouse suspicion. In truth, I need not have gone to such trouble. On the one hand, no one was too curious about us, on the other, after five minutes, I would not at all have minded being expelled.
Our guide led us into the men’s wing only, the women’s side being barred to us. Some of the more lucid inmates were allowed to take exercise in the halls, while closely watched by their keepers. Only because they were somewhat better dressed than their charges, and armed with clubs and keys, was I able to tell one from another.
Though assured by our guide that the straw in the cells was frequently changed, the stench of filthy bodies, night soil, and rotten food pervaded every breath in the place. My cousin and I found some relief by holding handkerchiefs to our noses, which amused the guide and the other keepers. They maintained that they were quite used to it, and we should soon be, too. I prayed that we should not stay so long as to verify the truth of their statement.
Some of the more interesting cases were pointed out to us, and Oliver took time to study each with an absorption that surprised me. Flighty as he seemed most of the time, here he was a genuine student, apparently serious in his pursuit of knowledge when the fit was upon him. It was contagious, for his comments to me quickened my own curiosity and sparked a lengthy conversation on the causes of madness.
“You and I both know that it can be passed along in the blood,” he said. “There are whole families running loose that should be chained up in the basement. But some of these cases just seem to come out of nowhere as though the wretch had been struck by lightning. That fellow back there in the straw cap preaching so fervently to the wall is an excellent example. You missed hearing about him, but his keeper said that his was such an occurrence. He was once a curate and while doing his rounds one day, he just fell right over. They thought it was apoplexy or too much sun or the flying gout, but he fully recovered the next day, except for his wits, which were gone. Now he thinks he’s a bishop and spends his time in theological argument with invisible colleagues. To add to the singularity of his circumstances, his arguments are quite sane and sound. I listened to him and he makes more sense than others I’ve heard of a Sunday.”
The poor man was certainly in a minority, for many of those around him either stared at nothing with frightened or blank faces or raved in their cells, rattling their chains and howling in a most pitiful way. If one became violent, others might follow, so the keepers had to watch them constantly. I’m sorry to say that when drawn to one of the barred windows set in the stout door of a cell, the creature within began screeching in a most alarming way at the sight of me. I fell back at once, but that alone did not calm him and he continued until a keeper opened the door and threw a bucket of water on him. This inspired much merriment in those others who were able to appreciate it. The screams turned to sputtering, died away, and his door was again locked.
“That’s the only bath ’e’s like to get in a twelvemonth,” the grinning keeper confided to me. “Lord knows ’e needs it.”
Considering his own utter lack of cleanliness, I thought he had no reason to judge another, especially one unable to care for himself. With my handkerchief firmly in place I caught up with Oliver, who spoke to a lad whose sullen expression reminded me of young Nathan Finch back home.
“I don’t belong ’ere,” he insisted. “ ’m not like them others. I never ’urt no one nor meself, so they got no call to put me ’ere.”
“Is this true?” Oliver asked our guide.
“ ’Tis true enough the way ’e tells it. He never ’armed ’imself or others, but they put ’im ’ere anyways.”
“Why? If he’s not mad—”
“Oh, ’e’s mad enough, sir, for they found ’im ’sponsible for slittin’ open the bellies of a dozen cattle. Said ’e could ’ear the calves ’nside callin’ ter get out ’n’ ’e were just ’elpin’ ’em along lest they smother. They’d a lynched ’im at Tyburn for ’is mischief, but ’e were judged to be too lunatical for it to do ’im any good, so he were brung ’ere. Leastwise ’e won’t get no more chance to cut up no more cattle.” Laughing heartily at this observation, the guide patted the lad on the head, and moved on. Looking back, I saw the boy make a murderous face at us, followed by an obscene gesture. Harmless or not, I was glad to
see that he was solidly chained to a thick staple set in the floor.
The hideous stenches, the noise, the pervading sadness, anguish and rage assaulting us from every direction were exhausting. After two hours, even Oliver’s earnest quest for knowledge began to flag and he inquired if I was prepared to leave. Out of consideration for his feelings, I tried not to appear too eager, but indicated that a change of scene would not be unwelcome.
He consulted with the guide, who quickly led us to the entrance where we settled with him and were invited to return at our earliest convenience. Again, he laughed at this, giving the impression that he was not expressing hospitality, but something more sinister. We were well down the lane before finally slowing to a more dignified pace.
“What did you think of it?” asked Oliver.
“While I can appreciate that seeing the sights within was a rare opportunity, I can’t honestly say that they were entirely enjoyable.”
“I’ll be the first to agree with you on that point, but it was certainly of excellent value to a student of the medical arts. I hope I can remember everything for Tony later.”
“If not, then please consult me. I’m sure I shan’t forget a single detail for the rest of my life. I hope that man of his does as promised with my clothes, the stink of the place clings to me still. I shall want to change them, but what I’d most like is a decent bath.”
“Well, if you think you need one,” he said, but with doubt in his tone. “I’m sure something can be arranged before the party tonight. There’s the Turkish baths at Covent Garden, but we haven’t the time or deep enough pockets, I should think.”
“How much could it cost for a bit of soap and water?”
“Very little, but it’s the extras like supper and the price of the whore you sleep with that add up, and that can go as high as six guineas.”
I abruptly forgot all about Bedlam. “Really?”
Oliver misinterpreted my reaction. “Yes, it’s disgusting, isn’t it? Even if you forgo the bath and meal, the tarts there will still demand their guineas. And they’re not much better looking than the ladies that trade at Vauxhall, who are considerably more reasonable in their prices, I might add.”