Madness

by Sorcha MacMurrough

  What madness was this? she thought with a shudder of icy-hot desire. His every touch set her afire, made herself more conscious than she had ever been of her womanly body.

  Even under her thick gown and yards of petticoats she could feel herself tingling in the pit of her belly and between her legs as if he had touched her intimately.

  Yet he had been more in control of the wildfire that had sprung up between them, for all he was supposed to be insane. He had lashed out from the fit, but he had been frightened, not angry or deliberately aggressive.

  She raised one hand to stroke his long, lank hair back from his forehead. “It’s all right, it’ll pass in a minute. Then we can tidy up your hair and beard and we can even shave you if you like.”

  She ran one finger experimentally along the bristles and was surprised to discover how soft they were.

  He sighed. “No point. When it grows back it itches like mad. But thank you for the offer,” he said, opening one eye to look at her now that the pain had eased.

  “We can trim it down at any rate, so you don’t look like a hedgehog.”

  Simon gave her a small smile, and she wondered again who he reminded her of. Very few of the men she knew sported such heavy facial hair. If Simon were clean-shaven…

  Then their quiet world exploded.

  Chapter Four

  All their heads shot up in alarm as the sounds of crashing and splintering seemed to come from just outside the door.

  Antony leapt to the cabinet and flattened himself against it. Simon grabbed for a towel, poised to leap out of the tub, while Gabrielle wildly looked around the large tiled bathing chamber for the chair legs and anything they could use a weapon.

  Fortunately the sound died down a moment later, causing everyone to collapse with sheer relief.

  “They must have hurled something down the corridor. Where the hell are the authorities?” Antony wondered aloud, shaking his head as he returned to Lucinda's side.

  Gabrielle shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s like they’ve all gone mad in unison. I know the word lunatic derives from the Latin for moon, but it can’t be just that.” She considered for a moment as she stroked his hair. “Simon, did you eat this morning?”

  “A tiny mouthful. Why?”

  “And do you feel different?”

  “Well, yes. I’ve never had so many seizures before.”

  “Describe them.”

  He stared at her. “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me what happened the first time, after you saved me. If you can’t recall, tell me about this one.”

  He settled himself back down in the tub again. “Usually it’s smell or sound, and I get the feeling of déjà vu.”

  “I don’t speak French very well. What does it mean?”

  “As if I’ve been here, done this before. As if I’ve met you in the past. I looked at you, touched your hand, and I was sure we knew each other. A long time ago, to be sure." He paused, stared at her and Lucinda for a moment, and then blinked.

  "I have it now. You lived in Dorset, when you and your sister were young. You used to love going riding along the undercliff, taking tea at Lyme Regis with your nanny and groom, then going back home.”

  She stared at him. “How on earth can you know that, remember it, and not even know your own name?”

  “They don’t want me to remember me. That doesn’t mean I can’t recall you. You’re certainly worth recollecting.”

  His golden eyes seem to pierce through her very soul. She did know him! But who was he? She had had a happy childhood with many people coming and going in the district when she had been growing up. Who was he?

  But his eyes has already closed once more, so she had him lean back and washed and rinsed his hair until it gleamed.

  Simon had ceased his shuddering, and time was pressing on. She needed to get him dry, decently clad. She was determined to groom him if only for his own peace of mind.

  She had seen often enough in the clinic how even a bit of soap and water and a change of clothes could make a huge difference to someone who was unwell. Making him look more like his old self, even if he didn’t have a mirror, would help Simon too, she was sure.

  When she was sure he was fully soaped and rinsed, she helped him out of the tub and made him sit on a towel as she helped to dry him, fearing he might fall and hit his head.

  As she worked and he blushed at his bareness and cupped his hands over his loins, she said, “Tell me about your deja whatever you said.”

  “Déjà vu. We’ve met before. I knew you were going to help me. Then there were all sorts of sparkling lights, a man with a candle. Then a, well, a dragon. Huge, green, blowing fire. The second time there was a huge bear with nasty fangs and claws. Just now I saw the floor shake and buckle. All sorts of colours. Things that looked like ghosts. Everything was very vivid.”

  “Are these things different from what you usually see?”

  “Yes. I don’t usually see things from a Gothic novel.”

  She looked over at her cousin. “Is it possible they put something in the food?”

  “Yes, but why? They're dangerous enough as-”

  “The quacks here have a captive audience,” Simon sighed. “They can do as they like. And if they end up with a few dead bodies, it’s that much less they have to pay the resurrection men to have nice fresh corpses to operate on.”

  “That’s horrible!” Gabrielle exclaimed.

  “But practical. These are the dregs of society,” Antony said with a shake of his head. “Few of these people have visitors, friends and family willing or able to visit them every day the way you do your sister. If they die, no one is really going to ask too many questions.

  Gabrielle shot an outraged look at her cousin. “You see? It’s like I’ve said all along. If Oxnard really cared about Lucinda he would have made much better arrangements for her. I know there are private care institutions and nurses, people willing to help and not commit poor unfortunates.

  "Thomas Eltham and Jonathan Deveril did it for Thomas' sister Jane when she was unwell after those horrible men used her as a plaything and left her pregnant and diseased. And just because a person is confused or forgetful the way Alexander was when he first met Sarah doesn’t mean they’re mad.”

  Simon began to shiver again. She shoved a fresh shirt over him for a moment while she struggled to get his trousers on. She couldn’t fail to notice his massive arousal. Even gaunt he was magnificent, like a piece of Greek statuary.

  Dionysian, most certainly, she thought with an inward giggle. Priapic even. She could see now why many people put fig leaves over the privates of their art work so as to not shock visitors. Surely looking at something as gorgeous as this all day would be most distracting.

  “I’m sorry. You’re gently raised and should not be forced to tolerate such an insult,” he said in a low tone.

  “Insult?” she said in confusion.

  “My uncontrollable ardor for your gentle touch and presence.”

  “You mean—” Her gaze fastened on him unabashedly now.

  “Yes, that," he said with a blush. "I hope you don’t think I always walk around in such a manner!”

  “I never really thought about it at all, to be honest. I don’t feel insulted, though. I understand how you feel, actually. You’re certain a most handsome man. Pity women don’t do, well, that.”

  He laughed bitterly. “Now I know I’m dreaming. A woman like you flirting with a maniac like me. I’m bound to wake up in my squalid little cell all alone, cold and starving, at any moment.”

  She grasped his hand. “I’m here, Simon. And I’m going to cut your hair and trim you beard. Antony, have you got any food with you?”

  Her cousin searched his clothes. “Aye, a bit of bread and cheese I stuffed in my pocket and forgot to eat, and a couple of packets of hunting chocolate.” He put the cloth wrapped parcel and two bars in their cardboard packets onto the counter next to him.


  “Can you manage to eat, Simon? That ought to tide you over until we can come see you again tomorrow.”

  He shook his head and sighed. “I'm grateful for the food, but as for the rest, please put it out of your mind. They’ll never let you. And it will be more than your life is worth to even ask.”

  “Let us worry about that. We have friends. Powerful people who will be willing to help. Who can investigate why you’ve been put in here. Did your family do this to—”

  “No, never,” he gritted out.

  “Here, eat the cheese,” she commanded, when she saw his eyes going out of focus again. “Eat it, Simon.”

  He obeyed, chewing mechanically, his eyes tightly shut against the pain, against the memories.

  After a time she pressed the bread into his hands, and then a couple of squares of the chocolate. She made him sip the water, and when he next opened his eyes she was holding a small hand mirror in front of his face and asked him, “Better now?”

  He gaped. “Mon Dieu. I scarcely recognise myself.”

  “Just as well you didn’t see yourself all shaggy, then.”

  “Thank you. You truly are a ministering angel.” He took her hand to place a warm kiss on the back of it.

  “And you my avenging one. You saved us. I won’t forget that, or forget a friend.”

  “You’ll wish you had by the time they’re through with us,” he warned with a grim look.

  She raised her chin defiantly. “I don’t frighten easily.”

  “And even if you don’t, your family—”

  “Are pretty much all in this room, apart from my cousins Randall and Michael. Michael was really unwell for a long time with all sorts of nightmares after the war, but no one locked him away in a madhouse. Now he’s married and happy.”

  “Then why did you put your sister in here?” he asked quietly, with a long look at the blonde still prone on the floor.

  Gabrielle sighed. “Because I didn’t know any better. Her husband lied to me, said it was the best thing all around. That she would be safe." She gave a bitter laugh. "I thought they were going to help her. But some of the doctors are as mad as the inmates. I mean, forcing them to drink salt water, electrocuting them. It’s like torture.”

  He shivered at the word, and met her gaze. He knew she had seen them. The scars all over his body. But of course she had been too polite to say anything.

  They now showed mostly white against his flesh, but a few livid red ones where they had been particularly brutal demonstrated that a human hand had made them quite deliberately.

  There were also a couple of small blue tattoos on his arms she couldn’t quite make out in the dim light of the room now that the sun was setting, but she knew what they meant.

  “You were in the war too.” It was a statement, not a question. “So whatever happened to you is not your fault, Simon. You don’t deserve to be here. But please, eat up and then perhaps we can get a bit more comfortable. I don’t know about you, but I’m starting to feel a bit cold. There’s only the one boiler for water, and night is falling fast.”

  “I might have some tea in my bag. That’ll perk us all up a bit,” Antony said, trying to sound cheerful. “But you’re right, we have little food left now, and night is coming down dark. If they were going to do something I would have hoped they’d have rescued us by now.”

  Gabrielle located the tea, and a small beaker to steep the leaves in and dilute with more hot water. She poured it out into three beakers and filled them to the top with hot. Antony sat back on his heels and drank thirstily, then began to look through all the lower cupboards in the room for more useful items.

  “Oh ho, a packet of bikkies and some more tea here, and a little thing of milk from this morning. And look, some sandwiches and a couple of meat pies. We can have a real feast. But this just makes me wonder all the more. I can’t understand where all the staff have gone.”

  Simon shook his head. “I can’t understand it either. Between here and the kitchen there are always at least half a dozen people on duty. Where can they all be?”

  “I think they gave the patients something and told them all to clear out. What did they say when you went to the gate, Antony?”

  “That they didn’t have enough staff. Couldn’t let me out and couldn’t let anyone in.”

  “So we’re trapped in here until someone comes to rescue us.” She handed Simon a meat pie, and then went over to check behind the small screen to inspect the toilet facilities, where she found several chamber pots and a drain and sink to empty and wash them. They had all they needed now except for blankets, and now began a search for them.

  Her cousin nodded. “That’s my guess. Until whatever it is that’s provoked them into acting this way wears off.”

  “So you agree with me. They were drugged.”

  “Aye, I think so. I don’t know why, but it’s the only thing that could explain what we’ve seen here today.”

  She sighed and offered another pie to Simon. He shook his head.

  "It's untainted, safe, and there's plenty now. Go ahead. You need to keep your strength up."

  "Not too much, dear," the doctor cautioned. "His stomach isn't used to it and might well rebel."

  "He's right. A little at a time, later. And you ought to eat, Gabrielle,” Simon said.

  She sat down beside Antony on the floor, sharing his warmth and her sister's. “I’m fine. How’s Lucinda?”

  He shifted around to peep under her skirts. “So far, so good. I wonder if they have any candles in here.”

  “Ah, yes, silly me. I’ll look.” She got up and began to gather everything she would need to make them comfortable for the night, or at least try to. It was going to be damnably cold without any fuel, unless they could hack apart one of the wooden tubs and use it for kindling.

  “Good idea,” Antony said when she suggested it.

  He had a couple of small saws in his bag he usually used for amputations, and he and Simon soon had the tub in pieces, and started on a second one for good measure. Then they filled the boiler and felt the difference in the chilly tiled room at once.

  While they sorted out the fuel and heat, Gabrielle made up two pallets out of towelling and sheeting. At the top of the cupboard she at last found a couple of blankets. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

  Having laid out the bedding by the boiler, there remained only having to get Lucinda onto one of them.

  To her surprise Antony insisted on staying with her. “You and Simon can bed down on that pallet. I need to know if she wakes in the middle of the night.”

  Gabrielle blushed and Simon looked away.

  “Unusual family you have,” he muttered. “Letting you sleep with a madman.”

  Chapter Five

  Gabrielle sighed. “You’re not mad, Simon, and I’m perfectly safe. More’s the pity.” She gave him a small shy smile. “You’ve seen what he can do with that saw.”

  Simon cringed and laid down on the blankets. He felt both enervated and inexpressibly weary. “No, in behind me,” he said shortly, shaking so badly that his teeth almost chattered.

  “What is it? Are you ill again?”

  “Non. J’ai envie de toi,” he whispered.

  She translated his words quickly and shivered herself. I want you.

  “I’m sorry. I can make up another—”

  “Not on your life!" he growled in a husky tone, then laughed again. "Just lie down with your chest to my back and we’ll be fine. I’m damned if I’m going to let you freeze just because I’ve got a horn the size of a rhino’s,”

  She giggled and earned herself a long stare from Antony. She made sure her hands were above the blankets while he watched, but as soon as her cousin curled himself around her unconscious sister carefully, she let one hand slip down into the top opening of Simon’s shirt.

  He flinched and gasped. He cleared his throat as Antony raised his head to look at him.

  “Another seizure?” the doctor asked, a frown of wor
ry creasing his brow.

  “No, I’m fine. Just getting comfortable on this hard floor,” Simon said tightly.

  Antony tilted his head slightly, listening. At length he said, “They seemed to have settled down a bit for the night. They must have spent their fury. Still perhaps one of us should sit up and keep watch—”

  “It’s too cold for that and we really have had a long day. I’ll take the first turn. I’ll wake you if I need you.”