“Wait....what is your name?”
She turned around.
“Anna. Anna Hinkle.”
Nurse Hinkle wore an apprehensive expression. I wondered what she wasn’t telling me about the South Wing.
“I’m Paul, the new doctor here.”
“Pleasure to meet you Doctor...Paul, but I really must go.”
“I understand,” I said. “First, would you tell me the quickest way to Doctor Reid’s office?”
“Through there,” Nurse Hinkle said, pointing to a tall glass door only a few feet away from where I stood. “The atrium.”
“Thank you,” I said, giving one last look into her wide brown eyes.
“Of course.”
Then she turned her attention back to Martha.
The atrium was an 18 foot day area for all patients. The windows extended to the floor—they were closed with expanded metal and wooden shutters. With stone flooring and archways leading to the ward and corridor doors, and tall arched glassed paneled ceilings, the atrium seemed a true sanctuary. A beam of light shined through one of the ceiling panels onto the stone floor, and I felt its warmth. I hurried past a male and female patient playing a game of chess.
“Good morning,” I said brightly, but neither the man nor the woman looked at me or said anything. Looking back at them, I saw they were not really playing the game, only staring at the board with glassy eyes.
I made my way down the creaky stairs and found Heathcliff in his office, looking through some papers.
“Good morning, Heathcliff.”
“Morning, Paul,” Heathcliff said glancing at me and then back to his papers again. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Can I help you with something?”
“Where might I find Doctor Reid’s office?”
“Just head through those same doors as yesterday, only this time make a left. His office is a little ways down.”
“Thank you.”
As I turned to leave, I remembered Nurse Hinkle’s peculiar behavior.
“Heathcliff...what...is in the South-B corridor?”
Heathcliff’s mouth twitched. He considered for a moment.
“The isolation ward.”
“I see...and...what types of people are in the isolation ward?”
With hesitancy, he replied:
“The most dangerous...the criminally insane...the outcasts...the murderers...I wouldn’t go in there alone if I were you.”
“I see...thanks. Well...if you’ll excuse me…”
I left Heathcliff and hurried through the lobby doors. Most asylums had dangerous patients, many had separate wards for them, but I did not understand why I had such an uneasy feeling.
Once I reached Doctor Reid’s office, I slipped through the tall doorway and into an elaborately decorated patient waiting room. A worn red, gold, and black carpet with flowers covered much of the wooden floor. Fresh cut roses were in the center of a small table, and a crimson sofa sat under a window framed with gold curtains.
I glanced at the paintings hanging on the walls. They seemed very old: some of landscapes, one of men hunting with their horses and dogs. The paintings all had the same coloring, variations of browns and deep greens.
“Doctor Watson?” A smooth Scottish accent inquired.
“Yes,” I answered breaking out of my daze to see a man, who, though shorter than I, had a commanding appearance.
An intense expression reigned upon the man’s weathered face. The prominent wrinkle fixed between his golden speckled, brown eyes, the outstanding hook of his long, crooked nose, the bold mold of his pointy chin, and the long fine gray hairs atop his head that intertwined and suffocated his brown ones, revealed he was man who had experienced much burden. He greeted me with a constrained smile.
“I’m Doctor Reid. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
He held out his hand.
“And you, sir,” I answered, shaking his hand earnestly.
Doctor Reid ushered me into his office. The floor-to-ceiling arched windows behind his mahogany desk were open. Sunlight filled the room, and a gentle breeze blew the gold sheer curtains.
“Please have a seat,” he said, motioning for me to sit on one of the leather chairs behind his desk. “Cigarette?”
“Yes, thank you.”
He lit my cigarette from a quivering match.
“Charlie told me you’d be a perfect fit for Kolney Hatch,” said Doctor Reid as he sat comfortably in the chair behind his desk. “I understand you’ve completed an internship at Maudsley?”
“Yes,” I answered eagerly.
“Very impressive,” he said, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger. He was pensive for a second. “We’re lucky to have you here, Paul. Without Charlie, we’re quite overwhelmed.”
“Have you heard from Charlie since his transfer to Glasgow?” I asked.
“No, I haven’t.”
An ebony haired nurse interrupted us.
“Doctor Reid, I must speak with you,” she insisted.
“Alice!” Doctor Reid cried, flashing his crooked smile. “Oh, Alice. You’re just in time. Meet our new resident physician, Paul Watson.”
“Yes, hullo Doctor Watson,” Alice said curtly. Her eyes were as brown-black as a beetle’s back, with bushy dark eyebrows to match. “But really, Doctor, we must speak this instant.” She looked at me and then back to Doctor Reid. “In private,” she added.
“Oh, all right, Alice,” Doctor Reid conceded, putting out his cigarette. He stood up. “Excuse me for a moment, Paul.”
After Doctor Reid and Alice left, I took note of the ornately decorated office. A large chandelier hung from the plaster ceiling, which flaunted elaborate designs of angels and fleur-de-lis. Shelves built into one of the maroon walls housed volumes of dusty books. A green table lamp sat on the edge of the desk, and on the other side of the office was a fireplace, a long leather sofa and a mahogany table. A large elaborate tapestry rug lay on the floor, and a portrait of Doctor Reid hung over the mantel.
“Pardon that interruption,” Doctor Reid said a few minutes later when he returned.
“It’s quite alright.”
“Alice is the head nurse here. She’s quite a lady,” Doctor Reid said, taking his seat again. He lowered his voice and said amidst a chuckle, “but don’t make her angry.”
“I’ll be sure not to.”
“Did Heathcliff help you settle into your room?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve found your way around here alright?”
“Well, I haven’t toured the whole facility yet, but...”
“You’ll find your way around soon enough,” he interrupted. And then breezily remarked, “I suppose you want to know what I require of you.”
“Yes.”
“Mostly, I need help with the patients in the infirmary...someone’s always getting hurt or sick.”
I observed the slight rise and fall of his brows as he turned the sleeves up on his white jacket and grabbed a key out of the top drawer of his desk.
“Who’d you intern with at Maudsley?” he inquired as he turned to unlock one of the thick wooden cabinets on the side of his desk.
“Doctor Bake....Oscar Baker.”
“Never heard of him.”
Oscar Baker was the top psychiatrist in Britain—I thought everyone had heard of him. Doctor Reid retrieved a stack of files from the cabinet and placed them on his desk.
“It’ll be mostly routine treatments,” he said casually. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, anyway.”
“Of course, of course....”
“But...I do have a few patients I want you to work with one on one,” he remarked, pushing the files toward me. “In there, you’ll find the files Doctor Wicks began on them. He included some information about their conditions and possible treatments.”
“Where shall I conduct their sessions?”
“We’ll convert one of the treatment rooms into an offic
e for you,” he answered immediately. After thinking about it for another second he said, “Yes, that’s what we’ll do.”
“I understand Kolney Hatch is privately owned,” I said innocently.
He nodded.
“What is the procedure...”
“Admittance here is...selective,” he interrupted. “Other facilities have their own rules or state rules for who is admitted. They fix a lot of patients and send them on their way...” And then he added, “And they do it well....but...I always think about those poor souls who have no future in this world...”
He lit another cigarette as he continued.
“The abandoned...the abused....those are the people I take into this sanctuary.”
“Like the patients in the South B-corridor?”
A vein in Doctor Reid’s neck pulsed.
“They would’ve been put to death...I gave them a future.”
“Do patients ever leave Kolney Hatch?”
“A patient only leaves this asylum in two ways: by way of a rare circumstance or by his death.”
“Will I take care of any of them...the patients in the isolation ward?” I inquired innocently.
“Sure,” he nodded. “Especially when I’m in town. When I’m there, I stay for a little while.” He inhaled his cigarette then blew out the smoke. “It’s a remote town with no doctor...so, I try to help the people when I can.”
I nodded.
“What about funding...for Kolney Hatch?”
“We have a benefactor. ‘Course it’s not enough, Paul, not enough to make the renovations I need.”
“I see.”
“But I make do,” he continued. “Sometimes a person just has to be creative in the way he conducts his business in order to survive.”
“Well, I don’t disagree with you,” I remarked politely.
“And because of that attitude,” he added coolly, “I think you’ll fit in well here.”
Outside, the breeze strengthened. I had hardly noticed how cloudy it had become. Doctor Reid glanced at his watch as if he had something more urgent to do.
“Well then, let’s start there,” he said. “You can look over the files later. I’ll need you to begin right away in the infirmary. As you can see from our little interruption, the patients here require our full attention.”
“Understood.”
“Any questions?”
I shook my head.
“Well then, welcome aboard,” he said, offering me a sincere smile and extending his hand again.
Files in hand, I left Doctor Reid’s office and headed with him to the infirmary, which was, in similar fashion to the rest of the rooms, pasty white. With the exception of the patient parlor and Doctor Reid’s office, the walls of Kolney Hatch were barren and prosaic—they clashed so drastically with my florid ones at home.
“After lunch, I’d like you to visit the catatonic patients. I tried increasing the calcium content of the blood, but there were no changes.”
“All right.”
“I’ll let you get acclimated to the infirmary and have the housekeepers clear out a treatment room for your office. If you’re all right, I have a session with a patient now.”
“Yes, thanks.”
When Doctor Reid was gone, I opened the first file on the top of the pile. In total, I had thirteen patients to evaluate, some with bruises from occupational therapy—one woman had sliced her finger while helping out in the kitchens. Another patient burned her arm while ironing laundry, and a few patients were finishing treatments prescribed by Charlie. Thankfully, I had all of his charts and notes, so I knew what progress his patients had made.
After lunch, I visited the catatonic patients as Doctor Reid requested and then hurried up the stairs to the East Wing. Both women and girls were housed in this ward. I knocked on the door.
“Doctor Watson!” Nurse Hinkle exclaimed as she opened the door. Her flushed cheeks made her freckles even more prominent.
“I’m here to see Madelyn. I understand she doesn’t leave the ward.”
“No, she won’t. We’ve tried, but...she’s difficult to manage.”
“All right, well let me see her.”
“Of course,” she said, opening the door wide.
A dismal feeling hung about the ward. Mingled odors of mold and soiled garments filled my nose. I watched as women and girls of various ages with glazed over eyes shuffled around in their long white gowns. Some of them moaned as they dragged their feet across the wooden floor. Some of them howled and rocked back and forth on one of the simple-framed beds that were lined up against both sides of the pale colored walls. Others sat in a complete trance with no awareness of their surroundings. I felt incredible sadness for all of them.
“Sorry for the smell,” Nurse Hinkle said when she saw me cover my nose with my forearm. “One of the girls...it just happened...and well, I washed her. One of the housekeepers is on her way to collect the soiled gown.”
“It’s fine,” I assured her, “Which one is Madelyn?”
Nurse Hinkle pointed to the far left corner of the room. Madelyn Pickett sat as still as statue on her small bed. I could only see the back of her stringy brunette hair. When I reached her, I noticed that she only stared at the wall. I ran my hand past her dull brown eyes, but she didn’t even blink.
“Madelyn was born with no ears,” Nurse Hinkle informed me. “Put away here as feeble-minded because like I told you before...she’s difficult.”
I crouched down to Madelyn’s level and cupped her head in both of my hands.
“What are you doing?” Nurse Hinkle asked nervously.
Gently, against her skull, I said, “Hullo there.”
Madelyn looked right at me.
“How did you?”
“Had a boy back at Maudsley who was born with no ears. They told his father that he’d be a deaf-mute and never amount to anything...until we found out he actually could hear. The sound waves are transmitted to the inner ear...see here...by the cranial bones, not through the ear canal. We’ll need a gramophone. Madelyn must hear music.”
“I know we have one. I’ll have someone bring one up right away,” she assured me.
“Brilliant!” I exclaimed with a smile.
As Nurse Hinkle walked away, my heart filled with incredible happiness. I could make a difference here at Kolney Hatch. I would instill hope in the hopeless, mend the broken souls, help the feeble find strength, and lift my broken spirit along the way.
Letter from Paul Watson to Amy Rose
“My Dear Amy, “May 4, 9 o’clock.”
I received your letter. It was waiting for me this morning when I awoke. I am so thankful to have reconnected with you. I do not know why you have such apprehension toward my working at Kolney Hatch. Perhaps you could explain further. This place is peculiar, but I expected as much. Please tell me that you will visit while I am here.
“With kindest heart,”
“Paul Watson”
Paul Watson’s Journal
May 5, early morning.—Last night, after I finished my supper, I was in my room, and all of the patients were in their quarters. Through my window, the evening stars revealed themselves one by one, and the moon assumed its position in the sky. I should have been sleeping, but something kept me awake. It was the same horrifying scream I heard on my first day here, only this scream continued for hours. I tried to muffle the noise but had little success. My bed was suddenly too hard, too uncomfortable, so I sat there and stared at the portrait above my fireplace until my eyelids became so heavy, even the screams could no longer keep me awake. As I lay there, I felt the optimism I had felt the day before vanish and a new feeling of dread fill my mind. I prayed I would feel better in the morning.
ten A REQUIRED INVITATION
“Well, Phillip?” Petunia asked with folded arms as she tapped her foot against her elderberry red bedroom carpet. She stood just to the right of her husband so he could see her in the tall standing mirror as he buttoned his white shirt.
He hadn’t greeted Petunia, hadn’t uttered a word to her, hadn’t even looked her in the eyes since he’d been home. Though the timing was problematic, Petunia knew this moment may be her only chance to confront Phillip about Agatha Bates.
“Phillip, when is the last time you saw Agatha? Did you see her recently? What did you tell the police?”
Phillip, who fixed his hair in the mirror and still refused to look at Petunia, realized that Petunia needed to be distracted. His forehead formed a crease then, and he spoke in his deep, all-pervading voice.
“Did you get a paper today, Petunia? I want to read about what’s going on with the general strike.”
“Phillip, don’t ignore my questions.”
The heavy rain had left a damp, oppressive air in the house, and Petunia fanned her face with her hand before pushing a piece of her black hair away from her cheek—a hair that refused to stay in her bun.
“I don’t want to talk about it right now…with you especially.”
Petunia decided she needed to stand her ground this time.
“Phillip, I am still your wife. I deserve to know what’s going on.”
Phillip smirked at her then. Oh how Petunia hated when he smirked.
“My affair with Agatha is none of your business.”
Petunia wagged her chubby finger in front of him. “When the constable shows up at my door asking about your missing prostitute,” she snapped, “I don’t care any longer whether or not you feel like talking about your affairs.”
“Now that’s enough!” Phillip shouted as he slammed his fists down on the small wooden table next to the tall mirror, making Petunia jump. He lingered there for a moment before taking a deep breath and turning back toward the mirror.
She liked him least when he displayed his temper—it was an angry Phillip that frightened her most.
“I just…” she tried to say calmly, “I just need to know the truth Phillip, please.”
“What does the truth matter?” He said as he turned to face Petunia. His icy, empty stare was all too familiar.
The Secret of Kolney Hatch Page 6