He smiled at me warmly. “Indeed. Especially happy for me, since you would not have existed, had your grandfather succeeded.”
We rounded a bend, and his gaze went past me. Focused as I was on his face, I saw his complexion go ashen, while beads of sweat sprang up across his brow. His hands tightened on his cane, and he swallowed convulsively.
I turned to look out the window on my side, even though I already knew what I would see. We had rounded the headland, and the cliff overlooking the ocean and cove unfolded before us, the lunatic asylum perched atop it.
We had come to Stormhaven.
~ * ~
My first impression was one of shock at the building’s truly massive size. From the end of one wing to the other, I judged it to stretch nearly a quarter mile. Fully four stories tall and built of dark stone, Stormhaven dominated the headland. Spires jutted out from the corners of the central part of the building as well as from each wing, and a clock tower clawed at the underbelly of the low clouds.
We came to a high stone wall, the carriage pausing at the iron gates while our driver conferred with the guard. After a few words, the gates swung open.
Beyond the wall, a great lawn stretched out before us, its grass rather bare and patchy. A fountain played in the center of the carriage drive, and although only badly stunted trees grew on this wind-blasted height, a few beds of flowers added a splash of cheerful color near the main doors.
A young woman wearing a misshapen dress crouched in the carriage drive, watching our approach. The driver yelled and waved his whip, but she failed to move.
“What the devil?” I asked.
Griffin frowned. “One of the patients? But there should be a nurse with her.”
The carriage rolled to a halt, and the woman immediately rose to her feet and came to my window. “For you,” she said, holding out a single yellow daisy.
“I, er…” What on earth was the proper etiquette when a madwoman offered one a flower? I began to think my upbringing had been sorely lacking in a number of necessary points. “Thank you,” I said finally, and took the somewhat bedraggled flower.
Clearly my acceptance pleased her; her big eyes all but glowed, and she gave me a happy smile. “You hear it too, don’t you?”
I heard nothing but the wind, whistling over the rocks of the bluff and shaking the leaves of the stunted trees. “Er, no.”
“Yes, you do,” she said impatiently. “At night. In your dreams. You hear it singing.”
The hair on the back of my neck tried to stand up. The dream of the temple…but no, I would be as mad as she if I believed she knew my dreams. It must be a coincidence, nothing more. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Amelie!”
A woman in a nurse’s uniform emerged from one of the side doors, making her way toward us. “Amelie, get back here this instant! I don’t know how you keep getting out, but I’ll see you punished for it!”
The madwoman took a step back from our carriage. “Help me,” she said, staring at me through a curtain of red-gold hair. “Help. Me.”
Spinning on her heel, she ran back toward the asylum, forcing the nurse to take off in pursuit.
I sat back uneasily as the driver got the horses moving again. “Well. That was strange. And unpleasant.”
“Yes,” Griffin agreed, looking as disturbed by the incident as I felt.
A few moments later, the carriage came to a halt in front of the portico. Griffin stared at the asylum with an expression of rising dread, and for a moment, I considered ordering the driver to take us away with all haste. Then Griffin’s jaw firmed, and he flung open the door and climbed out. I followed, not at all certain this had been a good idea.
As we ascended the steps, the asylum’s door swung open and two men emerged. One dressed in an ordinary sack suit, but the other wore the fine coat of a professional.
“How may I help you, sirs?” he asked.
I glanced at Griffin, only to see he’d gone deathly pale. His eyes widened, as if at some vision of utmost horror, and beads of sweat sprang out on his brow and lip. For a terrible moment, I thought he would collapse into a fit right there on the very steps of the madhouse.
I had to do something to distract the men. “Allow me to introduce myself,” I said, extending my hand. “I’m Dr. Percival Endicott Whyborne.”
“Dr. Wilhelm Zeiler, the superintendent of this facility. I’ve met your father and older brother on occasion, and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance at last.”
“I’ll give them your regards,” I lied. I had nothing to do with either of them if I could at all help it.
“Please do.” He glanced at Griffin, brow raised in a question.
Thank goodness, Griffin had recovered himself somewhat. “Dr. Zeiler, Mr. Griffin Flaherty,” I said. “Ernest Tambling said he’d sent word we’d be visiting his brother?”
“Ah, yes, of course,” Zeiler said. They shook hands, but Griffin snatched his back so quickly as to border on rudeness. “I was a friend to the deceased, and had met Ernest and poor Allan on occasion.” The superintendent turned to the other man. He must be an attendant or some sort of employee, one who didn’t rate an introduction, in Dr. Zeiler’s estimation. “Jones, summon Dr. Peck, won’t you?”
“Dr. Peck?” I asked.
“My duties seldom allow me to interact personally with the patients,” Dr. Zeiler explained. “Dr. Peck is the physician overseeing Allan’s case. If you’ll come with me, we’ll wait on him in my office.”
Chapter 4
I watched Griffin carefully as we followed Zeiler inside. Usually his acting skills were worthy of the stage, but nothing could hide the unnatural pallor of his face, the tightness of his shoulders, the way he held his cane more like the weapon it actually was, rather than a fashionable prop. He seemed to expect Dr. Zeiler to attack us or, perhaps, slam the doors shut and, laughing maniacally, declare us inmates.
“Forgive me,” Zeiler said, frowning at Griffin slightly. “You seem very familiar. Have we met?”
“Is there a washroom?” Griffin asked hoarsely.
“Yes, of course. Down the hall and through the door,” Zeiler said. Griffin departed with alacrity.
“Forgive my friend,” I said, trying desperately to think of some excuse for his behavior. We should never have come here. “He, ah, had oysters with dinner last night. It isn’t a month with an ‘r’ in it, and, as the saying warns, they proved unhealthy.”
“Oh, of course, of course. Not from the coast and so didn’t know to avoid them?” Zeiler asked with a sympathetic nod. “I can tell from his accent. I’ll have my secretary mix up a glass of Bromo-Seltzer for the poor fellow.”
“Most kind of you.”
The entryway was quite large, with dark wooden floors and lovely rounded arches of rococo plaster. Leaded glass let in the watery light of the day. Dr. Zeiler led me through a door immediately to the right, with his name etched on a brass plaque. The room was no different than what one might expect to find in a fashionable home: burgundy paper on the walls, a cheerful ceiling lamp whose glass sported designs of blue and orange flowers, and dark paneling around the hearth and windows. Indicating I should sit in one of the comfortable chairs drawn up near a couch, he asked, “Would you care for any refreshment? Coffee? Tea? Something stronger?”
“Er, no thank you,” I replied.
Zeiler opened a side door and spoke briefly with his secretary, who scurried off to fetch the tonic.
“How is your father?” the doctor asked, seating himself across from me.
“Well,” I said neutrally. I’d thought most of Widdershins society knew of our estrangement, but perhaps Zeiler imagined the rumors to be exaggerated.
A wooden box sat on a low table near my chair, its open lid revealing odd gauges and coils of wire. Seeing my gaze fall upon it, Zeiler said, “A Faradic battery. The application of electricity to various organs is one of the newest advancements in medical science. Our facility can boast several electro-
therapeutic cabinets, in additions to smaller devices such as this. Do you know much of batteries, Dr. Whyborne?”
“No,” I said shortly. Fortunately, Griffin returned before Zeiler could expound on the wonders of electricity. Although still ghost-pale, he seemed more composed. The damp ends of his hair betrayed where he’d splashed water on his face.
“I explained the oysters to Dr. Zeiler,” I said, before Griffin could invent some conflicting excuse.
“Thank you.” Griffin sank down on the very edge of a chair, as if ready to spring to his feet at any moment.
The secretary returned with the glass of Bromo-Seltzer. A moment later, another man entered behind her. I thought the newcomer quite attractive, with dark hair and impressive muttonchops, a sensitive mouth, and gold-rimmed spectacles, which leant him a scholarly look. He wore a somber, fairly fashionable suit, although not of expensive materials, and the body beneath moved with vigor. I guessed him close to my age, perhaps a year or two older, despite the tiny fan of gray hair at each temple.
Dr. Zeiler introduced us. “Mr. Griffin Flaherty, Dr. Percival Endicott Whyborne, allow me to present Dr. Solomon Peck. Solomon, these gentlemen have come to see your newest patient.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Dr. Peck said. His hand felt cool and dry, the skin soft. A little line of concern creased his brow. “Dr. Whyborne, if you’re here to examine Allan, I assure you we have made a thorough study of him already.”
“Oh! Er, no. I’m not that sort of doctor,” I said hastily. “I’m a student of languages, actually. I work with Allan Tambling at the Ladysmith Museum.”
“Of course, of course. He’ll be pleased to have a friend visit,” Dr. Peck said with a smile.
“This isn’t a pleasure jaunt, I’m afraid,” Griffin said tightly. “His brother hired me to prove his innocence.”
“Oh.” Peck’s expression fell.
Zeiler folded his hands behind his back and rocked forward on his heels. “I suppose Mr. Tambling told you I’m acquainted with the family? As a friend, I would prefer to believe Allan would never have killed his uncle. But I fear no doubt exists as to his guilt.”
“Clearly, his brother doubts a great deal.”
“Ernest is a fine man, who feels himself responsible for his younger brother. Having looked after Allan for so many years after their parents died, of course he can’t bring himself to believe Allan could do such a thing, even in the grip of some awful delusion.” Zeiler offered a pitying smile. “I fear the unbiased eye of medicine sees things differently.”
Griffin’s expression didn’t waver. “I’d like to speak with Allan Tambling and decide for myself.”
Zeiler’s lips thinned slightly. “I know you do not mean it as an insult, Mr. Flaherty, but please let me set your mind at rest. Despite the sensationalism of the press, we do not lock away sane men within our walls. If our doctors have said a man is mad, trust it is so.”
The smile on Griffin’s face resembled the grimace of a skull. “I am well aware of your practices, Dr. Zeiler.”
“If it will help put Mr. Tambling’s mind at ease, then by all means.” Peck gestured to the hall behind him. “Let us visit Allan, shall we?”
~ * ~
Dr. Peck led us through the wide corridor, past a huge staircase of dark oak, to a short hall. At the end of the hall lay a steel door.
“Allan has been very quiet since he was brought in,” Dr. Peck said, pausing in front of the door and taking out his keys. “So we’ve allowed him to stay in the lower ward, for the less-troublesome patients.”
“Despite the violence of his supposed crime?” I asked in surprise.
“He came quietly and has not caused the slightest bit of bother since arriving,” Peck replied as he unlocked the door. “I think it possible his mania was confined to the person of his uncle. Time will show whether or not I am right, or if it will reoccur in a new form.”
The door swung open, revealing a wide, long hall lined with more doors, though these were of wood rather than steel. Cheerful yellow paint struggled to liven up the place, even with the gloomy day outside. Sturdy rails ran along each side of the hall, between the doors, no doubt for the use of the more debilitated patients.
Peck went inside, but I paused and waited for Griffin to come up beside me. Putting a hand to his shoulder, I murmured, “Steady on, old fellow. We can turn around and leave this instant, if you wish.”
He licked his lips, as if they had gone dry. “No. No, we’re here to see Tambling. I won’t leave without speaking to him.”
I squeezed his shoulder and let go. “I’m very proud of you.”
He looked at me in surprise, as if it had never occurred to him I might feel thus. How could I not? Had I been required to come here, having endured an unjust confinement, and Zeiler spoke to me so, my nerve would have broken already.
Peck waited for us, looking a bit quizzical, but I didn’t feel up to repeating the lie about the oysters. Fortunately, he didn’t ask, only shut the door behind us once we were inside. A nurse sat in a little room to one side, which looked out onto the hallway through a row of glass windows. To keep an eye on who entered and left through the locked door? She greeted Dr. Peck politely, peering at us with undisguised curiosity as we passed by and into the ward proper.
Despite the open windows and the constant sea breeze, the air stank of urine. Patients sat or stood in the hall, all of them dressed in shabby, ill-fitting clothes. Some smiled at us with a child-like simplicity of expression, while others only stared blankly. As we passed one of the open doors, I saw no less than three beds crammed into the tiny room. Heavy iron bars over the window turned the view of the wide lawn into a bleak reminder those within were not free men.
Peck led us to what appeared to be a small sitting room near the center of the ward. It looked out over the lawn as well, simply furnished with rocking chairs and a small table, on which two patients played cards.
An attendant joined us there, leading a man by the elbow. It took me a moment to recognize Allan. Normally, he dressed in a good suit and tie, with his face neatly shaved. Now, he wore the same poor-fitting, shabbily made clothes as the other inmates, and stubble shadowed his jaw.
“Dr. Whyborne!” He made as if to rush forward, but the attendant pulled him roughly back.
“It’s all right,” I said, giving the attendant a startled look. “Aren’t the patients allowed to greet their visitors?”
The man ignored me, instead looking to Dr. Peck. “Let him go,” Peck said. Turning to me, he added, “I’ll leave you to speak in private. If you need anything, I’ll remain within earshot. Summon me when you’re ready to depart.”
We watched him go, Tambling rubbing his arm where the attendant had gripped him. With a shake of his head, he turned back to me and clasped my hand. “Thank you for coming,” he said sincerely. “You cannot know what this means to me.”
I might not, but I rather suspected Griffin did. “Of course. Mr. Tambling, this is Mr. Griffin Flaherty…I’m not sure if you remember him?” I added awkwardly. Given Griffin had last seen Allan covered in blood and suffering from a memory lapse, should I consider them previously introduced or not?
“I remember that much, at least. Call me Allan, please,” Tambling said, indicating we should sit in a small group of chairs away from the other patients. “You are my very lifeline at the moment, along with my brother.”
“We intend to prove your innocence, if we can.” Griffin took out a notebook and pencil. “Tell us everything you can recall, up until the point we met you on the street.”
“Very well.” Allan took a deep, trembling breath. “I went to visit Uncle Victor in the evening. We had a pleasant dinner, and after, we went into his study for cigars and brandy. There came a knock at the door, and I went to answer it, as the maid was occupied in the kitchen and the other servants out for the night.”
The younger man closed his eyes and pressed his fingers against his lids. “I remember nothing further, until I
found myself standing in the street, covered in blood!”
Griffin stared intently at Allan. “And you had nothing in your hands at the time?”
“No. But I thought I saw someone running away, if you recall.”
Griffin nodded. “I do. Did they tell you a ceremonial bowl is missing from your uncle’s study?”
“Ernest mentioned it. I’m certain I saw it there when we went in after dinner. Perhaps I let in some thief, who then attacked us and took the bowl?” He let his hands fall limply to his lap. “But why can’t I remember? I suggested a blow to the head might have caused me to forget. The doctors insist there is no evidence of such…but what else could have happened?”
“Let us retrace your steps further back in the day,” Griffin said soothingly. “What did you do earlier, before dining with your uncle?”
Allan looked at a loss. “How could it matter?”
“Indulge me.”
“Well, I worked at the museum for the first half of the day, of course,” he said, glancing at me. “After leaving, I had lunch and a few drinks at the Barndoor Skate Saloon.”
“How much did you drink?” Griffin asked.
Allan flushed. “One or two beers only, I assure you. Afterward, I went home to change, and thence to Uncle’s for dinner.” He stared at us both helplessly. “I don’t see what assistance that could possibly be.”
“One never knows,” Griffin said cryptically. He stared off into nothingness for a moment, tapping his lips with a forefinger in a sure sign of deep thought. Then he shook himself. “Well, I believe I’ve no more questions for now.”
“You think me innocent?”
Griffin’s expression softened. Focusing his gaze on Allan, he leaned over and gripped the younger man’s hand. “I swear I will do everything in my power to clear your name and show you didn’t commit this hideous crime,” he said gravely. “It may take some time, but I beg you, don’t despair. Your plight hasn’t been forgotten. We will free you.”
Whyborne and Griffin, Books 1-3 Page 51