The Madness of Miss Grey

by Julia Bennet

  He hesitated. His surprise at seeing her had momentarily caused him to forget his errand, but, as she smiled up at him, his heart sank practically into his shoes. He was going to ruin Sally Tuttle’s life. Oh god, this was a disaster. For as long as he’d known her, he’d never heard her tell a deliberate falsehood. And yet…she had today. There was no avoiding that conclusion. “What’s all this about you getting the teapots mixed up?” he asked.

  A light flush stole over her features, but perhaps it was caused by the heat from the range. “I have trouble sleeping, you see, and—”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that tale already from Mrs. Fletcher. Come on, Sally.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” she said, affecting an offended sniff. “My pie needs checking.” When she bent away to open the oven door, he could no longer see her face.

  As much as he hated to do this to Sally, Miss Grey was his patient, and it was his duty to get to the bottom of her strange behavior.

  “I know you’re no liar,” he said. “But Miss Grey does lie, and that’s a paradox.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Unless…” He let the word hang there.

  Sally ignored him, busying herself with transferring the pie to a cooling rack.

  “Unless she’s imposing on you somehow.”

  She removed her apron and tossed it aside. “The only one being imposed on here is you, Will Carter.”

  Exactly what he was afraid of.

  Before he could ask her what she meant, her shoulders slumped, and the fight seemed to go out of her. “Mrs. Fletcher believes it was an honest mistake, don’t she? She don’t think—”

  One of the attendants, a fair-haired youth of about seventeen whose name Will hadn’t yet learned, rushed in and grabbed a newly cooled bread roll from one of the cooling racks.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Sally asked.

  “Have a heart, Mrs. Braithwaite. I missed lunch hauling ice all the way from the icehouse. You’d think with all the snow on the ground, we wouldn’t have to bother.”

  “Whatever do we need ice for at this time of year?” Sally’s face had changed color again, this time to the ruddy, coarse red of anger. Surely more than the situation warranted. But if the pilfered bread wasn’t to blame, then her reaction must have something to do with the ice.

  A hard, cold knot settled in the pit of Will’s stomach.

  “Mrs. Fletcher wants it for Helen,” the lad said.

  “Call her Miss Grey.”

  Will must have shouted, because the boy blanched. “Y-y-yes,” he stammered. “Yes, Doctor.”

  “Why would Mrs. Fletcher want ice for Miss Grey?” But he knew. Fletcher’s earlier demeanor, the sudden switch from belligerence to goodwill, took on a new and terrible significance.

  “For a water treatment,” came the boy’s answer, confirming Will’s worst fears. “She said it was on your orders.”

  Sally rounded on Will, hands fisted at her hips. “You ordered this?”

  “I ordered hydropathy, not an ice bath.”

  “They’re the same bloody thing, aren’t they?”

  Fletcher obviously thought so. No wonder Miss Grey loathed her nurse.

  In unison, Will and Sally turned on the lad, who stared back at them, eyes large with fright.

  She spoke first. “Ted, why didn’t you tell me?”

  But Will only cared about one thing. “Where are they?”

  …

  Helen already knew.

  The clanking of buckets and tramp, tramp of feet on the attic stairs had informed her of her fate hours ago.

  Over the years, she’d tried every way she could think of to escape these treatments. She’d hidden in the deepest recesses of the attic, she’d raged and screamed, cried and begged. They always found her in the end, and no one cared about her distress. Now she sat waiting on the window ledge in her room while her stomach tied itself in knots.

  If only Dr. Carter hadn’t intercepted that tea. Presumably this was his doing. Two days, that’s all it had taken. Two days to get from “Please let me help you” to punishment. She couldn’t keep doing this—living in fear, watching Fletch each day for the signs that an attack was imminent, then finally doing or saying the wrong thing.

  It’s only water.

  Except it never was.

  Fletch appeared in the doorway, lips aquiver with strange excitement. Strange for a normal person anyway.

  Helen met her fevered gaze with every appearance of calm—or at least she hoped so. “Is it time?”

  “Aye. Dr. Carter’s orders.”

  A sudden wave of nausea caught Helen unawares. He’d ordered this water treatment personally? That was infinitely worse than merely reporting her to Sterling. Until now, she hadn’t realized that a small part of her had believed in him, believed his intentions to be good, however misguided. How disappointing to find him as highhanded, as lacking in human understanding, as any of the other doctors—a timely reminder that betrayal of trust hurt far worse than mere disappointment.

  She rose slowly to her feet as Fletch crossed the room to her side.

  The nurse never knew how her ministrations would be received. Perhaps, if she’d appreciated how little fight Helen had left, her sense of anticipation would have been less.

  “Ready?” she asked, though it sounded more like a command.

  Helen allowed Fletch to take hold of her arm and guide her to the old nursery. A large tin bath, brought in from God knew where, stood on the bare boards in the center of the room, brimful of ice and water. Just the sight of it in the dim, gray light made Helen cold all over.

  Despite the presence of—was his name John or Jack?—a burly-armed brute with a sour look, she stripped down to her undergarments without waiting to be told.

  Fletch stepped back and folded her arms to watch as the attendant lifted Helen clear off her feet as if she were a child. A doll. A statue without sense or feeling. As she hung, suspended above the tub, his grip became the only real thing left in the world. And he was about to let go.

  She braced herself, but it didn’t matter. It never mattered. Before she even understood that she was falling, she hit the water.

  She lost her mind.

  Ice and fire, cold and burning—they were all she knew. Struggling, flailing, she sat up, her skin raw like she’d been wrapped in nettles. Then panic as she realized she couldn’t pull in enough air.

  Fletch darted forward and held her down when she tried to stand. “Steady. Take deep breaths. Slowly, now. It’s the shock.” The gruff words sounded almost kind. With one hand, the nurse even rubbed Helen’s back through the wet cotton of her shift.

  “I want to get out,” Helen tried to say, but the chattering of her teeth distorted the words until she barely understood herself.

  Fletch smiled and took a step back.

  “I want to get out,” Helen said again.

  “In a moment. Another dip first.”

  “What?” The words didn’t make sense.

  “Put your head under and I’ll let you out.”

  “But—”

  “If you don’t do it…” She nodded at the man. “Jim will.”

  Liar. Liar. Bloody bitch. But Helen did it. Tiny shards flew up as she slid under the floating ice. A second under and she rose again, spluttering and lurching. Somehow her hair had worked its way loose from its braid. Some of it covered her face, a cold, wet veil through which she glimpsed that smile again.

  “One more time,” Fletch said.

  “I…I can’t.”

  Fletch crooked a finger, summoning Jim to her side. “Again,” she ordered. “Come on, you little tart.”

  Anger surged in Helen’s breast, a tide of heat that melted away any urge to beg and plead. Through snakes of hair, she met Fletch’s gaze and snarled, “You low, contemptuous hag.”

  Fletch lunged forward, grasping a handful of wet hair. “Jim, fetch the restraints.” His footsteps retreated across bare boards.<
br />
  “Take your hands off me, you—” But Fletch thrust her under before she could finish. Water rushed into her open mouth, but the nurse still held her down. Fathoms deep, or so it seemed. Full fathom five, Helen remembered as the world turned white.

  …

  Will took the stairs two at a time. A sense of unease and the usually stoic Sally’s obvious panic had coalesced, leaving him powerless in the grip of a towering fear.

  The first thing he saw as he charged through the open nursery door was Nurse Fletcher hunched over an old tin bath, the only object in the enormous room, both arms submerged to the elbow. A few more steps and he could see beyond her to where Miss Grey lay in a pool of orangey red, her face white and terrible.

  When he remembered the next few minutes afterward, it seemed as though he’d become two people. One of them watched from somewhere very far away as the other hauled Fletcher to her feet and shoved her away. Dimly, he heard her enraged shouts, but he felt nothing as he plunged his hands into the water. The red, thank God, wasn’t blood as he’d feared but the cloud of Miss Grey’s hair floating in the water, the only part of her that seemed alive. He gathered her limp, bedraggled form into his arms and slumped to the floor.

  “Miss Grey?” How calm he sounded despite his terror. “Helen!” Turning her over, he thumped her back. “Helen!”

  An age passed before she finally choked and vomited a stream of water onto the bare wooden floorboards.

  “Will?” Sally stood in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the scene. “Tell me what I can do.”

  “Get a blanket and some towels. Light a fire.”

  A quick nod and she was gone.

  Fletch glared defiance.

  “You,” he snarled, his body half-covering Miss Grey—a shield between her and the nurse.

  “I was only doing what you told me.”

  “Be quiet and fetch some scissors.”

  “I’m not your skivvy. I—”

  “You’re finished here, do you hear me? But first get me the damned scissors.”

  Helen jerked in his arms. “Shh,” he whispered into her wet curls. “I’m here now. No one will hurt you anymore. I promise.”

  For what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute, he held tight to Helen, murmuring nonsense as she shivered. Then he laid her flat on the hard floor and seized the front of her shift with both hands.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered and tore the threadbare garment straight down the center. The sound of cotton tearing was loud—obscene somehow—in the silence. He eased her back into his arms and pulled her snug against his chest for warmth. Not just so that he wouldn’t have to keep looking at all that white skin or the vivid patch of color between her legs.

  Footsteps pattered on the stairs at last and then Sally’s voice. “Blankets, Will. And towels.”

  “Light the fire,” he said, accepting her bundle.

  He wrapped Helen in the largest of the towels and rubbed her dry. Occasionally, she mumbled something, but he couldn’t understand her. Sally warmed the blanket by the fire and, once Helen was dry, helped Will to wrap her in the thick, soft wool.

  His heart began to slow as panic receded. “Perhaps some beef tea, Sally. And find an attendant—not Fletcher.” Wherever Fletcher had gone, she clearly hadn’t bothered about the scissors. If she had any sense, she was on her way to the train station by now.

  Helen’s tiny bed chamber looked almost Spartan, with none of the home comforts enjoyed by other patients. Where were the cushions, the crocheted blankets, the photographs in their silver frames? Perhaps his mam would knit her a blanket, something bright and cheerful. Anyone would lose their mind if they spent most of their waking hours in surroundings like these. Blackwell needed to do better by her. He needed to do better.

  With infinite care, he placed her onto the unmade bed, drawing the other blankets up. “Helen? Can you hear me?”

  Her eyelids fluttered open. She gazed at him, directly into his eyes as if she saw right through to his soul. Perhaps she didn’t recognize him. Why else would she stare? Say something. Reassure her. But language had deserted him. Never in all his years of public service had he witnessed cruelty like Nurse Fletcher’s. She’d almost drowned her patient, but she wasn’t cowed. Far from it; he’d seen satisfaction in her eyes. She’d enjoyed herself.

  Helen blinked and smiled sleepily. “You go all northern when you’re cross,” she said.

  “I’m so sorry, Helen,” he said again, but she’d already gone back to sleep.

  “Dr. Carter?”

  Will glanced up from checking Helen’s pulse rate, but he didn’t recognize the speaker, a young female attendant, who’d appeared in the bedroom doorway. “Yes?”

  “Mrs. Braithwaite sent me. I’m to watch Helen for you.”

  The way everyone bandied Miss Grey’s Christian name about had started to rankle. “What’s your name, girl?”

  “Elsie, sir.”

  “Well, from now on, Elsie, you will remember to address this patient as ‘Miss Grey.’ Is that clear?”

  “I…Yes, sir. I…I meant no disrespect.” The girl had turned bright red.

  Will sighed. He hadn’t meant to frighten the poor thing. “No harm done, Elsie. But don’t forget.”

  That earned him a shy smile. “I won’t, sir. But, begging your pardon, I’m also to tell you Dr. Sterling wants you.”

  “Now?”

  The girl nodded.

  Sterling must have heard the news. As Will hadn’t sent any message yet, the information must have come from someone else, and somehow he doubted it was Sally.

  “Don’t let anyone else in,” he told Elsie. “If anyone tries to see Miss Grey, you must say, ‘Dr. Carter’s orders are that she’s not to be disturbed.’”

  Helen didn’t stir as he rose. Though her face remained deathly pale, her brow looked smooth and untroubled.

  “If she wakes, tell her…” What? That you’re sorry? She’ll be sick of hearing it. “Comfort her as best you can.”

  Sterling’s office was on the far side of the house, which meant Will had far too much time to think on his way there. You go all northern when you’re cross. If Helen had caught his slip into the accent of his youth, what else did she remember?

  When he’d torn her shift, he’d been too worried about her for any but the most professional of thoughts. Now those moments, the sound of wet fabric ripping in two, even—to his shame—the violence inherent in the act of tearing the chemise open, kept repeating themselves in his head. His body responded in a predictable and entirely ungentlemanly fashion. He wasn’t naive—he couldn’t be the only doctor to entertain an inappropriate thought or two about an especially attractive patient—and he would never behave in anything but the most respectful way toward Miss Grey. But if she remembered what he’d done—what he’d had to do—in those moments, her past conduct suggested she’d make his life a living hell, and he wasn’t in a position to hand her off to another doctor. Frankly, he didn’t trust anyone but Bell, and Sterling had already prohibited his involvement.

  He would not abandon her. Whatever he felt, whatever his treacherous body wanted, he would bury it beneath professional concern.

  Her pulse had been a little slow, and she’d clearly been exhausted, but he couldn’t hope to ascertain the real damage of a traumatic experience like hers with a physical examination. Impossible to estimate the extent of the mental torture Mrs. Fletcher had inflicted. No wonder Helen didn’t give her trust easily.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect as he knocked on the door of the office. Dr. Sterling seemed as genial as ever as he came out from behind his great desk to greet Will, but the presence of Fletcher, seated on a hardback chair in a corner, confirmed that this would be no ordinary meeting.

  “Dr. Carter, Mrs. Fletcher has brought me a most disturbing report regarding—”

  “No doubt,” Will said, in no humor to listen to anything Fletcher might have said. “And if I had time or inclination for a
good Banbury tale, I’d be sure to give her a hearing. Instead, I must inform you that this…woman, I suppose we must call her, is guilty of brutalizing and assaulting her patient.”

  Fletcher lurched to her feet. “That water treatment was on your orders.”

  “Excuse me, but I never told you to fill a bath with ice and water and hold Miss Grey under until she lost consciousness.”

  At that, Sterling sat up a little straighter. “Is this true, Mrs. Fletcher?”

  She sat down, her mouth set in a mulish line. “Helen struggled, same as she always does. I used no more force than was necessary. What happened were unfortunate, but there is always a risk to these treatments.” Looking pointedly at Will, she added, “A treatment that you ordered, sir.”

  “Dr. Carter, did you give Mrs. Fletcher specific instructions as to the nature of the treatment you wished her to perform?”

  Shame momentarily robbed Will of breath. “No,” he said. “And in that, I was negligent. But I never thought—”

  “Well, there you are then,” Sterling said. “It’s a simple misunderstanding.”

  Will had already realized Sterling wasn’t quite the professional paragon his reputation suggested. That rubbish about original sin had shaken Will’s confidence. But this last pronouncement—the apparent conviction that a miscommunication could explain or excuse Fletcher’s abuse—overturned everything. Benign and affable as the old doctor seemed, as noble as his intentions might be, he posed a serious threat to Helen’s safety and to Will’s ability to take proper care of his patients.

  “Dr. Sterling, make no mistake, this woman was willfully cruel to Miss Grey. Furthermore, she must have had at least one accomplice, because—”

  “The attendant must follow orders. No, the responsibility rests with Mrs. Fletcher, but as she told you herself, there is always a risk to such treatments.” He stood and rounded the desk, coming to stand at Fletcher’s side. “My dear, thank you for keeping me informed. Do as you will for the rest of the afternoon. Today’s events must have given you an unpleasant shock. Rest assured I will discuss matters further with Dr. Carter.”