by Doug MacLeod
I scoff. ‘Plenitude, I don’t think it is possible to be tattooed against your will if the work is so magnificent and horribly detailed. This woman’s decoration would have taken hundreds of hours. Surely it was with her consent.’
‘She had no choice. She was thrown from hospital and into the street, where she could not live by begging alone. She was pretty then, but she couldn’t bring herself to do what other women might have done out of desperation. She would have rather cut her own throat.’
I fancy I hear one of the fainted men move.
‘Don’t worry,’ says Plenitude, who hears it too. ‘We have all the pistols.’
‘Then tell me about the tattoos. Why did she get them?’
‘They were paid for by a man she met in the street and claimed to take pity on her. The man, whose name was Humble, ran a freak show that travelled the counties. It was very popular at first. But then a series of disasters occurred. The world’s fattest lady grew addicted to lettuce. The strongest savage in Africa ran away with the wild man of the Peruvian jungle and I believe they now run an antique shop in Cornwall.
‘Humble needed more attractions for his freak show and he saw potential in Carolyn. He proposed that she become the illustrated devil gypsy. Naturally, Carolyn shrank from the idea, but Humble continued to approach her as she begged in the street. When you are so hungry that you fight pigeons for breadcrumbs you are eventually worn down. The arrangement was that Carolyn would permit herself to be fully adorned with the satanic illustrations.
‘Catholics are terrified of them, but full-blood English people are repelled, stupefied and secretly excited. In exchange for Carolyn allowing herself to be tattooed and exhibited to a sensation-hungry public three times a day, she was offered the promise of reasonable food, lodgings and even a modest wage. Humble seemed true to his words.
‘The permanent inking of the skin took a full six months. It must have been painful. Throughout that time Humble gave Carolyn money and shelter. It was only after the work was completed that Humble showed his true colours. It’s true that he ran the freak show for profit. But he also ran it to satisfy a craving he had. Humble found the average human being bland. Instead he lusted for the embrace of the freak, which is perfectly allowable, provided the freak is happy to comply. Carolyn was not. When she rejected the advances of Mr Humble, who seemed to love her for her tattoos and nothing else, he became violent. Indeed, he forced himself upon her.
‘You must understand that an event in Carolyn’s past increased her horror of the attack. You must also understand that Mr Humble was having a rather more successful affair with Gladys the novelty knife-thrower. Gladys was careless about leaving the knives about. The one in Mr Humble’s caravan found a home in its occupant’s gut, by way of my sister Carolyn.
‘Your mouth is open again, Thomas. Perhaps my speech is too florid. My sister Carolyn mortally stabbed Mr Humble.’
‘Your sister?’
‘Carolyn is my sister, and completely mad. Her experiences in the hospital were the start of it. The incident with Mr Humble merely cemented things.’
‘What was so bad about the hospital?’
‘Thomas, have you heard of Bedlam?’
I feel faint. It might be due to loss of blood or the word Plenitude spoke.
‘Plenitude, I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have both been injured. I don’t feel well. I think that we should seek the attention of a doctor.’
‘I am a doctor, Thomas. There are instruments in the cart. I’ll take the bullet from your leg before I continue the tale.’
He leaves me alone with Carolyn.
‘Sprig of heather, sir?’ she whispers. ‘It will bring you luck. You look like you could use some luck.’
‘You are kind,’ I say, no longer afraid.
Carolyn speaks so softly I can barely hear. ‘Tell your fortune, sir? I have made many predictions in my time and all have proved to be true. I am the beginning, the middle and the end.’ Her voice is now air.
Plenitude returns with a battered box that looks like it would hold nothing of value. One of the men in black regains semi-consciousness as Plenitude passes. Elegantly, Plenitude coshes him on the head and the man falls asleep again. For good measure, he coshes the other one as well.
‘They will not wake up for hours,’ says Plenitude. ‘Trust me. That’s what you’re supposed to do with doctors.’
I roll up my trouser leg and Plenitude inspects the wound, caked in red and black.
Then he opens his box, which has a number of tiered trays, rather like a lady’s sewing caddy. There are pills and powders wrapped in paper that is yellow with age. There are several small bottles, all bearing labels that are faded. I recognise iodine, boric acid, ammonia, hydrogen peroxide, laudanum and ether.
‘I have to clean up your leg, Thomas. It might sting. Think of Agincourt.’
Plenitude takes a perfectly white cloth from his pocket and pours surgical spirit onto it. He starts to dab at the mess on my leg. There is a scream but it is not of my making. Some fresh demon has entered Carolyn’s head.
‘Excuse me, Thomas, I must attend to this. Please hold the handkerchief where it is.’
At last the sting hits me. I grit my teeth.
‘Carolyn, be good,’ says Plenitude to his sister. But she cannot comprehend and screeches again, the imps taking control of her mind. ‘Carolyn, please, do not make any noise. The procedure I must perform on Thomas will require my steady hand. I cannot allow you to startle me.’
It is apparent that Carolyn will not cease her screeching. She squats like a harpy, gazing at something in the void. With regret, Plenitude takes a rag from his medical box and drops a small amount of ether onto it. He moves behind Carolyn and gently holds the rag over her mouth and nose. She calms, then falls asleep, her head dropped forward so that her wild hair hangs across her face. Plenitude lies his sister down and makes her comfortable. Then he returns to the task of ministering to me. He adds more spirit to the cloth and rubs gently. As the dried blood is removed, I see that the wound is not so large. Plenitude takes a set of tweezers from the box.
‘You may be an extraordinarily lucky young man,’ says Plenitude, wiping the tweezers with alcohol. ‘Keep your teeth gritted. And please don’t move. This part will be over in no time.’
He gently inserts the tweezers into the wound. He moves them about, causing me such pain that I swear my teeth will crack from clamping. Plenitude finds what he is looking for. He removes the tweezers from my body, and I see that they now hold a dripping pellet, barely the size of a marble. Plenitude studies the object then tosses it away.
‘I was right. You’re as lucky as the diner with no money who finds a pearl in his oyster. The bullet has torn flesh, but your bones are sound.’
‘Plenitude, I never thought I would ask this,’ I say. ‘But might I have a very small draft of your laudanum? The pain is intense.’
‘Of course you can have laudanum,’ smiles Plenitude, handing me the bottle of the drug so favoured by my mother. ‘It is a weak solution, so drink half the contents. I will finish the bottle myself when you remove the bullet from my right arm.’
‘I’m not sure I could do that, Plenitude.’
‘You will have to. I am not left-handed.’
I finish my draft of laudanum. Plenitude swabs my wound with a mixture of ammonia and iodine. It no longer stings. I am transported to that place my mother visits every day of her life.
‘Do you have a handkerchief, Thomas?’
I laugh at such a preposterous question. ‘What gentleman would not?’
‘I think the laudanum is already making you silly. Please try to restrain yourself.’
‘I do beg your pardon,’ I answer, soberly. Then I take out my fresh handkerchief and Plenitude ties it around my leg. The wound may heel or go gangrenous. Thanks to the miasma of laudanum, I do not care.
It is now Plenitude’s turn for medical attention. He sterilises the tweezers with alcohol then passes the
m to me.
‘The laudanum I gave you was for pain relief, not escape,’ he says. ‘If you concentrate hard you will be able to follow my instructions.’
Plenitude advises me patiently on how to bathe the wound with the cloth and extract the bullet from his arm. But I am not so skilled as the doctor. It takes me some prodding and searching about with the tweezers before I find the bullet. When I remove it, Plenitude immediately reaches for the laudanum bottle and consumes his half. He gives me the disinfecting chemicals to pour onto my clumsy effort at extraction, then asks me to tie his own handkerchief around it.
Plenitude sighs. ‘You and I will live.’
‘Until the horseman comes,’ I remind him.
‘He may have changed his mind about us. I do not know the ways of the horseman. He may be indecisive, like a tired mother wondering which of her bosoms to offer her newborn. I’m sorry, that is a very strange analogy. I think the laudanum is making me silly too.’
‘It is certainly hard to picture the Grim Reaper with bosoms.’
It is the first time I have called the horseman by his name, and yet we both chuckle.
‘Let me continue Carolyn’s tale,’ says Plenitude, ‘while we have time.’
CHAPTER 25
Plenitude takes a small package made of soft leather from Carolyn’s bag. I expect him to open it and show me what it contains. Instead, he clasps it as he tells more of the tale.
‘Carolyn was admitted to the Bethlam Royal Hospital – better known as Bedlam – in 1813. It should not have happened, for she was not mad, or one of the “poor distracted,” as society prefers to say. She was sent there as an alternative to being imprisoned.’
‘What wrong did she do?’
‘None. Carolyn was sent to Bedlam for two reasons. The gaols were full to bursting, and the judiciary wanted to give her more severe punishment than a mere prison sentence. You have heard the stories of Bedlam. You have seen the picture by Hogarth.’
‘It’s disturbing.’
‘Hogarth glamourised the place. The reality is far worse. There are “incurable” wards and “curable” wards, which is a very black joke. No one in Bedlam is cured. How could they be? They aren’t even treated as humans. A sane person wretched enough to be incarcerated at Bedlam for a year would be half-mad by the time he was released. A mildly disturbed person could emerge believing himself to be a sailing ship, a bag of oranges, or The Vienna Boys’ Choir. Doubtless, some of the patients are truly insane and require containment for the public safety.
It is probably not such a bad thing that James Hadfield was sent to Bedlam after he tried to assassinate George the Third, in the belief that it would speed the Second Coming of Our Lord Jesus Christ. The irony is, of course, that George should have been sent to Bedlam as well, for he was even madder than Hadfield. And I think that the patient who insisted he could fly was also in Bedlam for his own protection, as he was forever flapping around London and jumping off things; hurting himself and the people he fell on. He was heading for Westminster Abbey when he was at last apprehended, and might have squashed The Archbishop of Canterbury. But there are many people wrongfully sent to Bedlam, where the food is dirt, the doctors are as helpful as head-lice, the nurses are gaolers and the cesspit overflows. The howls, cries and demented laughter of “the unfortunates” never ceases, especially when they are prodded and poked and dowsed with water.
‘Did you know that ordinary members of the public were allowed to enter Bedlam to prod and poke all they wanted? It was like a day at the circus for them, a fun family outing. The “unfortunates” were chained or behind bars. It wouldn’t do to have a member of the public assailed by an old woman who thinks she’s a teapot. The visitors were charged a penny for the privilege of leering and pointing at the lunatics. And if the lunatics refused to perform, they were struck. The public, having paid good money for their entertainment, wouldn’t be cheated.
Even the audiences who came on the first Tuesday of the month, when admission was free, demanded satisfaction. One of the nurses specialised in clubbing the patients in the leg, to produce a more animated performance for the crowds, who bawled for more.’
‘But surely it is not so bad, now that the new hospital is built?’
‘It has improved, it’s true. At Southwark there is a library. We even have concerts.’
‘You speak about the unfortunates, but that is the first time you have included yourself in their number.’
‘I was admitted at the same time as Carolyn. We didn’t see each other for two years after that, as the sexes were separated. When we were moved to Southwark, it was easier for both sexes to meet. We could pray together, we could dance together on occasion. I danced with Carolyn, even after my leg was smashed by the nurse. You noticed the limp, I gather. I’m afraid you may have one now, thanks to Clemency’s bullet.’
‘The limp suits you and I’m sure it will suit me.’
Plenitude closes his eyes. ‘Carolyn and I remained in Bedlam for fourteen long years. And then, a year ago, we were discharged. No doctor examined us, no minister gave a moral assessment. It was merely decided that we should leave. My sister was discharged two weeks before I was. On my release I couldn’t locate her, and this worried me. I knew her mind had suffered more than mine. I wanted to protect her. But our paths didn’t cross again until recently.
‘In London, I saw Carolyn’s picture adorning a poster for Humble’s Travelling Freak Show. Even in her disguise as the illustrated devil gypsy, I recognised her. I headed to Wishall, the show’s next port of call. How ironic that Carolyn should revisit the town where she was born, to entertain the people who had contributed to her wreckage. I didn’t attend the show, of course. But I observed the caravans arrive. The marquee was set up for the evening’s grotesquery. I saw smaller tents that the performers themselves erected, since Humble’s Travelling Freak Show was clearly an understaffed operation. There were dwarfs and giants and contortionists. And finally Carolyn. She was dressed in a simple white robe, which I presumed she wore over a gypsy costume. Gaudy tassles hung below the robe’s hem.
‘I think that God must have brought us together at that moment. Carolyn did not see me. But I observed her entering the caravan of Mr Humble. It was the only caravan that looked remotely presentable. From a discreet distance, I watched for half an hour or so. Then Carolyn emerged from the caravan, her robe covered in blood. I ran to her and grabbed her arm. She didn’t recognise me at first, then spoke my name. She told me that she had killed a man, that he had forced her to it. The thought of returning to Bedlam terrified her. I told Carolyn I wouldn’t let it happen. There were no witnesses that I could see. I ran with her, carried her, as far away from the scene of the crime as possible.
‘When we reached Piper’s Heath, we rested. It was there that Carolyn told me the story of what had happened to her. But the story came out in fragments, past mixed with present. I stayed with her until she had told me all she could, and I had pieced it together.
‘Then came the transformation. Carolyn saw the blood caked to her, as if she had not noticed before. Her manner changed. She screamed and accused me of attacking her. I reassured her I hadn’t, that I was her brother and we had been talking as siblings a mere five minutes before. But it was the blood on her that caused her final descent into madness. I tried to hold Carolyn. She bit and scratched and called me a murderer. Then she pronounced she was the devil who would devour me for my sins. She was ferocious, stronger than any man I ever fought. I was vanquished and Carolyn fled.
‘I would see her again, because I sought her daily. I have modest lodgings in Wishall. I offered her shelter, but she didn’t understand. She had discarded her white robe and become the gypsy of Piper’s Heath and didn’t want to leave. I offered her money and food, but she wouldn’t take them. I had to sneak them into her bag. She still didn’t recognise me but at least she no longer thought me a murderer. I don’t know if she harmed many people. The rumours about Piper’s Heath are not reno
wned for their accuracy. I’m sure she wouldn’t have killed you, but I couldn’t give her the chance.’
‘Why did she follow me?’
‘I whispered something about you in her ear.’
‘What was it?’
‘The truth. It seems I reached her.’
Plenitude toys with the small leather package in his hands. Carolyn sighs as she returns to consciousness.
‘Rest, my darling,’ says Plenitude. ‘We are free from harm now. Lie and dream.’
But Carolyn does not wish to remain prone. She sits up and rocks gently, humming. Plenitude puts an arm around her. The expression on her blank face doesn’t change.
‘Plenitude, I must ask you. Why were you sent to Bedlam?’
‘Don’t you think we should go now and find some proper bandages for our wounds?’
‘I must know.’
‘Very well, then. The docks of Wishall are not the safest place. One day, Carolyn lingered too long at the fish market, hoping to collect the bargains as the stalls were taken down. Satisfied with her purchases, she walked with her full basket down Bolter’s Lane. You know it. The place is well peopled and presumed to be safe by day. But one of the warehouses hid a secret. A gang of criminals worked from there. They were vicious, the sort who might shoot a girl for the thirty-two shiny pearls in her mouth. One spied Carolyn and liked her looks. Many men did back then. As Carolyn passed the warehouse, she was grabbed swiftly from the street, her screams muffled first by hand, and then a filthy gag. The men were still celebrating after a highly lucrative night. Carolyn could not recall exactly how many men were there. They did not kill her, but she wished they had.
‘After their entertainment, the men tied her up and departed. Though gagged, Carolyn managed to cry out. It can’t have been much of a noise, but it was enough to attract the attention of Mr Worral, the man who is currently the owner of one incinerated tannery. Mr Worral, bless him, found Carolyn and unbound her. He fetched a carriage and took her to the hospital, the one where I worked but could not treat her. I fetched the best doctor I could. What you said about doctors not being able to treat members of their family is true, in the main.’ Plenitude hands the leather package to me. ‘Don’t open it yet.’
