by Mark C. King
“A constable brought her here. He said that he believed her to have escaped.”
“That seems unlikely.” commented Thursby. “I’m assuming you have not checked with Doctor Madfyre or Mrs. Rathbone?”
“No. This looney was just delivered. I can take her to Mrs. Rathbone now if you like.”
“No thank you, Mr. Pegg. I’ll take her myself. You can go.”
Charlotte did not look up during this conversation. She stayed seated and rocked back and forth with her hand over her wound. It was hard to notice anything beyond the pain.
When a hand touched her shoulder, she jumped in surprise, and a voice said, “Miss, please come with me. I need to take you to the infirmary.”
Without looking at him, she stood up and followed wordlessly. He walked to one of the double set of closed doors off the lobby and unlocked them. What Charlotte saw on the other side made her forget her arm for a moment. There was a long hallway with doors all along the right side of it; but it was the people, the patients, that had her attention. There were men sitting in chairs, some talking, some staring off into nothing, others walking around in an apparent haze, patients interacting, some to other patients, some to no one – this was her second experience of the actual insides of an insane asylum.
“This way, miss.” the orderly said as he directed her into the first door of the hallway, interrupting her observations. As she walked into the room, what looked like a small doctor’s office, the distractions stopped keeping her arm pain at bay. The fire may have been out, but it did not feel like it.
“Doctor Exton,” said the orderly. “I have a patient for you.”
An older man sat in the corner, he had white hair and a thick white mustache, and looked up from the paper he was reading. He took the spectacles that were resting on his head and put them in place on his nose. “What have we here, Mr. Thursby?” he asked.
“This woman has suffered a burn on her forearm.”
Doctor Exton sighed and asked, “Mr. Pegg?”
Mr. Thursby, nodded in answer.
Could this not be discussed later? thought Charlotte, her arm starting to throb.
Addressing Charlotte, Doctor Exton said, “Please have a seat, my dear. Let’s take a look at that arm.”
He indicated a small bed for her and she sat on its thin cushion. The doctor carefully lifted her arm and examined it closely. She smelled peppermint on his breath as he said, “Please accept my apologies for this, my dear. We don’t all view our patients as Mr. Pegg does.” Without releasing her arm, he reached over to the counter and pulled a jar off of it. Inside the jar was some kind of ointment that smelled a bit like tea. He put some on his fingers and gently applied it to her wound. The touch hurt and she winced, but the ointment had a cooling affect.
“This should help some.” Exton said. “Does that feel a little better?”
Charlotte didn’t speak, just nodded. Her arm still hurt but the pain was much more tolerable.
“Now, just wait a moment while I put a bandage on it. You are fortunate. It looks as if Mr. Pegg didn’t get much time with you.”
This is fortunate? How far would he have gone?
While the doctor was rummaging through his cabinets, Mr. Thursby, the orderly, knelt in front of Charlotte and asked, “Your name, miss?”
Charlotte looked blankly over his shoulder and said nothing.
He maneuvered his face so that he could make eye contact with her. His smile was kind and reassuring. The dark brown eyes that looked at her seemed small as his smile caused them to squint. His dress was similar to the other orderly, although much cleaner.
He asked again, “Miss, I am very sorry for what happened. I will not let it happen again. I am Mr. Thursby. May I please have your name?”
Charlotte looked back into his eyes, blinked a few times as if realizing for the first time that someone was in front of her, and said with a small voice, “Charlotte Caine, sir.”
“Miss Caine, do you know where you are?”
Not knowing how far she should carry her performance, she decided to keep it simple. “Home,” she replied.
Mr. Thursby rested his chin on his hand. She was being examined once again. Was this the life of a patient, endless judgment? It made sense, but was not something she had anticipated. It would make for an interesting part of her article – not as interesting, however, as her arm being set on fire.
Doctor Exton started to gently wrap her injury while Thursby kept considering her. After her arm was completely bandaged, Mr. Thursby said, “Well, you are a bit of a mystery to me, Miss Caine, but I think this is the home for you. We are going to visit Mrs. Rathbone. She will find you a place.”
Another test passed, thought Charlotte.
“Come with me, please.” Mr. Thursby stood up and held his hand out in an invitation to exit the room. “We will find Mrs. Rathbone and see about a bed. Thank you, Doctor Exton.”
“Of course. It is why I’m here,” he sat back down and returned to reading his paper.
Charlotte walked out the door and waited for Mr. Thursby to lead the way. She couldn’t help but stare at the patients once more before reluctantly turning and following the orderly as he exited the double doors and entered the lobby once again. He led her to the left stairway and said, “I think we will find her near our community area.”
He walked up the stairs at a leisurely pace, not rushing Charlotte at all. “My apologies for the cold, Miss Caine,” Mr. Thursby commented. “This is a rather old building and does not heat very well.”
Charlotte didn’t respond, just kept following him up the stairs and to the second level. Was it cold? She couldn’t feel anything beyond her arm. At the second floor landing, there were doors on the far wall and double doors on either side of it, much like the first floor. Behind these entrances were, no doubt, more patient areas. “Wait here,” he said as he walked across the landing. He opened a door and Charlotte could hear him call inside, “Mrs. Rathbone, may I have a minute of your time?”
Leaving the door ajar, he walked back to where Charlotte was. “Mrs. Rathbone is my counterpart. I head up the orderlies on the Male side, the north wing, while she heads the orderlies on the female side, the south wing. Ah, here she is.”
Walking out the door was a striking looking woman. She was tall, slim, and had dark hair, almost black, done up tightly on top of her head. Her dress was black with grey accents, its collar surrounding her entire neck, and sleeves that completely covered her arms and the tops of her hands. In addition to this dark attire was a sharp looking, angular pale face. Charlotte’s first thought was of a school teacher she had as a child, as an air of strictness emanated from this woman.
With a deep smooth voice, Mrs. Rathbone asked, “Who is this, Mr. Thursby?”
“This is Miss Charlotte Caine. A constable just brought her here. Evidently she believes this is home. Are you missing anyone?”
Mrs. Rathbone narrowed her eyes at Thursby, evidently offended at the question. She then looked at Charlotte, her eyes boring into her. Another examination! Charlotte did her best to look both confused and contrite.
“Very well, Mr. Thursby,” she finally commented. “I will find a place for her. But the idea that I had lost one of the patients is quite offensive.”
“My apologies, I meant nothing by it. I was only reiterating what the constable had said when he brought Miss Caine to us. You can see that Doctor Exton has dressed her arm after another one of Mr. Pegg’s tests. Now, I leave her in your capable hands. Good day Mrs. Rathbone. Good day Miss Caine.” The kind orderly then turned and walked back down the stairs.
Mrs. Rathbone nodded at Mr. Thursby as he walked away and then said to Charlotte, “Come with me, Miss Caine. I am sorry about your arm. Mr. Pegg is a stain on this institution, but people are not exactly lining up to work at Bedlam. Let me show you to where you will be sleeping.”
They walked towards one set of double doors just as another mournful wail sounded out. Mrs. Rathbone did
not react at all while she searched for the right key to unlock the door. Charlotte was again frightened deeply by the sorrowful sound.
The hallway on the other side was very similar to the one by Dr. Exton’s office. The only difference was that the space here was full of women. Mrs. Rathbone led Charlotte down this hall while weaving through the patients. Charlotte tried not to stare, but the sights were too foreign that not even the least curious mind would be able to avert their eyes. The range of activities and motion was great. Some of the women patients were sitting on the floor – talking with others, reading, or staring off into space. Some were in chairs, also engaged in various subtle occupations. A few were walking about, but without any discernable destination. The attire of these patients, as a whole, was similar – drab clothing, dirty, and too threadbare for the current temperature. Charlotte realized that her dress fit in quite well and might be one of the warmer ones of this group.
Mrs. Rathbone continued walking at a steady pace and Charlotte had to hurry to keep up. There were several large rooms along the main hallway, each one containing two rows of small beds. It felted cramped as there was no free space at all outside of the middle aisle.
Entering one of them, Rathbone led Charlotte to the back right corner and indicated a bed. “Here is your sleeping space. I recommend that you take rest and allow your arm to heal.”
Charlotte sat down on the bed and watched as Mrs. Rathbone walked away without further comment. Taking a closer look at her surroundings, Charlotte noticed that the window nearest her bed was missing several panes, which allowed the cold air and the occasional splash of rain to enter inside. It would evidently be a cold stay in Bedlam.
Climbing under the rough thin blanket, Charlotte pulled her knees close to her and tried to allow her situation to sink in. She had to remind herself that she was here because of her own doing and that her stay would be temporary. If she was an actual patient, she would have been devastatingly scared and lonely. Even so, those feelings were strongly present. Squeezing her arms around herself, she tried to focus on her goals and not on the dark emotions that the asylum radiated and stirred within.
10.
For the first time that day, Sigmund didn’t feel the weather. Driving his carriage through the abnormal darkness of the afternoon, he was fully exposed, but the account that was just given to him by Reginald Burke was taking all his attention. The rain splashed onto his goggles and, outside of an occasional clearing wipe with his drenched handkerchief, he barely noticed. His feelings alternated between disgust and deep concern, leaving no room for the inconsequential feelings of cold or wet. The main fact that he had learned was that it was almost a certainty that the bodies that made their way to Dr. Ferriss were from Bedlam Asylum. As important as that fact was, he still couldn’t shake the horror of Reginald discovering his own mother as one of the bodies. There were aspects of humanity that Sigmund was happier not knowing.
The carriage splashed through dark puddles as he continued through the grey streets of London. A few people were about, bundled well and hands tightly wrapped around their umbrellas, but the streets felt more abandoned than not. Sigmund’s mind churned and he found that his biggest concern was an overarching sense of not knowing what to do. He hadn’t had much time to assimilate the new information, but this was, nonetheless, frustrating for him. Being that this issue had a scientific or medical side to it, Sigmund decided that a visit with his friend, Richard Sutton, would be in order.
Richard Sutton was as brilliant a man as Sigmund had ever met. He worked at the Academy of Future Science as one of its lead innovators, and had helped Sigmund with several inventions. It was Sutton’s mind that developed a way to intercept nerve signals and use them to activate motors. Sarah could walk because of this. Sigmund always found it interesting that Sutton had had many years of medical training but never graduated – choosing instead to expand his knowledge by travelling the world rather than hearing the repetitive lessons of a classroom. This unique education, along with an exceptionally sharp mind made Sutton a wizard of design. The ability to meld his medical knowledge with mechanical allowed him to create amazing creations.
If anyone could help Sigmund figure things out, it was Sutton.
Prior to reaching the Academy, Sigmund made a detour to his home. It was well out of his way, but there was no choice. His monkey, Zachary, had once belonged to Sutton, and Sigmund couldn’t visit without reuniting the two. Of course, Sigmund felt absolutely ridiculous as he had Zachary in the passenger cabin, relatively warm and dry, while he drove the carriage in the cold and wet. Even worse, monkeys were terrible clients as they never paid and rarely tipped.
The Academy building was on the south bank of the Thames, just across from the Tower of London. Despite the term ‘Academy’, the building did not have a school-like appearance, as it was simply a large brown brick building that once was a warehouse. The walls were darker from the rain and the building, as it always did to Sigmund, seemed ominous. Still, ominous or not, it was a welcome sight as it meant getting out of the weather. Even with the significant distractions plaguing him, Sigmund could ignore the cold for only so long.
Parking his carriage at the back of the building, the side that faced the river, Sigmund tied up Ham close to the main loading area. Opening the cab door, he bowed and said in a formal voice, “Your destination, sir.”
Zachary stood on one of the seat benches and looked at Sigmund with a puzzled expression. Sigmund straightened, smiled and said, “Come on, you animal.”
With a small screech, the monkey jumped down from the bench, took a few steps to the doorway, and then jumped from the floor to Sigmund’s shoulder. Hurrying through the rain, the pair entered the building through the man-sized door, as the giant loading entrance was closed.
Inside, Sigmund felt the usual sense of awe. The space was huge. Hundreds of yards long, over sixty feet high, and filled with desks, work tables, crates, and all manner of experiments. It wasn’t organized, exactly, but it wasn’t chaos either. Among all of this were many people at work and moving about, but they were so focused that most didn’t even notice the man with a monkey walking passed them. A few caught sight of him and waved – probably more to Zachary than Sigmund, as Zachary had spent much time here when he was cared for by Sutton. The distractions of the place helped with the chill as much as the warmth did.
Both Sigmund and Zachary jumped at a loud pop and the violent hiss from the release of steam. It came from a far corner of the space. No one else jumped, Sigmund noticed, giving evidence that this was a pretty typical occurrence on the work floor.
The far wall, opposite the large receiving doors, was also vast in size – wide and multi-storied. There were many doors embedded along it and three iron stairways that climbed its face. The stairways led to platforms that ran the entire length of the wall. The first platform was at least two stories up and was followed by two more above it at similar intervals. Each walkway allowed entrance to the many doors found on each level.
Climbing to the first level, they headed to the middle door and knocked. From inside, they heard a man ask, “Yes, what is it?”
Sigmund opened the door and walked in, answering, “It is quite a spot of bother, if you ask me.”
Before either could say more, Zachary jumped down from Sigmund’s shoulder, ran across the floor and jumped into Sutton’s arms with a happy screech. “Well,” Sutton said, “it is nice to see you too, Zachary!” Then looking at Sigmund, “Come in, Sigmund. What brings you two out on this beautiful day?”
“Hello, Richard. How is the research going?” Sigmund knew that Sutton was working on a heat source that could replace coal. It was an invention that two brilliant German scientists had already created, but they were both assassinated and the process was destroyed during the Grimkraken affair. If Sutton was ever able to reproduce their work, it would change the world.
“Not much progress I’m afraid,” responded Sutton. “Those German scientists were either in
credibly brilliant or incredibly fortunate. Maybe both. In any event, the going is slow. There are so many process variations that stumbling across the correct one is like finding a needle in a haystack.”
“Well, if anyone can do it, you can,” Sigmund said sincerely.
“Thank you. How is your family? All well, I hope.”
Nodding and smiling, Sigmund answered, “They are doing well. Outside of one little item, they haven’t a care in the world.”
Sutton cocked his head, “One little item?”
“Yes, and that is why I’m here. I wish I could tell you that this was just a social visit, but I need your help.”
A serious look came over Sutton’s face. He knew Sigmund to be a very capable person, so if he was asking for help, then it probably wasn’t good. “Of course. Anything I can do, just ask. You need help building something, a new invention of yours?” he asked hopefully.
“No, nothing like that. What do you know about the brain?” Sigmund enjoyed asking a huge question and then watching Richard’s face as he tried to come to grips with it.
