Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2)

by Mark C. King

  Would she remember his proposal? Would she answer it after all these years? With a few moments of concentrating hard, she answered, “My memory is a bit…foggy. I remember the Thames. Yes…your family and mine were together.”

  “That’s right. We went down to the water. Do you remember anything else from that day?”

  Her face took on a look of concentration again and then she shook her head. “No. I am very confused.”

  “It’s okay, my love.” He looked at her as she struggled to gain her bearings. He had wanted this moment for so long that he could hardly believe it to be true.

  “Why are you crying?” Amberlyn asked him. “What is wrong.”

  “I’m just so happy to see you,” he answered. There were still many things wrong, but what did it matter, Amberlyn had returned! Not being able to bear it anymore, he asked the question that he had wanted the answer to every day since the accident. “Amberlyn, when we were at the Thames, I asked you a question. Before you could answer, we were separated. Do you remember what I asked you?”

  Again, she thought, trying hard to navigate her mind. Finally, she shook her head and said, “I cannot remember.”

  “That’s alright sweetheart. I’ll repeat the question.” Then he pulled on a string from around his neck and produced the ring that he had bought for her. Removing the string, he held the ring out and asked, “Amberlyn, will you do me the great honor of being my wife?”

  With hand outstretched, shaking from nerves and excitement, he watched her face. She stared at the ring as if it was a wonder beyond measure, eyes transfixed, an expression of awe. Then, she moved her gaze from the ring to Silvester’s face.

  He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything until the question was answered. He would gladly die if it meant that he would finally know. Deep in his mind he thought that this may actually be a dying act for him.

  Then it happened. A smile. The corners of her lips raised as her cheeks pulled back in an expression of happiness. It was better than his memory, better than even his dreams. Her smile.

  “Yes,” she said softly, her eyes glistening. “Yes, my dear Silvester, I will marry you.”

  He placed the ring on her finger, having difficulty from his excitement. Then, grabbing her hands, he stood and gingerly pulled her up from the bed and into his arms. Holding her tightly, he sobbed into her hair. It was happening, this was real.

  “I love you!” was all he could say. Over and over, “I love you!”

  43.

  Pocket led them down the basement hallway into the room that they had dropped into. Sigmund looked at the hole in the ceiling and wondered how they could all get up there.

  “Wait a moment,” Sigmund said. “Where are the basement stairs?”

  Pocket scrunched up his face and said, “Not far.”

  “You think we can get up that way?” Charlotte asked.

  “It is certainly worth a try. Lead the way, Pocket.”

  The boy led them back into the hall and to another door. Without hesitation, he pulled it open and started up the stairs behind it. Sigmund followed right behind him with Charlotte in the rear. At the top of the stairs, it was clear why the door wouldn’t open from the other side – a large wood crossbar, that was now resting against the wall, must have been in place that prevented the door from moving.

  Pocket grabbed the handle and pushed the door open. In an instant, he was out and heading towards the lobby.

  “He does not waste much time, does he?” commented Charlotte as they hurried to keep up.

  They saw Pocket disappear through the double doors of the lower women’s wing. Once they entered that corridor, they saw their little guide standing part way down the hallway, candle in one hand and his other hand pointing at a door.

  When they caught up, Sigmund asked, “This is where Mr. Thursby is?” It was a silly question as it was clearly what Pocket was indicating, besides, there was a window in the door that he could look through.

  The boy nodded vigorously.

  Both Sigmund and Charlotte stepped up to the door and looked through the little window. On the other side was a small room, lit by a candle, and there was Thursby, sitting on the bed holding a woman. Were they too late?

  Sigmund tried the handle and found it to be locked. “Open this door at once!” he demanded. Neither Thursby or the woman responded. Knowing that this door would be much harder to breakthrough than the old basement one, Sigmund went immediately to his lock picks. While he worked, Charlotte called out, “Please, Mr. Thursby, no one else needs to be hurt. Your motives are good, they really are, but surely we can find other ways to test without harming people.”

  If there was a response, Sigmund didn’t hear it. The lock clicked and Sigmund threw open the door. He stepped inside with Charlotte right beside him. Neither Thursby or the woman even responded to their entrance, they just sat there on the bed, holding each other.

  “What have you done to her?” Charlotte asked.

  Very slowly it appeared the question reached Thursby. His red eyes looked up at Charlotte and he shook his head. “I have proposed marriage.”

  “What?” both Sigmund and Charlotte exclaimed. Had this man completely lost his mind?

  “The day we were to be engaged, there was an accident. She never recovered and had to be admitted. I could not leave her here, not by herself. I love her!”

  “What about right now?” Sigmund asked cautiously.

  Thursby gave a small smile and replied, “She said ‘yes’.”

  “To what?” Charlotte demanded.

  “To my proposal. She agreed to marry me.”

  Sigmund took a small step forward and asked, “Mr. Thursby, is this woman okay?”

  Thursby closed his eyes and a fresh tear came out. More tears followed and he nodded his head. “It is still too early to be sure, but I think she will be okay. I think I saved her.”

  Charlotte said, “Impossible,” and rushed forward to the woman. She felt Amberlyn’s wrist and then looked back at Sigmund with a questioning look on her face. She stood and said, “She is alive.”

  “Why is she alive and so many others dead?” Sigmund asked.

  “Their sacrifices made this possible. They gave her a chance at life!”

  Charlotte stood and backed away from him and the woman. “How could you take that chance?” she hissed at him. “You could have killed her! You did kill others!”

  “Dead or alive, she would have been saved,” Thursby responded quietly. “She would have been cured or she would have died – either way, she would be free from Bedlam and her insanity.”

  Sigmund could sense the anger in Charlotte growing, much like it was in him, and stepped forward next to her as she screamed, “These poor people, these patients are here seeking assistance for ailments that come from no fault of their own. They came here for help!” Charlotte raised her hand and started to step towards Thursby in order to strike him, but Sigmund caught her arm. Although the man deserved it, and much more, Sigmund could not allow this unbridled anger. She looked at his hand on her arm and then at his face, a look of confusion and anger in her eyes. “Let me go!” she screamed at him.

  “I can’t let you do this,” he said in a voice that he hoped was calm and calming.

  Charlotte’s frustration turned to something else and she fell to her knees and started to cry. She shook her head slowly and said repeatedly, “They came here for help.”

  “Pocket,” Sigmund said without taking his eyes off of Thursby, “is there anyone here that can get the police?”

  “Umm, I don’t think so. We probably have to wait until morning.”

  Thursby gave a little laugh and said, “Are you worried about me? Do you think I care a bit as to what happens to me now? I have lived solely on the hope that I could one day bring back my Amberlyn. That one thought drove me through the years of misery, the years of this rotting home. Well, that hope, that thought is accomplished. No, you don’t need to worry about me. I have no aspirat
ions of escape, for I have no aspirations at all besides being right here next to my love.”

  Sigmund looked at the wretched man. Never had he seen someone so happy and yet so devastated simultaneously. Surely he knew that he couldn’t stay with her. He must know that he would go to jail for his crimes.

  Sigmund kneeled next to Charlotte and put his arm around her. Women always seemed to interpret feelings much quicker than men. He knew that he would probably share her level of grief and disgust once he had time to understand it.

  Charlotte didn’t move except to bury her face in his shoulder and continue to cry.

  “Who are these people, Silvester?” asked the woman, Amberlyn, quietly.

  “No one to concern yourself with, my dear. Just go back to sleep. You need to rest.”

  Sigmund watched as the woman closed her eyes and Thursby held her close.

  Charlotte and Sigmund continued to sit on the floor for a few minutes until their emotions were stable enough to stand.

  “Mr. Thursby,” Sigmund said, “please give me the key to this room’s door.”

  Without a change of expression or even looking at Sigmund, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key chain. Picking one of the keys, he held it up and said, “This one.”

  Sigmund took the entire keychain, making sure not to lose the one that was indicated, and locked the door to the room after he and Charlotte were in the hallway.

  “He is not going to give us any more trouble,” Sigmund concluded. “There is nowhere for him to go and, evidently, nowhere else he would rather be.”

  “Are you alright, Miss Charlotte?” Pocket asked with a worried look on his face.

  She kneeled down and gave him a hug. “Yes, I’m alright. Thank you, you kind brave boy.”

  Sigmund was next to kneel down and address Pocket. “Young man, you did an excellent job tonight. We would have been lost without you.” He stuck out his hand for the boy to shake but was surprised when Pocket moved past the hand and embraced Sigmund. The boy probably does not get a lot of commendation in this place, Sigmund thought as he returned the hug.

  The three of them pulled chairs together near Amberlyn’s room and sat in silence listening to the storm. Pocket fell asleep on Charlotte’s lap, his head against her shoulder, while she and Sigmund maintained their vigil.

  It was several hours before any staff arrived. It was Mrs. Rathbone that found them and she was able to contact a constable. Before long, there were many officers about and Silvester Thursby was taken away without resistance.

  Sigmund explained everything to Dr. Madfyre and couldn’t shake the feeling that what surprised Madfyre the most was not that a murderer was experimenting on patients, but that both he and Charlotte were faking insanity.

  When the questions all were answered and then answered again, Sigmund sat next to Charlotte in the lobby and let out long sigh. “Are you ready to leave Bedlam?”

  She smiled and answered, “I am ready for home.”

  “Tell me,” Sigmund asked, “what happened in that room with you? Not that I know you well, but you were beyond furious.”

  “It was strange. All my thoughts and feelings were reduced to anger mixed with sadness. There was a sublime focus on them so that I couldn’t comprehend anything else. I might have tried to kill him if you were not there, but once you stopped my, the sadness took over and I all but collapsed. I think it was the serum.”

  “What? How?”

  “Oh, you were unconscious at the time. Thursby attacked me and I was injected.”

  “How do you feel? Are you okay?” Sigmund asked with growing concern.

  “I actually feel alright, all things considered. But it was a strange thing to be under its influence. Thursby talked about it allowing a healthy brain to unbalance itself in certain directions. I guess my emotions directed it to the anger and sadness I felt at the whole situation.”

  Sigmund looked at her and wondered what, if anything, should be done to help Charlotte. It had been hours since she her being injected and it seemed unlikely that there would still be no bad effects if her brain was shriveling. The very thought gave him a chill. “Charlotte, you know as well as I do that the serum has killed people. Are you sure you are alright?”

  She gave him a tired smile and answered, “I’m sure. Exhausted and a bit overwhelmed, but alright.”

  Her words took some, but not all, of the concern from Sigmund. He very much wanted her to live.

  44.

  A constable let Charlotte know that Mr. Godwit, her editor, had been notified that she was ready to leave the asylum. Knowing that he would hurry to get her, she decided that she needed to make her goodbyes soon. After getting the attention of Mrs. Rathbone, she asked for permission to enter the second floor women’s wing.

  Rathbone nodded and led her up the stairs. Just before they reached the second floor landing, Mrs. Rathbone stopped, looked at Charlotte, and said in a monotone voice, “I do not appreciate being lied to Miss Merrihail. However, please make it count with your article.”

  Charlotte paused and looked at the head orderly. The austere face showed no emotion until she gave Charlotte a wink. Without another word, Mrs. Rathbone continued on towards the women’s wing. A new and deeper swelling of gratitude for this woman grew inside of Charlotte. This previously humorless lady had just revealed a new layer of her personality. When the shock of the moment passed, Charlotte caught up with Mrs. Rathbone, smiled knowingly, and entered the women’s hallway.

  As she passed the doorway, two women stood up instantly – Jena and Anne. They rushed over and asked, “Are you okay? What happened last night? We were so worried when we couldn’t find you this morning!”

  “I am alright. It was frightening, but it is all over.” She proceeded to tell them the whole account of the previous night. When completed, she looked at her friend’s astonished faces and waited for their reply.

  It took a few seconds and Anne started to laugh. “I’m sorry,” she said through her humor, “but I’m happy, scared, and confused all at the same time. It is either laugh or cry, and well…”

  Jena started to laugh as well and Charlotte joined in too. The release of laughing did much to combat the stress of the night.

  When they were able to catch their breath, Jena asked, “So, are you leaving now?”

  Charlotte nodded but was becoming too emotional to answer. She knew that she would see these new friends soon. She also knew that she would find a way to get them released. But it hurt to think that they will be left here, even if only for a short period of time.

  “I am very happy to have met you,” said Anne. “We will miss you.”

  Charlotte nodded again in agreement and then threw her arms around the two of them. She managed to not cry, but a few tears leaked out. There is something about a shared experience, especially a difficult one, that creates special friendships.

  Before departing, Charlotte took a deep breath and then said, “I will visit soon and I will get you both released at the very earliest possibility.”

  The two dear women smiled at Charlotte and Jena mouthed the words, ‘thank you.’

  When Charlotte descended the stairs back to the lobby, she found Mr. Godwit waiting. At catching site of her he rushed over and said, “Oh, my dear! Are you alright.”

  “I am, Mr. Godwit. Thank you for coming to get me.”

  He stared at her for a few moments, almost examining her for anything out of place, and finally asked, “Was it worth it?”

  It took only an instant for her to conclude, “It will be.”

  * * *

  Sigmund had his own goodbye to say as well as a regretful duty. He found Basil sitting at their chess table in the men’s wing. “Care for a game?” Sigmund said as he approached.

  Basil looked up and when he saw who it was quickly stood and grasped Sigmund’s hand. He exclaimed, “Good Lord! What happened last night? I have seen police officers coming and going all morning.”

  Before telling the
account, Sigmund needed to tell his friend about Xavier. “Basil, I am very sorry to tell you that Xavier died last night.”

  Basil looked at Sigmund questioningly, as if it could not be true. Finally, after the news sank in, he asked, “What happened to him?”

  “He was murdered by Mr. Thursby.”

  “Thursby? That makes no sense.”

  Sigmund proceeded to tell him all that happened that night as well as the understood motives of Mr. Thursby. It felt inadequate of an account to justify the death of their quiet friend.

  “You know,” said Basil, “I think Xavier let me win on occasion.”