Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt
Page 26
ankle was encircled by a rusty manacle. She was bound
like those creatures.
Where was she?
And how had she gotten here?
Slowly she stood. She swayed as her head threatened
to escape her shoulders. She leaned her hand on the wall,
then snatched it away from the slime which had oozed
into her hair. In disgust, she pulled away. The chain caught,
toppling her. Her cry of pain and outrage was lost beneath
the moans in the room.
Pulling herself up to her knees, she jerked on the chain.
It was securely attached to the wall. She sat back on her
heels.
Where was she?
Darcy stood again and moved the single pace she could
in either direction. Even on tiptoe, she could not see
anything through the window except a tree and sunlight.
There was no clue to where she was.
Horror raced through her. That monster near the maze
was her last clear memory. She had been a fool to follow
Hastings alone. In retrospect, she knew she had been
baited. But why?
A screech came from the opposite side of the room,
and she cringed. This was as appalling as the monster. A
hand settled on her shoulder. She screamed.
“Shut yourself up, dearie,” snapped the woman who
wore a simple blouse and skirt the same limp color as her
dishwater hair. She bent and unhooked the chain from the
wall. Holding the links as if she were an organ grinder
leading a monkey, she pulled on them in a silent order.
“Take it off me. It hurts,” Darcy whispered. She was
afraid any sound would create renewed shrieks from the
others.
“Just come along, dearie.” The woman tugged on the
chain.
Darcy considered arguing, but she did not want to be
left in this oozing hell with beasts which had lost every
sign of their humanity. Lurching after the woman, she lifted
her nightgown up to keep it out of whatever pooled on the
floor. Her head spun on every step. When she was led
through the door, the woman locked it with another iron
key.
In shock, Darcy stared. They stood in a wide, tiled
hallway. Benches were spaced along the wall which
smelled of fresh paint. Again the woman jerked on the
chain.
“That hurts,” gasped Darcy.
“Then do as you’re told.”
She was tempted to snap back she would cooperate if
she knew what was going on, but said nothing while the
stooped woman led her along the corridor. From beyond
the doors along the wall, she could hear more pitiful
sounds.
“What is this place?” she asked.
The woman mumbled something.
“I didn’t hear what you said.”
Opening a door, the woman shoved her forward. Darcy
fell to the floor. The hard stones cut into her knees, and
she heard material rip. Dampness from the floor mixed
with the blood dripping along her legs.
She stood and stared at this strange room. The tiles on
the floor continued up the wall and across the ceiling.
Mildew blackened the grout between them, and spider
webs along the ceiling were filled with insect carcasses
and dust. Several buckets of water were set in one corner,
and a bench topped by a single, threadbare towel leaned
precariously against the wall in front of her. The water
appeared clean, but the buckets were coated with
something she would not want to get close to in order to
discover what it was. A pair of windows, no wider than
her forearm, were set high on one wall. Iron bars blocked
what little light seeped through the filthy glass.
“What is this place?” Darcy asked, fighting not to be
ill.
“You’re at the asylum, dearie,” said the woman.
“Asylum?” She whirled to face the woman. “What do
you mean?”
“It’s simple, dearie.” The woman snapped the chain
onto a ring on the wall. “You were brought here to rest
your brain.”
“I’m not mad!”
“Of course you don’t believe that, dearie. Nobody in
here believed that when they first arrived. Then they
learned how mad they truly are.” The woman reached for
the ribbons at the collar of Darcy’s nightgown. When Darcy
slapped her hands away, she said, “Listen, dearie, do as
you’re told, or I can make sure you end up with more
bruises than you have already.”
Backing away a half step, she whispered, “There’s
been some mistake. I’m Darcy Kincaid, and . . .”
“I know what your name is.”
“If you know my name, please contact Rosewood Hall.
They’ll tell you that I’m employed there.” Desperation
crept into her plea. “They’ll tell you I shouldn’t be here.”
“Dearie, who do you think sent you here?”
“There has to be a mistake.” She could not keep the
panic from her voice. “No one there would send me here.”
“Really?” The woman chuckled shortly. “Now are you
going to get out of that nightgown, or do I have to show
you what we do to bad ladies who don’t cooperate?”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing, if you behave.”
Darcy wanted to snarl at the woman, but feared any
reaction would label her mad. Longing to dismiss this as a
nightmare, she knew it was all too real. When the woman
reached for the ribbons on her torn nightgown, Darcy could
not keep from backing away again.
The woman’s voice grew cold. “If you don’t let me
take that off you, you’re going to learn right now how we
treat those who don’t behave.”
Darcy loosened the nightgown. Curses, which Jaddeh
had told her were a thousand years old, filled her mind as
the woman watched every motion. The tattered garment
slipped to the wet floor, and the woman kicked it away.
“Go ahead, dearie.”
“Ahead?” Darcy whispered.
“Take off your smallclothes.”
“No.” She put her hands over the laces of her chemise.
The woman struck her across the face. When her head
hit the wall, tears exploded into her eyes, but Darcy did
not let them fall. The woman ripped the silk from her.
Darcy cried out in horror, but nothing halted the woman
until she reached for the jeweled pendant.
Darcy batted her hands away. “Don’t touch that.”
“You must take it off.”
“No!”
“If you don’t, I shall—”
“If you touch this, I’ll claw out your eyes.” She smiled
fiercely. “Or maybe Thoth, the ibis god, will do that. You
risk inciting the ancient gods by trying to take it from me.”
Superstitious awe filled the old woman’s eyes. She
said nothing for so long Darcy wondered if she had
forgotten how to speak. Finally, the woman said, “Stand
there.”
Before Darcy could react, cold water was poured over
her head. She shivered as she tried to reach for the towel
&n
bsp; on the bench. Her hands were knocked away. She stared
at another woman who was standing by the door. This
woman was as large as Simon but far broader. Slate gray
hair hung along the sides of her face, but her smile held
Darcy’s eyes. Her smile and the small whip she held.
“This the one who’s been causing all the trouble, Mrs.
Rale?” the huge woman asked.
“She doesn’t seem interested in cooperating at all,”
said the woman who had doused her with water. “I think
she should learn some manners.”
The huge woman stroked the whip eagerly. Stepping
forward, she smiled as Darcy edged away. “She’s scared.
She’s not as stupid as some of them.”
“After all, Miss Johns, she got herself a job at
Rosewood Hall. I hear she’s seduced the younger Dr.
Garnett, too. Heard he hasn’t been quite right since the
accident that killed his mother and sister.”
Darcy listened as they gossiped as if she could not
understand them. She started to protest.
Miss Johns raised the whip.
Darcy cowered away, trying to protect herself before
they drove her truly mad. She thought of Mrs. Rales’ words.
The other inmates had not thought they were mad when
they first arrived. Then they faded into madness. Or had
they been pushed by these horrible women?
Miss Johns’ eyes twinkled as she let the leather whip
slither along Darcy’s wet shoulder. “You have a lot to learn
about keeping your mouth shut, girlie. If you don’t—”
The door opened. Ripping the towel out of Mrs. Rale’s
hands, Darcy held it between her and the man in the
doorway. Thinning, black hair was long behind his large
ears. His lips were compressed in a tight line. He glanced
at her through thick glasses and looked away as if she
were of no consequence.
“I didn’t realize it took two nurses to tend to one
inmate.” His voice was as icy as the water splashed over
her head.
“This one’s not following orders.” Miss Johns scowled.
“No?” His gaze settled on Darcy. She raised her chin,
even though nothing stood between them but the ragged
towel. “Mrs. Rale, dress her and bring her to my office. I
suggest you find something else to do, Miss Johns.”
The huge woman grumbled and tossed a gray,
shapeless garment at Darcy. It resembled the ones she had
seen on the poor creatures in the other room.
“You heard the doctor,” said Mrs. Rales, shoving the
dress into Darcy’s hand. “Put it on.”
“I need my undergarments,” Darcy returned in the
same tone.
When Mrs. Rales stepped toward her, Darcy raised
the garment against her as a shield. The material strained
as Mrs. Rale snatched it away and pulled it over Darcy’s
head.
Mrs. Rale sneered, “Forget your ladylike airs here.
No one cares what a madwoman wears.” She chuckled as
Darcy tried to pull the too short garment past her knees.
Darcy was pushed toward the door. The chain caught,
and the iron tore into her ankle. Behind her, she heard
laughter and a click. Mrs. Rale held the end of the chain in
one hand. With the other, she motioned for Darcy to go
out. That was one order Darcy was happy to obey. She
hoped the man who must supervise this asylum would listen
to her.
She was ushered into an office which was not so
different from Simon’s. It was well decorated. Dark
burgundy draperies had been drawn to cover the windows,
so she had no idea if it was day or night outside. With her
head aching and blood oozing from her knees and her right
ankle, she was grateful when the man pointed to an
overstuffed sofa. She watched as the chain was locked to
a ring set at the base of shelves holding thick books.
She shivered. Why hadn’t Simon come for her? Her
hands clenched. If something had happened to Hastings,
Simon might be so focused on his father he assumed she
was busy taking his manuscript to be posted. If Hastings
had not returned to Rosewood Hall either, maybe a search
was underway. Her burst of hope vanished. Nobody would
think to look for her here. How many hours had passed
since she followed Hastings into the wood?
As soon as Mrs. Rale went out, the dark-haired man
stated, “I am Dr. Berger. I’m in charge of this asylum. You
should remember my name. Dr. Berger.”
“Dr. Berger, you don’t need to repeat it. I’m not
insane.” She rubbed her hands together, then halted when
he glanced at them. “If you’ll contact Dr. Simon Garnett
at Rosewood Hall, he’ll assure you I’m not insane.”
He folded his hands behind his back and peered at her
through his thick lenses. “I have been in contact with
Rosewood Hall. I can assure you we don’t incarcerate
someone lightly.”
“If you have contacted them, then why am I still here?
Didn’t Simon tell you I’m sane?”
“I was told by Dr. Garnett that you’ve shown
increasing signs of agitation in the past few weeks.”
“Of course,” she cried, leaping to her feet and ignoring
the clank of the chains. “I’ve been working hard. Simon’s
manuscript needs to be in London by month’s end. The
work has—”
“Taxed your fragile, feminine system,” he finished
smoothly as he put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her
to sit. When one slid beneath the thin fabric of her gown
and stroked her bare skin, she shrieked and tried to shove
his hand away. He chuckled as he clamped his fingers on
her shoulder and said, “You’re going to need my personal
attention, Darcy. I shall do everything necessary to bring
you back to health. You, of course, will cooperate.”
“No! Not with this!” she spat as she fought to break
his grip. She moaned when his fingers twisted through her
wet and tangled hair and forced her head back.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” Amusement
tilted the corners of his lips as his other hand moved from
her shoulder to settle on her knee. “I’m your doctor, Darcy.
I want only to help you.”
She slapped his bold fingers away, but groaned again
as he tightened his grip on her hair.
When he released her suddenly, he said, “It’s such a
shame.”
She did not want to play his sadistic game, but she
needed to get word to Rosewood Hall. “Please send a
message to Simon. He will tell you the truth.”
“Dr. Garnett was very honest with me, for he is deeply
concerned about your strange behavior.”
Her stomach cramped. “If you sent a message to him,
then you should know I’m as sane as—”
“Anyone in here,” he said with a laugh. “Who do you
think told us of your recent idiosyncracies?”
“Simon told you . . .” A horror, greater than any other
today, filled her as Dr. Berger so matter-of-factly spoke of
Simon sending her to this place. It was not possible.
Something was wrong—terribly wrong—and it was not
her mind.
She had thought Simon cared for her. How sweetly he
had wooed her with kisses and caresses! With ease, he
had convinced her to stay at Rosewood Hall to help him
finish his precious book. Now it was finished . . .
“At first,” said Dr. Berger, “he thought your tales of
lights near the maze were just nightmares. Then, he feared
there was more to your tales.”
“They aren’t tales. They’re true.”
“I’m sure you think so.” He patted her head, but his
caress along her face was anything but fatherly. When she
pulled away, he went to the door and called, “Mrs. Rale,
Miss Kincaid is ready to go to the private room we have
arranged for her.”
Darcy looked from one face to the other. There was
menace in his words. What did he mean? She stood as her
leash was unlatched from the wall.
“My dear Darcy, we shall help you,” Dr. Berger said.
“You needn’t worry about that.”
“If you touch me again, I’ll scream so loud they’ll
hear me in Halyeyn.”
“Touch you? Are you hallucinating again?” Dr. Berger
laughed. “Go with Mrs. Rale, my dear. You’ll learn soon
we mean only to help you.”
Trying to retain as much dignity as she could when
she was being led about like a dog on a chain, Darcy
stepped past him and into the hallway. A door was opened
only a few paces away. When she was shoved inside, she
hit the opposite wall. Putting out her hands, she realized
she could span the tiny cell. Her dressing room at
Rosewood Hall was larger. A single breath told her it had
not been cleaned in weeks.
“You’ll stay here and be quiet,” ordered Mrs. Rale.
“Here?”
“Sit on the floor and be quiet.”
Darcy grasped the woman’s drab sleeve. “Would you
sit on this floor?”
“Just shut up!” Mrs. Rale hit her again.
Darcy reeled back. Before she could straighten, she
heard the horrifying click of a key. Her manacle had been
hooked to another ring on the wall.
“No,” she moaned. “Don’t leave me here.”
“If you make a peep, you’ll feel more than my hand.”
Mrs. Rale closed and locked the door behind her.