Fell the Angels

by John Kerr

  Agnes responded with a smile and said, ‘I’m curious about the way you speak. I can’t quite place the accent.’

  ‘I spent my childhood,’ said Cecilia, digging into the soft turf with the tip of her staff, ‘in Australia, near Adelaide. And grew up in Oxfordshire. My family are Scots. So there you have it. An Australian, English, Scottish blend.’ Agnes smiled again, finding the obviously spoiled daughter of a wealthy family appealling in a way she couldn’t name, compared to the generally older and dour female visitors to the clinic. ‘Why do you suppose they call this a, ah … what did she call it?’ said Cecilia, grasping her leather flask.

  ‘Gräfenberg,’ said Agnes. ‘The name of a place in the Bavarian alps where people go for the water cure. They must have invented these.’ Both women paused to uncork their flasks and take a swallow of cold spring water.

  ‘Quite refreshing,’ said Cecilia as they swung back into step. Reaching a swale at the foot of the rounded Beacon, the group crossed a footbridge over a meandering brook and then began a gradual uphill climb. The older and less robust soon languished, but Cecilia and Agnes quickened their pace, keeping up with the nimble Scotsman, breathing hard and with a sheen of perspiration on their brows. After climbing for perhaps a half-mile, McTavish halted abruptly and, leaning on his staff, said, ‘Let’s stop for a wee bit and let the stragglers catch up. Spectacular, isn’t it?’ The two women turned to look at a sweeping panorama of steep hills and wide valleys blanketed in yellow and blue wildflowers and bathed by a shaft of golden light where the sun broke through a transient cloud.

  ‘So beautiful,’ said Cecilia as her breathing returned to normal. ‘If I were an artist, I should paint it.’

  Agnes carefully studied the landscape and then said, ‘I am an artist. I think we should make a return visit, and I’ll bring along my paints and brushes.’

  ‘Are you really? How exceptional.’ Cecilia gazed again at the panorama and then turned to observe Agnes kneeling on the grass, picking wildflowers.

  ‘There,’ said Agnes, rising and walking over to secure a spray of blue and lavender blossoms behind Cecilia’s ear with a smile of satisfaction. ‘We’ll proceed ahead,’ she said to Mr McTavish, who was lying comfortably on the grass staring up into the pale blue sky, ‘while you wait for the others.’ After the lapse of another hour, walking at a steady pace up and down the gentle slopes, the turrets of the clinic came into view on the hillside above the treetops.

  ‘I feel wonderful,’ said Cecilia, stopping to uncork her flask and drink the last of her water.

  ‘And I feel starved,’ said Agnes, doing the same. ‘I only wish there was something beside fish and mutton.’

  Later, following an indifferent lunch and short nap, the two new friends lounged side-by-side on chaises on the porch reading their novels, Thackery in the case of Cecilia and Trollope for Agnes. Putting her book aside, Cecilia dozed for several minutes and then opened her eyes and studied the arched bridge, constructed of brick with a tiled roof and leaded glass windows, that connected the women’s building with the adjoining Tudor mansion. ‘Is one allowed to cross over the bridge?’ she asked.

  ‘The Bridge of Sighs, you mean?’ said Alice.

  ‘As in Venice?’

  Agnes nodded. ‘According to one of the attendants,’ she said, ‘that’s what they call it, as the ladies are forbidden to cross to the gentlemen on the other side.’

  ‘How droll,’ said Cecilia.

  ‘The good doctor, of course, comes and goes as he wishes. In fact, if I’m not mistaken …’

  A short, bald, white-haired gentleman wearing a black frockcoat with a cream-coloured waistcoat and charcoal trousers emerged on the ladies’ end of the bridge, paused to take a quick look around, and then disappeared into the lobby.

  ‘Is that…?’ said Cecilia.

  ‘Doctor Gully,’ said Agnes with a nod. ‘Returned from abroad.’

  ‘He’s very, well, genial-looking,’ said Cecilia.

  ‘Yes, and very amiable. Not at all severe. And he holds the most liberal views on the woman’s place in society.’

  ‘I see,’ said Cecilia, frankly unacquainted with such views.

  ‘I’m sure he’ll want to schedule a consultation,’ said Agnes, ‘considering the nature of your, ah, malady.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Cecilia, swinging her legs around and sitting on the side of the chaise with a bright smile, ‘I shall look forward to it.’

  Chapter Two

  SEVERAL DAYS OF the unvarying routine of early rising, the detested cold-water treatments, communal meals, and delightful walks through the Malvern Hills passed, before Cecilia was informed, as she sat with her book in a wicker chair on the porch, that Dr Gully would be pleased to interview her at four o’clock in the afternoon. At home she would have devoted at least an hour to the selection of the proper dress and accessories and putting up her hair, but in the relaxed atmosphere of the hydro she merely arrived at the appointed hour in her usual smock with her auburn curls tied back with a black ribbon. ‘You may go in,’ said a female attendant standing outside the arched doorway to the clinic director’s study on the ground floor of the ladies’ building.

  Cecilia turned the handle and peered inside the spacious office; Dr Gully sat at his walnut desk, surrounded by bookshelves, before a tall window with a view of the garden. With a benevolent smile, he rose from his chair and said, ‘Please have a seat, Mrs Castello,’ gesturing to one of the red leather armchairs. Cecilia smiled nervously and sat, quickly glancing around the room, illuminated by sunlight from the window in which motes of dust were suspended, with a Persian carpet and the pleasant aromas of pipe tobacco and abraded leather. ‘I’ve been acquainted with your family, of course,’ the doctor began in a conversational tone, ‘for many years. Tell me, dear, the origin of the name Castello?’

  ‘It’s Portuguese,’ replied Cecilia. ‘My husband’s family are British, but they came from Portugal, quite a long time ago.’

  ‘I see. And I believe I detect an Australian accent.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Cecilia, feeling quite relaxed by the doctor’s easy-going manner. ‘I spent my early childhood there, though, as you know, my family’s Scottish and we divide our time between London and Oxfordshire.’

  Donning a pair of reading glasses, Gully opened a folder on his desk, turned several pages, and said, ‘I gather your difficulties have arisen in relation to your husband?’

  ‘Yes, but I …’ Fighting back tears, she began again: ‘After Richard resigned his commission, he seemed to undergo a change, and he, well, he began drinking rather too much, or too often …’

  Reclining in his chair with his fingertips touching, and the same benevolent expression in his eyes, the doctor elicited a lengthy though at times halting narrative of the marital difficulties that had culminated in Cecilia’s departure from home and decision to seek refuge at her parents’ country estate. Occasionally jotting a note, Gully put his pen aside and said, ‘Thank you, my dear, for confiding in me. I’m sure this has been terribly painful.’ Cecilia nodded and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Rising abruptly, Gully hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat over his rounded belly and began to pace by the window. ‘Women,’ he said at length, ‘are expected in our society to accept such behaviour in a marriage without complaint. To do their duty.’

  He paused and looked Cecilia in the eye, who nodded glumly and said, ‘Yes, Father insists I must return home.’

  ‘Which,’ Gully continued, ‘in many instances, is a profound error. From all that you’ve told me, and much that I reckon you haven’t, I believe that your husband, Mrs Castello, is an alcoholic and probably beyond redemption. And like many such men, especially coming from a military background, given to abusing his wife, even to violence.’

  Cecilia raised her red-rimmed eyes and whispered, ‘He struck me. In the face. Before the servants. And flung me to the ground, ruining the organdie roses in my sash!’

  Gully leaned forward, resting his pa
lms on his desk. ‘May I call you Cecilia?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’m afraid, Cecilia,’ he said gently, ‘it would be hazardous in the extreme to return to your husband.’

  ‘But Father insists …’

  ‘I’m well acquainted with the attitude of men like your father. Tell me, Cecilia,’ he said, folding his arms on his chest. ‘Are there issues of infidelity?’

  Blushing, Cecilia nodded.

  ‘Have you confronted your husband?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied softly, wiping away tears. ‘After the, ah, the first woman. And of course he insisted … it was a lapse in judgement, that it wouldn’t …’

  Dr Gully nodded and said, ‘But then …’

  ‘But then there were other liaisons, reported to me by the housemaids.’

  ‘I’m afraid, Cecilia,’ said Gully firmly, ‘you have no choice. You must remain separated from your husband.’

  ‘How can I? When my time here is finished, how could I possibly…?’

  ‘Your father,’ said Gully, sitting down and resting his elbows on his desk, ‘has arranged for you to spend four weeks with us.’ Cecilia nodded. ‘I believe we should find a way to extend your stay. It will be midsummer, after all, the ideal season for the cure.’

  Cecilia found that the doctor’s mild yet firm tone and his attractive, though not handsome, looks for a man in his mid-sixties were not only comforting but also exerted a certain magnetic attraction. ‘I should like that,’ she said with a smile that dimpled her cheeks.

  ‘Is your husband a man of means?’ asked the doctor.

  She nodded. ‘Richard comes from a well-to-do family. His father is a Tory MP and the founder of the international telegraph company, and his mother is the sister of the Duke of Fife. They have a large house in Kensington.’

  ‘I see,’ said Gully, stroking his chin. ‘Well, dear,’ he concluded, rising from his chair, ‘let me give this some thought, and we’ll talk again in several days.’

  Cecilia paused on the brick path to listen to a distant rumble. A mass of charcoal cloud billowed above the horizon across the valley. ‘I expect we’re due for another downpour,’ said Agnes, standing at Cecilia’s elbow. The past several days had been marked by bright sunshine and warm temperatures through the early afternoon followed by rain showers. Cecilia strolled by the roses, inhaling the bouquet and listening to the buzz of insects and the songbirds in the tall oaks. ‘I’m growing to like the hydro,’ she said, ‘notwithstanding the water treatments and the disagreeable old ladies we’re thrown with.’

  ‘And the wretched food,’ said Agnes, leaning over to smell a bright pink rose. ‘I’m craving a cup of tea and a biscuit.’

  ‘Or a glass of wine,’ said Cecilia. ‘But you’ll be leaving soon.’

  ‘My time’s almost up,’ said Agnes. ‘I must say it’s done me a world of good. The pain in my side’s completely gone.’

  ‘I shall miss you.’

  Giving her a sidelong glance, Agnes said, ‘You’ll make another friend. Tell me your impressions of Dr Gully.’

  Rounding a corner, Cecilia sat on a wrought-iron bench, and Agnes dropped down beside her. ‘Oh, he’s a most remarkable man,’ said Cecilia. ‘I never imagined that someone of his reputation would take an interest in me.’

  ‘Though it’s none of my business,’ said Agnes, glancing up at the darkening sky, ‘what did he recommend?’

  ‘Well,’ said Cecilia, lowering her voice, ‘he believes I must defy my father and remain separated from my husband. And extend my stay at the hydro.’

  ‘I see. I think you should be very careful, as we have very little means of resisting our husbands, or fathers. I cautioned you that the doctor holds very liberal views on the place of women. Why, he even advocates the suffrage.’

  ‘And I think he’s quite correct,’ said Cecilia, excited but puzzled by the impact of the suffrage, and hearing the first patter of raindrops on the leaves overhead. ‘Oh my,’ she exclaimed as the skies opened and both women leapt up and started for the building. ‘We’ll be drenched.’

  Cecilia stood at the dresser brushing out her auburn hair and examining her reflection in the mirror. After weeks of warm sunshine, a cold, steady rain was falling, beading the window and obscuring her view of the nearby hillside. Putting the silver-handled hairbrush aside, she picked up a watercolour from the dresser and studied the landscape of the Malvern Hills blanketed in spring wildflowers, painted by Agnes on one of their outings and presented to Cecilia as a parting gift. At the sound of a gentle tap, she walked to the door, leaned her head close, and said, ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘A message from Dr Gully, mum,’ replied an attendant. ‘He wishes to see you in his study.’

  Cecilia returned to the mirror, powdered her cheeks, added a touch of rouge, and put up her hair with pins and ribbons. Lastly, she applied a dab of perfume to her wrists from the vial she had secreted in the dresser drawer and hurried from the room. She found Dr Gully standing before his desk, wearing a pale-green waistcoat under his black frockcoat and the same genial expression as before. ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, reaching out to take Cecilia’s hands. ‘You’re looking well.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor.’

  ‘Call me James.’

  Taken aback, Cecilia said, ‘Oh. Well, then, thank you, James. I’m feeling much better. The treatments have worked wonders.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it. Ah, what an inviting fragrance.’

  ‘From Paris.’

  Gesturing to the settee and chairs arranged before the stone hearth, where a cheerful fire was burning, Gully said, ‘Please sit down, my dear.’

  Once he was seated facing her on the settee, Gully said, ‘A dreary day, though I suppose we were overdue for a change.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ve been giving considerable thought to your situation, Cecilia.’ Gully spoke in an avuncular tone, crossing one polished boot over his knee. ‘I remain convinced that it would be a grave mistake to return to your husband.’

  ‘I should have explained,’ said Cecilia, ‘that Father is providing us with an annual allowance of a thousand pounds, which, if I go against his wishes….’

  Raising a hand, Gully said, ‘Never mind your father. I’ve decided to act as your legal representative and demand that your husband provide you with the support to which you’re entitled. I’ll arrange for you to remain here at the hydro. Free of charge, of course.’

  ‘But Dr Gully … James … I couldn’t possibly accept such an offer. It’s far, far too generous.’

  ‘I insist on it. My solicitor is drawing up the papers for my appointment as your guardian. In the interim, I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a letter for your signature advising Captain Castello of your decision and demanding suitable recompense.’

  Conscious of her racing heart and a sensation of light-headedness – could he do this, what an astonishing idea? – Cecilia merely nodded and said, ‘I see.’

  Gully rose from his chair and went to his desk. ‘Here it is,’ he said, handing her a single sheet of bond. He stood with his back to the fire as she read it, advising her husband that as his behaviour toward her made life intolerable she was formally demanding a separation and the payment of alimony in an amount sufficient to provide for her living expenses. ‘He’ll protest, no doubt,’ said Gully, as Cecilia looked up, ‘but in the end he’ll come round.’

  Deliverance from her terrible dilemma, considered Cecilia, under the protection, the guardianship, of a great man like the doctor, was far more than she had ever imagined possible. And, it struck her with sudden clarity, a deliverance that her father would be powerless to prevent. Her father, after all, had authored the suggestion to place her under Dr Gully’s care. ‘Oh, James,’ she exclaimed, rising from the settee and impulsively throwing her arms around him, ‘how could I ever repay you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, dear,’ he said, patting her back. ‘It’s nothing for a man of my means. Now,’ he conclu
ded, taking her gently by the shoulders, ‘you must sign the letter and I must be off to my next appointment.’

  Within days Cecilia received a reply in the form of a telegram demanding that she return home at once. This was followed by a long letter in her husband’s hand expressing his sincere apology for his ‘excesses’ and ‘maltreatment of my beloved wife’, together with a pledge to reform his behaviour and ‘begin anew their life together’. Though she answered neither the telegram nor the letter, she penned a note to her parents explaining the course of action she was taking and begging their acquiescence. Cecilia was, in fact, relishing her new-found and wholly unexpected liberation, free from her father, her husband, and yes – from her corsets – plunging into the therapeutic regimens of the hydro with the gusto of a recent convert and without the least concern or sympathy for her husband. She no longer missed the company of Agnes, or sought any other female companionship, as she was entirely absorbed with thoughts of the revered doctor … of James. During the leisure hours of the afternoon she devoted herself to reading the great man’s publications, gamely ploughing through the turgid prose of his treatise on hydropathy and academic writings on the virtues of homeopathic medicine. As she sat in her usual chair in the library with a thick medical text open in her lap she was approached by one of the female attendants who bowed and said, ‘You have a letter, mum.’