Tell Me Pretty Maiden

by Rhys Bowen

  “Very well,” the nurse said. “Upon your head be it if she claws someone’s eyes out during the night.”

  He spun me around and untied my back. I sighed with relief as my arms dropped to my sides. He yanked my jacket off and I wiggled my fingers, enjoying the freedom of movement. “Right, come on then.” He pushed me forward, out of the door through which they had just entered. Another long hallway stretched out ahead of me. On either side were doors with small barred windows. As I passed one of these, a creature flung itself at the bars, snarling. I saw frightening bloodshot eyes and matted hair before I was propelled onward.

  My heart was now beating very fast. Why had I ever thought that this was a good idea? I didn’t even really know for sure that Jessie was an inmate here—what if I was going through all this for nothing? Then I told myself that Nelly Bly had done it and survived and I was every bit as tough as she was. I held my head high like a princess and strutted ahead of my jailer.

  At last he opened a door and pushed me inside. The first thing that hit me was the stench. The place smelled like a latrine, only worse. Was there no WC available?

  “New one for you,” the guard barked. “Another one thinks she’s royalty.” He shoved me inside and slammed the door shut behind me. I heard a key turning in the lock. The room was dark. No lamps of any kind had been lit and the daylight, outside the two small windows, had almost faded. All I could make out where shapes, some sprawled on the floor, some huddled in corners. There were whimpers and then a burst of crazy laughter. I stood frozen in the doorway. A creature in a gray shift, with hair even wilder than my own, drifted over to me and touched my face. “Are you my own precious child?” it asked in a cracked voice. “My own precious child come back to me?”

  “Leave her alone, Minnie,” a sharp voice said, and I saw a figure very different from the rest of them: a huge woman with a bosom like a vast shelf, several chins, and a spiteful piggy face. “So you’re another princess, are you? Well, let’s get one thing straight in here, your highness. You do what I say, all the time. You disobey me and you’ll be sorry—believe me, you’ll be sorry. When I tell you something, you say ‘yes, ma’am.’ Got it?”

  I turned puzzled eyes on her. “Have I been abducted?” I asked. “Is this the enemy’s dungeon?”

  The gargantuan woman laughed, a big chuckle that shook all the chins. “Oh yes, my dear, this is the enemy all right. Now go and sit down and behave yourself. Don’t talk to the other inmates unless they talk to you. You never know who’s feeling cranky today and some of them can pack quite a punch. If you’re lucky you’ll get food soon. Better eat quickly.”

  “Can you tell me where I sleep?” I asked. “And what about my things? Where are my nightclothes?”

  She laughed again. “Oh, you’re a rum one, you are. You’re going to keep me amused for days. You’ll be given your clothing in the morning at morning inspection.”

  “But I must have my hairbrush,” I said. “Where is my servant to brush my hair?”

  She tugged at my hair. “This don’t look like it’s seen a brush in a while. But it will get combed tomorrow morning, don’t you worry.”

  There was a stone bench that ran along the wall. I went and sat on it. My eyes were getting used to the gloom now. I saw there were about twenty women in the room, of all ages and shapes. Some were muttering to themselves. One was hugging herself and rocking back and forth. Yet another was sucking her thumb. Poor pathetic wretches, I thought, until I realized that I was now one of them.

  How could I possibly find out about Jessie? I was supposed to be delusional, so how could I ask sane questions without arousing suspicion? Were there other wards for females more violent than this, or more disturbed? Maybe I’d find out how the place worked in the morning.

  At that moment there was a clanging sound in the hallway. The inmates rushed to line up at the door. Our wardress opened the door. “Make sure you stay in line and keep your hands to yourselves,” she barked. We marched down the hallway and into a large room. Long tables ran the length of the room, with benches on either side of them. Every one of these places was now being taken by women in identical grayish shifts. I followed the woman in front of me. At every place there was a bowl of what looked like a watery soup with bits of cabbage floating in it and a thick slice of bread. The women from my room scrambled to take their places and started wolfing the food into their mouths right away. I eased myself onto the bench and looked for a spoon but found none. The other women already had their bowls at their lips, draining the liquid, chomping away on any solid pieces they found. I put my bowl to my own lips. It was too hot to drink yet. Suddenly it was snatched away from me by a big flabby creature across the table.

  “Hey,” I shouted, but it was too late. She had already tipped the contents down her throat.

  “That’s not nice, Irma,” my wardress said, then she and the servers burst out laughing. “I told you to be quick, didn’t I?” she said.

  “May I get some more?” I asked.

  “One bowl per inmate. That’s the rules.” The servers were still laughing.

  “That’s not fair,” I retorted, forgetting that I was supposed to be confused and deluded.

  “You’ll learn soon enough,” someone said. “Better hang on to your bread or that will be gone, too.”

  I tried to eat it. It was stale, thick, and smeared with such disgusting butter that I could hardly swallow it down. I looked up and down the rows. There seemed to be about three hundred women in the room. Some were eating like animals, making strange noises, but some sat primly and ate daintily. It seemed that not all were as insane as the occupants of my room.

  Almost immediately a whistle sounded. The women got to their feet and were led out of the dining room. I scanned the other lines of inmates, looking for Jessie, but couldn’t see her. Then a scuffle broke out. One woman tried to run away. Immediately she was pounced upon by two nurses. Her arms were twisted up behind her back and she was forced to her knees.

  “I’m not insane,” she shouted. “I’m as sane as any of you. My family has locked me away, that’s what they’ve done. Locked me away. Let me talk to a doctor. Please, let me talk to somebody.”

  I felt quite sick as she was led away. My group was marched to a bathroom where we were instructed to wash our faces and hands and use the WCs. I was horrified to find that there were two rough towels for all of us, and that some of the women had nasty sores on their faces. I washed willingly enough in cold water and dried myself on my own sleeve. After that we were taken to a dormitory with a long row of iron beds in it. Another gray shift was laid out on each bed. We changed and lay down on the scratchy sheets. It was freezing cold. I lay shivering, curled into a ball. Dear God, what had I done?

  I must have drifted off eventually because when I awoke, cold gray light was filtering in through those windows, both of which were open, letting in freezing air. A whistle had blown. Those inmates who didn’t respond immediately were yanked out of bed by a leg or an arm and there was much cursing and growling. We were marched to the bathroom again, had cold water splashed over us, then changed into our day clothes. I was given a garment identical to the rest of them. We were made to sit on the edge of our beds while our wardress combed out hair. She was so brutal with the comb that tears spouted by themselves from my eyes. She then pulled back my hair into a braid. “And don’t take it out,” she said.

  Then off to breakfast. It was a bowl of lumpy oatmeal, three dried prunes, and a cup of very weak tea. This time I held onto my oatmeal. My flabby friend reached across and grabbed the prunes. She was welcome to them. The tea was just like drinking warm and slightly soapy water. The oatmeal was equally unappetizing.

  After breakfast we were lined up for our morning walk. Once around the island in that bitter wind. The gardens were nicely landscaped and must have looked attractive in summer, but in midwinter there were only sad dead lawns and bare trees. We passed other groups of women, going in a counterclockwise direction. At o
ne end of the island newer buildings had been built; these had bigger windows and no bars. The sign over the door said, RESEARCH INSTITUTE.

  I was so busy staring at this new building that I almost missed her. Jessie was passing me in another column of women. She was stumbling along as if in a bad dream, her eyes staring blankly ahead of her. As we drew level she looked up and for a moment I thought I saw recognition in her eyes.

  “Jessie,” I said.

  She turned back to look as we were marched away. Had she remembered me? I wondered. And would she be glad to see me? Maybe she blamed me for delivering her to her tormentors. Maybe she’d want nothing to do with me.

  When we came inside with stinging cheeks and numb fingers we were put to work at housekeeping tasks. Making beds, sweeping floors, washing floors. In the middle I was called over and taken to a small room where a young man sat at a table.

  “I’m Dr. Field,” he said. “And what is your name?”

  It suddenly occurred to me that maybe all those inmates who couldn’t or wouldn’t communicate were in one room. I stared at him blankly.

  “You don’t want to talk today?”

  I kept on staring.

  “You’re not a princess today then? Who are you?”

  I remained silent.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

  No response.

  “Interesting,” he said, scribbling something on a sheet of paper. “Complete withdrawal. Shutting herself off from a situation she doesn’t like. We’ll try again another day. Nurse, take her to Dr. Meyer’s ward. He might be interested in her.”

  I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing or not. I allowed myself to be led away. Out of the main building, across a courtyard, and up some steps. Then into another dreary room, as cold and bleak as the first one. The sound of coughing greeted me.

  “New?” a stone-faced nurse asked my escorts. “Violent?”

  “Wouldn’t communicate this morning. Delusional yesterday. The doctor thought Dr. Meyer might want to take a look at her, when he gets back.”

  “All right. Leave her here. Well, don’t just stand there,” she said to me. “Find a place and sit down.”

  I wandered aimlessly around the room and found myself staring at Jessie. She was curled up in a corner, hugging her knees to her, her head buried in her hands. I sat beside her. She didn’t stir. At last an orderly came to the door. “Bring out Rodriguez. The doctors want to take a look at her,” he said.

  As the nurse dragged a bewildered-looking woman up from the floor, I leaned closer to Jessie.

  “Jessie?” I whispered. “It’s Molly. Remember me?”

  I saw disbelieving eyes turning in my direction, a flash of recognition, then a warning sign in her eyes. I thought I saw her mouth “don’t know me,” before her head sank into her hands again.

  I sat quietly beside her. Occasionally she glanced at me. I longed to talk to her and reassure her but the stone-faced woman’s eyes were constantly on us. After a long morning we were summoned to the dining room. Down the steps, across the courtyard, and into the dining hall. In the confusion I drew close behind her.

  “I’ve come to save you,” I said in her ear. “I’ll get you out of here, I promise.”

  I heard her intake of breath so I knew she had heard and understood me. Unfortunately, she was shunted away from me at table. Lunch was a piece of plain boiled fish and a potato. Again it was hard to swallow but at least nobody from this new room tried to grab my portion.

  After lunch we were marched back. Some inmates dozed in the afternoon, curled up like animals on the benches or the floor. There was no form of entertainment provided for us, no reading material, no sewing. A person committed here really would go mad soon, I realized. I looked around the room, wondering how many women truly belonged in a place like this and how many were committed by families who wanted them out of the way. I saw how easily the staff had accepted the Sicilians’ word that they were Jessie’s relatives and how they had needed no proof that I was insane before I was carted away.

  Jessie was either sleeping or pretending to. Suddenly the door was thrown open and two male orderlies came in. One was carrying a large can. “Louse patrol,” one shouted. “Line up. Come on. Move it.”

  Our nurse went around prodding and pushing us into a line. I was a good way from Jessie. Each person had her scalp inspected. Those that failed were sent to the bathroom, where I suspect they would be doused with whatever was in the can. When the male orderly came to Jessie I watched in disbelief as his hands slid down from her head and one of them disappeared inside the front of her shift. She recoiled in horror and tried to pull his hand away. The orderly merely laughed and fondled her breasts more aggressively. He had a horrible piggy face and a mouth with missing teeth.

  I forgot that I wasn’t supposed to speak. I leaped out of that line and flung myself at the orderly.

  “Leave her alone, you filthly lout,” I shouted. “Take your hands off her right now.”

  Instantly the orderly turned on me, knocking me across the room with a backhanded blow to my face. He and his fellow were on me right away, with the nurse also standing over me. As I struggled they brought both arms behind my back and one of them knelt on me. “Get a jacket. This one’s violent,” the nurse shouted.

  “Let her go,” a voice screamed and Jessie was tugging at them, flailing away like a mad thing.

  A whistle was blown. There was the sound of running feet. Someone dragged Jessie away. Someone else was kneeling beside me. I felt my sleeve pulled up and pain as something was jabbed into my arm. Everything started to blur. There was a roaring in my ears and I knew no more.

  FORTY-TWO

  When I opened my eyes, I was lying staring at a strange ceiling. I tried to raise my head but I felt sick. Gradually I looked around and saw that I was in a small, windowless room. An electric lightbulb shone down from the ceiling. The metal door had a window in it at face height. The only furniture was the shelf on which I was lying. Apart from that there was only a bucket in the corner. I had been in a jail cell before now and it looked a lot like this.

  I tried to sit up. The world swung around. How long had I been here and—more to the point—where was I? I realized that my rash intervention yesterday had ruined everything. Now instead of being in a room with Jessie and with a chance to speak to Dr. Meyer, whoever he was, I was in some kind of solitary confinement for violent inmates. Fear began to overtake me. What if they professed no knowledge of me when Elizabeth came to collect me? Was it already my second day and time to be freed?

  I staggered drunkenly over to the window and looked out onto an empty hallway. On the other side were similar rooms with windows in their doors, but no sound, no movement. I sat and waited. I couldn’t tell if it was day or night. By the growlings of my stomach I thought that I had probably missed supper. What would happen to me now? I wondered. Would I ever have a chance to speak to a sympathetic person who would listen to my case? I realized that I was now probably classed as violent. Would that give them an excuse to keep me here?

  I sat, sunk in deepest gloom, telling myself over and over what an idiot I was. Why did I think I could do these ridiculous things? Daniel had warned me several times that I was like a cat with nine lives and I was using them up all too quickly. Daniel—would he have returned yet? Did he wonder where I was? I missed him horribly. I’d have given anything to feel his strong arms around me. At that moment I didn’t want to be strong and independent. I wanted to be protected and loved and cherished. I wanted to be out of this place right now. Had Elizabeth told Sid and Gus of our plan? Was she at this moment coming to rescue me? And then the nagging fear—would she find me, now that I had been placed among the violent?

  Hours dragged by. At last the door was opened and a tray was pushed into the room, the door then closed hastily behind it. On the tray was a bowl of soup, a slice of gray meat, and a thick piece of bread. Not breakfast then. But was this lunch or dinner? And on what day?
I dipped the bread in the soup and ate both that way but could not swallow the stringy meat.

  At last I heard the sound of voices faintly outside in the hallway. I rushed to the window. A group of men, some wearing white coats, were moving down the hall. Two of them were deep in conversation. It took me a second to register that one of those men was Dr. Birnbaum.

  “Dr. Birnbaum!” I shouted his name.

  He didn’t appear to have heard me. Maybe there was a racket coming from other rooms. I grabbed the tray that had not yet been picked up and hammered against the door with all my might. “Dr. Birnbaum. It’s me, Molly. Molly Murphy. Help me. Get me out of here,” I screamed. He didn’t turn around as the group of men disappeared down the hallway and were gone.

  I sank back onto the bench in deepest despair. No hope. Daniel, come and find me, I whispered. I must have dozed off because I woke with a start as the door opened. Two burly guards jerked me to my feet. “Come on. Move.” They half-carried me out of the door and down the hallway. I began to feel hopeful again. Elizabeth had arrived and I was to be released. Everything was going to be all right.

  We passed through a door into another world. This one smelled of disinfectant, like a hospital, but it was clean and bright and I was manhandled into what looked like a doctor’s office. There was an examining couch and a table with medical instruments on it, including a long and wicked-looking syringe. My captors continued to hold my arms tightly, their big thumbs digging into my flesh. Through a half-open door I heard a man speaking: “I know it sounds barbaric, but I have to tell you that it has produced some remarkable results. Injecting them with typhoid seems to work better than the other diseases. It produces the highest fever and a reasonable percentage survive. And of those who do, some seem to be permanently cured.”

  “Interesting,” another man said. “I should certainly like to witness this.”

  The door was pushed open and a large florid man in a white coat came into the room. “So this is the next candidate for our little experiment, it is?” he said jovially, and I realized what the syringe on the table was for.