“I wish we could have you released at once, but there are legal issues we have to sort out first, so that you are not simply committed again. And besides, if I allow you to escape, I will be dismissed from this position, and I actually need this job if I’m ever to secure the hand of a wife like Lavinia.”
“Do you think I care about the legality of being discharged, or your position?” She rubbed her hand over her face, wincing as she belatedly remembered her cuts and realizing how heartless she was sounding even in her present circumstance. “Listen, if you are fired, I’ll make certain you are compensated.”
“And how will you do that if you are without your funds, Miss Foster?” He removed his spectacles and patted a handkerchief to his forehead and nose.
She stiffened, her mouth feeling dry despite the glasses of water. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that I promise to not linger long in telling Banebridge of your fate. If I cannot legally have you released in a week’s time, I will escort you from these doors myself.” He held out his hand. “One week?”
“What other choice do I have?” she mumbled, and accepted his hand.
He turned over her hand, studying her palm. “Now, let’s see about bandaging this cut.” He cleansed the wound and pulled a length of narrow white cloth from the drawer and began to wrap her hand.
“You will tell Bane where I am.” She locked her eyes on his, willing him to look at her.
“Of course, in one week’s time,” he replied, tying off the end of the bandage.
“Vow it.” Her voice broke from the intensity of her words. She had been lied to her face too many times.
He swallowed, visibly shaken by her savagery as he hesitatingly met her eyes. “Very well. I vow it.”
“See to it that you keep it.” She jerked her hand from his hold and rose from the cot, her body already aching from the violent onslaught of bruises. Without another word, she numbly strode into the hall, refusing to limp, with the doctor close behind to ensure that she returned to her group. Once she was behind Nellie in the line of women slowly shuffling toward their cells to prepare for the ball, Doctor Hawkins moved along without a word.
“How are you standing?” Nellie whispered. “I feared for your life when I saw how violent the nurse became after your interference.”
“Nothing that time won’t heal. My body is used to being tested.” But not abused. “How’s Poppy? Have you spoken with her?”
“Shockingly, her spirits are quite high even if she is bruised. She must be a great deal hardier than she appears.” Nellie shook her head and sighed. “I don’t understand how they could hurt a sweet innocent like Poppy, especially with her being the daughter of martyrs.”
“Poppy was the daughter of martyrs?” She thought of the countless times she had found Poppy with her little Bible on her lap and how the nurses did not bother her even though the rules clearly forbade reading at any time. Edyth had supposed it was because of Poppy’s high birth. She had considered Poppy her friend, but she had been so consumed with escaping she had failed to learn Poppy’s story. Edyth shook her head in disappointment with herself and wondered how much Nellie knew about these women that she had not told her. Nellie had a way of finding out stories. “How did they die?”
Nellie twisted her hands. “They all caught the fever while serving on the mission field. Her mother and father perished, and the fever addled poor Poppy’s mind so that she was returned to her mother’s people in New York, but they promptly disposed of their unwanted relation here.”
“I suppose most of the nurses have enough fear of the Almighty to keep them from hurting a child of martyrs … except Nurse Sweeney.”
Nellie’s wide eyes filled. “That woman should not get away with such cruelties. Does no one here even care? She must be stopped.”
“We can only pray that she is released from her position.” Edyth looked around. “But where is Poppy now?”
“Nurse Jenny, the kind one, took her away at once to her chamber to calm her and dress her for the ball. I saw her offer Poppy a peppermint, which calmed her instantly.”
Edyth shook her head. “I’ll never understand the workings of this place. One second they are beating you and another they are dressing you for an inane ball as if that wipes the sins of all the year clean.”
Chapter Sixteen
We live in a rainbow of chaos.
~ Paul Cézanne
Bane sank onto the steps of Roger Hawkins’s mansion with his head in his hands, waiting for the man to return from the island. With the young detective hard at work sorting out what really had happened to the purported Edyth Foster in New Orleans, Bane had begun to search for a lawyer in the event that she was indeed on the island and in need of absolution. If he had to wait to hear of news, he was going to use his time to legally clear Edyth’s name and not dare think of the possibility of the papers being true.
He gripped the newspaper from this morning in his fist. “Blatant lies,” he murmured to himself, attempting to calm his hammering heart. He scanned the short article yet again, searching for a speck of truth. “American heiress, Edyth Foster, was seen plunging headlong off the side of the steamboat. New Orleans police do not suspect foul play, as she was attempting to walk the rail of the boat. It has been conjectured that her skirts pulled her to the bottom at once. Her fortune reverts to her uncle, Boris Foster, and his heirs.” Bane gritted his teeth, swallowing down the lump in his throat at even the thought of her no longer being here with him. No. Never. I would have felt it if such a sweet soul left this earth. She is not dead.
But every lawyer he had encountered stated that if she indeed was not dead and had been committed after several doctors had examined her, and if Boris Foster had witnesses to support his claims of her eccentric conduct, there was little reason to doubt that medical professionals would forge their diagnosis and risk their medical licenses.
He shoved the paper into his pocket. He had to find a lawyer who would be willing to look into the matter, but so far no one wished to go against Mr. Foster to even test Bane’s suspicion that she was alive. One of the lawyers, whom Bane considered as more friend than student, had even said that if Bane was correct, he did not doubt the doctors’ diagnosis, given Edyth’s odd taste for steel and bizarre fashions. At that, Bane had to take his leave, else risk striking the man. I suppose I’ll have to wait for Mr. Pittman to return my message.
He gripped his hat. If only I had a small fortune, enough to entice these lawyers into taking a risk. He ran his fingers through his hair, regretting his massive loan to the bank for his fencing club and determining that if he did not find someone to take him on by tomorrow, he would use the promise of Edyth’s own wealth as payment. And if that promise did not work, he would use his parents’ modest savings as his final resort.
A door squeaking sounded behind him as light splayed through the opening, followed by the soft clearing of a throat. “Excuse me, sir?” the maid called from the doorway. “If you wish to wait for the master, why don’t you come inside? Doctor Hawkins would not appreciate it if I allowed you to stay outside instead of offering you a more comfortable seat in the parlor.”
“I’d rather stay out here.” He gave her a small wave of thanks and turned again to the street, searching for the man’s carriage, desperately needing the fresh air to keep his mind sharp.
“Please, sir. If you don’t, I’ll get into trouble, and my position will be at risk.”
His brows rose at the weak reasoning. “For such a little thing? Is Doctor Hawkins an unkind man?”
The girl dropped her gaze to her clasped, reddened hands. Her silence was answer enough.
Rising, he whacked his stiff hat against his pant leg, freeing it from the dust of his walking about the city all day, when someone shouted his name. Bane twisted around and saw Jude trotting up to him.
“Your brother said,” he panted, holding his side, “that you might be here. Sir, as I suspected, the paper is most certainly m
isinformed. She lives yet.”
Bane’s shoulders sagged, and he gripped the column at the front door, leaning his head against the cool wood and drawing a deep breath. It had been the longest eight hours of his life. “I thought as much, but it still caused me”—his voice caught—“caused me great distress.”
“But that’s not all, sir.”
Bane snapped his head up and, seeing the grin on the man’s face, bounded down the steps, fairly tripping in his haste. “Tell me.”
“I found her.” Jude gave a short laugh of disbelief and ran his fingers through his wild hair. “I can hardly believe how fast it all happened.”
Bane clapped him on the shoulder. “Praise God. Where is she?”
The victory in the young man’s eyes faded. “I followed your instinct and went undercover as one of the staff at the asylum, and as you suspected, she is on Blackwell’s Island.”
“And? Is she well?” Bane asked all in a rush.
Jude clenched his jaw, pressing his lips into a firm line, and gave a single shake of his head. Bane clutched Jude’s arm, steadying himself.
“But she is alive.”
Bane straightened as his shock turned into raw fury. Boris Foster would pay for any pain Edyth had endured. “I want to know everything.”
The carriage bearing the Hawkins family crest rolled up to the mansion, and Doctor Hawkins hopped out, stilling on sight of the pair at his door. “Bane, good. I was going to send for you. And who have you brought with you?”
“This is Detective Jude Thorpe. He’s been helping me on the case.” Bane made the introductions.
Roger nodded his greeting and stuck out his hand, mumbling, “Good to meet you, Thorpe. Glad to have you assisting us in finding our missing acquaintance.”
“I’ve found her, actually,” Jude corrected him.
Roger visibly faltered, and the fine sheen above his upper lip grew. “Did you now? Well, Banebridge, that is why I wanted to speak with you in the first place. I have as well.”
Bane stepped toward him, eager for any news. “You have? Jude said she was not well. Do you know anything about her condition?”
“Please, come inside. We have much to discuss.” Roger motioned them to follow him inside and led them into his study where a roaring fire and a pot of coffee with two cups were awaiting them. Roger took his time in pouring them each a cup, handing one to Bane and one to Jude, and taking a seat on the settee.
Bane stretched his fingers out to the flames, allowing heat to lick his fingers. “For heaven’s sake, men, one of you had best spit it out before I go mad.”
“You might want to take a seat. It is not a pretty tale,” Roger replied, crossing one leg over the other.
“Miss Foster is in a dire way. We cannot wait to obtain a lawyer to secure her freedom,” Jude said, mopping his brow with a plain cotton handkerchief and stuffing it into his pocket. “I fear they may soon inflict something worse than a beating.”
Roger turned to him. “How would you know?”
“As I told Bane, I went undercover as an orderly and saw how the doctors treat their patients behind the closed doors of the asylum. I must say that the nurses follow the doctors’ lead in their cruel games.”
Bane’s pulse pounded in his ears, but he attempted to keep his anger in check. “Roger, why did you not tell me of this? And if Jude found her within twenty-four hours, how could you have not found her sooner, being on the inside? Are you keeping something from me even now?”
Roger intertwined his fingers, tapping his thumbs together. “I may not have been completely honest about the safety of the asylum, nor exactly when I found her, but to be fair, I only spoke with her for the first time today.”
“What?” Bane’s voice matched the crackle of the fire, dangerous and low. “Spoke? When did you see her?”
Roger jumped up, stepping behind the oversized chair to keep a distance between them, fear passing over his features. “Now, before you lose your temper—”
“Then you had best tell me now.” Bane pounded a fist on the mantel, upsetting a porcelain shepherdess.
Roger lifted his hands as if to keep Bane from throwing the antique. “I actually found her yesterday morning.”
With a roar, the shepherdess shattered against the papered wall above Roger’s head. “Do you know how much anguish I have been in since her disappearance? What on earth could have possessed you to keep silent about such an important matter?”
“I didn’t wish to lose my position,” Roger answered in a rush. “I wanted us to have her discharged legally. And at the time, she seemed perfectly safe in the Lodge.”
“And what exactly is the Lodge?”
“It is where they keep the violent patients,” Jude answered.
Bane swallowed, forcing himself to remain still else risk attacking the doctor. “And when were you going to tell me? When she was dead?”
Roger ran a hand over his face and moaned. “I cannot apologize enough for my actions. But you have to believe me when I say that I had no idea they would beat her!”
Bane charged at him, drawing back a fist, but Jude caught him by the elbow. “We cannot argue now. Time is of the essence, Bane. And we need Roger to get into the asylum.”
“Fine.” Bane shrugged him off and turned to the mantel, taking up his cup again to distract himself.
Jude cleared his throat and resumed his seat. “There is something else you should know. While I was undercover as an attendant today, I discovered a record about another Edyth … an Edyth Hortense Blakely.”
The woman in the portrait hanging in Edyth’s house? “I believe that was her maternal grandmother. She was on the island?”
“Died there, actually,” Jude replied, grim-faced.
His stomach turned. Edyth’s grandmother died on the island? She was committed? He thought of Edyth’s obsessions and eccentricities … was she showing signs of early madness and following in her grandmother’s footsteps? He swallowed back his questions and asked instead, “And this discovery led to finding my Edyth?”
Jude ran his hand over his jawline. “Someone must have a cruel sense of humor. I found some old records and discovered Edyth had been kept in the same cell in the violent ward as her grandmother. I showed Edyth’s likeness to one of the elderly nurses, who recognized her immediately as ‘Lady Blakely.’ She was but a young woman when Lady Blakely was admitted. It was quite hush-hush.”
“Her grandmother was committed and died in the asylum? That means—” Bane clenched the fireplace mantel. “That is not important now. Tell me about Edyth. How poorly is she?”
Roger cleared his throat and finally spoke. “I found her in the hallway, curled into a ball on the floor, waiting for a beating to end.”
The cup snapped in Bane’s fist, the coffee spilling onto the hearth and shards of porcelain biting his hand, blood dripping to the floorboards. He wanted to tear into the man, but if he did, how would he rescue Edyth? “We have to get her out of there. Now.”
Jude rose, towering over Roger. “Agreed, which is why I’ve devised a plan that you two will put into motion tonight at the annual lunatics’ ball.”
Chapter Seventeen
Living in that childish wonder is a most beautiful feeling—
I can so well remember it. There was always something more—behind and beyond everything.
~ Kate Greenaway
Dressed in a pale pink gown from another lifetime, Edyth followed the other women from Hall Six to the dining hall where the tables had been cleared out to make room for the festivities and the benches lined the walls to provide ample seating. She snorted, flinching from her bruised ribs. As if we want to sit after our hours of forced inactivity. A trio of musicians sat in the corner, preparing their worn stringed instruments, while the women of the asylum stayed on one side of the room keeping away from the doctors and male orderlies on the other, uncertain if they were allowed to mingle.
“I cannot believe my eyes,” Edyth whispered to Nellie, ta
king a place along the back wall. “But I thought they said there were far more patients? I didn’t think we’d actually all fit.”
“There must be more patients in the Lodge and the Retreat buildings than we thought,” she replied. “I heard they moved all of the men to another asylum on Ward’s Island awhile back to accommodate the inpouring of women to Blackwell’s.” Nellie’s eyes widened at the sight before her. She shook her head and stroked her ancient gown of yellowing ivory. “Even without them here, I feel as if I have stepped back in time to live in an article I once read in Harper’s Weekly about how over twenty years ago a ball was held to celebrate the completion of some four-framed buildings on the island. The way they described it, with girls performing impeccable light-toed reels with the male patients and such, it made me feel perhaps the asylum would not be quite as bad as the rumors I heard before I came—” Nellie halted her words, suddenly interested in the decaying lace of her cuff.
“Came?” Edyth chuckled, used to Nellie’s random bits of knowledge by now. “You say that as if you had a choice in the matter, but I suppose it is rather odd to find yourself in a place you’d previously read about. Well, hopefully there will at least be food served, right?” She scanned the room but didn’t find any indications to warrant this being deemed a ball besides the fact that the women had braided their hair, wound it in simple buns, and were dressed in an array of fashions, most likely taken from the trunks of patients long since departed. There was also the group of three musicians and, of course, the presence of the men in evening attire.
The fiddler tapped his bow and struck a lively tune that had the attention of all, and the atmosphere was transformed into a jovial gathering. As a mass, the women began to sway, some leaping about and hooting while others rocked back and forth, keeping time with the rare gift of music.
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