The Madness of Miss Grey

by Julia Bennet

  He chose to focus instead on the rest of Sterling’s speech. “Let us lay all our cards on the table. If I am to assist you with Miss Grey, I must know what it is you fear. Have you reason to suspect that Dr. Bell…”

  He let the words trail off into nothing, sure it was Miss Grey’s supposed nymphomania that troubled Sterling. Will had seen precious little evidence of the condition so far…unless her staring at him in that pointed way yesterday counted, but he had a feeling she’d probably done that to unnerve him.

  Behold her success.

  Sterling sat in sober consideration for several moments, one hand stroking at his neatly trimmed whiskers. “Very well, Dr. Carter, though it is a delicate matter and one of which I hardly like to speak.”

  Will waited.

  “Helen came to us already sullied,” Sterling said, wincing as he spoke. “With a mother such as hers, an actress, little better than a harlot, it would have been extraordinary if she hadn’t. Of her former life, as to the number of her lovers, I cannot testify. She was only sixteen when her father entrusted her to our care.” He held up a hand to forestall Will, who had been about to speak. “I beg you, do not ask me to reveal his name. I have vowed to keep it hidden. Let it suffice to say that he is of an exalted station and of so elevated and noble a character that he could not rest in the knowledge of his only daughter’s depravity.”

  Yet not so exalted that he didn’t father a bastard off some Drury Lane trollop, Will might have said.

  “Though he was deeply concerned about her moral welfare,” Sterling continued, “the immediate concern was her excessive grief over her mother’s death. That is what I tried to allay at first. I am ashamed to say I grew fond of the girl, fancying myself a second father to her. Though I laughed at you for naivety the other day, I confess I myself was once drawn in by her arts. Imagine my sorrow when I discovered the true depth of her deception. It was in the earliest days of Blackwell’s life as an asylum. Sir Clifford’s horses had been sold off and removed one by one, mostly by local families. We still had the groom. He was the first.”

  Despite his determination not to be, Will felt shocked. “The first?”

  Sterling nodded. “Years later there was a doctor. A pretty fellow,” he added, then sighed as if to say another one.

  “I see.” None of this made her a nymphomaniac, but a man who believed mental disorder could be traced to original sin probably wouldn’t agree.

  “When her desires were thwarted, she became intractable. Other symptoms began to manifest. She became quarrelsome, deceitful, anxious, and…Well, you’ve read the notes. There’s no need for me to reiterate them. Make no mistake: Helen is a dangerous woman. If she perceives a weakness, she will seize on it. Quinine calms her, but it seems to exacerbate her melancholy. I’ve tried several drugs and nerve tonics to little effect.”

  “What of hydropathy?” Will had seen water cures work wonders on agitated patients.

  “The effects are striking, though of limited duration. Speak to Nurse Fletcher. She’s a great advocate of the treatment.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Dr. Sterling’s smile as he stood up from behind his massive desk, pleased as though they’d reached some sort of deeper understanding, perplexed Will.

  “I’m glad we had this discussion. I feel lighter of heart now that you are properly forewarned. She’s a wicked young woman, Carter. See that you remember it.”

  Will left, shaking his head. The discussion had gone better than he’d feared. Miss Grey remained his patient. If the other applicants for this job turned out to be pretty—Will grimaced—he might still win the position, despite today’s upset. Never in all his years as a doctor had he heard of a physician being hired on such a basis. It was humiliating to say the least.

  If he were the sort of man who’d put his career before the welfare of his patients, he’d be wise to shut up and allow Sterling’s notes to guide his treatment of Miss Grey. He hoped he was not that sort of man. She might be everything Sterling said and more, but a decent scientist would never accept it on the basis of mere hearsay. A decent scientist would find out for himself.

  …

  “That’s not for Dr. Carter, is it?” Mrs. Braithwaite peered into the pot where Helen had left her valerian root to simmer. The trick was not to let it boil, or it stank and lost most of its potency. “I didn’t teach you how to make that tincture so that you could use it on the likes of Will Carter.”

  Will, not William. Helen liked that. William was formal, Will friendly. The diminutive suited him much better. Despite his gentlemanly diction and rigid posture, there was something so ordinary about him. In another life, one in which Helen was still the carefree girl from before Mama died, she could imagine herself falling for a man like him.

  Perhaps one day, if she ever escaped Blackwell, she’d find a simple man and live a quiet life in a cottage somewhere in the south. Sterling would never think to look for her in the country. He’d never expect her to choose a simple man, either; he didn’t understand the first thing about her. Kindness was her weakness, not a handsome face.

  “Don’t worry, Mrs. Braithwaite, I keep my promises. This is for Fletch. She’s been entirely too cheerful all morning. She’s positively gloating.”

  “Remember, a small dose will calm her down. A larger dose will—”

  “Make her sleep. I know.”

  “But too much and she’ll be stuck on the privy for nigh on a week.”

  An outcome that held a certain appeal, but Helen would never betray Mrs. Braithwaite’s trust. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll behave, if only because I can’t afford to lose your friendship.”

  Helen liked working in the kitchen, and not only because it was the warmest room in this godforsaken house. Though she still couldn’t manage a decent short crust, there was something soothing about stirring up a good tincture. Perhaps it was the budding actress within her. Mama’s plays had been littered with sleeping draughts, love potions, and hidden poisons. Helen felt like a witch cackling over her cauldron.

  Mrs. Braithwaite had been perplexed by Helen’s lack of cooking skills, but Mama had never been domestic. When she’d had a gentleman protector to take care of the bills, a cook made their meals. At other times, they ate at chophouses or pubs. As for hedgerow medicine like the valerian tincture, Mama probably hadn’t even seen a hedge, much less gathered herbs from beneath one.

  Helen had never minded. What did she care for home-cooked meals when her mother sang the best lullabies and told the funniest stories? True, those stories hadn’t always been entirely appropriate for a little girl’s ears, but she’d always felt loved and protected. What more could one ask from one’s childhood?

  Mrs. Braithwaite hung a shiny copper pan above the range, then patted Helen’s shoulder. “You’re a good girl. Well, not a good girl exactly, but you don’t deserve to be tortured by the likes of Nurse Fletcher.”

  Helen laughed. She’d never heard a truer assessment of her character and situation. Of course, a good girl would never have survived here. At least, not with her sanity intact. If she didn’t take steps to avert Fletch’s rages, no one else would stop them. Sterling’s diagnosis had tainted Helen in everyone’s eyes. Mad, insane, lunatic—such powerful words. If a respected physician called you mad, your opinion on the subject ceased to matter.

  Will Carter might seem like a simple man, but she must never forget what he was. Doctors were a dangerous breed. With his reassuring manner, he might prove a greater threat than all the others. Even Mrs. Braithwaite seemed to like him, and he’d only been here five minutes.

  “Do you know Dr. Carter? From before he took up his post, I mean.”

  “Aye. Back when he were a lad and I were a scullery maid—the lowest of the low. He probably won’t remember me. He were a good boy, though a strange one with all his books. He’d a knack for knocking down the other boys when they teased him.”

  Dr. Carter would quite like to take me to bed. Helen wondered what B
raithwaite would say if she said the words out loud. The Lord’s Prayer, probably. Helen wasn’t sure how she felt about it herself. Doctors shouldn’t be so eager to bed their patients. Of course, he hadn’t tried yet. He just looked at her as if he wanted to. If she let him, would he help her escape? That was the real question.

  “Kettle’s about to boil.”

  “Thank you.” Helen used the hot water to prepare Fletch’s tea. Performing useful tasks was part of her treatment. Idleness led to vice, or so Dr. Sterling insisted. Clearly, industry didn’t always immediately strike iniquity down, otherwise Helen would hardly be spiking the tea with large amounts of valerian tincture. “This smells like old cheese.”

  “There’s honey.” Mrs. Braithwaite gestured to a small pot near the stove.

  “Good. I hope there’s a lot of it.”

  Helen had many stairs to climb to get back to the nursery where Fletch waited. She teetered up the flight to the first floor, balancing the teapot, cup, and saucer on a wooden tray. From here, she would have to pass through the long corridor to get to the tiny spiral that led to the upper floors.

  As it happened, she didn’t get the chance. Dr. Sterling’s door opened as she drew level with it, and Dr. Carter emerged, his otherwise ordinary face turned sinister by a thunderous scowl.

  “Miss Grey,” he said, nodding politely.

  She murmured a response as he stepped past her toward the stairs. Thank goodness she’d added plenty of honey. Thank goodness she hadn’t let the valerian root boil. Thank—

  “A moment, Miss Grey.”

  She stopped but didn’t turn. Four steps brought him back to her side. Prickles of alarm spread out from the back of her neck as he glared down at the tea tray. Fear and excitement mingled, creating a nameless something she hadn’t felt in years.

  “That smell…” he said.

  She opened her eyes wide, all but batting her eyelashes at him. “Tea?”

  “No.”

  “Honey?”

  “Try again.”

  “I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Carter.” Even though she knew she was caught, she adhered to her principles: namely, admit nothing, and wield a vapid smile. Strictly speaking, she supposed she oughtn’t call them principles. Oh, well.

  Her heart beat a little faster as he glanced at the closed door of Sterling’s office. Enigma though Dr. Carter still was, she’d much rather wrangle with him in this situation than Dr. Sterling.

  “This is funny,” he said, as if he didn’t think it funny at all. “Prima facie evidence if ever I saw it.”

  She had only the dimmest notion of what prima facie might mean, but she understood his tone very well. “I always take Nurse Fletcher her tea,” she explained as inspiration struck. “This is a special infusion all the way from—”

  “The herb garden or some hedgerow.”

  Oh, blast him!

  “Miss Grey, come now,” he went on. “Don’t insult my intelligence. You’ve spiked this tea with valerian. I can tell because I happen to have an excellent nose, and it detects a distinct hint of arse.”

  She opened her mouth to say something particularly withering about housekeepers’ sons and the folly of educating the unwashed masses, but laughter choked her. She liked this unexpected earthy side of him too much to shame him.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “That was unspeakably vulgar.”

  “Would you say arse?” She sniffed at the teapot. “Smells more like unwashed feet to me. In any case, it’s only a tiny bit. Just enough to calm her down. She suffers from such terrible apprehensions. I diagnose a case of hysteria.”

  “I’m willing to bet there’s enough valerian in there to keep her asleep for the rest of the day.”

  “I’ll take that bet. You give her the tea while I keep watch.”

  Seizing the tray, he pried it from her hands. “I don’t think so. Now go to your room.”

  “Dr. Carter—”

  “Now, please.”

  She heard the steel in his tone, almost the same one he’d used to command the dog. Ha! Now she knew where she ranked in his estimation. So much for his offer of help. The urge to stay and confront him warred with common sense. In the end, because she didn’t wish to turn a bad situation into a disaster, she obeyed his command.

  Chapter Five

  Will glanced at the clock. Nurse Fletcher should arrive at any moment. Valerian was more or less harmless, but even so, he had to put her on her guard. If Miss Grey was capable of sly tricks like this, she might not stop at valerian.

  A small, lying inner voice accused him of betraying Miss Grey, but he silenced it by envisioning the potential effect of a large dose slipped into his own tea. Drugging the nurse. Christ! He ought to have marched her straight into Sterling’s office, teapot and all.

  Where had she found valerian anyway? She’d have a hard time digging the roots out of frozen ground. Perhaps she had a dry store stashed away somewhere. A disquieting thought, for it suggested a degree of planning. What else might she have hidden away? Had she filched strychnine from Sterling’s medical bag while his back was turned?

  Will had no choice; he simply must tell Sterling.

  At precisely eleven o’clock, the knock came.

  “Come in,” Will called.

  Nurse Fletcher looked about fifty and might once have been pretty. Years of hard work had taken their toll, leaving her careworn, her skin and hair lifeless. Deep lines scored the skin above her top lip, as if she often screwed her mouth up in anger.

  “Doctor,” she said by way of greeting.

  “Do sit down.” He gestured to the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

  “I wondered when you’d get ’round to me.” She had a gruff voice for a woman.

  Nothing about her seemed soft or yielding, but then nursing was a tough occupation. Her sleeves, rolled back to above the elbow, revealed strong, muscular arms. According to Sterling’s notes, she’d had to use that strength more than once to curb Miss Grey’s rages. Did she strike her charge? Will hoped not, but he sensed a hardness in her that didn’t bode well for his hope.

  “Yes, it’s about time we met,” he said. “I gather you are the one most responsible for Miss Grey’s care.”

  “I am that, though I get precious little thanks for it.” In view of the reason he’d asked to meet her, he decided to bite his tongue and let her belligerence pass. Unfortunately, she took his lack of response for encouragement.

  “If you don’t mind me saying so, it’s a sad lookout when them as have only been here a day go making changes without talking to those that have known Helen longest. I could’ve told you, being outside makes her fractious.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I’ve discussed things with Dr. Sterling, and we wish to put Miss Grey through a course of hydropathy. He said that you were the one to talk to.”

  The transformation was immediate and profound. Fletcher’s thin lips almost cracked into a smile. She leaned forward, eager as a pointer flushing out game. “Happen I might be.”

  Clearly, the way to get this one on his side was to make her feel important. “Perhaps you’ll be so good as to make the arrangements?”

  She positively glowed. “I will at that.”

  “There was one other matter. This morning, I bumped into Miss Grey when she was bringing you your tea. I noticed something disturbing—”

  “Oh, that. Don’t worry. Mrs. Braithwaite explained everything.”

  Will’s hastily prepared speech evaporated in the face of this development. “The housekeeper? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “It were her that mixed up the teapots. Came rushing in like a madwoman, screaming Don’t drink! Turns out she suffers from terrible sleepless nights. Drinks that tea all day and sleeps like a baby at night, or so she told me. Lucky you caught Helen before she got to me.”

  In his entire life, he’d never heard a cock-and-bull story to match it. “You don’t think Miss Grey might have switched the pots on
purpose?”

  That earned him a beam of approval. “Aye, that’s what I said to Mrs. Braithwaite, but she’s sure she gave Helen the wrong tray, and Mrs. Braithwaite’s no liar.”

  Those words gave him pause. Was it possible he’d mistaken the situation?

  No, Miss Grey had admitted she knew what was in the tea. She’d even had the gall to make jokes. What was the housekeeper playing at, aiding and abetting a patient this way? There was no avoiding it; he must take his suspicions to Sterling. Yet not until he’d confronted Mrs. Braithwaite. The woman deserved a chance to explain her conduct before Will took action that could ruin her. Sterling was sure to dismiss her without a character. Finding new employment would be nigh on impossible with a blot like that on her record.

  To his disgust, a wave of relief swept him as he realized he didn’t need to inform on Helen immediately. A very professional attitude. Why not give Miss Grey the key to your medical bag and be done?

  “Was there anything else, Doctor?”

  There wasn’t. Fletcher left promising that Miss Grey would have her first treatment that very afternoon. When it came to hydropathy, the nurse was nothing if not enthusiastic.

  After lunch, Will ventured downstairs to the belly of Blackwell in search of Mrs. Braithwaite. He found her in the kitchen, and much to his surprise, he recognized her from his mam’s day.

  “Sally?” he cried in surprise. “Sally Tuttle?”

  But Sally Tuttle had been a young, rosy-cheeked scullery maid. The housekeeper who stood before him, a large bunch of keys dangling at her waist, could have been that girl’s mother. Then she smiled, and he was suddenly twelve years old again, sneaking past the scullery with a brand-new shiner. Sally had always had a kind word for him whatever his troubles.

  “And about time, too, Will Carter,” she said, hugging him as if he were still that ragamuffin boy. “I were beginning to think you’d never come to see me.”

  “I had no idea you were housekeeper here now.”

  “Of a sort. I help Dr. Sterling keep things runnin’ smooth, but I don’t have an army of servants like your mam. I have to roll my sleeves up. Like today. Cook’s away at her daughter’s lying in, so I’m baking Dr. Sterling’s apple pie. Still, it’s a step up from scullery maid. Lowest of the low, I was. I’ve grown quite dignified in my old age.” Her eyes narrowed. “So? What brings you down here?”