The Madness of Miss Grey

by Julia Bennet

  Hearing a monster like Fletcher called dear almost startled a laugh from Will.

  Once the door had closed behind her, Sterling’s shoulders slumped. “This is a very difficult situation,” he said on a sigh.

  “That woman is unfit for her position. I wouldn’t trust her to care for my dog, let alone anyone as fragile as Miss Grey.”

  “You call Helen fragile? Come now. If Mrs. Fletcher lost her temper, as you infer, we may be sure Helen gave her ample cause.”

  As though any conduct of Helen’s could excuse what she’d suffered at Fletcher’s hands. Will hadn’t been born a gentleman, and so he strove always to behave like one, but every now and then something happened which sent the real Will hurtling to the surface. On those occasions, it took all his hard-won discipline to restrain himself. For the love of tits, Sterling, you daft sod! You’re making a right pig’s ear of this and no mistake, he wanted to say.

  “I want that woman dismissed,” he said instead.

  “Even if I agreed with your assessment of the situation, Mrs. Fletcher is not technically in my employ. Helen’s benefactor—”

  “Then I’ll speak to him.”

  Sterling arched his eyebrows. “Indeed? What lengths you’re willing to go to for a woman you hardly know. Helen has wanted rid of Mrs. Fletcher for years. You are an intelligent man. Has it not occurred to you that you’re being manipulated?”

  “Frequently, but that is not what happened today.”

  “Are you sure? Be certain before you pursue this further, for as I warned you before, if Helen perceives a weakness, she will seize on it.”

  Sterling’s grasp of logic defied description. Helen might have drowned, yet, somehow, he convinced himself the entire horrific episode had been an elaborate plot to ensnare Will in her womanly wiles. Sterling might be a giant among psychiaters, but he’d make an excellent case study of obsessive behavior. Fixated as he was on Helen’s sexual pathology, he seemed unable to entertain any other explanation for her behavior.

  “Miss Grey almost died today,” Will said, though he feared he was wasting his breath. “Mrs. Fletcher ought to be removed from her post before worse happens. Let me appeal directly to this mysterious benefactor.”

  “As I told you, I cannot reveal his identity. But I will speak to him on your behalf if you truly feel it is necessary.”

  “I’ll write a letter detailing my concerns. Perhaps you could pass it on.” If that’s not too much trouble. He almost said the words out loud, but some residual shred of common sense helped him hold them in. “I hope you’ll keep Mrs. Fletcher away from Miss Grey until a decision is reached.”

  “I cannot in good conscience do that. Punish Mrs. Fletcher before her guilt is established? No.”

  “And if these scruples put Miss Grey at risk?”

  Sterling laughed, actually laughed. “My dear fellow, they’ve rubbed along well enough for the past ten years. And though I am loath to say it, if you had been more precise in your instructions…”

  Will left fuming.

  Sterling was right about one thing, Will thought as he climbed the spiral staircase toward his rooms. How could he have been such a negligent fool? Why had he delegated the responsibility of Helen’s first treatment under his care to Fletcher? Why hadn’t he taken a more active interest?

  But he knew the answer, didn’t he? If he was honest with himself—and he must be from now on if he meant to help her and keep her safe—he feared becoming too interested in Helen. Relationships between physician and patient were forbidden for good reason. The power was all on the doctor’s side, and perhaps this was especially true in a place like Blackwell. He could no longer deny the powerful attraction he felt toward Helen, but with his career and her recovery at stake, he would fight against his feelings for both their sakes.

  And Sterling. After the discussion they’d just had, Will was fairly certain he would not be offered a permanent position at Blackwell. For himself, he no longer cared. Once he would have done almost anything to work with the great Herbert Sterling, but my God, what a disappointment the experience had been. If Will minded, it was for Miss Grey’s sake. He only had six weeks in which to help her. Not much time to achieve a recovery that had already taken ten years. He would write his letter to her so-called benefactor, but would Sterling bother to send it?

  As for this nonsense of Fletcher taking the afternoon off and returning to her duties tomorrow, Will was damned if he’d let that happen.

  Chapter Six

  Helen hovered on the edge of waking, the sensation a faint echo of how she’d felt in those final moments under water—like the world was a long way off, like she wanted to get back to it but didn’t have the strength.

  Slowly, she grew aware of the pillow beneath her head, of blankets cocooning her, and of light beyond her eyelids. And pain. Not the burn of ice water but the dull ache of fatigue.

  “Miss Grey?” someone called.

  Helen didn’t recognize the voice. A woman, but not Fletch.

  “Miss Grey?”

  Helen tried to raise her head, but the fog of sleep weighed it down.

  The gentle pressure of a hand on her shoulder brought her to full consciousness as effectively as smelling salts. No one ever touched her except Fletch. Gasping, her heart racing, she struggled to sit.

  “Easy, Miss. Easy,” the woman said.

  Woman? No more than a girl really. Eighteen at most, with mousy hair and pretty features. Familiar features. Yes, Helen realized, she was one of the downstairs attendants.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. And what had happened to Fletch?

  “My name’s Elsie, Miss. Lie quiet now. Dr. Carter said you’d feel a mite stiff at first, but you should be able to sit once you’ve woken up a bit. I must tell the doctor you’re awake. He said he wanted to know the moment you opened your eyes. Back in a minute, Miss.”

  Elsie disappeared through the open door, leaving Helen little to do but think or sleep. Neither held much appeal. Her memory of the water treatment was a jumble of images and sensations; she remembered struggling with Fletch—the noise and confusion. But then he’d been there, Will Carter, holding her. And not gently, but with such strength and ferocity. Somehow she’d known he hadn’t come to hurt her. With his arms around her, she’d believed no one would ever hurt her again.

  No longer out of her mind with fear and pain, she recollected that Fletch had carried out the water treatment under his orders. Or so she’d claimed. In the end, Dr. Carter had saved her, but why? Was this all a game? Had he deliberately put her in jeopardy so that he could rescue her and gain her trust? She’d been on the receiving end of such tricks from doctors before, though none had gone to quite these lengths.

  The sound of footsteps on the stairs, together with several loud thuds, set her heart pounding. “No clanking,” she whispered. “No buckets of water.”

  Two male attendants came in, neither of them the brute who’d helped Fletch. Between them, they manhandled a rickety wooden rocking chair.

  Elsie appeared in the doorway. “There,” she said. “By the window.”

  “Are you sure this is far enough?” the elder of the two teased.

  Elsie swatted him with the flat of her hand. “Don’t be so cheeky.” But she smiled as she scolded. A bit of a flirt, this Elsie.

  Helen didn’t say anything until the men had gone then asked, “Why am I suddenly getting a chair?”

  “Dr. Carter thought you might want to sit by the window. Do you think you can stand if I help you?”

  With Elsie’s support, Helen managed to hobble to the rocker. What was it about rocking chairs? They immediately made one think of mothers lulling their babies to sleep or old ladies knitting by the fire. Mama had been more at home reclining on a chaise longue, but sometimes after they would return from the theatre, she’d jump into bed with Helen, and they’d whisper and giggle together until dawn.

  Dr. Carter’s mother was definitely the sort of woman who’d use a rockin
g chair, no doubt dispensing words of wisdom and gruff affection as she rocked. Was that why he’d chosen it? Did it remind him of a time when he’d been safe and protected?

  Or perhaps this was the first chair he laid hands on, you silly girl.

  “The stiffness won’t last,” Elsie said, spreading a blanket over Helen’s lap. “You’re to sit there and not stir. Dr. Carter will be along soon. I’ll bring you some beef tea.”

  Alone again, Helen stared out at the fog. With no sun visible, she couldn’t guess what time it was. Another enigma to confound her. No sun, no Fletch, a rocking chair in her room, and Elsie calling her Miss. And was Dr. Carter really her savior or merely more cunning than the other physicians?

  Another creak on the stairs.

  This time, Hector ambled in, tongue out, panting like a dirty old man.

  At least it wasn’t Fletch. Wherever she’d gone, she’d be back eventually; she never stayed away long, but Helen was grateful for any respite.

  She sighed at the dog. “Oh no, not you.”

  Completely unoffended, it collapsed at her feet. No, it collapsed on her feet.

  “Well, really,” she grumbled.

  “Good morning,” Dr. Carter said from the doorway.

  He always stood so upright, his posture almost too correct. A true gentleman didn’t need to try so hard. What she wouldn’t give to observe him when he thought himself alone. Or perhaps he was always like this. Perhaps he slept standing up, his spine straight as a rod.

  She glanced away to hide a smile. “Good morning, Doctor.”

  “How are you?”

  “Better, I think. Have you come to scold me?”

  “Scold you? No, of course not. I came to apologize. Mrs. Fletcher’s actions…” He cleared his throat. “Why would I scold you?”

  “For fighting Mrs. Fletcher. For insulting her. For causing so much trouble.”

  He took several steps into the room then stopped as if he didn’t know what to do next. “Surely you know you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “Well, of course I know that, but I wasn’t sure about you.”

  He turned white as the proverbial sheet. No, whiter. Shroud white. Not that she’d ever seen a shroud.

  “Miss Grey,” he began, “about yesterday—”

  “I think I’d rather talk about your dog.”

  He blinked at her. Clearly, her statement had taken him aback, and it had come as something of a surprise to her, too. She didn’t want to talk about the water treatment. Not with her judgment impaired by tiredness. The dog had been on her mind, although only figuratively. In literal terms, it was on her foot.

  “What does it think it’s doing?” she asked. “Animals are supposed to be able to sense things. Why can’t it sense how much I dislike it?”

  “He. Hector is a he.”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything, but very well. What does he think he’s doing?”

  But distracting him by insulting his dog didn’t seem to be working; she could tell by the resolve forming in his eyes.

  “Helen—”

  “How odd my name sounds on your lips. You always address me as Miss Grey. At least you did until yesterday.”

  His ears turned pink. She had him.

  “I wasn’t thinking,” he said. “I—”

  The horrorstruck expression on his face almost had her laughing.

  “Oh, don’t say you’re sorry again. Everyone calls me Helen, but I think you’re the only one who means no disrespect by it.” And she believed he really hadn’t been thinking, which meant he must call her Helen in the privacy of his thoughts, not Miss Grey. And that was progress. Toward what, she hadn’t decided. “I think…Yes, I think I’d like you to call me Helen from now on.”

  “Helen,” he repeated, smiling.

  Oh, she liked that smile. It probably wouldn’t have such an impact on a handsome face, but somehow the rugged harshness of his features made the smile all the sweeter.

  Rugged? Goodness, what sort of word was that to apply to one’s doctor?

  “I think Hector has decided to make you one of his people,” he said, returning to the matter of the dog’s peculiar adoration. “That means you’re part of his pack. Dogs do that. I’m afraid it won’t be easy to change his mind.”

  Hector gazed up at her, his eyes filled with slavish devotion. One of his people? Odd that the thought should cause a flutter of panic. No one had looked at her with that much affection since her mother died. She’d lost the knack of responding.

  He’s only a dog, she told herself, but the panic didn’t diminish. “What am I to do about it?”

  Dr. Carter’s smile lost its warmth. “Use it.”

  “I don’t—”

  “He’s going to stay with you. He’ll watch over you when I can’t. I daresay there isn’t much we can do to make Mrs. Fletcher treat you with kindness since Dr. Sterling refuses to see reason. But if she tries to hurt you again, I think Hector will make her very sorry for it.”

  He sounded so fierce.

  “Dr. Carter, are you suggesting we allow your dog to savage Fletch?”

  “It won’t come to that. She’ll be too afraid of him.”

  Hector slumped onto his belly, head resting on his paws, looking rather morose.

  “I see.” How was she to phrase this delicately? “It isn’t that I’m ungrateful, but you must admit, he doesn’t look terribly intimidating, does he? Melancholy, perhaps, and a bit pathetic.”

  “He’s melancholy and pathetic now, but if someone threatens you, he may surprise you.”

  The dog gave a whine so plaintive that she almost apologized for calling him names. He had seemed fierce when he first came bounding through the trees. “I don’t know how to take care of him.”

  “I’ll teach you.”

  “There you go again; you’re always so eager to help.” Oh, why not get it over with? Befriending him would be difficult with yesterday’s confusion hanging over them, and she needed his friendship if she was going to convince him to help her escape. If she stayed here much longer, Fletch would end up killing her. “Tell me, did you really order Fletch to give me that water cure?”

  “Yes,” he said without hesitation. “But an ice bath wasn’t what I intended. If you like, we could—”

  “No.”

  “Water provides excellent pain relief. When warm, it aids relaxation. Combined with massage—”

  “I said no.”

  He took a breath as if to say more, but then he gazed at her, his gray eyes…not calculating—that’s what she was always doing. No, his eyes assessed. She got the feeling the doctor saw his patient all too clearly. He sees what a coward I am at heart.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  He offered a treatment, she refused, and he acquiesced; it couldn’t be that simple, could it? She let the silence stretch, fully expecting him to try to change her mind, but he didn’t say anything. Would he agree with her now but try to force her later?

  She didn’t think so. But why? Why would he give in so easily?

  “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

  “Doing what?” His forehead creased with confusion. “Do you mean, why am I trying to help you? It’s my job. And besides that, I was at fault yesterday.” He hesitated, lowering his eyes for several seconds before continuing. “I should have been there. I ought to have been clearer in my instructions to Mrs. Fletcher. I was remiss.”

  “I see. You feel under an obligation.”

  He gave her a strange look, a sort of crooked half smile. “Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

  That should please her, did please her. Yesterday, she’d been at Fletch’s mercy. Today, she had someone to turn to who claimed to want nothing in return. But how much help would he give before he decided that the scales had tipped and she now owed him recompense? Yet hadn’t that been her half-formed intention anyway? To gain his assistance—with her body, if necessary? And it wouldn’t be a hardship. The question of how it woul
d feel to have him naked on top of her, those beautiful, strong hands holding her down, had tormented her almost from the moment they’d met.

  “Very well,” she said. “Tell me exactly how I’m supposed to look after this ridiculous dog.”

  …

  For the next few days, Hector had no call to protect Helen.

  Mrs. Fletcher had taken to her bed with a stomach complaint, which left her patient free to convalesce in peace. Will asked Sally straight out whether she’d sneaked a little valerian into Fletcher’s tea.

  Sally opened her eyes very wide and answered, “Oh no, Dr. Carter, I didn’t put any valerian in.”

  He chose to take the words at face value, but he made his best wishes for Mrs. Fletcher’s swift recovery as pointed as possible. Sally must have gotten the message, because by the fourth day, Mrs. Fletcher was able to get up.

  Will decided the time was right for Helen to embark on a regimen of daily dog walks. Regular exercise kept low spirits at bay. If Sterling didn’t like it, he could go hang. No word had come from Helen’s “benefactor”—in this context, Will couldn’t think the word without quote marks—in response to the letter Will had written, and he doubted Sterling’s assurances that a verdict on Fletch’s misconduct would arrive soon.

  “Come on, dog,” Helen called as they tramped through the snow blanketing the barren rose garden.

  They’d progressed beyond “it” and “thing,” but not quite so far as “Hector.” Given the more colorful epithets she’d hurled the poor beast’s way on the day they’d met, Will was satisfied. Perhaps she’d never actually like Hector, but it might still do her good to have something other than herself to care for.

  They reached the water fountain, their agreed stopping point. Like Blackwell itself, the decaying stone basin had seen better days. Instead of clear water, a dirty puddle of brownish ice overflowed in slowly dripping stalactites.