by Julia Bennet
And that was when Will realized: despite the deceptive mildness of his tone, Sterling was angry—far angrier than Will had ever seen him. The rigid set of his jaw, his peculiar stillness as he sat ramrod straight in his chair… The man was furious.
Will cleared his throat. He needed to tread very carefully, or Sterling might remove Helen from his care. “I noticed no impropriety on either side.”
True, in spite of Helen’s hand in the crook of Bell’s arm.
“You weren’t with them the entire time.”
“Dr. Bell is a professional—”
“Enough!” Sterling’s shout echoed in the ensuing silence. His eyes widened with astonishment, as if he’d never raised his voice before.
Will waited to see which way things would go. The wrong reaction now could spell disaster. He knew suddenly that he’d say almost anything to avoid losing Helen as a patient. He had so little time left to help her, but that was better than no time at all.
“I hope I was not mistaken in you or your abilities,” Dr. Sterling said, calm again now.
“I’ll make sure Dr. Bell doesn’t accompany her on her walk again.”
“As to the walks—”
“I believe they do Miss Grey a great deal of good. Physical exertion leads to healthful tiredness and reduces the risk of…” Was he really going to say it? “It reduces the risk of impure thoughts.” And that was perhaps the most disingenuous thing Will had ever said in his professional capacity—in any capacity.
The words had the desired effect. Sterling sank back, his posture a fraction less unyielding. “I see. Well, as long as you keep her away from Bell.”
“You have my word.”
“Very well. We’ll see how things proceed. I urge caution, Dr. Carter. Your view of the case is entirely too optimistic. You talk of Helen going on excursions beyond the grounds and visits to the village as if she were a normal woman.”
And you talk of her as if she belongs in the sideshow of a carnival.
Will smiled politely. “I don’t mean to imply that she’s perfectly well” —here Sterling scoffed, but Will kept talking despite the interruption— “merely that she’ll never learn to live in the real world hidden away here.”
“Hidden?” Sterling’s expression sharpened again. “Why do you say hidden?”
“I meant only that Blackwell is so isolated. No one visits her.”
“The peace and seclusion here are of great benefit to all the patients.”
“Except that I’ve checked the visitors’ log, and Miss Grey has never had a visit—not one in over ten years. If her patron can’t come himself, surely he could send someone.”
Sterling turned his thin lips up in the ghost of a smile. “My boy, your concern does you credit. I blame myself. I blame myself entirely. I should never have let you treat Helen without telling you the full truth. I thought to protect her privacy, but now I see I sent you unarmed into battle.”
Given everything Sterling had already confided about Helen, she had very little privacy left to protect. What remained to disclose unless it was the name of her mysterious patron?
“When I told you about the liaison with the groom, I mentioned another doctor. You see, the—” Sterling cleared his throat. “Helen’s benefactor insisted on sending his own doctor to assess her progress. When the fellow arrived, I took one look at him and knew he was the wrong choice. Too young. Too well-favored. To my shame, I left him in charge of the more mundane aspects of Helen’s care.” He shook his head at his own folly. “He became fond of her, and I’m sorry to say she used him shamefully.”
Used him shamefully might mean any of a dozen things. It was time to cut through the nonsense. “Were they lovers?”
“I’m sure she permitted certain…liberties, but no, I don’t think so. Helen somehow managed to convince the poor boy that he ought to help her leave Blackwell. Of course, he had no influence with me, and so the only way he could help was through underhanded means. He might have succeeded in spiriting her away if Mrs. Fletcher hadn’t alerted me to the danger. Needless to say, the boy’s career was ruined before it began.” He fixed Will with a pointed look of concern. “And you might want to keep in mind that no one ever saw Helen shed so much as a tear over him.”
Will’s heart beat a little faster as the full implications of these careful words caught him in the face, a sneaky blow when he was already on the ropes. The sordid tale of Miss Grey and the doctor only confirmed what he already suspected based on Sterling’s earlier hints. By offering this fuller account, Sterling said I know what you’re about with that girl, and if it doesn’t stop, bid farewell to your career. Though Will had known for a while that his days at Blackwell were running out, he hadn’t properly considered that Sterling’s exalted connections could make his life difficult even after he left.
“Come now, Carter,” Sterling added, when Will didn’t speak. “We’re both men of the world. We both know Helen’s been casting lures your way. Did you suppose they arose from affection?” Remember you’re merely the most recent in a long line of poor, deluded fools.
Yes, more than once Will had caught Helen tugging on his strings, manipulating and managing him, but she behaved that way because she was desperate to escape Blackwell. She only wanted someone on her side. He knew that; he understood. How galling to sit here and have Sterling break the news as if Will hadn’t sense enough to see through her maneuvering.
“I hope you aren’t implying that I’m in any way susceptible to her lures. I took an oath, Dr. Sterling. You impugn my honor when you suggest anything untoward between me and Miss Grey.” Because no matter what he felt, he would never give in to temptation, and Sterling had better understand that at once.
“Certainly not.” Sterling accepted the rebuke too easily. “That was never my intention, but you raised the question of why Helen receives no visits. The simple answer is that those most concerned for her welfare wish it so. If she is ever fortunate enough to recover, surely she would be aghast at the notion of anyone who matters witnessing her deranged state. I merely wished to put you on your guard.”
Anyone who matters. Sterling spoke like a jealous suitor taunting a rival. Yes, that’s exactly what was happening here, and Will had reached the limit of his patience. Sterling wished to put him on his guard?
Will rose and strode to the door. “Rest assured that you’ve done so.”
…
Another gray day. Bundled up in blankets in her rocking chair, Helen stared out her window and wished for at least the twentieth time that she hadn’t called Dr. Carter a fool yesterday.
Though by no means an expert on men, she knew insulting one wasn’t a good way to enlist him as your ally. Then she’d heaped mistake upon folly when she’d stormed off in a blaze of theatrics. Except this time she hadn’t been playing to the crowd. She’d lost control—an indulgence she could ill afford. She didn’t even believe what she’d said. At last she’d begun to accept that Will wasn’t pretending to be a good man, but he wasn’t naive or stupid, either. His real flaw was a tendency to assume that everyone else was as decent and moral as himself. He wanted to help Mrs. Fairly, and so he assumed that others at Blackwell felt the same way.
It wasn’t only the blow to her plots and plans that had her panicking. His good opinion might be based on trust she didn’t deserve, but she still valued it. Apart from Mrs. Braithwaite, he was the only person who thought more or less well of her. Or at least she thought he had until her outburst yesterday. There had to be a way to fix this, but until she found it, she intended to sit here and sulk.
A gentle tap at the door catapulted her out of the chair. It must be Dr. Carter. Should she apologize? Would it help if she cried, or would tears scare him off?
The door swung inward, and Dr. Sterling marched in instead. “Helen, my dear,” he said, brusquely polite as always. “How are we today?”
“We are fine, thank you. Though we are finding the dull weather a trial. We wish this infernal winter would
end.”
The corners of his lips tilted up, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. False and wintry as January, like all his smiles.
“May I sit?”
Without waiting for a response, he seated himself on the now-vacant rocking chair, leaving her the choice to either remain standing or perch on the edge of the narrow bed. The room seemed too small suddenly. In either case, she’d find herself closer to him than she preferred.
In the end, she decided she’d rather be comfortable. Once she’d arranged herself as primly as possible on the coverlet, they regarded each other in uneasy silence for several moments.
“What game is it you think you’re playing with Dr. Carter?”
He must badly want to know the answer; he usually lasted longer before he broke an uncomfortable silence, cold bastard that he was.
Though she kept as still as possible, her heart gave a little lurch. “Excuse me?”
“Oh, come. Do you take me for a fool? I see perfectly well what you’re about.”
“I wonder you bother to ask me, then.”
His lips thinned. “That was tart even for you. Do you deny that you’ve been cozying up to him?”
She clasped her hands together to keep herself from fidgeting under his reptilian gaze. “I don’t know what you mean. Dr. Carter has been most kind—”
“Indeed, but what does he gain in return? That’s the question.”
“Professional satisfaction, I imagine.”
Sterling would never believe that. Though Helen thought she might be the only person who realized it, carnal matters were Dr. Sterling’s obsession. He hardly ever left the asylum, and he’d never bed down with one of the nurses. As far as she knew, during her time at Blackwell he’d never actually been with a woman. No, his fascination was akin to the macabre interest one feels reading the gory details in the scandal sheets about hangings and murders.
“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” he asked.
“Why ever should I be?” She hadn’t done anything.
“For using that poor young man to further your schemes when you have no intention of repaying his labors on your behalf. I know you, Helen. No matter how much you tease and taunt, you’ll give him nothing.” A strange statement from the man who called her a nymphomaniac.
On stage, she’d seen Mama act the part of offended innocence a hundred times. In scenes of this nature, one stood tall and regal, and glared scornfully at whichever hapless male was playing opposite. How dare you, sir! I would never…and so on and so forth. She almost stood up, but Sterling knew the real Helen, or enough about her to make such mummery a waste of time and energy.
“How can you be so sure?” she asked. “Perhaps I’m fond of Dr. Carter.” How could she fail to like him when he was the kindest person she’d ever met? Yes, she wanted his help, but frankly she’d go to bed with him on any terms.
Once, touch had been a normal part of her life—not only the touch of men, but gentle familial caresses and the more thoughtless touches of friendship. She wanted Dr. Carter’s hands on her in every way: the brush of her shoulder against his as they walked together, the comfort and companionship of holding hands, and the sensuous glide of his naked flesh over hers when he finally made love to her.
“Dr. Carter is no doubt a fine man,” Sterling went on, “but he’s not a handsome one. We both know your…preferences.” He reached across the narrow space and put a hand on her knee—not from desire, she felt certain, but to remind her how little power she had.
It took all her composure not to flinch. The hand rested there, neither clasping nor squeezing, a cold, dead thing. Only when it became obvious she had no intention either of pulling away or pushing him off did he release her.
“You’re a parasite, Helen. You entangle a man like a clinging vine, sucking the strength and sanity out of him until he’d throw away his career, his very life, for your sake.”
She’d thought herself impervious to anything Sterling might say or do, but that word parasite hit her like a tiny, poisoned dart. She could already feel the toxin spreading, his words whispering to her darkest fears about herself. After all, wasn’t it true? And if she was a parasite, then Will was the solid, dependable oak she’d ensnared or a house that had stood strong for decades until she’d crept up the walls and set the mortar to crumbling.
“Is that all you came here to say?” The tremor in her voice infuriated her.
Another wintry smile. “These games are a symptom of a diseased mind. You hurt yourself by playing them. I speak harsh truths to help you.”
“I doubt that.”
“I see even my kindnesses are suspect,” he said on a sigh.
This time, she didn’t respond—only wondered if he believed half the things he said. When he called her a parasite, he told her that she couldn’t survive on her own, that she was worthless.
No man is an island—she’d read that in a poem somewhere. She wouldn’t hate herself because she needed help to escape an impossible situation, but if Will suffered as a result…
No, she couldn’t bear to see him hurt because of her.
Sterling watched her, his gaze roaming her face. No doubt he enjoyed watching his words sink in. Try as she might to keep her feelings hidden, his poison must have left its mark, because he gave a small, satisfied nod.
After staring for several seconds longer, he left.
…
Will lit the candles on either end of the mantelpiece and extinguished the gas lamp. After a long day spent trying to grasp the depth of Mrs. Fairly’s malaise, he was eager for an early night. Sterling’s notes on the case had proved less than illuminating as usual, and Mrs. Fairly herself seemed blithely unaware of yesterday’s episode.
He hadn’t seen Helen at all—Tom Green had taken Hector out—and no doubt she’d chafed at yet another afternoon stuck in the gloomy confines of the main house. Now, as he undressed, Will wondered if Sterling’s words this morning had influenced his decision to cry off.
Really, why should they? Yes, Helen sometimes tried to manipulate him, but he’d always known that. What’s more, he always saw through it. At least he hoped so.
The last of his clothes discarded and folded neatly on one of the chairs, he stood utterly naked despite the cold and stared into the flickering fire.
What if he was wrong? What if he was the fool Sterling thought him? These questions settled in his stomach like lead. Some patients did this, particularly the narcissists. Will didn’t mind except where their machinations impaired his ability to do his job. With Helen, he didn’t mind either, but was that his usual professional detachment, a scarce commodity in his dealings with her, or a refusal to look facts in the face? Was he deluding himself in some way?
A sharp rapping at the door jolted him out of his reverie.
“God, what now?” he muttered and reached for his robe. It was too bloody cold to stand around stark bollock naked anyway.
Another knock, louder than the last.
“One moment.” He slipped the thick woolen robe on and belted it tightly.
As he reached for the doorknob, the strangest feeling assaulted him: a sense of foreboding. Helen waited outside. He just knew.
Even though he didn’t believe in precognition, Will opened the door only a crack.
Helen gazed back at him, clad in nothing but a long white nightgown. Worse, her hair hung loose about her shoulders, those riotous red curls in glorious disarray. Pushing the door wide, he seized the oil lamp she held—Lord knew how she’d gotten hold of one—and held it aloft, checking the spiral staircase behind her. No face peered back. Where was Elsie? And where was Bell? She must have passed his room on her way up. Hadn’t he heard her?
Next, Will grabbed her hand and pulled her into the privacy of his room, shutting the door behind them. Whether that would prove wise, he hadn’t time to consider. “What are you doing here? You must be freezing.”
“No one saw me.” Her voice trembled.
“Here,” he s
aid, snatching up the extra blanket from on top of his bed. When he had the checked fabric arranged about her shoulders—partly for warmth but also to hide the oddly provocative and yet virginal white nightgown—he stepped back to get a better look at her face. “You’ve been crying.”
She shook her head, but he could tell from her slightly swollen eyes that she lied. Was that her intention? A sort of double bluff? Blast Sterling for filling his head with these doubts.
“What happened?”
“Dr. Sterling came to see me. He said…” Her face crumpled. “He called me…”
All at once, he didn’t care about anything but comforting her.
A shudder tore through her as he pulled her into his arms. “I don’t have to tell you what he said, do I?”
“No,” he said, smoothing her hair back. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.”
Her head nestled comfortably on his shoulder. Holding her was pleasant, a level of contact he could cope with, but then she eased back. Their eyes locked, and he found himself gazing into deep, dark brown.
“Will,” she whispered, so close he could smell toothpowder on her breath.
Another inch and their lips would touch. But he could never… No matter what he felt, he—
Helen leaned that extra inch, her lips soft and warm and—Christ!—ever so slightly moist. He didn’t move, wouldn’t move toward her, but he couldn’t—even if God himself demanded it—take the step back that would end the kiss.
“Will.” Somehow her hands had found their way beneath the front of his robe, her fingers splaying across the bare skin of his chest.
“Helen, I don’t—”
“Shh. Let me.”
She kissed him again, and when he felt the gentle lap of her tongue against his, he made a sound low in his throat, a noise he’d never heard before, much less uttered. No woman had ever kissed him that way, not even his wife in more than ten years of marriage. Helen’s cool hands slid down around his waist, then lower still until, inevitably and yet with awful—delicious?—suddenness, they cupped his buttocks.
