The Madness of Miss Grey

by Julia Bennet

  “Well, Dr. Carter,” he said. “Imagine how intrigued I was to hear of your antics in London.”

  “Intrigued enough to journey all the way to Yorkshire, it would seem.”

  Sterling spluttered. “Don’t be impertinent, Carter. You will address the marquess as ‘my lord.’”

  “Now, Sterling,” Somerton said. “Let’s not forget that you’re in trouble, too. The duke understood you to be a man of discretion, yet you claim you have no knowledge of how Dr. Carter came by his awareness of our…affiliation.”

  “Not by any honest means, my lord, you may be sure.”

  Somerton raised his eyebrows and looked at Will. “Is this true?” He sounded as if he was enjoying himself.

  Will gave the only truthful answer he could without incriminating himself. “Regardless of my methods, I acted for the good of my patient.”

  “How dare you, sir,” Sterling cried. “You impugn my honor as a professional and as a gentleman with your words. I will not brook such insolence from a sneaking, lowborn—”

  “That’s quite enough theatrics for one day, Sterling,” Somerton said. “Dr. Carter, no doubt your intentions were above reproach,” he added in a tone that suggested he believed the opposite, “but methodology is important.”

  Triumph flickered in Sterling’s eyes, but he stayed silent.

  Somerton appeared not to notice. “So, let’s talk about methodology, shall we? Dr. Sterling, what’s your assessment of Miss Grey’s condition?”

  “That’s a complicated question and…” Sterling shifted in his seat. “Forgive me, my lord, but you aren’t a medical man.”

  Somerton’s lips twisted into a smile. “Simplify it for me, then.”

  Sterling cleared his throat. “Helen—I mean, Miss Grey—suffers from hysteria and nymphomania. In such a case, any stimulation is dangerous. She ought to be on complete bed rest. Total inactivity of body and mind. A diet of invalid fare and—”

  “A moment, sir,” Somerton said. “Did you say complete inactivity? Of mind as well as body?”

  Sterling looked taken aback. “That regimen received the duke’s full approval.”

  “No doubt.”

  The two words spoke volumes: enough to make Will wonder about the relationship between the duke and his heir. That no doubt had not sounded fond.

  “And you, Carter?” Somerton said, pinning Will with his haughty gaze. “In your opinion, what’s wrong with Miss Grey?”

  Nothing, he wanted to say. She’s perfect. He couldn’t look at the desk without remembering how they’d hidden beneath it, how warm she’d been, and how his heart had raced with her so near, yet not his to touch. If he’d known what awaited him, how it would feel to lie with her, he could never have resisted her for so long.

  “Miss Grey is depressed,” he said, “as anyone would be if forced to sit out the winter in the depths of the Yorkshire countryside with nothing to do and no distractions. Inactivity is the very worst thing for her. She needs exercise, diversion—”

  “And the nymphomania?”

  Will felt his face redden as his thoughts leapt to last night. And this morning. And later on this morning. To what he wanted to do to and with her if he ever got the chance again. If Helen deserved the label, so did he.

  “I’ve seen no evidence to support that diagnosis,” he said.

  Sterling snorted. “I am senior physician here. My experience is—”

  “But your methods are entirely out of date.” Will had held those words in for so many weeks that saying them aloud was like throwing off a ball and chain. The time for professional courtesy between them had passed, thank God. “Yes, you have thirty years of experience on me, but you haven’t altered your methods since about 1851.”

  “You mean none of it’s true?” Somerton said, eyes dancing. “You mean to tell me women’s vital energies aren’t drained away by their monthly curse?”

  Sterling stiffened, at last realizing Somerton wasn’t taking this meeting altogether seriously.

  “What interests me,” Somerton went on, “is what Dr. Carter meant to accomplish in London. He must have realized the duke was as likely to see him dismissed from his post as to give a fair hearing to his concerns.” The twinkle in his eyes vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and Will felt the weight of his scrutiny once more. “Well, Dr. Carter? You did think of that, I take it.”

  “It occurred to me, yes.”

  “Yet you risked your career.”

  “There, you see?” Sterling said. “He’s sealed his own fate.”

  “Ah, but you see,” Somerton said, “I make it a point never to deprive men of their livelihoods if I can help it. We will have to think most carefully before we ruin Dr. Carter’s reputation, don’t you agree, Sterling?”

  They all knew the answer; Sterling wanted Will gone, but he stood in too great an awe of the Duke of Harcastle to gainsay his son and heir. If Somerton wanted to think things through more carefully, Sterling didn’t have the balls to stop him.

  “In the meantime, Dr. Carter,” Somerton said, “perhaps you might introduce me to your patient.”

  Sterling blanched. “My lord, I hardly think—”

  But Somerton stood, neatly cutting him off. “Wait for me here, Sterling.”

  Like an obedient minion, the good doctor obeyed.

  On their way out, Will noticed the glass dome of the terrarium, now empty, sitting on top of a filing cabinet. The dead fern sat in the wastepaper bin, its fronds brown and shriveled with neglect.

  In the hallway, Somerton put a hand on Will’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything rash, Carter.” Will couldn’t tell whether the words were intended as a threat or a warning. Somerton was the very definition of inscrutable.

  When faced with a complex personality, Will usually found simplicity the best defense, so he merely smiled and said, “Excuse me?”

  Somerton flashed a row of even, white teeth to contrast with his swarthy complexion. “You’d better prepare Miss Grey.”

  …

  Helen had needed something to occupy her in Will’s absence. Tidying the bedroom seemed like a comfortable, wifely thing to do, but there wasn’t much bedroom to tidy. When she heard him on the stairs, no more than half an hour had passed, but she’d managed to clean up and boil the kettle for tea. There, I’m already doing wonderfully at this marriage business.

  She set the hot kettle down on a trivet just as he opened the door. This time, his face gave nothing away, and she wasn’t at all prepared for what he proceeded to say.

  “Lord Somerton wants to see you.”

  Hardly surprising since he’d come all this way, but her hands still shook as she poured hot water over the tea leaves.

  “Why?” she asked without looking up from her task. Best to pretend this was a perfectly ordinary conversation, or she’d never get through without panicking.

  “You can ask him yourself if you’ve a mind. He’s only outside.”

  “Now?” she snapped, thumping the kettle down again. Then, more quietly, “You mean he’s outside this room right now?”

  He came to her side and took her hand. “Yes. Are you willing to see him? If you’re not, I’ll send him away, but you’ll have to face him sooner or later. It’s up to you.”

  A knock at the door left her no time to sort through her roiling emotions.

  Will swore under his breath. “I told him to give us a few minutes.”

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s better if I know who we’re dealing with. Let’s get it over with. Not here, though.” This room had fast become her sanctuary. “Can we use your office?”

  Together they moved for the door. The marquess waited just outside. Helen’s mind couldn’t make sense of the jumble of first impressions. Almost as tall as Will, though not so broad, the marquess had inky black hair, dark eyes, dark clothes, dark everything.

  “Miss Grey,” Will said, “may I present Lord Somerton? My lord, may I present Miss Grey?”

  With all that was going on
, Helen had forgotten she was still Miss Grey to everyone but Will and Mrs. Braithwaite. Remembering now added to her sense of disorientation.

  “Miss Grey,” Somerton said with a bow.

  Like we’re in a play, she thought and inclined her head. “A formal introduction in a madhouse. I wonder if that’s a first.”

  She caught Will’s smile a moment before he smothered it. “Miss Grey would prefer to talk in my office,” he said, gesturing to the stairs.

  They walked single file, with Helen in front and Somerton immediately behind. What a trio they made: lunatic, lordling, and doctor.

  As they spiraled downward, Helen couldn’t resist asking a question. “My lord, you visited Dr. Sterling on the Duke of Harcastle’s behalf. Is this meeting between us also at His Grace’s behest?”

  They reached the landing, and Will paused to unlock the office door.

  Somerton gazed at Helen as they waited. “No,” he said. “No, this was my idea.”

  Now, that was interesting. The duke had sent him to deal with Sterling, but he spoke to her of his own accord. Had his father—she could never think of the duke as her father—specifically told him not to see her? Had he gone so far as to forbid this interview?

  “Your doctors disagree on your diagnosis,” he added. “I needed to see you for myself.”

  “Ah,” she said. “So you’ve come to assess me.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  He gave nothing away. If she didn’t take care, she’d let his brusque manner, coupled with his exalted station, intimidate her. She made up her mind there and then never to allow this cowing to transpire.

  Once Will had unlocked the door, he led them inside, where he gestured to the fireside chairs. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

  “I’d like Dr. Carter to stay. Would that be acceptable to you, my lord?”

  Somerton nodded.

  Will flashed her an encouraging smile, then went to sit behind his desk. He began sorting through papers, though Helen suspected he did it to give them the illusion of privacy.

  What now? How did one entertain a marquess?

  “Won’t you sit down, sir?” she said, fairly certain she’d seen her mother play this role. Either that or she’d read a scene like this in a novel. Once they were both seated, she found she’d run out of pleasantries, unless she wanted to talk about how terrible the weather was, which she didn’t.

  “Well?” she said instead. “What do you think? Do I seem sufficiently lucid?”

  Somerton didn’t react. He seemed neither pleased nor displeased by her sally, which made it difficult to know how she should best proceed. Usually, she got a sense of the person she was speaking to almost instantly. Nothing too specific, merely whether or not they were likely to prove a threat. This man gave her nothing.

  “As to that, it’s far too soon to tell. I came here to ask you a question, nothing more.”

  “What is it you wish to know?”

  He glanced at Will, who appeared absorbed by his papers, then back to her again. “I want to know if you’re my sister.”

  That she hadn’t been expecting. Somerton waited for her response, his expression as guarded as before. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might not be fully in the duke’s confidence, but she couldn’t think of a reason why he’d lie about such a thing.

  “Don’t you know?” she asked.

  “My lord,” Will said, giving up any pretense that he hadn’t been listening, “do you have a photograph of His Grace?”

  Somerton had been staring at Helen, but now he fumbled for his pocket and withdrew a crumpled cabinet card. Though the image was small, she recognized the subject’s aquiline nose and pronounced scowl. The Duke of Harcastle had the sort of frown lines that made one think he never smiled. He’d grown older and thinner, but there was no mistaking him.

  She took a deep breath. “This is him. This is the man I called father.” Or, more usually, sir.

  Somerton still stared, his face a blank sheet of paper. So, this strange, rather sinister-looking man was her half-brother.

  As a small child, she’d dreamed of having a sibling—someone to run around with backstage. She found it impossible to imagine Somerton as a little boy. Surely such elegance never ran anywhere.

  “Miss Grey,” he said, “may we have a few minutes alone? With Dr. Carter’s permission, of course.”

  Her gaze met Will’s; he waited to see what she wanted him to do. He would stay if she needed him, but he was also perfectly willing to give them privacy if that’s what she wanted. She nodded.

  “I have patients to see. You know how to find me.”

  Watching him leave the room was harder than it should have been. She felt braver with Will beside her. The realization disturbed her, as if having his support might render her weak. The fear of exposing those vulnerabilities, both to the gaze of others and to herself, stiffened her spine.

  Now what? Should she offer tea?

  No, somehow, she couldn’t quite bring herself to behave with so much civility.

  At least this was a better venue for an interview than her old attic bedroom. How awkward it would have been, him in the rocking chair and her perched on the unmade bed.

  “You don’t look much like our father,” he said.

  “No.” A fact over which she rejoiced.

  “I’m glad,” he said, echoing her thoughts. “I want you to know that until the day before yesterday, I had no idea you were here or that you even existed.”

  She didn’t know what to make of that. She hadn’t known of Somerton’s existence, either, but a bastard daughter shut up in an insane asylum ought to be ignorant; the heir to a duke should know…well, if not everything, enormously more than said bastard.

  “If so,” she said, “the duke keeps his secrets very close.”

  “That he does. If Dr. Carter hadn’t started prodding the lunacy commissioners, His Grace might never have taken me into his confidence.”

  “Why did he send you here?”

  For the first time, Somerton unbent slightly. “He’s getting on in years. Travel is difficult for him, so he needed to send someone. Who else could he trust if not his son and heir?”

  Compared to his terse questions and monosyllabic rejoinders, that last speech struck Helen as bordering on loquacious.

  “How fortunate you are,” she said. Her tone came out laced with sarcasm.

  Somerton didn’t seem offended, but he leaned forward in his chair. “You’ve met His Grace. Do you really think that?”

  “What else am I to think? He sent you here to do what? To dismiss Dr. Carter? To ruin him? To shut me away in a darkened room for the rest of my life?”

  Somerton’s eyes lit. “My dear Miss Grey, why he sent me is of no import. What matters is what I intend to do now.” He gestured to the teapot. “Is that thing just for show?”

  The gall of the man. She didn’t know whether to laugh or order him out. If he would even go. Instead, she reached for the kettle and hung it over the fire. All the time, she felt his eyes on her.

  “I like Dr. Carter,” he said after several moments. “He seems like a good man.”

  “Indeed, he is. Though it doesn’t follow that because you like him, you’re any less likely to turf him out into the snow.”

  “I don’t ruin people’s livelihoods unless they deserve it.”

  Though he probably intended her to take comfort in his words, she was unnerved by the implication that he did ruin livelihoods if he believed he had just cause. No doubt he thought his judgment infallible. Perhaps she should introduce him to Fletch.

  “You know, of course, that he means to get you out.”

  Oh, yes, she was right to be careful with this man. He saw too much.

  “He did his best in London,” she said carefully.

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  I know very well what you meant.

  Fortunately, at that moment the kettle began to steam. As she didn’t dare speak, she conc
entrated on arranging some teacups onto saucers. She took great satisfaction in the fact that they didn’t rattle as she placed them. Hers were not quite nerves of steel, but so far she’d held together surprisingly well in the circumstances.

  “He’s a decent man,” Somerton went on. “It’s obvious he cares for you a great deal. If he didn’t, he’d never have gone to London.”

  “Dr. Carter is a wonderful physician,” she said, removing the kettle from the heat. “He cares for all his patients.”

  “But not equally, I think.”

  A quick glance and she saw that Somerton was watching her again, and she didn’t doubt his eyes took in every detail of her studied nonchalance as she poured and then passed him his blighted tea. Perhaps he even suspected that what she really wanted to do was throw it at him.

  “Let’s pretend it’s true,” she said, pouring out a second cup for herself. “Let’s say you’re right and Dr. Carter plans to aid me in some sort of daring escape.”

  “All right,” he said, humoring her.

  “You intend to prevent him, is that it?”

  “Oh, far from it.” He sipped his tea. “I intend to help.”

  This, she decided, is turning into an extremely odd day.

  While the source of the oddness regarded her in silence over the rim of his cup, she set her own tea down on a side table with a decisive click. Either Somerton was a gift from God, or he was playing a very devious game.

  While nonsense about Greeks and Trojans with horse-shaped gifts flitted about in her brain, she struggled to keep her eyes empty and her voice calm. “And why would you do a thing like that?”

  “Out of the goodness of my heart, of course.”

  “Forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”