A Certain Want of Reason (15 page)

Eugenie waved her question away. “There is no need for both of us to worry.”

“I believe there is no chance to avoid that now,” Lucia muttered.

“Let’s go!” Eugenie rapped on the top of the carriage three times. They heard the creaks of Harrison climbing off the box. Then the door to the carriage opened for them to make their assault on the new Hospital of Bethlehem at St. George’s Fields, better known simply by the name and reputation it carried through various incarnations over the centuries.

Bedlam.

Chapter Thirteen

Making no attempt at decorum, both Lucia and Eugenie scurried from the street up the silent expanse of walkway, past the marble columns and into a massive entrance hall. Then their pace slowed to a slow shuffle. They passed two bronze statues of men evincing a variety of distress (labeled “Raving” and “Melancholy Madness”), but could see no live habitants except at the back, where a gentleman of sorts sat at a large, ornately carved table spread with papers, ink and an assortment of food that indicated he had been attempting to dine and carry on correspondence at the same time. A man of even less refined appearance stood near the doorway at the back of the room.

“Good afternoon, sisters.” The gentleman at the desk chewed through these words and swallowed as he stood to greet them. “I am the superintendent at Bethl’em. How may I be of service to you?”

A large, hairy man scampered up from behind them and leaped onto the table.

Eugenie clutched Lucia’s arm but uttered only a mild whimper.

“Shoo, Barclay, shoo, get along there. Johnson, would you be so good?” The superintendent looked at the greasy man standing by the door, then waved toward the hairy man occupying the greater half of the table. Johnson ambled over and fit a hook into the collar around the neck of the hairy table-sitter. Barclay was unceremoniously dragged off the table and pulled to another room.

The superintendent shook his head. “We’re still not quite sure how he manages to get down here, but I assure you, he’s quite harmless. Now, may I assume that you have not come to visit our resident gymnast, Barclay?”

Lucia felt Eugenie’s fingers dig into her arm. “Um, we have come to see a Mr. Geoffrey Wright.”

“You’re not employed by Mr. Wakefield are you? Or the newspapers?”

Eugenie pointed to her headpiece, knocking it slightly askew. “Dressed like this?”

The superintendent waved them closer and lowered his voice, glancing out toward the street before he responded. “I know it seems difficult to believe anyone could stoop so low as to impersonate a bride of Christ, but some so-called reformers would stoop to means of sheer deviancy to gain access to our galleries.”

“How very sad.” Eugenie feigned a pious expression. “We shall say a prayer for their poor, misguided souls.”

“That’s charitable of you. Now,” the superintendent frowned at a stack of papers, “I believe Mr. Wright has been placed in our new criminals’ wing. Why do you wish to see him?”

“We’ve been paid to pray for him,” Eugenie answered with no hesitation.

Lucia stifled a groan. Catholics may have indeed allowed such a mercenary practice, but they no doubt expressed it in a more dignified way.

The superintendent, however, did not seem put off by her blunt comment. “Do you not customarily pray for the poor, distracted souls of Bethl’em Hospital from the…sanctity of your convent?”

“Well, yes in most cases.” Eugenie nodded, then leaned in a little closer. “But, you see, this time the donation was rather large. So enormously large, in fact, that we felt it incumbent to visit the charge in person.”

“Oh.” The superintendent frowned at the stack of papers again, then transferred his gaze to his guests. “Well, in that event, I suppose I should let you see him.”

“Is he delusional?” Lucia asked softly.

The superintendent smiled wearily. “Who among them is not?”

“That is,” Lucia clarified, “does he profess to be someone he is not?”

The superintendent shifted his jaw to the side and wrinkled his forehead in thought. “I confess I’ve not spent any time with him. The keepers have told me he is most insistent about speaking to the constable, though. And he asks if we’ve some ‘Red’ fellow in custody.”

“Oh, I see.” Eugenie nodded again. “The poor man.”

“No, I would say he is obviously not poor at all. Rather well-off, to judge by his clothing.” The warden laughed at his own joke. “If he were poor, your services would not have been…arranged. So he is most definitely not poor, whatever else you may say about him.”

“Yes, well, if you would be so good as to direct us to his whereabouts?”

The superintendent laughed all the harder, the sound echoing off the marble and stone surroundings with a ghostly cadence. “Heavens, no, sisters. I could never send you unescorted through the galleries of Bethl’em. Half the diseased minds of Great Britain reside within these walls. Now,” he assumed a serious face, “ask me where to find the other half.”

Lucia blinked. “What? Very well. Where may we find the others?”

“In Parliament, mostly. Ha!” The superintendent roared, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. When his laughter subsided, he apologized. “You’ll have to excuse me—just a little Bethl’em humor.”

“So where do the others live?” Lucia persisted.

“Well,” the superintendent tugged at his cravat and cleared his throat, now showing signs of embarrassment at his earlier outburst, “many stay within their families, of course, when they have the means to keep them in control. Those not up to the task send their troubled family members to a private asylum such as Ticehurst or, if they are really wealthy and not too violent, an elegant licensed house such as Shady View. Those without money may be put in county asylums or live on the streets, much as anyone without money would do.”

“What is a ‘licensed house’?”

“Merely a private asylum.” He pulled at his cravat again. “Shady View, for example, is just a home in the country where the distracted souls are given safe harbor but are offered no chance of a cure as they are here.”

“May an inmate be moved from Bethlehem to such a home?”

The superintendent pursed his lips. “In many cases, yes, provided the family has the means.”

Lucia felt the warmth of hope swell in her chest. “Then perhaps Mr. Wright’s family might have him removed to a site closer to their home.”

“Err, no. Not Mr. Wright. Those placed in the criminal wing must remain here, on the order of the courts.”

“He is a prisoner, then?” The warmth shrank into a cold pit of stone, plummeting through her insides.

“He is an inmate, like all the others. A resident, if you will. Even those in the criminal wing are not restrained, unless they pose a danger to themselves or others. I believe Mr. Wright is under no such restraint.”

“But he cannot leave.”

“None of them can, until granted a proper release. Now, you speak of questions that may be better brought before the governors, and I am only a lowly superintendent. Shall I have Mr. Wright brought into the visiting room to meet with you?”

“Yes, please.” Lucia felt the pit in her stomach sink lower with each passing minute. Though the new Bethlehem hospital appeared stately and beautiful on the outside and in its public rooms, the shrieking sounds echoing from the galleries on either side promised that the atmosphere within the asylum was anything but dignified and serene. She could see but little, however, for their walk from the entrance hall to the room where patients visited with guests was a short one, leaving them some distance from the galleries where the patients lived. And the criminal galleries were the farthest away, set back from the public traffic of the street.

The visiting parlor was empty of human company, although Lucia could well imagine a host of vermin living in the ornate but dirty sofa, daybed and ottoman that graced the room. She chose to remain standing, as did Eugenie.

She would not leave Geoffrey in this place one hour longer. But she could not simply take him back to the Bayles home and she did not have transportation arranged to return to Hertfordshire. And at either place, he could be pursued by the magistrates and returned to Bedlam.

“Let’s take him to Shady View,” she whispered to Eugenie.

“I thought we were taking him back home.”

Lucia shook her head. “No, your family would not care for that. And if someone were to complain, they might send a magistrate to collect Geoffrey and return him here. But the superintendent said the residents at Shady View would be kept ‘safe’. Hopefully the magistrates would not object to that.”

“I imagine Father would have tried to move him there, if such a move were possible.”

“He may not have known of Shady View. We ourselves did not until the superintendent mentioned it just now.”

“True. Very well. We shall take—”

Lucia held her finger to her lips, with a look toward the doorway. Johnson entered, followed shortly by a very despondent looking Geoffrey.

“Lu!” His eyes glowed with joy. “You’re here!”

Johnson scratched his leg. “You know ‘er?”

“Know her?” Geoffrey scoffed. “Of course I know her. She’s my sister.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” Johnson spat into a corner and mashed the spittle into the floor with his foot. “Well, sisters, you’ve seen ‘im. Now I’ll put ‘im back and you can be on your way.”

“What?” Eugenie demanded indignantly. “But we have not even had the chance to—”

“To pray,” Lucia cut in. “Mr. Johnson, you must allow us time for a simple prayer over this poor man.”

“A’right.”

“In private.”

“In private? No, I don’t think—”

“Are you a Catholic, Mr. Johnson?”

“Lord, no.” He took a step back.

“Then I suggest you wait outside.”

“And close the door,” Eugenie added. She took a vial of perfume from her reticule. “We’ve brought Holy Water. I would hate for—”

“Right.” Johnson wasted no time in putting the closed door between himself and the occupants of the parlor.

“Lu, I do not understand.” Geoffrey’s forehead creased with worry. “When did you join the papists? Will you go to live in a convent? Will our family lands be confiscated?”

“No, Geoffrey, you needn’t worry. This is simply a disguise.”

“A disguise? From whom are you disguising yourself?”

“Hurry!” Eugenie hissed.

“I haven’t time to explain. Let me simply say that…that you were right about Redcloak and he is set free once more. His henchmen hold you captive here, and we must get you free so that you can capture him again.”

“And bring him to justice!”

“Yes, yes. Now, you must act as though you do not know that Redcloak holds you here. You must pretend that we have come to take you to the chapel for worship.”

“You’re not going to say a Mass over me, are you?”

“Nuns cannot say Mass!” Eugenie objected.

“Can they not?” Geoffrey shifted his weight, his brow wrinkled in thought. “I understood that—”

“Hush!” Lucia waved him to be quiet. “He’s coming.”

The door handle turned slowly, and within a few seconds, the door cracked open just enough to enable two dark eyes to peer into the room. “Are ye finished now?”

“For the moment, yes.” Eugenie bowed.

“Good.” Johnson opened the door fully, stepped in and grabbed Geoffrey none too gently by the wrist. “Come along, now. Let’s get you back to your room.”

Geoffrey pulled his arm free. “I think not. It is time for me to leave this place.”

“What do you mean?” Johnson looked suspiciously at each of them.

“I believe what he means, Mr. Johnson, is that it is time for matins. Do you ring the Angelus here?” Eugenie asked.

“Oh, no.” He resumed his hold on Geoffrey’s wrist and yanked him toward the door. “Ye’ve ‘ad enough of your prayer time in here for the day.”

“Quite right, Mr. Johnson,” Lucia nodded as she followed him to the door. “We will naturally offer matins in the chapel.”

“And the rosary, too, of course,” Eugenie added, holding up some beads in her hand. “If you would be so good as to lead us there?” She gestured toward the door.

Johnson backed away from the “rosary” beads as if they had been made of burning coals. “Err, I should be getting back to the superintendent now.”

“We shall need for you to take us to the chapel. Surely you know the way?”

“I do, but—”

“Then, lead on, please. Will you be so good as to join us in prayer?”

“No. I can take you to the chapel.” He waved toward the central staircase. “Then I’ll wait outside.”

“Very good, Mr. Johnson. We shall follow you.”

Chapter Fourteen

“Do you think he will be able to hear us through this door?” Lucia listened to see how much noise from the hall leaked into the cold, somber cavern of worship.

“I do not believe it matters.” Eugenie opened a window in the back of the chapel. “Oh dear. We’re up rather higher than I’d thought.”