The Scoundrel Takes a Bride: A Regency Rogues Novel (32 page)

Sophia looked up the long drive of Bethlem Hospital and found she could not argue
with Nicholas’s assessment. “It’s my understanding the hospital was deemed unsafe
in 1807. They are currently building a new location in Southwark, though work is not
expected to be completed for another two years.”

It was an unsettling thought, Sophia realized as she examined the cracked façade of
the large building and broken balustrades on each side of the wide steps leading to
the hospital. Six years had passed before the hospital’s governing board had seen
to the welfare of its patients. Which was not only dangerous, but downright inhumane.

“And why do their families not care for them?” Mr. Singh asked, his eyes focused on
the statues of “Raving” and “Melancholy Madness” that crowned the gateposts of the
hospital.

“Do you not have insane asylums in India, Mr. Singh?” Sophia asked, the crunch of
their shoes on the gravel drive the only other sound to be heard.

Mr. Singh turned to look at Sophia. “We do, my lady. But it is not a place where people
heal, despite what those in power would have you believe.”

A guttural cry rang out from somewhere in the building, cutting through their conversation
and echoing across the hospital grounds. “Then our two countries have even more in
common then I’d originally thought, Mr. Singh.”

“I suppose we do,” he answered, then turned to look at the menacing statues yet again.

Nicholas slowed his pace as they neared the stairs. “Come, the time is at hand; we
must focus our efforts if we’re to reach Miss Pemble.”

Sophia stared up at the building one more time, steeling her mind to block out her
fear. “Shall we review?”

The two men nodded in agreement and waited for Sophia to continue.

“All right, then,” she began, pausing as a second desperate scream sounded from the
hospital. She shrugged off the discomfort the unearthly sound had brought with it.
“I am Miss Pemble’s long-lost niece. It was only recently that town records showed
her to be living here. I came straightaway to London to inquire whether she is well
enough to accompany me back to Hertfordshire, where my husband and I would gladly
welcome her into our home.”

“The husband,” Nicholas added, raising his hand.

“And Mr. Pamuk, an expert in mental illness brought in to assess the aunt,” Mr. Singh
said, smoothing out the lapels of his new coat.

They reached the stairs and began to climb them slowly.

“Are we ready?” Nicholas asked, looking at Mr. Singh, then Sophia.

“I do not think we have any choice in the matter,” Sophia answered, standing to the
side as Nicholas pulled open the door.

“No need to be negative,” he whispered. “It is only a mental institution. What could
possibly go wrong?”

A multitude of things, Sophia thought as she crossed the hospital’s threshold and
waited for the men to join her.

“Follow me, please,” Mr. Singh said with authority.
He stalked toward a woman sitting behind a desk just ahead.

Nicholas tucked Sophia’s arm into the crook of his. “Well, let us look on the bright
side, at least we’re playing man and wife, which means I have every reason to comfort
you should Singh be beaten senseless by Miss Pemble.”

“Only you could come up with such a ‘blessing,’ ” Sophia replied.

The two crossed the room to join Mr. Singh, where he stood talking with the woman.

“Come along, Mr. and Mrs. Felton,” he instructed, his impatient tone perfectly suited
to a man of his position. “Miss Dwyer requires the paperwork.”

“Of course,” Sophia said as they joined Mr. Singh in front of the desk. She loosened
her reticule’s drawstring and reached inside. “Here we are. Birth records, church
affiliation, and the family tree from our Bible.”

Sophia held her breath as Miss Dwyer examined the papers. Nicholas had procured the
required proof. And while it had all looked very real to Sophia, she was hardly an
expert.

“Wait here,” Miss Dwyer told them in a flat voice as she pushed back her chair and
stood. A ring of keys rattled as she walked to a door on the opposite side of the
room. She untied the ribbon holding it, chose one, and fitted it into the lock. She
pushed the door open and stepped through, slamming the heavy panel shut behind her.

The sound of the door being relocked on the other side reached Sophia’s ears. “What
does this mean?”

“I have no idea,” Nicholas replied as he scanned the sparsely furnished lobby.

Hardly reassured by his response, Sophia began to mentally calculate how much time
they would have to explain themselves should Miss Dwyer return, intent
on discovering why one would attempt to break
into
a mental institution.

“I saw in Miss Dwyer a gentle spirit,” Mr. Singh said. “I feel sure she is only following
protocol and will return shortly with the answer we desire.”

“Thank you, Mr. Singh,” Sophia replied, “though I don’t know that we can rely on the
quality of Miss Dwyer’s spirit should the papers prove inadequate. Therefore, do either
of you have an explanation as to what we are doing here?”

A lock being thrown back rattled the door.

“Because if you do, I would suggest sharing it. Now.”

Miss Dwyer appeared, the papers still clutched in her hand, with a tall, slim man
following behind her.

“I apologize for the wait,” she said, returning to the desk and sitting down. “I only
started here last week and you’re the first visitors I’ve met.”

She handed Sophia the papers then opened a desk drawer. Pulling a form of some sort
from a stack, she set it on the desk in front of her. “Now, let me sign here,” she
explained, dipping a quill into a tidy pot of ink and writing her name near the bottom
of the form.

She offered the quill to Nicholas and turned the paper upside down so that he could
read it. “Once you’ve reviewed and agreed to the following, please sign on the line
just below mine.”

Sophia purposely avoided looking at the document, reasoning the less she understood
of their crime, the better.

“All right,” Nicholas said, signing his false name and returning the quill to Miss
Dwyer.

The nurse examined the paper one final time. “I believe everything is in order. Michael
here will take you back to see Miss Pemble.”

The orderly’s long face twisted into a semblance of a
smile and Sophia returned the unsettling yet kind gesture with one of her own.

“Follow me,” Michael said in an impossibly deep voice, turning and retracing his steps
to the door.

Mr. Singh resumed his role and gestured for Nicholas and Sophia to keep up. “Do not
lag behind, Mr. and Mrs. Felton. A mental institution is not a place where one would
wish to be lost.”

Michael unlocked the door and pushed it open. “It will be necessary for me to always
take the lead. Impolite, but I’d rather you be safe than dead.” He walked through
the door, followed by Singh, then Sophia, with Nicholas in the rear.

Another orderly stood just inside, on the right. He pushed the door shut then threw
a thick metal bar into place across it, securing it within a second band of metal
before affixing it with a sturdy-looking lock.

“You mentioned death, Michael,” Sophia said, following closely behind Singh as the
orderly moved forward down a narrow corridor. “Do you refer to the violent nature
of my aunt?”

They came to a second door and Michael paused to unlock it. “Miss Pemble? Violent?”
he countered, waiting until they’d all made it through and he’d left the re-locking
of the door to yet another orderly. “No, ma’am. I’ve never seen Miss Pemble raise
a hand to no one—and I’ve been here going on fifteen years. No, it’s not Miss Pemble
you’ll need to look out for. It’s the rest of the patients housed in the Incurable
Ward. We’re holding the building together with a bit of wire and paste. Who’s to say
when one of them will come busting right through. If we make it to the new building
without an incident, it will be a miracle.”

They started up a set of stairs; three more flights followed until they reached a
landing that opened out into a much wider hall than those they’d traversed thus far.
Two signs were hung side by side on the wall they faced, one reading “Curable Ward”
with an arrow pointing east; the other, “Incurable Ward,” its arrow pointing west.
A long line of people stretched the length of the entire hallway, three deep in some
spots.

“You’ll want to watch out for that lot,” Michael said as he led them toward the Incurable
Ward. “They’ve each paid a penny to see the mental cases—and the patients know it.
My guess is, if anyone gets loose, it will be one of their numbers that’s attacked
first.”

Sophia grimaced at the very thought. “And Miss Pemble is housed with the rest of the
incurable?”

“Don’t you worry, ma’am,” Michael answered, approaching a set of double doors. “Miss
Pemble’s doctor says she’s a special case. And special cases get cells away from the
others. Still, there’s—”

“Yet another set of doors that divides her from the rest?” Nicholas asked dryly.

Michael knocked this time, a panel at approximately eye level sliding open. A pair
of eyes stared at them.

“Michael Morland, Orderly Number 26127. Brought visitors for Miss Pemble. Nurse Dwyer
already cleared it with her supervisor.”

The eyes looked at each and every one of them, then the panel slid shut just as quickly
as it had opened. A jangle of keys sounded, then a lock gave way and one of the two
doors slowly opened inward as if by its own accord. A cacophony of screams and grunting,
rants and laughing met Sophia’s ears. Nicholas reached for her hand and threaded his
fingers through hers.

Michael entered first and the rest of the party followed, the routine becoming second
nature.

“Jamie,” Michael called above the din. A very small man appeared from behind the door,
slamming it shut and seeing to the locks before acknowledging the orderly.

“Michael, will we see you at the tables tonight?”

Michael stopped to answer him, giving Sophia the opportunity to manage a good look
at the second orderly. Jamie was standing on a tall stool, and for a very good reason:
he was short. Perhaps half the size of Michael, though quite stout. He wore a clean
gray uniform exactly the same as his friend’s. A number of tattoos peeped out from
beneath the pressed fabric. Sophia could not make out each one due to the poor lighting
from the tallow candles. But there was a lion on one of his forearms and a poem engraved
on the other, the words “love” and “regret” the only ones she could decipher.

“You could not keep me away, Jamie,” Michael hollered, his twisted smile appearing
again. “Must be off. They’re here to see Miss Pemble. Don’t want to keep them waiting.”

Jamie smiled widely at the three of them, revealing several gold teeth. “Ah, Miss
Pemble. Tell the dear that Jamie sends his love.”

“I will,” Sophia assured him just as something was flung from the first cell. It hit
the wall and slowly oozed down it before settling into the crack between the mopboard
and the wall.

“Come along, folks,” Michael urged, putting himself between the three and where the
liquid had been thrown. “Before Wild Willy decides it’s time to toss another round.”

“Keep your eyes straight ahead,” Nicholas whispered to Sophia as they started walking
down the hall. The wet splat of more material sounded again.

She was afraid, the guttural cries and screams compelling her to walk more quickly.
She was also terribly curious.

Sophia turned her head and slanted a sideways glance toward the first cell. Wild Willy
stood at the bars, completely nude and covered in what appeared to be
his own excrement. His gaze was glassy and his hands reached out for her, the fingers
on both hands mimicking a crawling spider as he attempted to touch her.

“You are the one I’ve been waiting for,” the lunatic cried out. “Free yourself from
those who would corrupt you and join me. Join me and we will find the answers you
seek!”

“Eyes forward,” Nicholas reminded her, pulling Sophia close.

She wanted to be unaffected by the man’s words. She craved the ability to possess
only a critical and scientific reaction. But her body began to tremble uncontrollably
and her vision blurred in a visceral response.

Michael stopped in front of a second set of double doors and waited for the orderly
on the other side to slide the eyehole open.

“The worst is over, then?” Nicholas asked him lightly, though he held on to Sophia
as though Wild Willy’s cell had crumbled from the weight of the man’s own mental anguish
and released the poor soul.

The door’s peephole opened and Michael repeated everything he had told Jamie earlier,
then turned back to Nicholas. “Let us hope so.”

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