Authors: Arpan B
Jane
opened her eyes, blinking back the other tears that threatened. She
could not spare the time to cry. If things did not go well, she could
look forward to many long days of incarceration in which to indulge
in tears. If things did go well, she'd have no reason to cry.
Please,
God, let things go well!
Across
from Jane, Ethan pressed his own back into the cushions, pushing
himself as far from Jane and her tears as he could. He could not give
in to his compassion for her. There was more at stake here than one
rather odd young woman.
Unthinking,
he rubbed his hand where that single tear had burned him. Jane was a
sensible sort—usually. The thought of her crying made him feel
terrible for what he was about to do.
"I
don't want to go." Her whisper floated across the space—the
infinite and insurmountable chasm—between them.
Ethan
shut down the ache caused by the quiet fear in her voice. "No
one imagines you do. Yet I do believe it is for the best."
Jane's
heart sank as she finally saw the resolve behind his light tone.
Ethan wasn't just doing as her uncle told him—he was acting
from his own conviction. There was no persuading a man when he'd
taken that stand.
"God
save me from a man who believes he is 'doing the right thing,' "
she said, weary desperate laughter seeping into her voice. "You
win, Ethan. I'll go to Bedlam without a fight."
"I'll
hold you to your word," he replied cautiously. She seemed
resigned, however, for she merely leaned her forehead against the
window frame and gazed blindly into the night.
At
least she was not weeping. Silence settled into the carriage, making
the sounds of the clopping hooves and squeaking chassis all the
louder. Ethan fingered the papers in his pocket. Now didn't seem to
be the time to tell her that the entire matter had been his idea.
Bethlehem
Hospital was a hospital, after all. A nice, safe place for Jane to
wait out of danger while Ethan finished his mission. It was a good
plan, and much preferable to Lord Maywell's half-formed ideas of
murder.
Lord
Maywell was doomed, he had no doubt of that. All Ethan needed was a
bit more time to worm his way further into the man's trust. When all
was done and the dust cleared, there would be plenty of time to
retrieve Jane.
Jane's
outrageous accusations—all right, they were only too true, but
bloody ill-timed!—could have botched the entire matter. Ethan's
own intervention with the Bedlam idea was the reason why Jane wasn't
dead or dying at this moment. Maywell would not stop at murder, Ethan
would wager his house on that.
No.
He firmed his intentions with the conviction that Bedlam was a
hospital. A safe place, out of Maywell's hands and out of danger.
Jane
would keep just fine there.
Bethlehem
Hospital for the Mentally Disturbed was the thing of myth in the city
of London. There had been a "Bedlam" of one sort or another
for hundreds of years, from the days when insanity was considered
part and portion of holiness.
Different
locations, progressively larger and more modern buildings, yet all
still operated upon the methods of the cautionary tale of old. "Be
thou sound and be thou chaste, or thou shalt end thy days in Bedlam."
Jane
knew what manner of place Bedlam was, even if Ethan did not. She knew
that, as in days of old, the insane were considered living words of
warning and, as such, were put on public display.
And
perhaps, for a few, the mad provided some semblance of warning.
Perhaps a few sensitive souls left Bedlam and saw their lives in a
new light—lives that could be changed and improved for the
betterment of all.
Jane
knew all about madhouses. Her own mother had nearly died in one,
after all.
Dark
memories and choking fear wrapped tightly about her throat, making it
cruelly difficult to breathe.
When
the carriage drew near to the hospital, Ethan turned to Jane for one
last attempt to draw her out of her misery.
When
the carriage pulled up to the front gates of the asylum, Ethan
immediately began to have second thoughts. The place was grim in the
darkness with its entrance lighted only by a few sputtering lamps.
"Oh,
look," Jane said faintly, incipient hysteria in her voice. "I'm
home."
Ethan
rubbed his hand across the back of his neck to still an uneasy chill.
Well, likely any place would look unimpressive in the dark like this.
They probably didn't get too many new patients in the middle of the
night.
The
gatekeeper didn't seem very surprised to see them, however. "State
yer business," he said, without much seeming to care what that
business was.
Ethan
leaned out the window. "Lady Jane Pennington is being brought
for treatment."
The
gatekeeper blinked. "Treatment, is it? That's a new one."
He shook his head. "Well, then, you'd best go on in."
The
gate creaked open with ominous groans and the carriage rattled on
through. As they approached the entrance, Ethan eyed the building
worriedly. The more he saw, the less he liked it.
A
uniformed couple came to stand on the front steps to greet them as
the carriage rolled to a stop. Ethan stepped out first, then handed
Jane down gently. The driver moved the carriage forward out of the
way.
"Is
that the patient?" The woman attendant stepped up.
By
way of explanation, Ethan handed the nurse the packet of papers that
Lord Maywell had given him. The doorway stood open, letting a
reassuring wash of golden light over them all as they stood on the
drive. He breathed a little easier. This didn't seem so bad.
The
two attendants nodded over the papers, then took Jane by both arms to
lead her away.
It
was too soon. Ethan held up a hand. "Wait—hold on!"
The
two attendants did not stop hustling Jane swiftly away. Jane was only
able to cast one panicked glance at him over her shoulder before
they'd whisked her away through the great double doors.
Behind
him, the carriage had parked and the driver jumped down. For a
moment, silence fell. The horses held their feet still on the gravel,
and the carriage gave up on its many creaks and protests.
In
that silence, Ethan finally heard it. A sound like the faraway sea.
With horror, he began to realize what it was.
From
behind the thick imposing walls of Bedlam came the faint ongoing
symphony of insanity. Male roars, female screams, the endless rattle
and bang of iron to iron.
Ethan
had been to the Royal Menagerie once as a boy. He remembered it well,
for he'd been much disturbed by the hopelessness of its inhabitants.
While his family had milled through the walks, seemingly unperturbed
by the sights and smells, a sound had started up. Perhaps it had
begun in the cage of the lion—or perhaps one of the monkeys
began to screech—but in the end, it seemed every animal trapped
there had added its cries to the cacophony. It had swelled around
Ethan until he could feel it vibrate his very bones and teeth.
Until
now, it had been the most terrible sound he'd ever heard.
He
had to see…
He
took the grand entry staircase two steps at a time. There was an
anteroom first, where two leering sculptures of madness guarded the
great double doors. Ethan passed them by with no more than a glance.
With both hands, he hit the latches of the great oak doors at a run,
flinging them open in his rush.
The
noise hit him like a hot wave. His crashing entrance only spurred the
madness higher, until the screeches and howls echoed off the great
arched ceiling two stories above.
His
eyes wide, his breath coming up short, Ethan gazed upon hell on
earth. Cages lined the gallery where he stood, cages of women in limp
gray gowns and straggling hair. Some stood at the front bars,
reaching toward him with dirty hands as they cried out unintelligible
pleas. Others lay inert, perhaps sleeping, although they gazed eyes
open at nothing at all.
Down
the gallery, past an iron gate, Ethan saw brawnier hands reaching
out. That was where the loudest roars came from—the caged men.
The
smell hit Ethan then and he recoiled, his hand covering his mouth and
nose as he backed away from the combined filth of two hundred
unwashed bodies. With shaking hands, quite unable to draw another
stinking breath, Ethan pulled the heavy double doors closed with a
slam.
He
leaned against them for a moment, sucking in a breath of relatively
clean air.
The
mob voice came directly through the heavy oak, vibrating through his
hands, scraping his every nerve raw.
He
could never leave Jane here.
"Jane!"
He ran back into the anteroom, looking wildly around for some clue to
where the two attendants had taken her. "
Jane
!"
A
burly guard in the Bethlehem Hospital colors came into the anteroom
through a small unobtrusive door. Ethan bolted for it, but the guard
blocked him.
"Sorry,
sir. The visitin' hours be tomorrow durin' daylight."
Ethan
ignored him, mindlessly shoving at the heavy fellow, trying
desperately to get through. "
Jane
!"
Angered,
the big man pushed him back. "Tomorrow! Ye can get in tomorrow!"
"I
have to get her out of here!"
"It
said in them papers that you're just deliverin'. It said that no
matter your objections, the lady is to be kept until his lordship
says otherwise."
The
guard crossed his arms over his chest. "You'll not be gettin'
anyone out if ye don't have the papers," he said menacingly.
"Now get on. Ye can see her tomorrow."
Frustrated,
Ethan backed up a few steps. "I'll be back for you, Jane!"
he called with all his strength. "I'll be back!"
Behind
him, he heard the din of the menagerie rise to new levels in
response. The noise and the fetid air and the guilt made him sick,
until he had to stumble back out into the cool, clean night.
What
had he done?
With
a push more violent than necessary, the male attendant shoved Jane
into one of the cages that lined the upper gallery. She tripped over
the trailing hem of the gown she'd been given that was vastly too
large for her. The cheap gray flannel tore at the waist with a weak
ripping sound.
She
could not quite fully stand, for the second-gallery cages were
somewhat shorter than the first, although they seemed wider. Still,
she kept her feet, and clapped one hand over the tear, pressing the
fabric close to her body. She'd been through such indignities in the
last hour that her small modesty might seem ridiculous, yet still she
covered her bare skin from the gaze of the guard.
He
shrugged and shut her cage door with a clang. There was apparently
only one key for all the cages, for only a single fat iron key hung
from his belt.
He
held it with thick fingers and locked the crude iron padlock with
practiced ease. The sound of the click made Jane flinch, but she said
nothing. By now she knew that no pleadings or promises would sway
either the male attendant or the nurse assigned to see to Jane.
Only
when his heavy footsteps had faded along with the light of his
lantern did Jane allow her knees to weaken. She ached from her
struggles against both her uncle's footmen and the Bedlam attendants.
She wrapped both arms about her knees and pressed her forehead down
upon them, willing the noise to stop, willing herself deaf to the mad
riot around her.
With
the departure of the guard, at last the inmates settled to a random
mumble of insanity and Jane could think.
When
she'd seen the doors close on Ethan's protest she'd known she had no
chance. She'd not been allowed to reach him, for the attendant's
thick arm had come around her waist, pulling her from her feet.
The
next several moments were a blur, but she'd come out of them with a
few new bruises and a renewed feeling of helplessness.