An Inconvenient Wife (11 page)

He came closer, holding out his hand again. “I know exactly what you want,” he said, and I found myself relenting. I put my
hand in his; I let him lead me to the dressing screen and call Irene, and then, when I was naked but for my chemise, I sat
in his wooden chair, and parted my legs when he touched my knee, and lost myself to the electric wand.

Notes from the Journal of Victor Leonard Seth

Re: Mrs. C.

January 22, 1885

Mrs. C. was extremely distressed over the suggestion I’d made at our last visit, that she visualize a walk through the woods
rather than give in to a hysterical fit. I was surprised by how well her unconscious took to it, how intense the image seemed
to her. I had expected to make the suggestion at least once more before her unconscious accepted it, but the problem seems
to be not with her unconscious mind but with her conscious one. She recognized the image as a false one and found it frightening.

Unfortunately, my neglect in telling her of the suggestion has had serious consequences. Whatever trust she had been willing
to give me has evaporated. She is wary and uncooperative, and my attempts to delve more deeply into her biography were met
with violent resistance.

This turn is frustrating at best. She should not be so difficult. Mrs. C. is readily put into a deep hypnotic state, and her
amnesia when waking from the trance is so nearly complete that she remembered what had happened to her under hypnosis during
our last visit as only a vague, disturbing dream. This would all indicate a patient who is easily cured, and I have no doubt
this is the case. Yet her reason has overcome a suggestion that offers her unconscious mind what she so clearly wants. Why
did she fight it? Her dismay over it seems too extreme, as if she is afraid. I must admit I find this intriguing as well as
annoying. It suggests she is hiding something—but that is absurd. I cannot imagine what a woman such as this would have to
fear. She has everything she could want. No, I must assume that her rejection of such a suggestion of peace is simply an anomaly,
and with a few more studied attempts, I can effect a lasting cure. I would like, at some point, to suggest another calming
memory or image for her to rely on during the onset of hysteria, but given her distress over the last suggestion, I prefer
to wait until I can discover an image from her own experience.

This may be more difficult now. I must reassure her that she can trust me. Fortunately, Mrs. C. is highly sensitive to touch.
Faradization has brought her to climax quickly, and she achieved a trance through touch-induced stimulus—which leads me to
believe that Mrs. C. has normal female passions that have been severely discouraged, perhaps by her husband, perhaps by others
in her life. Because she confessed that she married her husband for love—as much as that can be so—I suspect her nervousness
and irritability may stem from interrupted coitus, an epidemic in the upper classes. If nothing else, faradization may ease
these symptoms, bring her to my office in a more anticipatory state, and perhaps allow me to utilize her satisfied passions
to regain her trust. If there is no trust, there can be no
crédivité.
And without that, I cannot be effective.

O
ver the next days, I felt remarkably rested. I had only a few arguments with the servants; I weathered my social schedule
better than I had in some time and, according to William, was “delightful.” I ran the household more efficiently than I ever
had. My only complaint was at night, when my dreams were restless and strange, full of images I did not understand—most of
which involved Dr. Seth’s disturbing gaze. But these dreams did not seem to have any effect during the daytime. Then I scarcely
remembered that I was having dreams at all.

“I’m glad to see Seth’s methods are working so well,” William said with satisfaction at dinner. “Am I imagining things, darling?
Or
are
you feeling better?”

“I am,” I said. “Much better.”

“He said he believed you were making progress.”

I stilled in the midst of taking a bite. “He said? You spoke to him?”

William nodded. “Yesterday. He was at the lunch counter at Bodes. We got to talking.”

“The lunch counter?”

“His office is not far from there, I suppose.” William shrugged. “In any case, I’m very pleased with his efforts. I’ve asked
him to come to the Athletic Club with me tomorrow.”

I was dismayed, though I was hard-pressed to say why. “He hardly seems the sporting type.”

“I would have thought the same myself. But he expressed an interest.”

“I see.”

“You seem surprised.”

I played with the remains of my fish, my appetite gone. “Well, yes. After all, he’s not like us. He’s a Jew.”

“He’s no longer practicing, he says. I’m merely showing him my appreciation, nothing more. There are already plenty of doctors
at the club. He’ll fit in nicely. And perhaps he can use it to expand his practice.”

“How thoughtful you are to suggest it,” I said.

William’s dark brows came together in a frown. “Are you telling me I shouldn’t be grateful to him for restoring my wife to
me?”

I could not answer.
Restore
seemed such a finished word, and despite my improvement these last days, I did not feel finished, hardly so. It did disturb
me that William intended to form a friendship with my doctor, though I could not think of a reason why. After all, I had first
met Seth at a supper, and it was clear he already moved in our circle of friends. It would be foolish not to expect to see
him publicly.

“I’ve been hoping you might come with me to McKim’s office tomorrow morning,” William said. “He’s finished the plans for the
new house.”

Our discussion about Seth was over. I forced myself to take a forkful of fish and put aside my dismay over the doctor. “Oh?
So soon?”

“I’d like you to see them.”

“I’m sure anything you’ve agreed to is fine.”

“You’re going to live there as well,” William pointed out. “And I’d like you to see the plans before you go to Goupil’s. You
should know what we need before you begin choosing things.”

I gave him a weak smile. “Yes, of course.”

“Then it’s settled. We’re to be there tomorrow at ten.”

I did not argue. I feigned the excitement I wanted so badly to feel. I would do this for William, for myself. After all, I
did
feel better.

The next morning I met my husband in the foyer, dressed and ready. It did not take long to arrive at McKim’s office, despite
a cloud of snow that fell in a light and constant fog. We were met in the anteroom by an earnest young man who showed us into
Charles McKim’s office.

Charles was there already, seated at a huge maple desk, surrounded by rolls of paper. One wall was completely lined with bookshelves;
the others held framed photographs of houses he’d apparently designed, though the electric lamp on his desk shone upon the
glass at an angle, making the pictures hard to see.

He rose when we entered, extending a hand to William, giving me a warm smile. William and I sat in two silk-covered chairs.

“I’ve brought Lucy to give her final approval,” William told him with a conspiratorial smile.

“I’m certain you’ll be pleased, Mrs. Carelton,” Charles said. He reached for a seemingly unmarked roll among a set of other
rolls and spread it out over his desk, using paperweights to hold the corners. William rose and went to look over his shoulder,
gesturing for me to join him. I did, but the drawing was impossible for me to decipher. It was only rows of lines, parallel
and perpendicular, a semicircle here, words written in tiny letters.

“Look here,” William said, pointing to a square on the paper. “This is the foyer. We’ll have steps leading up to the front,
all of cut limestone.” His finger traced down a set of lines. “Do you see? They curve on either side down to the sidewalk.
There are pillars here and here, and the porch roof is a terrace that leads out from the ballroom.” His fingers moved over
the plans so rapidly I could barely follow his motions; his voice was excited. “Do you see, Lucy? The entrance hall will be
huge, with marble pillars reaching up three stories to a stained-glass dome. Mostly in rose, I think, so there will be a perpetual
sunset over the floors below. Or sunrise, I suppose, depending on the light.”

I began to see the plans as a house. It was simple to decipher now that I knew what I was examining.

“Yes,” I said. “It’s quite lovely.”

“Do you think so?” William’s face was more animated than I’d seen it for some time, and for a moment I felt a terrible jealousy
that this house should command his affections when I could not.

“From the outside, it looks like a very large row house,” I said.

Charles McKim nodded. “Yes. William planned it that way. He thought you would be more comfortable in familiar surroundings.
But the inside is quite spectacular. Nothing like a row house at all.”

“It will be beautiful,” I said, stepping back from the plans.

William grasped my arm, bringing me gently back. “You must see this, Lucy,” he said softly. “I’ve planned it all for you.
Look, here is your suite. You’ll have a sitting room that can be closed off from the bedroom by a set of doors. Do you see?
There will be a window here—”

“A window?” I frowned. “Only one? It’s quite small.”

“Yes. Heating is more efficient that way,” McKim said.

“We don’t care about the cost of heating,” I told him. “The window must be bigger. Where are the rest of them?”

I saw the way McKim glanced at William, but I did not retreat. I said insistently, “Show me where the windows are.”

“In every room, of course,” McKim said. “Here and here.”

“There aren’t enough. Really, William, there aren’t enough. You know how I love windows.”

“But Lucy—”

“There must be more,” I said.

“But darling—”

“You said you wanted me to look at the plans,” I said. I had wanted so badly to care about this house, and now I found myself
caring too much. “You wanted my approval. It’s a lovely house, William, truly it is, but the windows, there simply must be
more.”

“I can change the plans slightly without compromising the entire design,” McKim said reluctantly.

“Then you must.”

William looked at McKim. “Could you give us a moment, Charles?”

“Certainly.” McKim stepped from his office, closing the door discreetly. When he was gone, William turned me to face him,
holding my arms so I couldn’t back away.

“Lucy, you must calm yourself.”

“I’m quite calm.”

He shook his head. “This thing about the windows—”

“You said I should have the house the way I liked it,” I said. “You said I should approve of it.”

“Yes, but not at the expense of everything Charles and I have worked for,” he said. “I’ve done nothing but keep your interests
in mind during this entire process. Charles and I have had several meetings.”

“You never included me.”

He gave me a chastising look. “Come, Lucy, you weren’t the least bit interested until today.”

“But now I
am
interested. And I want windows.”

“Think of how cold such large rooms will be. The windows will only make it worse unless the drapes are quite heavy, and you
don’t like curtains.”

“No,” I said uncertainly. “I don’t.”

“You see?” He smiled a
how silly you’re being
smile. “Really, darling, you can’t want this at all. You only think you do. The windows we have are quite sufficient. If
you like, I can ask Charles to make the one in your room larger.”

His reasonableness was stifling; I felt myself surrendering, not caring any longer. “Yes,” I said, breaking from his hold,
turning away. “That would be nice.”

“I knew you would understand,” he said with satisfaction. He went to the door and sent the boy for Charles, who came back
with a bounce in his step but a questioning expression.

“We’d like the window enlarged in Lucy’s room, if you can, Charles,” William said.

“And the rest?” Charles asked.

“The rest are perfect as they are.”

“Excellent.” Charles smiled, and the two of them leaned over the plans again, making little refinements here and there, while
I tried to smile and listen to words that ran together in one long stream of nonsense.

“Excuse me,” I said, making for the door. “If I could just go out for a moment.”

William barely glanced up. “Of course, darling. I’ll meet you outside. Charles and I are almost finished.”

I slipped out and leaned against the wall. It seemed the plans of that house surrounded me, the lines and planes evolving
into a skeleton of stone and wood, primitive and bleak, and in it I felt William’s inflexibility of will. I was suddenly,
unreasonably afraid that I could not live within those walls, that I should die if I had to beat my wings against them.

My next appointment with Dr. Seth was not for another two days, and the peace I’d found in his office began to erode, my pleasantness
becoming edgy and brittle. The visit to McKim’s had shaken me, as had William’s adoption of Dr. Seth as a friend. I had not
been able to regain my spirits.