Elijah’s Mermaid (38 page)

Freddie countered sharply, ‘But Osborne claims to have married Pearl. If he could produce such a contract then it would supersede your own.’

‘But he lied about that. They were never wed!’ I made my vehement protest.

Mrs Hibbert’s veils swayed back and forth as if she was shaking her head beneath. ‘We can but try. We can but hope.’

‘That’s naive!’ Freddie was standing now, his hands pushed back through silver hair, pacing up and down the room. ‘What if Osborne Black disputes your claim, discrediting any agreement that you so conveniently come to hold? Why, we’ll have the next Jarndyce and Jarndyce; the case dragging on for years . . . every lobby in Temple filled to the eaves with scheming whores and lunatics.’

‘Lunatics?’ My question came strained and querulous – and that’s when something snapped inside, my mind crystal clear when I announced, ‘I know
exactly
what to do!’ I held Freddie’s gaze for a moment or two before more words came rushing out. ‘Your doctor’s diagnosis of me! He said I was hysterical. He said I needed treatment. You can write and tell him that you agree. You can have
me
committed a lunatic too. That way, we might gain some access to Pearl. We might find some opportunity to . . . Oh, I don’t know . . . we’ll work something out. There must be a way to achieve the thing!’

All at once I was terribly tired, that dull ache in my head setting up again, in the very same place as Elijah’s wound, and my voice sounded very far away when I pleaded, ‘It must be possible. We
have
to do something! We have to act soon. It is my brother’s life at stake!’

‘What you suggest is ridiculous. Anyone would think you already insane!’ Samuel’s words were filled with derision. ‘What
might become of your future? Have you not considered the stigma of being connected with such a place . . . how it might affect your own good name and any future prospects?’

‘What prospects can you possibly mean?’ Freddie intervened. ‘You are too forward, Samuel! I can’t say I condone Lily’s reckless plan but it’s surely the lesser evil here. And speaking as your employer, this business affects your future too. The reputation of Hall & Co. is in the direst danger.’

Samuel’s stance was rigid, his expression very serious when looking directly into my eyes, speaking in an earnest voice. ‘Lily, forgive me. I have no desire to be unkind. Your motives are perfectly admirable, but this headstrong nature you possess . . . I cannot agree with Freddie.’

Mrs Hibbert broke in, speaking starkly, ‘If Lily enters such a place then we must all hope that Frederick Hall does not forget and leave her there. That would be a careless oversight . . . an innocent woman left to rot for the sake of
his
reputation.’

‘What on earth do you take me for?’ Freddie snapped back at the woman in black, his features distorted and menacing, and meanwhile Samuel pondered on, ‘But what if this Thomas fellow lies? What if Pearl isn’t in the asylum?’

Mrs Hibbert sighed and simply said, ‘Tip Thomas does not lie.’

I felt sick and exhausted the following morning. When I dressed and looked into the mirror my eyes were dark circled, my cheeks too wan. But then I had hardly slept all night, my mind turning over a thousand times, knowing the folly of my endeavour, wondering whether Samuel Beresford had intimated some personal intent – some intent as yet half spoken that would only be withdrawn if I continued with my plan. And yet, when compared to the peril in which my brother lay, how could I think of a future life? How could I think to waver?

At breakfast – which neither one of us touched – Freddie hunched over his coffee cup, his expression harrowed, his colour
grey and only a nod when he heard me announce that I was determined to go ahead.

A letter was written, a maid dispatched to the home address of his doctor friend, who sent an immediate reply – a brief note that Freddie read aloud, its contents indicating that with so recent a diagnosis no further consultation would be deemed necessary. Freddie should take me without delay to the Chiswick House Asylum, where Evans was due to be visiting on business that very afternoon. My admission could be swiftly made with the least inconvenience for all.

How easy that imprisonment. How many women were so condemned without access to judge or jury or friend? Samuel Beresford – was he my friend? Had he come to visit us that morn then he might have persuaded me to stay. But he did not, and so I departed Burlington Row and travelled with Freddie to Chiswick again, arriving at another house well hidden behind some high brick walls, behind which the pale rays of a wintery sun made glittering jewels of the gravel drive, or glanced off Italianate pillars which supported a looming portico, with steps rising up on either side – that looked like a gigantic stage. Adjoined to that elegant stone visage was a less prepossessing red-brick wing, something far more recently built and from which many windows drew my eyes, one of them being tall and arched, glinting more flashes of wavering light.

A telegram had been sent ahead, and Uncle Freddie was also armed with the letters that proved him my guardian, and nothing about them contrived or forged, for I had not realised before but, apparently, at our adoption, he and Papa had reached an agreement, whereby should Papa fall ill or die then Freddie would guarantee our care. All had been drawn up legitimately.

A nurse in a pale blue uniform received us at the entrance door and then requested we sit and wait. A brochure was laid on a table near by, its cover adorned with a sketch of the house and the lovely gardens all around – and to see that I felt such a lurch in my breast, for surely it was Elijah’s hand. And that should
have strengthened my resolve, but even with Freddie there at my side, his promise that I should come to no harm, so many doubts were rising up, bubbles of panic that popped in my mind as I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

In the ceiling above us I saw painted cherubs cavorting through azure skies, as if playing hide and seek in the clouds. A plump-faced boy held a bow in his hands. I supposed he must be Cupid. He looked very much like Elijah to me, when Elijah was still a little boy. I glanced from that scene to a great stone hearth. The marble was carved with the face of an ogre. He might have been modelled on Osborne Black. And then, the third player in this little drama, this triangle of twisted love, when, through the gap in some half-closed door, I saw two more blue uniforms and between them a woman dressed in grey, looking as limp as a child’s rag doll, and being barely sensible, she suddenly slumped in a heap to the floor. The nurses struggled to pull her up – and then they were gone, and I saw nothing more but the filthy soles of two webbed feet being dragged across the polished boards.

Pearl!
I clamped a hand to my mouth to stop myself calling out her name. I would never have known her if not for those feet. Her hair, her glory, was shorn away. She had the look of a starving wraith. Some blood was trickling from her mouth, around which her face was a papery grey, and her lovely green eyes looked glazed and blind. But, despite the shock of seeing her – Pearl like a ghost, as fragile as glass – and despite Uncle Freddie’s gasping, ‘Oh!’, I managed to gather my wits enough to lift a finger to my lips, to warn him not to say a word.

We were soon called in for my interview, what the nurse called my ‘initiation’. What on earth could that be? I was petrified. I saw through barely focused eyes that loathsome Dr Evans, who smiled when he saw us enter the room, though his elbows remained on a tabletop, his chin cupped in blubbery dimpled hands. I kept my hands tightly clasped in front. I heard Uncle Freddie’s shuddering breaths, as if
he
was the one to be put away, while another man, Dr Cruikshank his name – the
same Cruikshank of whom Elijah wrote – introduced us to his wife, and rather fearsome I thought her to be, especially when she caught my eye.

I was asked to sit at a long narrow table upon which a glass of water was set. I kept staring at that, and I don’t know why but I thought of the stream at Kingsland House, and the time when Elijah fished with a jar. I kept thinking of Pearl and her misery. I hardly noticed any talk going on between Freddie and those men, during which some forms were being signed, after which Dr Cruikshank called my name.

His spectacle lenses were very thick, making his eyes oddly magnified, and who knew what emotions lay behind when he spoke of my condition then. ‘Sick fancies’ I understood well enough, but those other terms he was using, what could they possibly mean? Words like ‘
frenosi pellagrosa
’ that rolled off his tongue like poetry, while the moist lips of Dr Evans pursed, his brow lowered and beetled into a frown when he sighed and shook his head and said, ‘Mr Hall, we must only hope that your ward has not been compromised after her nocturnal wanderings. She is best kept safely secured away until this restlessness abates. We shall strive to do our best, to nip the condition in the bud.’

I sensed danger. I gave a small cry of alarm. ‘Oh, Freddie, what will they do?’ But no doubt that only helped to confirm the extremity of my ‘nervous state’, and Freddie probably misconstrued, thinking it all a part of my ‘act’, reaching out for my hand and calmly assuring, ‘Lily . . . my dear, the doctors will take good care of you. I shall come back tomorrow afternoon. I shall come and visit every day until you’re completely well again.’

‘I’m not sure that would be advisable.’ Dr Evans was gruff, shifting in the chair, which creaked beneath his heavy weight. The straining seams of his trouser legs were pulled so taut over mountainous thighs that the cloth formed furrowing pleats, like knives.

Dr Cruikshank spoke softly but firmly. ‘We recommend
no visits for at least the first two weeks. Ideally, I would say a month . . . as much for the patients’ sakes as our own, to enable them to settle down – to grow used to all the establishment’s ways.’

If Freddie was not permitted to visit then how would our plan be realised? ‘No . . . no, do not leave me,’ I shouted then, tearing my hands through my unbrushed hair – the knots deliberately left in place to enhance the appearance of distress, at which Freddie gently restrained my arm as he turned to the doctors again and said, ‘Gentlemen, to place Lily in your capable hands will relieve my mind of the greatest weight but I
must
insist on visiting. I owe as much to her grandfather. And then, of course, more selfishly, I might chance to learn more about your work.’ Freddie leaned forward towards Dr Cruikshank, conveying a serious intent. ‘I have read almost all of your papers. I found the studies riveting, deserving a wider audience. Perhaps you might yet be persuaded to consider any future works being published by my company?’

‘Why, of course! We prophets have need of disciples.’ Dr Cruikshank was smiling benignly, his ego well oiled by Freddie’s bribe. ‘Tomorrow, then, we might talk at more length. Perhaps you will join me for afternoon tea?’

At that Dr Cruikshank rose up from his chair. ‘But for now, and to set your mind at ease, I suggest a tour of the house, so that you . . . and Lily . . . may be quite sure that she will be left in the kindest of hands.’

The doctor led the way to the doors, limping a little, using a stick. It made a horrible tap tap tap which echoed off the wooden boards.

Dark, though still early evening it was when I lay on a narrow iron bed in a room that could not have been less like the one where I’d slept the night before. Plain walls. No mirrors. No drapes at the windows, where the latches of shutters had all been locked. Even if I could have opened them up I would need
to have sprouted wings to fly, being so high, on the second floor.

I lay very still. I was listening hard, my breaths coming slow and rhythmic – not at all like Freddie’s had been when he finally said goodbye to me. We were in the patients’ drawing room, and quite pleasant it was, quite homely, with comfortable seating all around, and the potted fern beside a piano, and the set of French doors – both then closed up – which led on to a small veranda. From there, stone steps approached the lawns, where croquet hoops were silver-hoared, almost like little arches to fairyland. I thought I should have to tell Papa. But, right then, Papa and his fairy tales seemed farther away than ever before. That place contained no frail old men, though there was an old woman asleep in a chair, a framed picture of Queen Victoria clutched in her swollen veiny hands, her head lolled on one shoulder, her mouth catching flies while she snored away at the fire’s side. She put me in mind of Ellen Page, making me more nostalgic for home with every single second that passed, until diverted by the girl who knelt on the rug at that old woman’s feet, who began to hum a nursery rhyme while fitting some pieces of puzzle together. She had a moon face, two small blue eyes and a beaming smile through which issued a gruff and lisping voice. ‘Hello, Doctor Cruikshank. Have you brought a new friend to play with me?’

I smiled back and registered that both she and her older insensible friend were dressed in gowns of plain grey serge which were fastened from neck to hem with a long line of ugly black buttons. When I saw Pearl she’d been wearing the same. It must be the asylum uniform. But where were the other patients? Were these the only ones fit to display?

Almost as if he could read my mind Dr Cruikshank took great pains to explain, ‘At this time of day most of the inmates rest in their room before coming down again to dine. We always eat early in winter months. The darkness can so oppress the mind. We like to adhere to what my wife calls her “governess hours”, with plain and simple nursery food to keep the digestion
regular . . . to keep everyone settled and calm. It’s very well known that spicy recipes can lead to attacks of hysteria.’

He was tapping his cane against his thigh while sidling closer to Freddie and speaking confidentially. ‘Women are so like children, you see, in their appetites for unhealthy food. It is the heat and overexcitement that causes most of the trouble . . . not to mention this modern obsession with reading books and magazines. You will note we have none available here. Why, half the women in my care would probably be entirely sane but for the stimulation brought on by the use of literature. I dare say that might be the problem with Lily? Hmm,’ he turned to smile at me, ‘an inflamed imagination encouraging our young somnambulist to go out and about in search of romance, going to places where she should not!’