Whispers of Bedlam Asylum (Sigmund Shaw Book 2) (23 page)

The doctor showed a little shock at first but then took on an appearance of great interest. “A prune? In what way? Color? Size?”

“I will have to put you in contact with him for particulars. I have not a medical mind. Can you at all explain his findings?”

Madfyre looked thoughtful for a moment and then answered, “I do not know of anything that could cause what you described. However, the mind is complex and I have no belief that I have come across all the ailments that attack it. Without more data, I am very much at a loss. Did the coroner provide a weight for the brain?”

The eagerness on Madfyre’s face made Holmes feel that the doctor cared more about the diagnosis than the poor dead patient. “I am afraid I was not given that detail. I will make sure the coroner comes prepared.”

“Thank you, Chief Inspector. This is most interesting. Please let me know if I can assist in any way.”

“Of course, doctor. Thank you.”

Madfyre returned to his office while Holmes entered the small room and awaited Sigmund. While waiting, Holmes thought about the reaction of Madfyre. He simply did not give away anything. The interest shown could point to culpability, but the demeanor was not one of a guilty person. Again, Holmes was no closer to the answer he was looking for.

Sigmund was not the first patient that was brought to Holmes for an interview. The three men that preceded Sigmund were, as far as the Chief Inspector could tell, just random individuals brought in by the constable. Despite the false role they were playing, Holmes dutifully asked each one a few questions about the murder. The answers were as expected and provided no new clues to the mystery.

When Sigmund entered and the door closed behind him, Holmes stood and gave his tired looking friend a warm handshake. “Survived another night, did you?”

Sigmund smiled and answered, “Excellent deduction, my dear Holmes.”

“Well,” said the Chief Inspector, “you seem to be in good spirits this morning. Or perhaps they have you on medication?”

“No, just wanted to make sure you knew that I still had my wits about me. I will tell you, though, this place makes one question that.”

Holmes nodded as they both sat down, “I do not doubt it. Now, Sigmund, we haven’t much time. In order to keep suspicions down, this meeting needs to be brief. I have two things that I must tell you.”

Sigmund’s ragged face allowed some expectation through, while he sat in silence and awaited the news.

Holmes said, “First, I checked with the Strand Magazine and found Charlotte Merrihail’s editor, a Mr. Godwit. He says that she is on an assignment here in Bedlam Asylum. I am not sure if that is the answer you were hoping for, but she is here pretending to be a patient.”

“I figured as much,” responded Sigmund. “I am no psychiatrist, but there is something about her sincerity that is hard to fake.”

“The other news,” Holmes continued, “is that the patient that killed Doctor Exton and then died had the brain ailment that you had described. He is somehow connected to your search.”

Sigmund rubbed a hand down his face as he concentrated on what he had just heard.

Holmes asked, “Any theories?”

“I am convinced that the ailment is not a disease, but that it is somehow caused by the hand of man. My suspicions revolve around Doctor Madfyre, but I have little proof of that.”

“He is a strange one,” Holmes agreed.

With a bit of urgency, Sigmund asked, “I need another favor.”

“Of course, how can I help?”

“I need you to remove any overnight watchmen. Whoever is behind this needs to feel as if they can continue safely. I want to catch them in the act.”

It took only a moment for the Chief Inspector to inwardly agree with the favor and he took pride in the courage of his friend. “Consider it done. Is there anything else I can do to help? Anything at all?”

With a smile of sincerity, Sigmund said, “Thank you, but no, not at this time.”

“Very well then, you had better be going.” The two men stood and once again shook hands. “Take care of yourself, Sigmund. It would be bad form if this was our last adventure together.”

“Yes, bad form, indeed.”

34.

Three Years Prior, Late Spring…

Noise, light,
wrong
. Silvester opened his eyes a crack and was overwhelmed by disorientation.
Where was he?

Flexing his fingers, he felt dirt and gravel beneath his hands and nails. His head swam with confusion and he tried to push himself up only to be defeated by a searing pain in his back. The sharpness and intensity of it took his breath away momentarily and caused a cold sweat to break out.

In an instant, his mind exploded with memories. The boat, the proposal, Amberlyn falling overboard and floating face down with blood dispersing around her head. Turning his head to the right, he could see along the shore of the Thames – somehow he was brought to shore – people were standing and looking in his direction, but Amberlyn was not among them. Turning his head to the left, he saw many people near him, some standing, others kneeling over a person – Amberlyn! She was lying on the ground, her skin was pale, her wet hair stuck randomly around her face, eyes closed.

Oh, please no!
The excitement and happiness that the day started with was now only a sarcastic memory of what it had turned into.
Please be okay, please!

Silvester continued to watch, helpless, unable to move, and couldn’t imagine a worse nightmare. People – his family, her family, and strangers – continued to try and awaken her, desperation emanating from everyone in sight.

Flat on his back, frozen by pain and fear, tears welled in Silvester’s eyes. The happiness that his life was depending on lay a few feet away, maybe dying, maybe dead. Moving his arm, he stretched it out towards her. Amberlyn was out of reach, but somehow it felt a little better being physically closer to her, even in this small useless way.

While blinking away blurry tears, Silvester heard shouts from the mass of people. It took a moment to refocus, but when he did, he saw Amberlyn’s eyes open. People hugged each other and some fell to their knees in pure relief. He started crying in earnest. His emotions were ravaging him unlike anything he had ever experienced and he could not accommodate anything other than sobbing.
She’s alive! Oh, thank God!

Although most still gave her earnest attention, a few now looked over at Silvester. His father kneeled next to him and asked, “How are you feeling, son?”

“I can’t move. My back is hurt,” was all he could manage to get out through his emotions.

A stretcher was brought and he watched as Amberlyn was put on it and taken away. His father turned to him and told him, “They are taking her to the hospital.”

Silvester nodded, then added, “Is she alright?”

“I think so. She was not breathing at first, but eventually came around. It was a close call that gave us quite a fright. What happened out there?”

How much did he want to say? The proposal happened, but there was no answer given. “She stood up in the boat and lost her balance. She fell overboard and when I tried to help I fell back into the boat.”

“That explains your injured back. You also have a hearty bump on your head. But don’t worry, we have another stretcher coming for you.”

“I don’t care about me, just make sure Amberlyn is taken care of.”

“Just relax. We’ll get this all sorted out.” His father smiled at him, giving a first glimpse of hope that the horrible episode was over.

It was not.

35.

Charlotte slept late the next morning. Her mind had been racing with so many thoughts of her article, of Sigmund, and a potential murderer, that sleep had not come easy the previous night. But when it did, it was sound. By the time she made it to the dining room, there were only a few people around, and even less food. A bowl of room temperature porridge, as thick as paste, was her breakfast.

The forgettable meal behind her, Charlotte resigned herself to another long day in the second floor women’s ward. The consistent atmosphere was unlike anything that she could have imagined. It was a mixture of great monotony and even greater tension. The routine was to sit with Jena and Anne, reading or talking – day in, day out. The tension came from the fellow patients, who were completely unpredictable, and the orderlies, who were also unpredictable and often cruel. Adding to that stress was the unanswered question to Sigmund about allowing her to assist in his investigation. On top of all of that, there was likely a murderer on the loose.

The only relief from stress, and not insignificant, was that Charlotte no longer needed to hide who she was from her two friends. That had been an additional burden that she was happy to have removed. Unfortunately, the other items were not so easy to deal with.

Throughout that day, the one time when Charlotte’s mind was distracted from all these concerns was when Jena asked, “Do you think my husband still loves me?”

Although Charlotte had considered the joy that Jena and Anne would have when released, she had not considered some of the painful realities that that release would also cause. Her mind turned to that future day and how Jena would leave the asylum, go to her home, knock on her own door, and then…what? Her husband would answer and be shocked at seeing the wife he had abandoned standing at his, their, entrance. Would he be happy? Would he be scared?

“Jena,” Charlotte answered, “it is hard for me to believe that someone could not love you, but no part of me can excuse the actions of your husband. Because of his selfishness, and no fault of your own, I cannot believe he has much, if any, love for you.”

If there was any hope to grab onto and share, Charlotte would have done so. However, there was none that she could find and there was no way that she would mislead Jena into false hopes.

Anne said, “My dear Jena, I must agree with Charlotte. Please be assured that whatever your husband’s reasons were for his actions, they were because of his mistakes. You are a wonderful woman that deserves so much more than what you have been given.”

Jena did not answer, just looked down at her hands with glistening eyes. Her future may be brighter outside of Bedlam, but it was not without its shadows.

*   *   *

Sigmund entered the dining room with Basil and Xavier for the evening meal. Among the first to arrive, they chose their seats near the door. As people filtered in, he watched for Charlotte. He felt an eagerness to tell her that he would accept her help. Since finding out from Holmes that she was who she claimed to be, he gave considerable thought to her offer. Initially, he was very much against the idea of having someone along with him. It added unknown variables to an already murky situation. Still, having a companion had benefits too. But beyond the basic pros and cons of the choice, Sigmund could not deny that he was very much intrigued by Charlotte. He wanted to include her; to share the experience. Her sincerity and passion were infectious and it became important, somehow, that he help her achieve her goals.

The meal was typical fare, a soup with a smattering of vegetables and bits of ham. Despite the ingredients, it tasted mostly like salty water. Diverting his attention to the entering patients was both an easy and welcome distraction from the food.

Charlotte entered before too long and Sigmund was happy that one of the first things she did was to scan the room for him. When they made eye contact, Sigmund smiled at her and motioned with his head towards the community room. After a moment’s consideration, Charlotte nodded and then sat down to her meal.

“There is something between you two,” commented Basil.

It was a statement of fact more than some kind of accusation. Basil was simply curious about his new friend and some less than normal behavior. Sigmund appreciated Basil and owed him a lot for his friendship. Since the day they met, Sigmund had fought a battle within himself about whether or not it was wise to tell Basil what his purpose in the asylum really was. It did not feel fair to keep this fine man in the dark.

“Are you done with your meal?” Sigmund asked.

“Quite.”

“Then let us relax in the community room. There are a couple of things I think we should discuss.”

Basil looked at Sigmund with a sideways glance and a half smile. He was certainly a good sport.

As the two men stood, Sigmund looked at Xavier and asked, “Will you be joining us?”

Without a word or a glance in Sigmund’s direction, Xavier stood and then followed them into the community room where they sat at one of the tables that contained a chess set. Besides the obligatory game, Sigmund made sure that they were not close to where any of the orderlies usually sat. The game pieces were not arranged and Xavier immediately went to setting them in place.

There was a touch of nervousness that Sigmund felt at the thought of confessing to Basil. He was not worried that Basil would betray him, but Sigmund was concerned that his friend might feel hurt at the charade.

“Basil, I must start with fact that you have been an excellent companion to me since my arrival and that I have battled with myself on whether or not to tell you what I am about to expose.”

“Other than this mysterious revelation, I can say the same thing about you. No offense, Xavier, but the days have been more tolerable since your arrival, Sigmund.”

It was a nice compliment and made Sigmund even more nervous at upsetting Basil. It was best to just get it out, Sigmund decided. “I did not attack a waiter, with a spoon or otherwise. With the help of Scotland Yard, I was admitted under that story in order to investigate the disease that we have talked about.”

“Well, now,” said Basil, “that is a bit of surprising news.”

Sigmund proceeded to tell him about all his findings, which was not much more than what he had already shared. He was, however, able to include his lock picking skills, and the incident with Mr. Baker, the orderly trying to assault one of the female patients.

“You did well to stop that animal,” commented Basil. “There are rumours of that kind of goings on, but I desperately hoped they were not true. I wonder if I would have been so lenient on him if I was there.”

Sigmund nodded and said, “Well, he will be in jail before too long. Chief Inspector Holmes will be made aware of all that has been happening here.”

“Ah, very good. I was called to meet with the Chief Inspector this morning. He asked a few questions that I had answered previously. A good chap by my reckoning.”

“That he is. I am afraid that you were called because of me. He had some information to pass along, but did not want to tip our hand by meeting only with me. He provided a couple pieces of information that was very interesting.”

“What did he say?”

“First, the patient that killed Doctor Exton had the same brain ailment that I have been investigating. Although I am not sure how, it is part of my investigation.”

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Basil. “That does turn things even darker, does it not?”

“It certainly does. If a person is behind all of this, which I believe there is, then the change in behavior is a strange twist.”

“Was there anything else the Chief Inspector told you?” asked Basil.

Sigmund smiled and said, “That brings us to Charlotte Caine; the woman I gestured to in the dining hall.”

“Why would the Chief Inspector have information on her? Do you think she is behind all of this?”

“Oh no! She is not a participant, at least not yet. I trust your discretion on this next bit of information as it does not fully belong to me to share. Charlotte Caine is actually Charlotte Merrihail, a writer for the Strand Magazine. She is here under false pretenses in order to write an article on the treatment of patients here at Bedlam Asylum. Her goal is to expose any wrongdoings and to help these poor individuals.”

Basil leaned back in his chair and had a stunned look on his face. Admittedly, he had just received a lot of unexpected information. Sigmund allowed time for it all to soak in. After thirty seconds or so, Basil said, “I am a man who is accustomed to some hardships and danger. My work in Egypt is not the easiest life, but it is also not the least bit dull. I am glad to have met you Sigmund, you have brought some much missed adventure back into my life.”

With a smile, Sigmund asked, “So, you are not cross at me?”

“Heavens, no! I am honored that you trust me enough to confide in me. Tell me, what can I do to help?”

Sigmund knew that if Basil was not mad at him, then he would no doubt want to help. He was that kind of man. Having one person with him on his nighttime investigation was already pushing his comfort level. There was no way he could include another person. “The best way you can help is by doing what you have been doing. Giving consideration to the details that we come across and try to figure out how they work together. I am still struggling to figure out how they all fit together, or why. Please continue to apply your mental efforts to this.”

“I am usually more of a doer than a thinker,” commented Basil, “but I will give it my full attention.”

Basil’s eyes looked away from Sigmund at something over his shoulder. When Sigmund turned to see what he was looking at, he found Charlotte approaching their table.

“Have a seat, my dear,” offered Basil. “Are you interested in a game?”

“Thank you, but no. I was hoping to talk with Sigmund.” She looked at Sigmund and gave a puzzled look.

“Charlotte,” Sigmund said, “it is alright. We can talk freely with Basil and Xavier. They know my purpose and,” he hesitated for a moment, “and yours too.”

A small look of surprise and perhaps a little hurt crossed her face. Sigmund quickly continued, “I apologize if this was too much out of line, but I trust these two implicitly.” He noticed a solemn look on Basil’s face as he also looked at her.

A small smile broke out on Charlotte’s lips and she said, “Fair enough,” and then sat down. She continued, “In this vein of honestly, I must admit something as well.”

It was Sigmund’s turn to be puzzled.

Charlotte went on, “I have also made some close friends here and have confided in them. Both about me and about you, Sigmund. I, likewise, have implicit trust in their judgement.”

There was a little hurt and worry that came to Sigmund’s mind. However, her act was the exact same act that Sigmund had done – expose a secret. The hypocrisy of his feelings was quickly overcome by the continued decision to trust Charlotte. Sigmund said, “Well, I think all the cards are on the table now. Are there any other secrets or confessions that anyone would like to bring up?”

There were smiles around the table but, since it was mostly a jest, no one spoke. Sigmund repeated the information about Cecil, the patient that died after murdering Exton, so that Charlotte had all the information that the rest of them had. Lastly, he told her that he would accept her offer of help.

With bright eyes and clear excitement, Charlotte exclaimed, “Thank you, Sigmund! You will not regret it.”

“No. I do not believe I shall.”

Arrangements were made for that very night.