CHAPTER NINEMonday, 8 DecemberMarianne jabbed the doorbell for the fifth time.“Come on, Claire,” she muttered, “It’s freezing out here.”She pressed the button again and held it down. When her finger threatened to lose all feeling, she removed it and blew on her hands. It had been warm on the bus, but after her walk up the long drive to Belle Vue’s front entrance, she didn’t fancy standing in the cold without good reason. She half-jogged to the edge of the step and looked toward the chapel. She’d noticed a flash of blue and white on her way up, but from this direction she had a better view. A stream of tape circling a couple of trees at the back of the small church fluttered in the wind. When she got in the warm and thawed out, she’d ask Claire about it. Marianne trotted back to the door. Another jab, then another.“Hello?” A groggy voice crackled through the intercom.“Claire, are you okay?”“Just woke up. Christ, what time is it?”“Worry about that later. Let me in before
CHAPTER TENThursday, 22 April, 1869Mary finished the last of her eel pie. She wiped her lips and took another mouthful of ale. The London & North Western Railway service she’d taken from King’s Cross to St. Albans arrived well before noon in good time for lunch. Bill had met her at the station as instructed and they were now seated in the White Hart Inn partaking of a light repast.She smirked at her future brother-in-law. The blank mask of his expression gave nothing away. Well, neither would she. He didn’t intimidate her. She had plans for Bill, just as she had plans for Jack—and Ellen, of course. Her half-sister had been at Belle Vue over two months now. She seemed to spend much of her time composing letters asking her to visit and complaining it wasn’t what she expected. No doubt, Lady Muck would expect her to listen to her endless whining. She was curious to see the asylum after all this time, though.She sat back in her chair and raised her arm to pat her vibrant coiffu
CHAPTER ELEVENFriday, 19 December “Hamish? Professor Quigly?” Alex knocked twice. He pushed open the door and peered into the spacious office.His tutor’s round ebony face beamed. Hamish placed the sheaf of papers he held on top of a pile of similar documents. He moved away from the neat rows of books lining the wall.“Come in, come in,” he beckoned Alex, with the merest trace of a Scottish lilt, fluttering his fingers like streamers in a wind tunnel.Hamish nodded toward the green leather Chesterfield. Alex sat down and took out a wire-bound notebook and pen from his laptop case. Meanwhile, Hamish tidied the journals on the coffee table. Casting a rueful glance at his curious expression, Hamish gingerly seated himself on the matching armchair. “Piles,” he said, with a grimace.“Pardon?”“Hemorrhoids, man. Bane of my life. Still when you get to over forty-five.” Hamish chuckled. “Well, let’s say fifty and leave it there.” His hand lifted in the direction of his white-flecked a
CHAPTER TWELVESaturday, 11 October, 1862When Mary discovered what the role of scullion in the Duc de Montalt’s London house entailed, she was not greatly impressed. Shocked would be a better description. To think Mam—as she’d called Catherine then—and Father Patrick had put her forward for such a lowly position. Nothing but grinding drudgery in the kitchens from first thing in the morning to gone midnight. It was the only vacancy, they’d said, but for all their poverty, she thought Mam had been preparing her for better work than this. She even slept in a box bed that folded out of a cupboard in the scullery corridor, for God’s sake. No privacy at all. Mam had responded by saying if she used her brain and worked hard, she could rise one day to become a cook or housekeeper. Mary noted she hadn’t said Lady’s Maid, as Catherine had been when her family fell on hard times. As though Mary wasn’t cut out for that exalted position. No doubt, the precious Ellen, safe and cosseted by Mam at
CHAPTER THIRTEENFriday, 16 January Claire gripped the steering wheel, pressed the accelerator, and crossed the junction as the light turned red. She drove back to her apartment by rote, her mind a whirl. The exam this morning had been a disaster: so much for Public Relations being her best subject. On her answers today, she couldn’t manage a good turnout for the Pope at a Catholic convention.What was wrong with her? Okay, she hadn’t done as much revision as she’d have liked. She found it so hard to concentrate these days and couldn’t remember a thing. Her stomach had rumbled its way through the seemingly endless three hours, despite the cereal, toast, chocolate bar, and banana she’d eaten at breakfast. To top it off, Alex was miffed because she’d told him she was going to stay in and crash this weekend: catch up on her sleep and hopefully get some work done on her own dissertation. Talk about selfish. It was as if he didn’t want her to do well. His first class honors was in the b
CHAPTER FOURTEENWednesday, 30 June, 1869Fanned by the breeze, the warm rays of the afternoon sun caressed Johnson Nottidge’s face. He relaxed and indulged himself in a recollection of his numerous sexual encounters over the past month or so. Eyes closed, his memories flitted from his conquests in London to those closer to home. As his mind wandered to his current location—the grounds of Belle Vue—thoughts of Samuel and Adelaide Fishburn turned up like bad pennies to blight his enjoyment.Dreadful man, with a dreadful wife. Fishburn was nothing but a stooge for his ‘lean and hungry’ spouse. She was about as trustworthy as Cassius, too. Given the choice though, he still preferred the Matron. Greed, lust, wrath, and vanity were all emotions he understood. He remembered how surprised he’d been when he’d peered through the front window of Bill Callahan’s cottage last week and saw her fellating the Head Attendant like some third-rate whore. He had not made a sound and they hadn’t notice
CHAPTER FIFTEENFriday, 6 February “Not another workout?” Claire asked, raising her eyebrows in obvious disbelief.Marianne bustled into the sitting room in her old tracksuit. She stopped by the sofa where Claire reclined with her feet up.“I know. Weird, huh? It’s like a magnet. If you told me a month ago how much I’d be using the health club, I’d have said you were mad.” Marianne laughed and wondered aloud, “Maybe there are forces here compelling me to get fit.”“Well, they don’t work for me. I feel lousy and can’t remember the last time I had the urge to do any exercise.” Claire yawned. She ran her hands over her face. “Ugh. Spots, bags, and crusty eyes. I bet I look awful, too.”Marianne gazed at Claire with dismay at how frail and washed out she looked but responded automatically. “No, you don’t.”A telling pause as Claire’s face seemed to acknowledge her tactful, but untrue words. Marianne continued, “You’ve lost a bit of your oomph with all this final year stress. Why do
CHAPTER SIXTEENSaturday, 24 July, 1869“Who could have done such a terrible thing?” The Reverend Theodore Croft’s nose quivered with righteous indignation.Bill Callahan stifled a yawn. Normally, he and Croft saw eye-to-eye since the vicar took it as one of his functions to strengthen the arm of authority in the asylum. He did this by persuading inmates to accept confinement in this world on the promise of freedom in the next. On this occasion, however, he was on his high horse about a bit of damage in the chapel where they now stood. And, he told Callahan, holding him as Head Attendant responsible.Croft picked up one of the blood-spattered Bibles. “Such mindless desecration. It only proves my argument that moral turpitude causes insanity.” The Chaplain’s voice rose. “But how did they get in? I locked the door after evening prayers last night, and I unfastened the padlock this morning.”“Is there another entrance, Vicar?” Bill asked, making no effort to keep the mockery out of h