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
CHAPTER SEVENTEENMonday, 9 February Lost in thought, Claire sat at the dressing table brushing her hair. The dark smudges under her eyes testified to her continued lack of sleep. The sore on her genitals worried her, and the damned noises were still keeping her awake. But now she knew it wasn’t only Sally who couldn’t hear them. On Saturday afternoon she and Marianne had been in the kitchen chatting over their coffees when the chapel bell tolled. Marianne didn’t seem to notice the sound. In the end, she’d asked if the bell bothered her, but Marianne’s response, “What bell?” said it all.She’d pushed it aside by saying, “Just testing.” but Marianne had looked at her in an odd way, calculating almost, as though trying to gauge what was going on in her head.Claire glanced at her watch. Swapping her brush for her mobile, she rang the surgery number. Engaged. As usual, getting through would be a long slog. She shifted on the padded stool and tried to ignore the twinge of discomfort.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENThursday, 12 August, 1869Of the high temperatures endured during the past few weeks, today seemed to be the hottest yet. Ellen, bored and slightly nauseous, lay on her cot. Her skin, a mass of red marks from her rough shift and continual itching, caused her intense discomfort.Harriet, on the other bed, lay curled toward the window. A couple of the small panes in each window of the asylum could be opened but by only a few inches. As an unfortunate consequence, the cramped dormitories and rooms were stifling and smellier than rotting fish at Billingsgate.Hardly any staff had shown up this morning, so straw plaiting had been cancelled for the day. Mrs. Craven, cranky to the extreme, had told them to stay in their room.Their door was open in the vain hope of some circulating air, but the stench from the crowded halls far from any windows, almost overpowered the instinctive impulse to draw breath. Ellen stared at the ceiling. For what must have been the hundredth t
CHAPTER NINETEENFriday, 13 February Gary nudged Alex, who was still half-asleep on the sofa. “Get up, mate. You look like a shagged-out sloth.”Persistent fingers dug into Alex’s shoulders. He let out an irritated mumble. “I wish.”He opened his eyes, groaned, and closed them again. The last thing he wanted was the pale gurning face of Gary breathing on him at such close proximity. “Piss off. I’m awake now.”Gary, dressed in a tracksuit, opened his mouth and tipped back his head in a full yawn.“Just got up myself. Overslept. Again.” He grimaced at the leaden sky beyond the window. “No wonder. Still dark out and it’s gone eleven. I hate this weather.”“Me too.” Alex sat up. He lowered his bare feet to the carpet.“Fancy a bevie?” Gary asked as he padded toward the kitchen.Clatters and bangs sounded from the other room. Soon the smell of coffee filtered through to the lounge.“Looks like Paul’s up and gone. Fancy not waking us.”Alex shrugged, thankful for small mercies. H