The Darlings of the Asylum, page 20
‘It’s for your own good, my dear,’ said Mrs Clinch, gazing at me ruefully.
Mrs Clinch and another attendant took me back to the ward. My temper was spent and I was weary, so I stood unmoving as they pulled the strong dress over my head. They pushed my hands and arms into the sleeves which were stitched to the side of the dress, then they tied the strings at the back tightly. They each took an arm and dragged me to the bed, stiff as a board, then they wound the bed sheets around me, pulling them tight over my chest and neck until I thought I might suffocate. Finally, they wrapped a blanket around the entire bed, tucking it under the mattress and clasping me so fast that I couldn’t move my limbs. It was still broad daylight.
After that, they left me alone, unable to move from the neck down. It was a long time before the light began to fade. In the depths of the building, I heard dormitory doors slam shut and keys turn in locks. The sedative made my eyelids heavy, and I lost consciousness. I awoke at some point to find it dark as sin, but for a misty brown strip of light around the door and a ghostly luminescence above the small iron grate in the floor. The gas boilers in the basement shuddered for the last time before shutting down for the night. I had never grown used to the utter silence of the countryside and it spooked me, especially now I was unable to move. I fell into another stupor and dreamed of an army of spectral spiders with long spindly legs scuttling over my face in the moonlight. I was awakened by a screech, an owl perhaps, or a woman locked in the strong room down in the basement. In the dorm next door, someone complained about a bed-soiler. The air was cold on my face, and the room smelled damper. Under the tight bedding, I was stifled and sweating. Itches in various places kept me awake for a time, maddening and persistent. Under the covers, I tried to move my hands, my fingers flexing helplessly in the padded fingerless gloves. I struggled with all my might to free myself. I thought of the long night ahead of me and panicked. I was helpless and suffocating. I wouldn’t be able to stand this for another hour, let alone until morning. My heart raced. I screamed. An attendant came in and untied me from the side-arm dress and gloves. She opened the little window overhead to its full extent, then pressed a damp flannel to my forehead. Not long after, I drifted into darkness.
24
One morning, about a week later, I lay in bed, trying to rouse myself from the gluey sleep induced by the sleeping draught I’d been plied with the night before. There was a knock on the door and Mrs Tuckwell entered. It was rare to get a visit from her, so I knew it must be something momentous.
‘Your father is coming later this morning,’ she announced, without preamble. ‘Up you get now, ready yourself.’
I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes. ‘Papa coming? That can’t be. I was given no warning.’
‘It’s come as a surprise to me too. Perhaps Dr Rastrick was concerned you’d become overwrought if you had advance notice.’
I looked at the blue silk dress hanging limply on the door hook, its frayed collar and cuffs, its washed-out colour, with creases and signs of repair everywhere.
‘Had I known my father was coming, I’d have had a dress laundered and pressed. And my hair …’
‘Quickly now, there’s no time to waste.’
After breakfast, Mrs Clinch helped me rinse my hair. Then she propped a small mirror against the wall on the little desk in my room. I viewed the ravages of so many weeks in the asylum. The outdoor work had coarsened my appearance. My complexion was ruddy. The luxuriant black curls of my hair that once clustered over my brow, now lay flat, dry and brittle. Most harrowing of all was the expression in my eyes.
‘We’ll soon have you looking like a duchess,’ said Mrs Clinch, scraping the brush through my hair.
I tried to collect myself. In spite of all, I must appear composed to Papa. I had to convince him I was in my right mind. I would tell him how I longed to see Mama, that she was never out of my thoughts. That I regretted my behaviour towards Felix. I would persuade him to allow me home, even if only for a few days. By which time, he and Mama would be convinced I was better off staying home permanently. But what did I dare reveal of Dr Rastrick’s machinations?
‘There, that will do,’ said Mrs Clinch. ‘You look a picture. You’d cut any girl in England to shivers.’
After that, the bellicose Miss Nettleship took over, escorting me to the Committee Room with her usual ill grace. As we descended the broad central staircase, I was suddenly lightheaded. The steps beneath me billowed and rolled and the staircase plunged into shadow. I gripped the banisters and shut my eyes for a moment, catching my breath and waiting until I could trust myself to descend to the bottom. Nettleship issued a long-suffering sigh. We reached the ground floor and made our way along the broad corridor that led to the main entrance, then we turned a corner and stopped at the committee room where I’d had my encounter with Miss Fanshaw. Miss Nettleship unlocked the door.
Once we were inside, she sat in a chair by the door and I took a seat at the far end of the long table where the Committee of Visitors and other dignitaries had their meetings. The chamber had the stale, dingy smell of a room that was in use only infrequently. Miss Nettleship took out a book from her apron pocket and began reading, her brow knotted: ‘The Handbook for the Instruction of Attendants on the Insane’.
I looked at my hands, which were dark as mahogany from the sun, and covered in little nicks and bramble scratches, the skin dry and flaking, the fingernails worn down to the quick. I had always had quite large hands for a woman, and now after months of toil in the kitchen garden they were like those of a hardy peasant. I hid them in my lap. A glint from an object on top of a cabinet caught my eye. It was a silver ornament in the shape of a cricket bat mounted on a wooden plinth. Engraved on it were the words: ‘HAROLD A. RASTRICK, GOLDEN BAT AWARD, 1857, LEWES OLD GRAMMAR SCHOOL’. Just then, I heard Dr Rastrick’s voice in the corridor. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he sounded like the soul of discretion, an exemplar of calm authority and civility. My father, by comparison, sounded subdued, uncertain, more querulous than when I’d last heard him.
Finally, Papa stepped into the room, looking a little lost. He held his bowler in his hands and was turning it in circles absent-mindedly. He was greyer and more drawn than before. When he saw me, his eyes filled with tears. I leapt to my feet and ran into his arms, stifling my sobs against his chest. He stroked my hair, just as he had when I was his little Honeysop, and I had come running to him after one of my tantrums. We went to sit down, far enough from Miss Nettleship to speak with comparative privacy.
‘I’d have been here sooner,’ said Papa, ‘but Dr Rastrick decided the head attendant should give me a tour of the grounds, showing me the gasworks and so on. Then he insisted on presenting me with the latest report on the asylum.’
‘Tell me – how is Mama? I think of her constantly.’
‘She’s more herself as time passes. She sends her love. She misses you too.’
‘Did Miss Fanshaw pay you a visit?’
‘She did, indeed. The woman’s a formidable advocate on your behalf. She encouraged me to press Dr Rastrick to grant me an interview with you and, well, I’m here as you see.’
‘Miss Fanshaw said Mama was in a bath chair.’
‘Let’s not concern ourselves overmuch with Mama for now. I’m here to find out how you are faring.’
‘And my brothers – how are they?’
‘The two middle boys are well. And little Archie has settled into prep school.’
‘And Lance?’
Papa sighed and bowed his head. ‘You’ll remember he attempted to join the Guards. Well, I’m afraid he hasn’t been successful, and he’s taken it rather badly.’
‘Oh dear.’
Papa glanced at Miss Nettleship. Noting she was preoccupied with her book, he removed something from his jacket pocket and put it in my hand. I glanced at it before quickly slipping it into a pocket of my dress; it was a small cloth purse tied with a drawstring.
Papa leaned towards me and said quietly, ‘You might order some books, or some sweets.’
‘I doubt Dr Rastrick would allow me to buy books. You spoke to him about my progress?’
He looked away, towards the window, where the wind shook the bare autumn branches in a kind of dream. ‘I understand you’ve been working in the gardens. You’re brown as a berry. It might be the right prescription for you. Perhaps the doctor’s right – it’s as well not to have your nose in a book all of the time.’
‘He allows me children’s books and Tennyson. And the Bible, of course. But I’m altogether forbidden to paint.’
Papa looked at me. ‘Yes, he said that you’d gone against his wishes and done some drawings. Perhaps it’s for the best. I seem to recall you were making all those pictures before … well, before.’
‘If I could come home, I’d be able to help Mama,’ I said. ‘Managing the servants, keeping the books. I can support her. Everything will be different. If only she would come to visit me, and we could talk.’
There was a loud snore. I looked over and saw Miss Nettleship had fallen asleep, her chin on her chest and her lower lip protruding, her book still open in her hands.
‘Papa, listen to me,’ I whispered urgently. ‘Things here are not as they seem. Dr Rastrick is a dangerous man with perverse obsessions.’
‘Please, don’t overexcite yourself, my dear. Rastrick’s a pompous windbag, I grant you, but he seems level-headed.’
‘He’s too cunning to do anything that looks untoward, but he means to drive me mad.’
‘My dear, you’re not yourself, you don’t look yourself. You’re likely imagining things. Is there anything in particular that he’s done?’
‘Look, we haven’t time. Arrange for me to come home before it’s too late. If I’m not better in a few weeks then you can send me back. I will agree to seeing another consultant if you wish – one unconnected with Dr Rastrick. He has no grounds to keep me here, not really …’
‘This is his field so we must abide by his judgement. And after all … Perhaps you’ve forgotten why we were obliged to send you here in the first place.’
The room pivoted and I thought I might faint. ‘Papa, the longer I remain here, the worse it will be for me. I cannot endure much more, and if you won’t help me then who on earth will? You don’t know what Dr Rastrick is like. He’s persuasive, oh, so very persuasive. But there’s a dark side to him you haven’t seen. I have good reason to believe he intends to lock me away here for good.’
‘Why would you think such a thing?’
‘I’ve overheard him say as much. And he wants to experiment on me and other women.’
Papa shook his head, disbelieving. ‘But what has he actually done to you?’
There was a loud sound, and I near jumped out of my skin. I turned and saw it was only Miss Nettleship snoring again. She was sound asleep.
‘Listen, Papa. He has me wrapped in sheets at night so tight I can barely breathe. He never listens to a word I say, is forever poking and prodding me, plying me with sleeping draughts to keep me docile, testing my reflexes with a little hammer and … he’s performed the most intimate examinations. He has a peculiar preoccupation with my most private bodily functions.’
‘Isn’t that the sort of thing these doctors routinely do? And, for all I know, he’s had cause to restrain you. He told me you’ve shown a tendency to fly off the handle, which came as little surprise to me. He said that recently you seized his case notes and tried to tear them up.’
‘Yes, because I’d seen the vile lies he’d written about me. He uses the fact that Grandpapa had several spells in an asylum as evidence against me. He keeps other doctors away from me, except for one junior fellow, a milksop who he can bully into doing whatever he likes. I overheard him talking to some other mad-doctors, and he told them he wanted to lock women with hereditary madness in asylums to stop them having children. That’s what he’s doing here, I’m sure of it, while he pretends to be running an ordinary asylum. Everybody here calls the women his “darlings”. I’m one of them. He has taken photographs of us. He says they’re to train doctors to recognize symptoms of insanity, but really it’s to prove his theory.’
‘He’s taken a photograph of you? Good Lord. Suppose people were to see it? Visitors and the like. What use is it being a private patient if he uses no discretion?’
‘He regards himself as rational and objective, yet any sane person can see he is doing these things to me, and to other women, for peculiar and unseemly reasons. He has an unhealthy fascination with certain women. I think it’s because we offend his notions of how women should be.’
‘But listen, my dear – if you lose control of yourself, then what is he to think? You’ve always had that tendency …’
‘I know I have a fearful temper. But so too does Lance, and he’s far more violent than me, and yet nobody ever questions his sanity.’
He scratched his head, and looked about him, bewildered. ‘What am I to do? I’ve never liked Rastrick. But your mother sees him as the fount of all wisdom.’
At that moment there was a loud thump on the other side of the room. Miss Nettleship groaned, then roused herself and looked about her in a daze. She pushed herself up to standing, and picked her book up from the floor. Then she took out her watch and peered at it.
‘Heavens above, we’ve run over by five minutes. Mr Pring, I’m afraid Dr Rastrick’s orders are that we’re not to tire out your daughter, so I must ask you to say your farewells.’
Papa rose to his feet. He walked over to Miss Nettleship with a determined stride.
‘Fetch Dr Rastrick for me, would you?’
Miss Nettleship puffed out her chest. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I’m telling you to fetch Dr Rastrick. I wish to speak with him immediately.’
‘But Dr Rastrick’s a very busy man. I can’t ask him to stop what he’s doing, just like that … The head attendant, Mr Pockock, might be able to speak with you.’
‘In that case, you may tell Dr Rastrick that I am removing my daughter from his care with immediate effect.’
‘Wait! You mustn’t do that, sir. It’s against the regulations. Just give me a moment and I’ll get him. Stay right where you are.’
While we waited for her return, Papa stood on the spot, rocking on his heels, his brow knotted and his lips moving although he uttered no sound.
‘Papa, we should go now, right away. Let’s not wait for Dr Rastrick. He will find a way to keep me here. Where is the carriage?’
‘Leave this in my hands.’
Then Dr Rastrick appeared, looking ruffled and annoyed. ‘You wished to see me?’
‘I’m removing my daughter from here. Without further notice. Send me your bill, and I’ll settle it.’
Dr Rastrick shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that’s not possible.’
‘I insist on it, sir,’ said Papa.
‘Look, shall we sit down and discuss this? Whatever the problem is, I’m sure it can be quickly rectified.’ He pulled out a chair for Papa, and sat down himself. But Papa remained standing. ‘I think it best that Miss Nettleship takes Violet elsewhere while we discuss this difficulty.’
‘I’m not letting my daughter out of my sight.’
‘Well, this is irregular. I can’t think what’s persuaded you to take this line with me.’ He glanced at me as he said it. ‘Of course, it can be most upsetting to encounter a close family member in these circumstances.’
‘I intend to get another physician’s opinion on my daughter’s condition.’
Dr Rastrick massaged his temples with finger and thumb. ‘I think we should consider the implications before doing anything rash.’
‘My mind’s made up. From now on, I intend to take full responsibility for Violet’s care.’
Dr Rastrick deliberated for a moment. ‘I must warn you that removing Violet at this delicate stage in her treatment would put her at great risk.’
‘You think all your learning gives you an exclusive purchase on the truth, but I beg to differ. I’m taking her home.’
‘I’m simply offering my clinical opinion, based on empirical evidence. In our conversation earlier, I alluded to certain worrying tendencies. And I would point out that your daughter is not my sole concern. I have responsibilities to the public as a whole and cannot allow a patient with Miss Pring’s history to be released without due consideration. Her admission was fully certified and is legally binding. You were made aware of this at the time. If you abscond with your daughter, she will be sought out and returned to this hospital.’
What ‘history’? I wondered, frantically. What was it that had happened in the interval of time that was lost to my memory?
‘Are you threatening me, sir?’ said Papa.
Dr Rastrick lowered his voice, and adopted a more accommodating manner. ‘Please, Mr Pring, there’s no need to take that tone. There are certain matters I prefer not to discuss with your daughter present, in particular your wife’s condition.’
‘Mama’s condition?’ I cried. ‘Is she worse than I thought? Is that why she hasn’t come to visit me? I must see her.’
Dr Rastrick sighed. ‘Your daughter is becoming increasingly distressed, Mr Pring. I’d be remiss if I didn’t intervene.’ He rose to his feet and summoned Miss Nettleship, took her to one side and muttered some instructions to her, after which she hurried off.
Papa loured at Dr Rastrick. I had never seen him this way before. ‘When you’ve given Violet her medicine, we’ll take our leave of you,’ he said.
‘For your own sake, Mr Pring, think clearly about the consequences of what you propose. Please, sit down for a moment. I insist.’
Papa and I sat down at the long table. He held my hand, as we listened to Dr Rastrick hold forth.
‘If you cast your mind back to the dreadful aftermath of that evening …’
I shook with fear. ‘What evening? What happened? Will one of you tell me?’
