Chapter 1 #4
Dread settled in Maggie’s stomach. Edward was to be bled, that much she could see, but what was the purpose of the chair? What was in the many bottles that the doctor had brought with him?
In the corridor, she hesitated, unwilling to bring Edward into the room, which now felt ominous. Putting off the moment she called down the stairs.
“Agnes?”
“Are you ready for me?”
Maggie did not know what she meant, but evidently she had expected the call. “Yes.”
There was a clatter of footsteps and Agnes came up the stairs carrying two empty brass buckets and a handful of cleaning rags, as well as a pail of fresh water. She edged past Maggie and went into the third room, putting the items down as directed by the doctor., Coming back out, she looked inquiringly at Maggie.
“I’m to fetch Edward,” said Maggie helplessly. She wanted to ask Agnes for reassurance that nothing terrible was about to happen, but the girl only nodded and clattered back down the stairs.
Maggie stood for a moment before she raised her hand and knocked.
“Come in.”
She opened the door. Edward sat opposite the door on his bed, fully clothed.
“Doctor Morrison is here, for your… treatments.”
He stood at once, but he was more pale than usual, and his hands were shaking.
“Are you well? I could ask him to… delay?” Almost asking for herself rather than him, for she had a mounting dread in her stomach.
He shook his head and clenched his hands into fists, as though to make the shaking stop, walked past her and into the corridor. He hesitated for a moment outside the third room, before he swallowed and entered.
Maggie followed.
“Good morning, Edward.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Take your usual seat and we shall get started.”
Edward lowered himself into the chair, making the chains rattle.
“Your shirt.”
Edward removed his jacket and waistcoat, handing both to Maggie without looking at her.
“Very good.” The doctor was busy mixing up powders in a small cup, adding a few drops of liquid from one of the bottles to create a paste.
Slowly, Edward peeled off his shirt and Maggie took it. His skin was very white.
“We begin with blistering, Maggie. I shall apply this paste to Edward’s back and chest. Blistering draws out noxious humours, which often abound in patients who are afflicted with melancholic thoughts.”
“What is that, sir?” Maggie dared to ask, indicating the paste.
“Ground blister-beetles, combined with pepper and mustard. We apply it to the skin, and by midday or so it will have raised blisters on his skin.”
Maggie stared as the doctor applied the paste in little mounds over Edward’s back and chest, then wrapped him in a strip of linen to hold the paste in place against the skin.
“Now, we shall proceed to bleeding him, which of course has long been efficacious in such cases and many other ailments. Pass me the scarificator from the table.”
“The?”
“Scarificator. The small brass box.”
She passed it and he removed the bottom half, revealing twelve tiny rotating blades. He pulled back a small lever on the box, then held it over Edward’s arm. Maggie wanted to stop him, but Edward seemed in a daze, making no attempt at refusal.
“The bleeding bowl, Maggie, if you would be so good. And a clean strip of linen.”
She fetched them and stood helpless as Doctor Morrison pushed down on Edward’s arm with the brass instrument, which made a click.
“It arms the blades, you see,” explained the doctor, as though Maggie had eagerly asked for details. With his thumb, he pressed a knob and Edward flinched. Blood began to flow, the doctor lifting the instrument away to show the twelve tiny cuts made in Edward’s skin, now bleeding rivulets into the bowl.
“Hold that there for a few moments, Maggie. Then we will do the other arm.”
She held it, staring into Edward’s face, but his eyes were on the floor as the blood flowed out of him. After a few moments, the doctor wiped and applied a dressing, before repeating the operation on the other side.
“There, we are making splendid progress,” he said with satisfaction. “Let us move on to the enema.”
“Sir –”
“Yes, Maggie?”
“Surely – all these treatments on one day, sir, is it not too much for Edward to bear all at once?”
The doctor frowned at her. “Thomas Willis has observed that lunatics are less susceptible to such pain as you or I might feel, Maggie. They can bear heat or cold, fasting, wounds and so on, far better than a sane person. Indeed, such treatment often has a beneficial effect on them. When Edward was first brought here, he had regular cold baths in winter and, even now, I only allow him to wash in cold water.”
Maggie said nothing. Who was she to question a physician? He must know what was correct, but Edward’s white face and hunched shoulders made her stomach clench, it could not be right to visit so much pain on him.
The doctor smiled. “You are very young and unused to this line of work, Maggie. You will learn. Bridget, now she was a very handy woman with Edward’s treatments. She could even do the bloodletting and blistering all by herself, indeed, she took something of a pride in it. Sadly, I lost her services to an asylum who valued her experience. But I shall train you up just as well, you will see.”
He had Edward remove his breeches and lie down on his stomach on the bare wooden floor while he administered the enema by means of a large pewter and wood syringe. Edward remained silent throughout while Maggie looked away, embarrassed and horrified. She would have liked to have left the room, to grant Edward some sense of dignity, but knew without asking that she would not be allowed.
“Now,” said the doctor. “We will leave him to feel the effects, I do believe it is midday and I am in need of sustenance. Eliza being the good cook that she is, I shall be well tended to, I believe. Come, Maggie.”
“May I stay with him, sir?”
“A faithful companion indeed! If you wish to.”
He nodded his approval and swept from the room.
“Leave, Maggie,” murmured Edward.
“I cannot leave you alone and in pain.”
He grimaced. “The cramps and their… results are not something I would wish you to witness, Maggie. They are humbling enough when I am alone.”
She winced. He was already in pain from the blistering and bloodletting, now the cramps would grip his belly and bowels until he had voided everything in the pail left here for the purpose. All she could offer him was dignity. “I will wait downstairs,” she said gently. “If you have need of me, call for me.”
He grimaced in pain as another cramp came but nodded and she backed out of the room.
In the parlour the doctor was sitting down to a bountiful meal of sliced ham, a wedge of cheese, fresh-baked bread and a pie, as well as a dish of strawberries, seed cake and a pot of tea.
He ate heartily over the next hour, apparently oblivious to the groans and sometimes cries of pain from upstairs. Maggie had food to eat with Eliza and Agnes in the kitchen, but sat, all appetite gone, her hands clenching under the table. The other two women were sombre, but did not speak, so that the three of them sat in silence, making the sounds above them even worse.
As Doctor Morrison came to the end of the meal, he called for Agnes. “You will help Maggie make all tidy upstairs. Let me know when you are done.”
“Yes, sir,” said Agnes, fetching a second pail of water and more cleaning rags.
Upstairs, Edward sat on the chair in exhausted silence. The room stank, but Agnes made short work of cleaning away the chamber pot, pail, and dirtied water that Edward had used to clean himself. Maggie opened the window to bring in fresh air and used clean water and soap to ensure his hands were clean and wiped his sweat-riven face with a strip of linen. He seemed barely able to sit upright, body half-folded in on itself in the chained chair.
Once Agnes had left, the doctor made his way back to them.
“Let us see about these blisters, eh?”
He unwound the linen strips and Maggie gasped, for Edward’s chest and back were now covered in raised blisters, each more than two inches across.
“Have you not seen blistering before?” enquired the doctor as though making polite small talk.
“No, sir.”
“Well now, we will snip each one open to release the effluence that has gathered and dress each wound. Some physicians leave them undressed, but I am of the opinion it is better to dress them.”
The paste was wiped away, then the doctor used a scalpel to cut open each blister and drain away the liquid within it, before dressing each one. Maggie swallowed hard as Edward gritted his teeth so as not to exclaim with pain as each one was cut open and dressed.
“Now to our last treatment of the day,” said the doctor, apparently well pleased. “Cox’s Swing.”
“Sir?”
He indicated the chained chair. “It is known as Cox’s Swing. Joseph Mason Cox oversees Fishponds Asylum, near Bristol. He is a preeminent physician in the field of lunacy. His book, Practical Observations on Insanity , is a most excellent source of reliable and efficacious treatments. The patient sits in the chair, which is hoisted upwards, so that their feet are comfortably off the ground. We revolve it in one direction for forty turns, until it is very tightly wound, before releasing it, so that it revolves very rapidly in the other direction. The rotation causes nausea and dizziness, as one might expect, which has been proven to be highly beneficial patients suffering from lunacy.”
Maggie took a deep breath but couldn’t stop the words spilling out. “It seems… unkind, sir?”
He chuckled. “You are soft-hearted, my dear. Let us proceed.”
“Please.” It was the first time Edward had spoken to the doctor. “Please, sir... not the chair.”
Maggie suppressed a gasp. Edward had borne being bled, blistered, his bowels emptied in the most violent fashion, yet he was afraid of the chair? How bad would it be?
“Now, Edward, I expect better of you.” Swiftly, he fastened the straps round Edward’s forearms and tightened the buckles. “Maggie, turn the handle so that the chair is raised from the ground.”
She hesitated.
“Come along, Maggie.”
She turned the handle with difficulty, straining against his weight. Inch by inch the chair lifted, until even Edward’s long legs could not keep his feet on the ground.
“Higher.”
A full foot from the ground.
“That should do it. Now, you must help me to rotate the chair for forty turns. There are mechanisms that do this, but I am afraid we must make do with this more primitive system here.”
One either side of the chair, they turned it, while the doctor counted and above them the rope holding the hook on the ceiling grew tight.
“One… two… three… five… ten…. fifteen… twenty-five… and forty.”
It took all of Maggie and the doctor’s combined strength to hold the chair in place.
“When I say the word, Maggie, you must let go and step back promptly , you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. Now !”
She let go and stepped back and the chair, released, spun so fast that Edward became a blur. He let out a cry and fell silent. The chair spun so violently that as it came to the end of its natural rotation, it began to re-rotate in the other direction, before slowly coming to a halt.
Edward was white-faced, swallowing repeatedly, his eyes unfocused. It was a horrible treatment, but at least it was over. She hoped the doctor would now leave.
“Excellent. And again.”
“Again?” Maggie stared in horror at the doctor.
“Well, of course, Maggie, one rotation would barely be enough, now, would it?”
“How many…?”
“We will continue for about two hours.”
“Two hours ?”
“If you grow fatigued, I will call for Agnes or Eliza. They have helped in the past. But I am sure you can manage the first hour or so.”
They wound the chair and let it go. Again it spun, again Edward cried out. This time when the chair stopped, he retched and Maggie held a pail to his mouth, into which he emptied yellow bile, for he had not eaten at all that day. There was nothing in him to be voided.
“Very good. Again.”
“Please stop, sir, he is so unwell!”
“My dear girl, Edward is well used to this treatment. When he first came into my care and was less... tractable than he is now, I used this for an hour or two, three or even four times a day, for well over a month. It made a huge difference to him in the early days, so much so that now I need only visit him once every two months.”
Over and over the chair was wound and released. Each time, Edward cried out, gripping the chair with his bandaged arms, retching and retching again, even though there was plainly nothing left in his belly, not even the yellow bile.
“There now,” said the doctor, checking his pocket watch after an eternity. “That should do it.” He wiped his sweating forehead with a handkerchief. “Bless me, I believe I need a drink after that.”
Maggie followed him onto the landing to watch him go downstairs to the parlour, calling for Eliza as he did so, then hurried back into the room.
Edward was sitting where they had left him, a broken doll, arm and legs loose, face porcelain-pale, eyes closed. She knelt at his feet.
“Edward?”
His eyes opened and tried to focus on her, staring into her face as though he could barely see her. “Maggie.” His voice was a croak.
“He will go soon,” she whispered. “He says he is done.”
His eyes met hers for an instant, before they closed again. “Thank God.”
She put her hand on his, pity overwhelming her, and stayed there for a few moments, but got to her feet as she heard steps in the corridor.
“Well now, Edward, I think we are finished. You will soon feel the benefit of our work. Maggie, help me take Edward to his bedroom.”
He could barely walk, his knees buckled under him, his arms draped over their shoulders without holding on to either of them. Between them they managed to get him back to his room and lay him on his bed, where Maggie pulled up the sheet and blanket over him. He lay silent, face white, eyes closed, breathing shallow.
“I will see you in another two months, Edward,” said the doctor from the doorway, but there was no reply. “He will sleep well tonight,” he added with satisfaction. “The swing results in what Cox calls “refreshing slumbers,” and he is quite right.”
Maggie thought that anyone would sleep after being exhausted, terrified and in pain for hours on end, but she did not speak. If the doctor thought her too critical, he might dismiss her and find another woman to take on the role of caring for Edward and she did not want to leave him to the none-too-tender mercies of what such a woman might be like, given the impression she had gathered of Bridget, who had taken all too keen an interest in ‘treating’ Edward. Wordlessly, she followed the doctor down the stairs to the front door, where she handed him his hat and coat.
Doctor Morrison appraised her. “You have conducted yourself well enough, Maggie. You may have found some of my methods harsh or surprising, as you have not seen them before, but from now on you will know what to expect and will not question their effects. Lunatics must sometimes be treated in ways that seem unkind to the untrained eye, but it is to keep them as well as they can be in themselves. They cannot be allowed to become too spirited or disturbed.”
Maggie kept her eyes on the floor. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well. I will return in two months to repeat the treatments and, until then, you will continue in your efforts. I think we will do well together, you and I, as you grow used to your position.”
She could not wait for him to leave. “Yes, sir.”
The carriage wheels crunched through the gravel, and he was gone at last. Maggie rested her head against the closed door.
He was a monster.
There had been no need to treat Edward so, she was sure of it. In what way had he been too spirited or disturbed? He had been happier than when she had first met him, of that she was sure. He had smiled more often. He had laughed. And now he was broken, purged in every possible way till he could barely stand, fearful and in pain. The Hospital letter she had been given came back to her, in which she had been exhorted to execute all lawful commands with Industry, Cheerfulness and good Manners. Her jaw clenched. She might have to obey her master in carrying out Edward’s treatments, but she would find ways to make his life kinder, to build his strength up for the doctor’s visits. Perhaps one day he could be well and strong enough to refuse the treatments, to leave this place even.
She climbed the stairs again and went to Edward’s room, where she found him asleep, his skin paler than she had ever seen it, sweat still in his hair. She knelt by his bed and lightly touched his cheek and hair. “I will look after you, Edward,” she whispered. “I promise I will do everything I can to keep you safe and make you well.”
He did not stir. She rose, took away the burning candle and went back to the parlour downstairs, sitting in a chair and thinking about what she could do, what small comforts she might provide between the doctor’s visits.
He lay in silence, not asleep. Another round of the treatments had been survived. There would be two months to recover before it happened again. Would it be enough? His strength ebbed a little further every time it happened, yet there appeared to be no escape from Doctor Morrison and his theories, from his incarceration and treatments here. From the madness everyone assured him he suffered from.
Yet this time had been different.
Someone had cared.
Maggie had tried to intervene. She had tried to stop the treatments. Even questioned Doctor Morrison. Failed, of course, because she was a servant, and he was both an eminent physician and her master. It was not her place to question him. Edward did not blame her for failing. His heart was too full. Someone had stood up for him, had tried to shield him. Had cared enough to try and help him. And now, just now, thinking him asleep, she had whispered to him. Had made him a promise. Said she would look after him and make him well. Was that even possible? That he could be well? He had spent so many years with his father demanding to know what was wrong with him, being told there was some defect in him by everyone around him, being treated for his affliction. It was hard to believe he could ever be well. But Maggie had said she would do everything she could to make him well, and if she believed it, he too would try to believe it of himself, would try to gather what remained of his strength and recover his health, his sanity. He would try because she believed in him.
That night, for the first time he could remember, he did not have a nightmare.
The next day was cold and rainy. Maggie brought up a jug of hot water for Edward to wash, taking over the task from Agnes. He watched her pour it into a basin and frowned at the steam rising from it.
“The doctor says I am only to have cold water.”
“In this weather, everyone should keep warm, and there is plenty in the kitchen.”
He hesitated, but gave a small smile at the determined face she was pulling and nodded. “Thank you.”
She nodded back and left the room, feeling as though she had won a small victory against the absent doctor. Perhaps he was a great physician, but Maggie had seen and experienced bullying at the Hospital and she knew a bully when she saw one. She was certain that there had been no need for the treatments. Edward had nightmares and was timid of the world around him, but that did not make him dangerous or in need of treatments. Surely it would be better to show him kindness and allow him to grow in confidence? At any rate, a jug of warm water could not undo the doctor’s treatments, even if they were efficacious, which she doubted.
“There’s cream for our porridge,” said Eliza, in a generous mood after being praised for her housekeeping by the doctor.
“I shall take some to Edward.”
Eliza was wary. “Doctor Morrison says he is to eat plain food, nothing rich or it will spoil his constitution.”
Maggie nodded as though she agreed. “Very well,” she said. “Can I take the cream and the honey with me for my porridge?”
Eliza was about to reply but got distracted by the cat bringing a still-live mouse to drop at her feet. In the ensuing screeching, Maggie made good her escape with a small jug of cream and the pot of honey. Back in the parlour, she stirred in honey and cream to the two steaming bowls of porridge, then returned the jug and pot before their absence could be noticed and commented on. By the time she had returned, Edward had made his way downstairs and was seated at the table. She joined him and began eating from her bowl. At the first spoonful he looked up in surprise, but Maggie only went on eating her porridge and pretended not to notice him. He stared at her for a moment, then went back to eating the porridge without comment. She was pleased to see that he managed to finish all of it.
After breakfast she begged an ointment from Eliza and used it to dress his wounds, both the blisters and the cuts, hoping to soothe the pain he must be in, but they did not speak of the treatments.
From that day onwards she took over fetching his washing water and breakfast, making sure that he had hot water and that his breakfast was both ample and tasty, spreading fresh-baked bread thickly with good butter or cutting extra slices of pound cake, saying she was still hungry. Eliza occasionally laughed at her, saying she was eating them out of house and home, but Maggie would only tease back, saying that it was good to have a generous cook, which made Eliza happy and stopped her asking any awkward questions. The nightmares still plagued Edward most nights, but they grew less frequent.
The warmer days of late March and early April were now upon them. The yew and holly trees, along with the tall laurel hedges, had kept the garden green, if not exactly colourful aside from the flashes of red holly berries, but now spring growth appeared in the garden, as the hawthorn, copper beech and ash came back to life. The oak made its late appearance as the days grew warmer and brighter. Meanwhile, there were daffodils and crocuses, violets and primroses in the woods and new shoots on the roses. In the stream, the wriggling mass of tadpoles, when inspected more closely, were growing tiny legs. The weather was kind, the sun shone most days and there was warmth in the air. There was asparagus in the kitchen, made into a delicate soup or served alongside the roast lamb as a special treat on Easter day, after the tedium of Lent’s restrictions. There were so many eggs that they could have them coddled or with ham, or in the rich custards that Eliza prided herself on making to serve alongside puddings. Maggie tried to make Edward eat more, but she had a sinking feeling as Easter passed. Doctor Morrison would arrive soon to treat Edward, for he had said he would return every two months and that time was almost up. Perhaps if she fixed Edward’s mind on the future, beyond the oncoming assault, he might be better able to withstand it.
“We could plant more flowers outside,” she said one day. “Abercrombie’s book on gardening talks of bulbs for springtime and roses for the summer. It is too late for this year’s spring, but perhaps we could plant some bulbs for next year. And if we were to plant fruit trees in the garden, we could pick fresh fruit from the trees in summer and make preserves. The book says a young tree will bear fruit in perhaps three years after planting.”
Her enthusiasm warmed him. “We can ask Walter for what we want. What kind of fruit trees would you like, Maggie?”
“Apples? Pears? Perhaps a quince. I once ate quince preserves and they were very good.”
Standing by his window that night, looking up at the full moon, Edward felt a rush of gratitude and happiness. Maggie intended to stay. She planned to stay with him for years, perhaps, if her talk of planting flowers and fruit trees were to be believed. He had been dreading the next visit from Doctor Morrison, but perhaps now he could face it, if she were by his side. Slowly, he unlaced his shoes and removed them, then stood a moment longer looking up at the moon before pulling the curtains closed. He would sleep well tonight, he thought. No nightmares. And tomorrow they would send Walter to buy plants for the garden. He began to unbutton his jacket.
A sound outside in the lane.
The hooves of many horses.
He frowned. Who would be driving so late through the village, even on a full moon night? He thought of looking out, but horses… He turned away from the window even as he heard a hammering at the door.