Chapter Four
Four
He came awake again to the same oppressive cloud of pain and confusion that had overwhelmed him on previous occasions. But his head was somewhat clearer this time. There were voices in the mist. He kept his eyes closed and listened hard. Two people were speaking in hushed tones. He knew them both.
“He will live.” The doctor’s voice was weary and grim. “The wounds are closing properly. There are no signs of infection and it appears that no vital organs were injured.”
“Thank you, Doctor. You have surely saved his life.”
The woman spoke words of gratitude but her well-bred voice was cold and hollow, as if she was torn between rage and anguish.
“I have done what I can for his body,” the doctor said. “But as I have told you before, madam, there is nothing I or any other doctor can do for his mind.”
“I was assured that he had been cured. Indeed, he appeared quite well these past few months. Happy. Even-tempered. Enjoying his photography. There was no indication that he was slipping back into madness.”
“I would remind you, madam, that there were no indications of insanity prior to the previous occasion, either, if you will recall. As I have tried to explain to you, the medical profession lacks the knowledge required to cure him. If you do not intend to summon the police—”
“Never. You know as well as I do what would happen if I did that. Such an action would not only destroy him, it would devastate the entire family.”
The doctor said nothing.
“I will deal with this just as I did the last time,” the woman said. Resolve strengthened her voice.
“I anticipated that you would make that decision,” the doctor said. He sounded resigned. “I took the liberty of sending word to Dr. Renwick at Cresswell Manor. There are two attendants waiting outside.”
“Send them in,” the woman said. “Remind them that I expect absolute discretion.”
“They are well trained. As I explained on the previous occasion, Dr. Renwick specializes in dealing with situations such as this. He accepts only patients from the best families and he is mindful of his obligations to those who pay his fees.”
“In other words, I am buying Dr. Renwick’s silence,” the woman said bitterly.
“I can assure you that you are not the only one in Society who is doing so. But given the alternative, there is nothing else to be done, is there?”
“No.” The woman hesitated. “You are certain that he is fit to travel?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, send for the attendants.”
“I think it would be safest for all concerned if I administered more chloroform before we prepare the patient to be transported.”
“Do what you feel must be done,” the woman said. “I will go now. I cannot watch them take him away again.”
She was leaving.
Panic flashed like wildfire through the patient. He opened his eyes and tried to rise from the bed, only to discover to his horror that he could not move. Leather straps bound him to the bed rails.
The doctor came toward him with a white cloth in his hand. The sickly sweet smell of chloroform scented the atmosphere. Two burly men in ill-fitting coats came through the door. He recognized them from his previous stay at Cresswell Manor.
“Mother, no, don’t let them take me,” he pleaded. “You’re making a terrible mistake. You must believe me. That lying whore tried to murder me. Don’t you see? I’m innocent.”
His mother’s shoulders stiffened but she did not look back. The door closed behind her.
Dr. Norcott clamped the chloroform-saturated rag over the patient’s nose and mouth.
Fury scalded his veins. This was the harlot’s fault. Everything had gone wrong because of her. She would pay. He had granted the others a swift death, taking pity on them after they acknowledged their sins. But Amity Doncaster would die slowly.