Chapter 6 Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here
Daphne
“Abandon All Hope, ye who enter here”
“I
didn’t kill her, Arthur. There was a man—” Dread dried my throat; my voice cracked.
I repeated what I saw hundreds of times, first to the police officers and then to my brother, who arrived shortly after.
I crossed my shaking arms over my chest. Arthur hadn’t spoken a word since he got me into the carriage.
He was just looking at me with wide, bloodshot eyes full of disdain. He wasn’t listening.
Sweet Mary and Joseph, what was he planning?
He hadn’t hit me even once since he picked me up from Scotland Yard, though he had plenty of opportunities.
He usually hit me where clothes covered the bruises, so I expected a punch in the ribs or a kick in the shin since we boarded the carriage.
But he didn’t bother, as if he was saving his strength for what was coming later.
“He’d kill us both this time,” Tilly told me earlier. And the way he stared at me…
Pressing my trembling lips together, I looked outside.
We’d been on the road for hours. Grey, dirty morning light filtered through the narrow window.
That cursed mist still consumed the world, but I knew we had left London.
The air had changed. Gone was the lingering reek of coal and horse manure; trees reached with bony fingers and scratched the carriage we were sitting in.
Arthur was taking me somewhere away. Somewhere isolated, where he could finish me and bury me in an unmarked grave. I’d known this moment would come since that fateful night our parents drowned. He never stopped blaming me for the accident.
But now, I was stupid and reckless in giving him the perfect opportunity.
“Where are you taking me?” I asked. There was nothing to lose anymore.
To my surprise, he answered, his voice rough from the long night of drinking. “You’ll see soon enough.”
The monotonous sound of the wheels and the hooves faded into the mist. A loud kraaw kraaw startled me, and I peeked out.
A metal fence with spikes stretched endlessly, and the carriage passed through a rusty gate, shaking over the uneven cobblestones.
Leafless trees entwined in a dark canopy above us.
The early spring hadn’t arrived here yet.
A specter emerged from the fog—a living cadaver reaching for us with a bony hand from the grave.
It was a woman with pale lips, haunted eyes marked by dark circles, and tattered clothing.
She cradled a bundle of rags close to her heart as if it were a child.
Heavy shackles hung on her ankles, and I shuddered, noticing that her feet were bare.
“What is this place, Arthur? What are you going to do?” It was pointless to control my shaking. My whole body was trembling in terror, for I knew the answer too well.
“Something I should have done long ago, Daphne,” he rasped. “Something I was postponing since you murdered our parents.”
The carriage shook, stopping abruptly, and the door opened. Two short, strong women in white aprons and bonnets peeked in, their pristine, starched attire sprinkled with fine crimson droplets. Blood that clearly wasn’t theirs. My eyes darted from the strangers to my brother and back.
“Be careful!” Arthur warned. “She’ll fight. She always does.”
For once, I agreed with him, for I knew very well that as soon as this door locked behind me, I’d be as good as dead.
Better take a clean way out. Kicking, pushing, and biting didn’t help much.
The older nurse, with a terrifyingly strong grip forged by decades of experience, got me in a chokehold.
Back dots danced before my eyes. I was suffocating in the smell of bleach and cheap meals from her apron while the other one shoved me into something—
“Let me go!” I screamed. It was a restraining jacket.
No, he couldn’t just—
“Doctor Vexley awaits you in his office, Lord Draymoore,” the younger said, her voice not even shaking.
“Let me go!” I cried, my lungs burning with the effort. Something hard was stuffed into my mouth and fastened at the back of my head, cutting off my scream.
Then they dragged me up the stairs into the cold grey building.
St. Dismas Asylum
The letters painted over the entrance danced but finally found their places before my eyes.
A Sanatorium for the Mentally Unwell stood below, the paint trickling over the crumbling masonry like black tears.
Raw, paralyzing terror drowned every single sane thought in my mind.
I had heard the name before.
St. Dismas. Sweet Lord, he brought me to St. Dismas.
A place where London’s unwanted went to rot.
A place of whispered horrors. A place where people entered but never left.
Where women with “nervous disorders” were locked away, their screams swallowed by brick and fog.
Where men of power had secrets buried deeper than the foundations.
He didn’t murder me. He arranged something far worse instead.
Squirming and growling, the nurses dragged me through endless dark corridors, reeking of bleach, urine, and despair. Grey specters—the patients—followed me with wide, haunted eyes.
The nurses halted before a wide, luxurious door.
Doctor Septimus Vexley, the letters announced, their golden edges a stark contrast to the grime and darkness around them. The younger nurse knocked and pushed the door open.
“The new patient, Doctor Vexley,” she declared in a childlike voice, jarringly at odds with her powerful frame. “Welcome, Lady Draymoore,” a young man with an Irish accent said and walked around the massive desk. Doctor Vexley approached me with a pleasant smile.
“Release her,” he ordered, and the nurses immediately freed me.
I swayed but quickly regained my balance.
The doctor loomed over me, his breath brushing against my face.
His dark blond hair and beard were trimmed to the latest fashion, and his blue eyes flashed with curiosity behind the golden-framed spectacles.
“Have a seat, Lord Draymoore. Your sister is a beauty. What a pity. You said she can’t read?” he asked, turning to my brother. My face turned red as I tried to speak, but the mouthpiece was still in my mouth, painfully pressing my tongue.
“She told my parents that the letters swapped their places every time she looked into a book, and she couldn’t read because they were dancing all the time.
” Arthur’s dry laughter sounded like the ravens outside.
“But do not make a mistake, Doctor. Do not underestimate her. This is one sly, murderous viper you have here. I tried to help her for years, but now my patience is over.”
“Interesting. Beautiful eyes. Such an odd color—lavender. Does it run in the family?” the doctor asked.
“My mother’s side, yes. It’s related to the Draymoore’s curse, legend says, if you believe in this nonsense.” Arthur helped himself to a cigar from the desk, cluttered with papers and books.
“The curse, hmm. Didn’t you say she blamed your parents’ death on it?
” Blood rushed to my face, and I shuffled, tossing my head left and right.
The thought that these two men were deciding my fate right now, and I stood there, muted and restrained, was driving me mad.
I was breathing heavily, struggling to free myself.
“Her words, Doctor.” Arthur let out a cloud of tobacco smoke in the air, and the grey light filtering through the narrow, grated window seemed to absorb all the scarce colors of the room.
“Tell me more.” He tilted his head, his smile unsettling in its cheerfulness.
“Well, she couldn’t read and was hysterical and disobedient as a child, so my parents dragged her to a psychiatrist, who was supposed to fix her.
No offense, Doctor.” Arthur stretched his feet and poured himself a drink from the crystal decanter at the desk.
He took a generous gulp and continued. “The doctor said she needed to calm her nerves and suggested night swimming. Can you believe that?”
I looked up to the doctor. Humiliation and rage crystallized to a sharpened blade in my mind, and my eyes betrayed it all. One day, I will stand before this man free. And Heaven help him then.
“And this is where the curse comes in.” Arthur swirled the amber liquid and threw us a look over his shoulder.
“In ancient times, they say, one of our ancestors attracted the interest of a sea creature. An undyne, mermaid, or some sort of siren, they said. Our home is full of murals. Poetic nonsense, if you ask me. So, our ancestor betrayed the creature, and she cursed him—none of his offspring would be safe around natural bodies of water. You can imagine, my parents weren’t very keen to try that psychiatrist’s recommendation, and neither was I, but they were ready to do anything, absolutely anything, to fix her.
” He pointed at me, his bloodshot eyes glowing with hatred. I growled.
“How interesting.” The doctor was pacing around me, and his icy fingers, smelling of camphor soap, dug into my hair, touching my skull.
“My mother insisted. She was desperate to find Daphne a good match despite her shortcomings. So, night swimming it was. We have a pond on our land, a deep one.” I shook my head violently, shaking his fingers off.
“Calm down now, calm!” Vexley said in a tone that someone would use when talking to a horse or a dog. “Go on, Lord Draymoore, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“They drowned that first night, Doctor. Only she survived. Servants found her wandering the woods. Claiming that there were whispers and shadows in the water that pulled her into the deep. My parents rushed to help her, she said.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. This was so…
unjust. And monstrous. My parents saved me that night.
I still remembered it as if it were yesterday: the quiet lake, moonlight silvering the surface, crickets singing in the thicket, the faint scent of honeysuckle in the air.
I was happy to show Mom and Dad how grown up and brave I was, so I jumped into the pond without hesitation, making a few strokes just like they had shown me before.
And then something touched my foot. Something dark and unknown, waiting for me in the depth, patiently lurking there, waiting for this opportunity.
Waiting for me. It whispered my name. I couldn’t scream for help as it pulled me into the deep.
All I could do was thrash, sending silvery arcs into the night air.
It was over fast. I remembered Mother jumping in, followed by Father, and then I was alone in the woods. That dreadful feeling of dark water closing in, waiting for me, consuming me, haunted me every night since then.
And I would never, ever go into a natural body of water again. Even walking by a river or a pond made the voice inside my head stir and whisper my name. The Unbidden became a part of me that night.
“What a fascinating case,” the doctor said, his polite smile never leaving his face. “About the accommodations we offer, Lord Draymoore. We have some special rooms for our more distinguished patients—“
“Oh no, Doctor Vexley, no, no, no. This woman here is a suspected murderess and has been draining my family’s trust fund since my parents’ untimely death.
A death without a doubt she caused. Nothing special for her.
I have great trust in you and your…methods.
Even if they’re too radical for some.” Arthur extinguished his cigar in the crystal ashtray. “So, where should I sign?”
My stomach dropped. Was my future decided just like that? Without my having any say?
Help me, sweet Lord, help me. My tears were falling freely now.
Vexley opened a desk drawer and produced a piece of paper.
“Very well. I assure you I have great experience in treating female hysteria. And as soon as her nerves are healed, she’ll remember everything about the suspected murders.
” Arthur signed the paper with an exaggerated gesture and handed it back to the doctor.
And just like that, my fate was sealed.
“Thank you for taking up this…burden, Doctor Vexley,” my brother said, heading to the door. “I expect to get back a normal, proper young lady. Or not get anything back at all,” he added darkly and opened the door without sparing me another glance.
Distant screams sliced the silence after my brother slammed the door shut. Doctor Vexley walked back to me, something flashing in his hand.
“Now, Lady Draymoore,” he purred, “let’s see how we might unravel your little mystery.” My legs gave in. It wasn’t the cold bite of the syringe he slammed into my shoulder that made the room spin. It was the symbol on the massive golden ring on his hand.
A cracked skull with a serpent around it. A serpent made of human vertebrae.