Chapter 20
Luca leaned forward as the coach rolled beneath the iron gate that guarded The Chelmsford Asylum.
The gate’s black bars cast long, thin shadows across the gravel.
Beyond them, the building rose in two grim levels of dark stone.
The place looked abandoned in the way of old mistakes: shut up, stubborn, and waiting to be forgotten.
“This is The Chelmsford Asylum?” he asked, letting his gaze sweep the unkempt gardens.
Lord Matthew shrugged with an air of practiced indifference. “How would I know? I have never been here before.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. “Didn’t you accompany your wife when you had her committed?
Or was the matter so trifling that you didn’t bother?
” The words were curt, unyielding. They came from a well of anger that had nothing to do with Matthew and everything to do with the thought of Charlotte—of anyone—trapped behind those stone walls.
“My wife is mad,” Matthew attempted again, but it lost whatever conviction it might once have had with each repetition. Luca heard the hollow echo of a man trying to convince himself.
Lord Rupert interjected, “Mad to marry you.”
Matthew shot Rupert a glare. “Says the bachelor. How do you know what it is like being shackled to a wife?”
“I don’t, but I sure wouldn’t place my wife in a place like this, even if she were declared mad,” Rupert said, censure in his voice.
“That is easy for you to say, but wait until you are in my position,” Matthew remarked, looking entirely unbothered by the situation.
The coach halted on the gravel and they stepped down.
Up close, the building’s stones were blackened at the corners and the mullions had been left to gather grime.
A shutter banged in a lonely breeze. Luca’s inspection was interrupted when the heavy door opened and a short man with slicked blond hair and an eager smile appeared.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” the man said with his hands out wide. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Luca fell back a pace and nodded at Matthew. “Lord Matthew would like to retrieve his wife from here.”
The smile drained. “I’m afraid that is impossible. He can’t come unannounced and expect her to be released. The owners must be notified first.”
Luca stepped forward. “And who, pray tell, are you?”
The man adjusted his lapels. “I am Mr. Bancroft. I run The Chelmsford Asylum.”
Luca couldn’t help the contempt in his voice. “Not very well, if you ask me.”
Mr. Bancroft’s eyes narrowed. “You come here and insult me? What gives you the right to do so?”
Luca didn’t have time to dispense with the pleasantries. “Forgive me,” he said dryly. “My name is Lord Luca Dexter. These are Lord Alcott, Lord Rupert Milnes, and Lord Matthew.”
“I’m sorry you came all this way, but I do not have the authorization to release Lady Matthew,” Mr. Bancroft said as if that resolved the matter.
Matthew turned towards the coach, ready to retreat. “You heard the man. We should go.”
Alcott did not move. “You will go release Lady Matthew at once and anyone else you have locked up here.”
Mr. Bancroft’s face paled. “Surely, you cannot be serious. We have five other patients here. We can’t just allow them to leave.”
“Is one of them Lady Charlotte?” Alcott demanded.
“No,” Mr. Bancroft replied quickly. Too quickly to be anything but a lie.
Alcott moved to stand before Mr. Bancroft. “Lady Charlotte is my sister, and I have it on good authority that she is being held prisoner at The Chelmsford Asylum.”
“Then you misunderstood because there is no one here by that name.”
“I will be the judge of that,” Alcott said, brushing past the man.
Mr. Bancroft turned and followed Alcott inside. “My lord, please, you cannot just walk inside the asylum.”
“I can, and I will,” Alcott said, continuing down the long corridor. “Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Tell me where my sister is.”
Mr. Bancroft furrowed his brows. “I assure you that your sister isn’t here.”
Alcott retrieved his pistol and spun back around. “The hard way, then.”
At the sight of the pistol, Mr. Bancroft’s eyes grew wide. “You mustn’t brandish a weapon in here.”
Alcott aimed the pistol at Mr. Bancroft. “Tell me where my sister is.”
Sweat pooled on the man’s forehead. “My lord, do be civil.”
“I am past the point of civility,” Alcott shouted. “This is your last chance.”
“I… uh… don’t know all the patients here,” Mr. Bancroft stammered.
Alcott didn’t look convinced. “I thought you did. After all, you were certain that my sister wasn’t among your patients.”
Mr. Bancroft swallowed and reached for a handkerchief. His hands trembled despite the cloth. “The owners bring people in at all hours. My job is just to ensure they remain here.”
“You mean as prisoners,” Alcott said.
“No, as patients,” Bancroft insisted. “This is an asylum, not a prison.”
Luca moved to stand at Alcott’s side. In the corridor, the light fell in a pale band. The air felt damp, uninviting. “You said you have six patients, did you not?”
“I did say that, yes, but I—” Mr. Bancroft stammered.
“Then perhaps we should look for ourselves,” Rupert suggested. “Where are the guards?”
“We do not have any guards,” Mr. Bancroft revealed. “It is just me.”
The man’s response churned Luca’s stomach. No staff, no people to account for those within, only one man left to shepherd whatever horrors the owners chose to deposit.
Luca let his temper sharpen. “What it looks like to me is you keep prisoners here until they meet their fates. How many people have died from influenza here?”
Mr. Bancroft’s mouth dropped open. “I do not know what you are insinuating.”
“You know exactly what I am insinuating,” Luca countered. “These poor people are kept here until you kill them.”
Lord Matthew sputtered indignantly. “What?! This is the first I have heard of this.”
Luca frowned. “Spare us the dramatics. You knew exactly what you were doing when you had your wife committed here.”
“No, no, no… I would never have had her committed here had I known—” Lord Matthew attempted.
“Enough!” Alcott shouted. His voice carried down the corridor and left no room for evasion. “Where are my sister and Lady Matthew?”
Mr. Bancroft glanced back at the main door like a man weighing the chances of escape. “I… uh…”
Rupert moved to stand behind him, blocking his retreat. “Do not even think about running,” he stated. “If you do, I will gladly shoot you.”
Mr. Bancroft’s shoulders slumped. “Follow me,” he said, his voice resigned. “But I should warn you that the owners should be here any moment.”
“I do believe we can handle them,” Luca responded.
As they followed Mr. Bancroft through the dark, narrow corridors, Luca found himself growing increasingly anxious to find Charlotte. What she must have endured in a place like this. He couldn’t even fathom it.
Mr. Bancroft halted at an iron door and shoved the bolt aside with a grating sound. “The person you seek is in here,” he said, his voice wary.
“And what of Lady Matthew?” Alcott asked.
Mr. Bancroft gave a curt nod to the neighboring cell. “She is in there.”
Alcott didn’t wait for another word. He crouched, peering through the narrow slit at the top of the iron door. “Charlotte!”
A small, brittle voice answered from the darkness. “Alistair?”
Alcott swung the door wide and stepped inside.
Luca stood back at the threshold, not because he wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do.
Up close, the sight of Charlotte stopped him in a way nothing else had.
Her blonde hair was matted and dull, a smear of grime across one cheek.
Her pale green dress had been torn and muddied, but the thing that struck him most was the set of her shoulders—still defiantly upright, even as she tried to rise and her legs trembled.
Alcott closed the distance in two strides and was at her side, steadying her, then embracing her. “I was so worried.”
“You found me,” she breathed.
“We found you,” he corrected. “I couldn’t have done it without Luca and Lord Rupert.”
Charlotte turned and she met Luca’s gaze.
“Thank you,” she said. Then she smiled—small, private, and unmistakably meant for him.
The world narrowed. Luca felt everything else fall away.
His chest ached with the urge to step forward, to take her into his arms and say the words he wanted to say, but this was not a place for confessions.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Alcott said as he started to lead her towards the door.
Charlotte’s hand tightened on his sleeve. “No. We can’t leave without Lady Matthew. She’s in the next cell.”
Alcott’s mouth tilted. “You think we’d have come so far and not fetch her?”
“Good,” Charlotte said. She turned then and her eyes went wide. “Lord Matthew?”
A smile came to Lord Matthew’s face. “Miss Winslow, it is a pleasure to—”
Charlotte marched straight to Lord Matthew. She reared her arm back, and landed a clean, hard punch on the man’s jaw.
Lord Matthew staggered back.
Charlotte stood straighter than Luca had ever seen her, fury bright in her eyes. “You are a despicable man for leaving your wife to die in here,” she said, every syllable carved from contempt.
The man rubbed his jaw and offered a feeble defense. “She was mad. I had little choice in the matter.”
Charlotte lunged forward, but Alcott caught her by the waist, holding her back with a restraint that was as tender as it was firm. “He isn’t worth it, Charlotte.”
From the rearmost shadow, Rupert’s voice cut in. “I will retrieve Lady Matthew. Someone needs to guard Mr. Bancroft.”
“I will do it,” Luca offered, reaching for his pistol.
Rupert tucked his pistol into the waistband of his trousers, unbolted the door and stepped inside. A long moment later, he carried out a frail, dark-haired Lady Matthew in his arms.
“I can walk,” Lady Matthew insisted.
Rupert gently placed her down and Lady Matthew was unsteady on her feet for a moment. Then she straightened and her eyes sought out her husband’s.
Lord Matthew opened up his arms. “My love,” he said in a sickly sweet voice.