The Gates of Sleep

clean, warm, and well-fed, and that no one abused them. For this, they paid very well indeed, and Dr. Pike was very grateful.

And he had one poor soul who really was hearing voices in his head that didn’t exist, not on any plane. He didn’t know what to do with that fellow; nothing he tried seemed to work. There was something wrong in the brain, but what? And how was he to fix it, even if he could discover what was wrong?

That man, though he had never shown any inclination to violence, was locked in a room in which the bed and chair were too heavy to move, and in any case, bolted to the floor so that he couldn’t use them to break the window. There was an ornamental iron grate bolted over the window on the inside. And the poor man was never allowed a candle or an open fire; there was a cast-iron American stove in the fireplace in his room, and Andrew could only hope that the voices in his head would never tell him to try to open it with his bare hands.

He was the last visit this afternoon; all was well, and Andrew heaved a sigh of relief as he always did.

“Have your tea, Eleanor,” he told her. “I’m going to go help Diana Gorden with her shields.”

She smiled faintly. “Very well, Doctor. Don’t forget to eat, yourself.”

“I won’t,” he promised.

And of course, promptly did.

Chapter Fifteen

MARINA stared at the four small objects in the palm of her hand; there was no confusion about what she was seeing, as sunlight flooded the room. In her hand lay what were supposed to have been four ha’pennies that she had just poured out of the vase. Well, she’d thought they were ha’pennies last night when she’d put them in the vase.

But when she’d tilted them out this morning, it was painfully clear that they were nothing of the sort. They were, in fact, four “good conduct” medals of the sort given out at Sunday School, sans ribbon and pin. They were copper, they did feature the Queen’s profile, and they were the size of a ha’pence. But not even the kindest-hearted postmaster was going to exchange these for a stamp.

I must have been more tired than I thought. I just looked at these things last night, saw the Queen’s head, and thought they were coins. Or maybe it was just that I was working by the light of one candle. Oh, conkers. I’m back where I started.

She sighed. She’d have wept, except that with Madam and Reggie still gone, she had plenty of things to leaven her disappointment. She had a real breakfast, Miss Mary Anne had been told that in absence of any tasks that Madam had left for Marina to do (there were none, since Madam had left in such a hurry) Marina was going out to ride this morning and this afternoon.

Mary Anne sullenly attired her in her riding habit and left, ostensibly on some other task that she had been assigned. In reality since no one seemed to have authority over Mary Anne but Madam, that was unlikely. Marina strongly suspected that the girl would be back here to snoop as soon as her putative mistress was gone, though. She’d probably go through every bit of Marina’s belongings while she had the chance.

Well, I’d better dispose of these… She put them in the very bottom of her jewel case. If Mary Anne found them, she would assume that they were further evidence of Marina’s faithful church-going, which was all to the good; church activities were high on the list of appropriate things for young ladies of even the highest ranks to do.

A quick note on menu-paper to the cook took care of luncheon, tea and dinner, and Marina was out into the cold, flinging her cloak over her shoulders, her hat pinned jauntily on her head at an angle that was quite out of keeping with one in mourning.

This time, instead of placid old Brownie, Marina asked the groom to saddle the iron-mouthed hunter Reggie usually rode, an extremely tall gelding named Beau. She had a notion that he was all right, despite Reggie’s assertions that “he’s a rum ‘un,” and to make sure she started off on the best of terms with him, she brought a bread crust smeared in jam from breakfast. He laid back his ears when he saw the groom approaching with the saddle, but pricked them forward again when it was Marina, not Reggie, who approached.

She held out the crust, which he sniffed at, then engulfed with good appetite, using lips more than teeth. That was a good sign. As he chewed it, she ventured to scratch his nose. He closed his eyes and leaned into the caress, then made no fuss about being saddled and bridled. He stood steady as a rock beside the mounting-block (he was so tall she needed to use one) and then stepped out smartly when she barely nudged him with a heel. She hadn’t even got halfway down the drive before figuring out that although his mouth was insensitive, he neck-reined beautifully. And his manners were impeccable.

“Well, you’re just every inch the gentleman, aren’t you?” she asked, as his ears swiveled back to catch what she said. He snorted, quite as if he understood her, and bobbed his head.

He had a silken fast walk, and because his legs were so long, a surprisingly comfortable trot. No odds that’s why Reggie bagged him, she thought. I ought to see if I could teach him to “bounce” on his trot; that’d serve Reggie right.

Ah, but Reggie would probably just take it out on the horse, which wouldn’t be fair to Beau.

She had a particular goal in mind for this morning, while Madam was still away; she had gotten Sally to tell her the way to Briareley, and she was not going to wait for Dr. Pike to decide whether or not he was going to contact her at the vicarage. She was going to come to him. This would probably be her only opportunity to go to Briareley ever; Madam might be back this very afternoon, and would never permit Marina to make such a visit. It would be highly improper—they hadn’t been introduced, Briareley was no longer a place where one might ask for a tour of the house, she should not be visiting a man unescorted. The notion of paying a visit to a sanitarium where there were madmen—well, a daring young man might well pull such a thing off on a lark, but no woman would even consider such a thing. Marina was breaking all manner of social rules by doing this.

But this was not a social visit—this was Magician to Magician, and as such, did not fall under any of the chapters in Marina’s book of etiquette.

I did look, though, she thought whimsically, I tried to find even a mention of Magician to Magician protocol But there wasn’t anything there on the subject. So the “Young Lady’s Compleate Guide to Manners” isn’t as complete a guide as it claims to be.

The hunter trotted along briskly, while she was engrossed in thought. Etiquette aside, she needed to be very careful with what she did and did not say and do around this man. After all, she knew nothing about him, except that he had a good reputation in the village. Now, that was no bad thing; the village saw a great deal and gossiped about it widely.

But that didn’t mean that the village saw everything; the fact that he hadn’t betrayed himself as an Earth Master proved that.

Magicians were only human, as Elizabeth had been at pains to point out. They could be brave—or cowards. Noble—or petty. Altruistic—or selfish.

Marina had a long talk with Sally over breakfast; she knew already that Doctor Pike had more than charity patients—he catered to ladies of wealth and privilege who suffered from nervous exhaustion. Treatment for these special patients amounted to a bit of cosseting, flattering attention to their symptoms, some nostrums, and being left undisturbed—or pampered—as their whims dictated. And these women were probably paying a great deal of money to have that much attention given them by a sympathetic, handsome, young physician. So, whatever else Dr. Pike was, he was clearly willing to pander to them in order to get those handsome fees.

Not the altogether altruistic and idealistic physician he might have seemed from his treatment of the runaway girl.

Caution is in order, I think, in how much I believe about him. And caution in how much I tell him about myself. But if nothing else, I will make arrangements to help him with that girl.

The hunter’s head bobbed with effort as he climbed a hill; at a walk, not a trot; this was a steep bit of lane. She could just imagine the hay-wains laboring up here—the poor horses straining in their harness as they tried to get themselves and their load up to the top of this rise. Add to that the rocks and ruts, what a hideous climb it must be.

Or perhaps not; it wasn’t quite wide enough for a loaded wain, which must have relieved quite a few farm horses over the years.

And then they reached the top; the horse paused for a breath, and she reined him in, looking around for a moment. And paused, arrested by the view.