“Please, come in.” Ramsendell held the office door open for them.
The front room might have been any legal office in New York, as there were two desks, a larger conference table with six chairs, a file cabinet, shelves full of books, and on the plank floor a simple dark green woven rug. Another door at the back was open, and through it Matthew could see what appeared to be an examination table and a cupboard where he presumed drugs or medical instruments were stored. He caught movement back there and saw a gray-dressed woman with long black hair cleaning glass vials with a blue cloth. She seemed to sense she was being watched, for her head swiveled and for a few seconds she regarded Matthew with dull, sunken eyes. Then she focused again on her labor as if no one else existed in the world and no task was more vital.
“Sit down, won’t you?” Ramsendell waited until Matthew, Greathouse, and Hulzen had taken chairs at the table. “May I offer you some tea?”
“If you don’t mind,” Greathouse said, “I could use something a bit stronger.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. We have no drinking alcohol on the premises. We do have some apple cider left, though. Would that suit you?”
“Fine,” Greathouse said, though Matthew knew the man was wishing for a tankard of stout black ale.
“Cider for me also,” Matthew said.
“Mariah?” Ramsendell called, and the black-haired woman ceased her cleaning and peered out. Her mouth was slack and her left eye twitched. “Would you please go to the kitchen and pour two cups of apple cider for our guests? Use the pewter cups, if you will. Anything for you, Curtis?” Hulzen shook his head; he was busy loading tobacco from a deerskin pouch into a clay pipe with a diamond design on its sides. Ramsendell added, “A cup of tea for me, please.”
“Yes sir,” the woman replied, and went off toward the rear of the house.
“They need tasks,” Ramsendell offered as he took a seat at the table. “To keep their dexterity up and give them a challenge. Some can’t use their hands very well, though. And of course there are some who either cannot or will not move from their beds. Every case is different, you see.”
Greathouse cleared his throat. Matthew thought that for all the man’s toughness he looked ready to jump out of his skin. “I’m afraid I don’t see. Where do these people come from? And how many are here?”
“Well, at present our patients number twenty-four men and eight women. They’re kept in separate sections of the hospital, of course. And then there are holding areas for those who exhibit violence or who…how shall I put this?…choose to ignore their chamberpots. What we’re trying to teach them here is that, even in their state of disarray, they still have the power to make choices. They can learn.”
“Unfortunately, not all still retain that ability.” Hulzen had fired a match and was lighting his pipe. Blue smoke spilled from his lips as he spoke. “There are some who are beyond help. Those we must constrain, so as not to hurt themselves or others, but at least here they do have food and shelter.”
“The point is, we don’t treat our patients as animals.” Ramsendell looked from Greathouse to Matthew in order to emphasize his statement. “Curtis and I both have experience in the mental health system as practised in London, and we both abhor the idea of shackles and chains as a common method of control.”
“The patients come from where?” Matthew asked, repeating Greathouse’s query.
“Some from New Jersey, some from New York, some from Pennsylvania,” said Ramsendell. “From small villages and larger towns alike. Some are wards of the court, others have been placed here by relatives. Some, like Jacob, are the victims of accidents that have affected the mental fluid. Others were born, it would seem, under unfortunate stars. In the last few years, with the financial reversals in Philadelphia, the asylum run there by the Quakers has come upon hard times; therefore we’ve taken in several of their patients. Then there are the people who are simply found wandering in woods or fields, and no one knows their names or histories. In some of those cases, a terrible shock of some kind-witnessing an accident, violence, or even a murder-has blanked the mind, so they may eventually be returned to normal lives if the care is successful.”
Greathouse frowned. “Must be a tremendous expense to keep all these people up.”
“This property was given to us by the colony and we have generous Christian benefactors who help with our costs,” Hulzen said through his shifting blue cloud. “The town of Westerwicke has been very supportive, as well. Their physician, Dr. Voormann, sees to the medical problems of our patients for a nominal fee. Some of the women there prepare the meals, again for a small fee. So yes, there is some expense involved, but we know that if this hospital were to fail, it would mean putting our patients out upon the road.”
“Well,” Greathouse said, and perhaps only Matthew could detect his unease, “I’m sure no one would want that.”
“We are modern in our approach,” said Ramsendell as Mariah returned bearing a tray with two pewter cups of cider and a wooden cup of tea. She set it down upon the table, Ramsendell thanked her, and then he returned his attention to Greathouse as she went back to her work. “You’ll note neither Curtis nor I wear checked shirts.”
Greathouse had already plucked up his cider and taken a drink. “Pardon?” he asked.
“Checked shirts,” Ramsendell repeated. “Medieval physicians wore checked shirts when they approached an insane person. They believed the demonic spirits of madness couldn’t get through the checked cloth into the soul.”
“Nice to know,” Greathouse said, with a quick grimace that had meant to serve as a polite smile.
“Your work here is very beneficial, I’m sure,” Matthew spoke up, “but I don’t see what we can do for you.”
“First things first.” Ramsendell drank from his tea and turned the cup between his hands. “Again, we appreciate the speed of your response, but I think Curtis and I would like to hear something about your agency before we go any further.”
Matthew nodded and remained silent while Greathouse held forth for the next five minutes on the history and purpose of the Herrald Agency, emphasizing their high standards and tradition of success in the field of “problem solving.” He recounted cases involving recovered jewels, artwork, stolen legal documents, missing persons, forged diplomatic papers, and also gave mention of an assassination attempt in London undone by himself just the past December. “But I have to inform you gentlemen,” he concluded, “that our professional services do not come cheaply. Our time, like yours, is valuable. We charge a flat fee for investigations and also require the payment of all expenses. Of course the fee will vary, according to the task.”
“Do you charge to hear the particulars of the problem?” Hulzen asked, puffing on his second pipeful.
“No sir,” Greathouse said. “We begin only when a contract of agreement is signed.”
The two doctors were silent. Matthew finished off his cider while waiting for them to speak again. Hulzen stared at the ceiling as he smoked his pipe and Ramsendell twined his fingers together before him on the table.
“We’re not sure you can help,” Ramsendell said at last. “Not sure at all, really.”
“You must have at least thought we could.” Greathouse leaned back in his chair, making the legs creak. “We’ve come a long way. We’d at least like to hear the problem.”
Ramsendell started to speak and then looked at Hulzen, who took one more draw from the pipe, expelled smoke in a thin stream, and said, “We have a young man-a resident of Westerwicke-who goes to New York to buy medical supplies for us at the Smith Street Apothecary. His last trip was on Thursday. He stayed overnight, at a boarding house in your town, and came back on Friday. He brought something with him that…well…” He glanced at Ramsendell as a prompt to continue.
“He had breakfast in a tavern there,” Ramsendell said, “and brought back a copy of your broadsheet.”
“The Earwig?” Matthew asked.
“The very same.” Ramsendell offered a tight smile that faded. “We have a patient who likes to be read to. A special patient, I suppose you could say.”
Greathouse tensed at that one. “Special? How?”
“Oh, certainly not violent. In fact, she’s extremely docile. The others call her the Queen.”
“The Queen?” Matthew recalled Jacob using that term outside.
“That’s correct.” Ramsendell watched Matthew’s eyes for a reaction. “Did you ever think that here you might meet a queen? The Queen of Bedlam, as it were?”
“Our problem,” said Hulzen, “is that we wish to find out who she is. Her proper name, and where she comes from. Her history, and…why she’s in her current state.”
“What state would that be?” Greathouse almost flinched as he waited for a response.
“Locked,” Ramsendell replied.
