There was a silence. Smoke still drifted at the ceiling, and beyond in the other room the black-haired woman continued to diligently polish the gleaming glass vials.
“I think we ought to meet her,” Matthew said.
“Yes.” Ramsendell pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’ll make the introductions.”
Twenty-Six
To the surprise of both Matthew and Greathouse, the two doctors did not lead them into the stone building after they left the office. Instead, they began walking on a pathway along the asylum toward the other house at the garden’s edge.
The light was dwindling. Poles that held lanterns were set up at intervals, as on the streetcorners of New York, and a gray-clad man with a bald pate was touching a match to the candlewicks. “Good evening, sirs,” said the man cheerfully as the group passed, and Dr. Ramsendell answered, “Evening, Charles.”
“That was another patient?” Greathouse asked when they’d distanced themselves. When Ramsendell nodded, Greathouse said, “Call me slow, but I’m not fully understanding why you’re letting lunatics out and about when they ought to be locked up.”
“As I said, we have an enlightened attitude here. Unlike the London asylums, which to be honest are so overburdened the doctors there have little choice but to throw all the patients together into one mass. I will admit that we take some risks in giving a few of our charges special privileges and responsibilities, but not without proper evaluation.”
“Don’t any of them try to run away if they get the chance?”
“We are very careful in assigning freedoms,” said Hulzen, who trailed smoke from his pipe. “It’s true that we had two escapes seven years ago, the first year we began operation, but on the whole the patients who are afforded tasks are pleased to be trusted. And of course we make sure their minds are firm enough to understand the consequences of imprudent action.”
“What might that be?” Greathouse prodded. “Whipping them until their backs are bloody?”
“Not at all!” There was a little heat in the response and smoke almost blew in Greathouse’s face. “We detest the primitive approach. The most drastic punishment here would be solitary confinement.”
“You might like to know,” Ramsendell added as they continued walking the length of the asylum, “that Charles and two other patients serve as night watchmen. Of course we do have a pair of men from Westerwicke who are paid to act as guards during the day.”
“Dr. Ramsendell!” someone called. It was a husky voice yet silkily pleasant. “Dr. Ramsendell, might I have a word?” The voice of a salesman, Matthew thought.
Instantly Ramsendell seemed to tense. His pace faltered, nearly causing Matthew to collide with him.
“Dr. Ramsendell, won’t you show a little Christian pity to a sick and sorrowful man?”
Matthew saw a face peering through the bars of one of the asylum’s unshuttered windows. The eyes caught his and held them with almost an unbreakable force, so much so that Matthew felt his own stride slowing to a stop.
“Oh!” said the man. He grinned. “Hello there, young dandy.”
“Come along, Mr. Corbett,” Ramsendell urged.
“Mr. Corbett, is it?” The grin widened, showing very large teeth. “Dr. Ramsendell is a very fine man and a wonderful physician, Mr. Corbett. If he says you need a stay here, you should well believe it is for your good and the good of all society. But beware his wrath, for one small lapse of judgment might mean you must eat your supper all alone.”
The others had stopped just beyond Matthew, and now Hulzen came back to his side and said quietly, “It’s best not to speak.”
“And Dr. Hulzen thinking not only am I mad, but also deef!” The man made a clucking sound and shook his head. “For shame!” He curled big-knuckled hands around the bars and pressed his face forward. He had a wide, square-jawed face with pale blue eyes that held such pure merriment no one would believe it was the moonshine of madness. His hair was straw-colored, parted straight up the middle and the sides turning to gray. His thick mustache was more gray than straw. He looked to be a large man, his head almost to the top of the window and his chest a massive bulk in the gray asylum uniform. His fleshy lips moved, wet with saliva. “I’ll repeat my offer to shave you, Dr. Ramsendell. I’ll polish that beard right off. Give your chin and throat a fine going-over. Eh?” He began to laugh, a frog’s croak from deep in that barrel chest, and suddenly the glint in his eyes caught red and for a passing instant Matthew thought he might be looking into the face of Satan himself. Then the glint went out like a fire under a trapdoor and the man’s voice, soft and salesmanlike again, reached out for him. “Step nearer, dandy. Let’s have a look at your throat.”
“Mr. Corbett?” Ramsendell stepped in front of Matthew and looked into his face, as if to shield him from a wicked spell. “We really should be going on.”
“Yes,” Matthew agreed. He felt sweat at his temples. “All right.”
“I’ll remember you!” the man behind the bars called as his audience walked away. “Oh, I’ll remember all of you!”
“Who in blazes was that?” Greathouse asked, glancing back once and then not daring to glance again because the big hands were running up and down the bars as if seeking a weak place to crack.
“That,” Ramsendell answered, and for the first time Matthew and Greathouse heard distaste-and perhaps a shudder of fear-in his voice, “was a problem we shall be ridding ourselves of soon. He was sent to us almost a year ago from the Quaker institution in Philadelphia. He’s more cunning than insane, I can tell you. He fooled me into giving him work privileges, and the first chance he got he tried to murder poor Mariah back at the red barn.” He motioned toward the road that led to the outbuildings. “Well, the Quakers have found out it seems he was a barber in London and he may have been involved with a dozen murders. We’re expecting a letter in the autumn instructing us to take him to the New York gaol to wait for ship transfer to England. A constable will of course be coming over as well to make sure he arrives in irons.”
“If it was up to me, I’d take him on the road and blow his brains out,” Greathouse said. “A pistol could save a lot of wasted money.”
“Unfortunately, we have signed a decree with the Quakers verifying that he will be delivered to New York in good health. On our Christian honor.” Ramsendell took another two steps and then said thoughtfully, “You know, if this business goes well with the Queen, you gentlemen might consider our hiring you to escort Mr. Slaughter to New York.”
“Mr. Slaughter?” Matthew asked.
“Yes. Tyranthus Slaughter. An unfortunate name though possibly well-deserved. But do consider that task if at all feasible, sirs. Just thirty-some miles. What could go wrong? Ah, here’s our destination.”
They had reached the house by the garden. Matthew smelled the scents of honeysuckle and mint. A few fireflies were sparking in the branches of the elm trees beyond. Ramsendell took a leather cord holding several keys from a pocket of his waistcoat, slid a key into the front door’s lock, and opened it. “Watch your step, gentlemen,” he said, though it was an unnecessary precaution for the open door had exposed a lamp-lit corridor with a long dark blue runner upon the floor. One lantern sat upon a small table and about midway along the corridor was a wrought- iron chandelier of four lamps, previously lit by-Matthew assumed-either Charles or one of the other trustees. As Matthew followed the two doctors in-and Greathouse lagged a few steps behind as if mistrustful of this unknown but perfectly normal-looking residence-he noted four closed doors, two on either side of the hall.
“This way, please.” Ramsendell continued to the last door on the right. He rapped softly on it, waited a few seconds, and then said, “Madam? It’s Dr. Ramsendell and Dr. Hulzen. We’ve brought two visitors to meet you.” There was no response. He looked at Matthew. “She never answers but we think she appreciates the formality.” He pushed another key into the lock and turned it. “Also we do respect her privacy.” Then, louder, and aimed toward the lady within: “I’m opening the door now, madam.”
That particular action also brought neither word nor rustle of motion. The doctors entered first, then Matthew and a decidedly timid Greathouse. Matthew caught another sweet scent; not of the garden this time, but rather of some flowery perfume or oil within the room. It was still dim here, blue twilight spilling between the open shutters of two windows. Matthew saw that the windows in this chamber were not barred, but were wide to the evening
