A Madness So Discreet (17 page)

“I hope it wasn't too cold of a walk,” she said. “I didn't want to bother poor Ned to rig up the horses just to drive a little ways. Besides, I thought it nicer to just have us girls. Don't you think so, Mother?”

“Of course,” agreed an old woman, wrapped in blankets even though she sat by the fire. “And one I haven't met yet in the mix. Come here, dear, let me see you,” she said, motioning to Grace.

Grace glanced at Janey, who nodded, and she knelt by the woman's rocker, leaning closer when she noticed the cataract covering one eye. A hand full of bones bent by age, but skin still soft, brushed against her cheeks. “A pretty girl, my Janey said as much. She also says you're not inclined to speech?”

Grace shook her head, and Nell answered for her. “She dinna talk much, no, but our Grace can play charades with the best of 'em. I can't say there's once tha' I didn't know wha' she was sayin', though 'er mouth never made a word.”

The hand patted her head, as if in blessing. “Ah well, there's days when Janey's up the hill for work on a stretch that I don't speak to a soul myself. It leads to an understanding of your own self.”

“I run me mouth plenty, Mrs. Wilcox, and I think I know's meself pretty well,” Nell objected.

“And the rest of us do too, whether we want to or not,” Lizzie said.

“My Irish lassie has returned,” Mrs. Wilcox said, turning her good eye to Nell. “And how many hearts have you broken since I saw you last?”

“I've had me teeth in a few,” Nell said, leaning low over the old woman to hug her. “But I don' remember 'em complainin' much.”

“And, Elizabeth, don't think you'll be helping set the table when you could share news,” Mrs. Wilcox scolded, motioning Lizzie over to the fire. “You let Janey see to things and come tell an old woman what String has to say.”

Lizzie blushed and sat at Mrs. Wilcox's feet, but her tongue soon loosened as she reiterated news from the asylum, confirming tales that Janey had brought home from work. Every now and then she'd fall silent and turn her head to consult String on a detail, but even
Nell let it pass without comment as they relaxed to the sound of Janey setting the table behind them.

“All right then, girls, give Mother a hand and let's eat a meal together like civilized women.”

And they did. Grace hadn't had such good food since her family table, though the faces around this one were so different. There were no stilted conversations and awkward pauses, no guarded looks or hidden kicks to urge silence. Words flew back and forth, bandied about in the warmth from the fireplace as if they'd grown in the air. Grace could not speak, but she wallowed in the conversation, laughing at Nell's frequent interruptions and Elizabeth's constant attempts to get her under control. Janey didn't object when her mother instructed her to pour some wine, though Grace covered her own glass with her hand.

“A teetotaler, are you?” Mrs. Wilcox asked. Grace shook her head but wouldn't move her hand. The little drink she'd taken in Thornhollow's office had gone to her head immediately. The company of her friends and the vivacity of the moment had her voice aching to speak already; a drink could easily throw the door open.

“Ye can feel free to pour me 'er bit,” Nell said, passing her already empty cup back to Janey.

“Don't you get drunk now, Nell,” Elizabeth warned. “Janey wouldn't hear the end of it if we came back to the asylum sheets to the wind.”

“It takes more than a dram of wine to get an Irish lassie lit, ye wee Englishwoman,” Nell said. “Even Charlie says 'e's not seen the likes of me for putting away the drink, and 'e's seen a few hardwood floors up close.”

“And who is Charlie?” Mrs. Wilcox asked.

“'E's a poor drunkard up the hill,” Nell said. “'Is family put 'im away for loving the bottle.”

“He also did say he was drinking them because Jesus was trapped in the bottoms,” Janey put in.

“If I were Jaysus, that's where I'd go,” Nell said, tipping her glass again.

“Is Charlie a special friend of yours, then?”

“Och, no. A girl like meself can only get so close to a lad, if ye take me meaning.” Her tongue slipped out of the side of her mouth to touch the sore there, and in the firelight, Grace could make out the shadow of another blooming under the skin next to it.

Janey patted Nell's arm, and Elizabeth's face grew grim as she tilted her head to the right. Nell refilled her own glass and looked around the table.

“I've never told ye girls how I got the pox, 'ave I?”

“I imagine you got it the same way anyone else does, and there's no terrible shame in it,” Mrs. Wilcox said.

“Aye, there was no shame. Not on me own part, anyways. But the boy who got me with it, ye see, 'e was me mother's boss's son, and
their name was gold back in Pennsylvania. And there weren't no one who was going to speak up for the washerwoman's daughter, least of all 'im.”

“Would no one help you?” Janey asked.

“I went to me ma, straigh'aways when I knew somethin' was wrong. She was right sore wi' me. Said she didna leave Ireland behind to raise a whore in America. I'm the last of ten bairns, and I think she was wore out with the rearin' of us all. She tol' me I made me own bed and I was to lie innit. Said the mercury treatments was so expensive they may as well be made on the moon.”

“Couldn't the boy in question afford it?” Mrs. Wilcox asked.

“'E could afford it well enough, no doubt. But when I went to 'im 'e said I didna catch it from 'im but from a stable boy or vagrant—‘one of yer own kind' was 'ow 'e put it. I knew well enough it was from 'im, as I'd not been with anyone else and 'e was my first. And 'e knew it too. I could see the fear in 'is eyes as to 'is own welfare and still 'e tossed me out o' the 'ouse, landed on my rear in the back garden I did, gave me a jolt straight up to me skull.”

Grace was utterly still, as were the other women, lost in the lull of Nell's voice as she spoke, her own eyes staring into nothing.

“'E was me only chance of savin' meself, and I well knew it. Me mum and da 'ad turned me out, and there I was with scraped knees and the pox roarin' in me blood. I knew 'twas all up, but damned if I was lettin' the likes of James Cavendish get the better o' me. I knew
the fam'ly, knew all their 'ouses from years of 'elpin' me mum cart their dirty sheets 'ome, never knowing I was to leave a blood spot on one someday meself.

“So I found me way into the bedrooms of all 'is menfolk. One by one they all 'ad me, each unbeknownst to the other and me makin' noises like it's me first toss each time. Them so proud of themselves, so 'appy to have a young, pretty thing moanin' underneath 'em, the whole time I'm givin' back to them what their own relation delivered unto me. From 'is cousins and uncles and grandfather, right down to the youngest brother, who only got but a minute or two of pleasure from it, I 'ad 'em all. And their pride will keep 'em from the doctor, and their sores will keep 'em from their wives, and their cocks will rot right off and they'll be wiped from the face o' the earth. And it's Nell O'Kelly that's done it to 'em.”

“Amen,” Mrs. Wilcox said, raising a glass.

“Amen,” Elizabeth confirmed, raising hers for her first drink of the night.

“Amen to that,” Janey said, tapping her glass alongside Grace's, who raised her water and met Nell's eyes, coldly nodding in agreement before tossing back what was left of her drink, warm now from the fire. It slid into her belly but barely touched her throat, parched with the need to comfort her friend.

“
T
he kitchens are a wreck, I've never seen the like,” Elizabeth complained a week later over dinner. “All this fuss over one man.” She clucked her tongue and looked at her own plate regretfully.

The kitchen had been holding back on the patients' dinner the whole week, reserving the best of everything for the upcoming party. Grace stared at her plain bread, dry chicken with no gravy, and rather small carrot. Still, she hadn't had to fight anyone for it like in Boston. She concentrated on eating, her fingers rubbing the key to the west turret through the folds of her skirts for comfort.

“Aye, I'm none too happy meself,” Nell said. “I been down in the root cellars findin' the best potatoes, as if I grew them for this
Mr. Mae in the first place. Which I didna, and I've 'alf a mind to tell 'im so.”

Grace grabbed her friend's wrist and shook her head violently.

“Oy, now, feisty lass.” Nell pulled away from her. “I'll not be misbehavin'. Come tomorrow night I plan to make meself scarce, unless they try to put us all to work. Not that they'd let me in the kitchens, anyway.” Her hand went to the trail of sores that worked its way from the corner of her mouth, marring her once porcelain complexion.

“They've hired out the work,” Elizabeth said, mouth tight as if she found it offensive. “The insane aren't good enough to prepare Senator Mae's food, I suppose.”

The sound of her father's name in her friends' mouths made Grace's stomach clench shut, her hands form fists. His impending arrival had weighed heavy on her mind, causing nightmares that interfered with her sleep. Their dark fingers dug for purchase into the daylight hours, where sudden movements caused her to jump and she found herself wishing there was a lock on her bedroom door after all.

“There's nothing to fear, physically,” Thornhollow had repeated that morning. “Your father believes you are dead. He has no knowledge of me or our connection. There's no reason for him to suspect a thing. You'll be safe with Nell and Lizzie. The only thing that could go wrong would be if I happen to punch him in the jaw.”

Grace smiled to herself as she remembered Thornhollow's words, his own tension showing through the joke. The trio of girls left the dining hall, shooed out early by attendants who needed to put everything in order early, in case the senator could be enticed into a tour of the asylum. This sort of hospitality was exactly what Grace feared. Even if he were kept to the public areas, his presence was a stain she'd be able to sense long after he'd gone.

Janey met them in the hallway, eyes alight. “Girls, you'll never guess—I've been invited to the reception this evening. The dinner is only for a few of the politicals in town of course, and our own doctors, but the superintendent said the head ward nurses could come to the reception, if we've got the proper clothing for the thing.” She fell in beside them, her happiness at the thought overwhelming the fact that she was an employee and they patients. “I half think he assumed we'd not have the right wardrobe, but Mother always insisted I keep the church dress for church only, and I suppose if it's good enough for God, it's good enough for Senator Mae.”

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, fingers on her temples. Elizabeth's hands were on her shoulders instantly. “Are you all right, Grace? Is it a headache?”

Grace nodded and Janey herded them all into Grace's room, her excitement about the dinner overwhelmed by concern for her patient as she leaned Grace back on her bed. “Is it the dinner? So many
strangers being here? Sometimes I know that can send you quiet ones over the edge. But don't you worry none. The super said that he'll be happy to show off the common places, but nobody's to see your private rooms. He said you're not to be paraded about for their entertainment, fancy-pants politician or not.”

Grace kept her eyes closed, fingertips on her scars. That Janey had guessed somewhat correctly left her nerves more frayed than soothed. If the night was to pass uneventfully, she had to get herself under control. Weights settled on both ends of the bed as her friends nestled in with her.

“We'll stay with 'er, Janey,” Nell said, one hand rubbing Grace's foot. “You go put on yer pretty things. Have a night without thinkin' o' the mad, fer once.”

Janey remained in the doorway, hands working each other in her indecision. “I don't much like leaving with Grace being in a state, though.”

“She's in less of a state than you,” Elizabeth said. “Go on ahead.”

“All right,” Janey agreed. “If it helps her, you girls have my permission to bring your pallet here into her room tonight, sleep all together if there's some comfort in it.”

“That's a wonderful idea,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you, Janey.”

After the door shut behind their nurse, Nell let out a giggle. “As if we 'aven't already done tha' a time or two before.”

“Except now we have permission,” Lizzie said. “Which means we don't have to get up with the cock crow so that no one knows any different.”

“Oh, I dinna,” Nell said. “I don't mind wakin' up with a co—”

“Enough out of you!” Lizzie shushed Nell's comment to focus on Grace. “What's wrong, love? Is it really the guests or . . . Grace? What is that?”

Grace held up the little iron key, a small smile on her face.

The stairs to the turret were thin, the plaster brushing both Grace's shoulders as she pushed cobwebs out of their path. Even though her calves were beginning to burn, each step took her upward and away from the guests who had begun to arrive, their unfamiliar voices lifting through the floorboards to the patients.

“I don't believe many people come this way,” Elizabeth said, coughing politely as dust filled her nose.

“Nae, only the crazies who fancy a toss, I'd say.” Nell's voice carried from the rear.

“Do patients really do that?” Elizabeth asked over her shoulder.

“There's a few, fer sure. Charlie said 'e's had 'alf the female ward, though I'd wager 'e does a bit o' exaggeratin'.”

Grace reached the end of the stairs, handed the lamp down to Elizabeth, and put the key into the lock on the trapdoor. It turned easily, and Grace swung the door out into the cold night air with
a gentle push. Disrupted snow fell on their upturned faces and Elizabeth sputtered. Grace gratefully took in the clean air and the openness surrounding her as she climbed onto the roof.

The west turret looked down over the gravel roundabout, just filling with carriages from town. Grace gave them a glance before reaching down to help Lizzie climb up. She put a hand down for Nell, but the Irish girl shook her head.

“Thank ye kindly, Grace, but I got a fresh rash on me hands just this evenin'. We don't want you ter get your lovely face all spoilt like me own, now do we?” Her words were light but her mouth twisted with the effort involved in keeping it that way.

“Come along and see,” Elizabeth called from the railing. “It's a sight . . . oh, Grace, I don't know how you got the key, but I'm so glad.”

“Ye don't know? Me money's on Dr. Thornhollow. If Grace told 'im to cut off 'is own leg because she fancied it, I think 'e'd saw through bone then an' there.”

Grace pinched Nell lightly on the forearm and her friend yelped. “All's I'm sayin' is that 'e would. I'm not inferrin' anythin'.”

“Keep your voice down,” Lizzie hissed as they joined her. “There's people getting out of their carriages. Our fun is over if they spot three madwomen on the roof, and Janey's place at the reception gone for sure.”

The dying winter light left a rosy tint to the snow, and the gas
lamps that bordered the winding road to town had all been lit for the occasion. The flames danced, drawing the young women's eyes down to the bridge and the first lights being lit in the homes across it. Grace's nerves quieted a bit at the sight before her, the naked branches of the trees no less beautiful for being without leaves.

Elizabeth laced arms with the other two, leaning ever so slightly over the railing. “If you're very quiet, I bet we can hear the river from here,” she whispered.

“Tha's just String pullin' a fast one on ye,” Nell said. “We're sixty feet up if we're a foot. Ye can't hear the river, but I bet we might hear an interestin' thing or two, nonetheless. I see a fancy carriage comin' up the bend now, supposin' that's the senator?”

Grace's heart sank in her chest, her body quivering at the thought. Elizabeth pulled her closer, eyes full of concern. “Are you all right, Grace?” she asked, then tilted her head to the right, brows pulled tighter.

Grace nodded that she was fine but disentangled herself from Lizzie to lean both hands against the railing, pulling in deep lungfuls of air. It wasn't her father who alighted from the carriage but a businessman from town and his garishly overdressed wife. Nell leaned forward as they passed under them toward the portico.

“I think I just seen more o' that woman's cleavage than 'er own 'usband.”

“Oh, look, another one,” Elizabeth exclaimed as more wheels came crunching up the drive, hooves ringing as they circled behind the asylum to the stables. “Poor Ned. He'll have more than his fair share of work tonight.”

“Och, 'e'll love it,” Nell argued. “'E'll be able to tell us the name and 'eritage of every new 'orsie 'e meets tonight. 'E's probably the 'appiest insane person fer miles.”

The carriages kept coming, people piling out of them. The drivers gathered on the back of the grounds, the bobbing heads of their lit cigarettes wafting the smell of tobacco to the girls to mingle with the voices of their bosses.

“Now that one's nicely dressed,” Elizabeth said, nudging Nell to bring her attention to a woman in blue.

“Not bad, not bad,” Nell agreed. “And lookie 'ere, the super's going to come down the steps to bring 'er in. Goodness me, in the upper crusts tha's the same as announcin' ye want to give 'er a go.” She fanned herself in a mock fit.

“As if you'd mind for a man to hand you down from a carriage,” Elizabeth said.

“What's 'e doin' with 'is 'ands after that?”

Elizabeth sighed. “Now, let's test their manners,” she said. “All the women have come in with their husbands, except for the lady in blue.”

“She didn't 'ave to wait for no 'elp.”

“No, and here's a little old lady, come alone.”

“And a gentleman come to see to 'er, right away,” Nell said, slapping the railing. “Ye can say what ye like about the insane asylum, but—look 'ere, Grace, that's yer Dr. Thornhollow 'elpin' 'er. Ooooh and don't 'e just look nice as can be. My, my . . .”

“Yes, he does look handsome,” Elizabeth agreed.

“Cover yer ears, lassies, then hit the boards.” Nell said, a split second before putting her fingers in her mouth and letting out a wolf whistle. Grace dropped to the roof, dragging Elizabeth down next to her. Nell fell in pile of skirts, red-faced with laughter.

“Nell!” Elizabeth gasped. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinkin' it's a lovely night, and 'e's a good-lookin' man who don't 'ave no one to tell 'im so. So I did, and damned if 'e didna look straight up 'ere as if 'e knew there'd be someone in the turret.”

Elizabeth peeped over the edge. “Do you suppose he's still looking?”

“It doesna matter, Lizzie. 'E knows we're 'ere, and I imagine it's all for wee Grace's sake, so let's stop worryin' about the rules and 'ave the fun of it.”

They went back down the stairs single file to retrieve chairs, making their way back up awkwardly, chair legs bumping each other in the shoulder blades. Once settled, Nell produced two cigarettes, lit them off the lamp, and offered one to them.

“I could never,” Elizabeth said, waving it away.

“Ye could,” Nell said, jabbing it back at her friend. “I begged two off of Charlie so's ye wouldn't have to share me own, so ye damn well better take a suck or I'll set String afire.”

Elizabeth took a reluctant pull, coughed out a plume of smoke, and handed it off to Grace with a grimace. “It's the devil's own weed,” she complained.

“Aye, the devil gets all the credit,” Nell agreed. “Go on then, Grace, ye don' use yer mouth for nothin' else.”

Grace took a puff, drawing the smoke into her lungs and back out in a rush that left her eyes watering. She handed it back to Lizzie, shaking her head.

“Amateurs,” Nell said, sucking in and releasing smoke through her nose.

The cigarette made the round again, Nell coaching the other two as the moon rose higher and their laughter grew louder. Grace allowed herself to be lulled, to follow their voices and stories to a place where she didn't fear the arrival of her father. Lost in each other's words, they didn't even hear the party breaking up until the first carriages were brought around to the front, wheels crunching in the gravel.

“Already?” Elizabeth asked, rising from her chair to watch the guests depart.

“Ye've got no sense of time,” Nell said, pointing at the moon. “It's two in the mornin' at least. Or 'ave ye never seen the sky this late?”

“Does it matter?” Elizabeth said, at the railing. “Here they go.”

“Aye,” Nell said as she and Grace joined their friend. “And the rich stagger 'ome just the same as the poor.”

They emptied out slowly, women leaning on men and vice versa, drivers helping everyone into their carriages. Grace stood watching solemnly. Her father had been under her feet for hours and her friends had drawn her thoughts elsewhere. Now that he was leaving she felt a perverse need to see him, to revel in the knowledge that he had truly been so near and she'd been unaffected. The bricks had not crumbled; the air was not poisoned. She could continue to be Grace of the asylum on the hill and let Grace Mae truly be a ghost.