A Proper Education for Girls (43 page)

“I thought you were interested in the face, the physiognomy?” queried Mr. Blake.

“Oh, that too,” said Dr. Cattermole waving a hand. “But the operation itself must be captured. We must see the source of all this trouble, and we must chart its removal.”

Mr. Blake looked at Alice. But Alice was hardly listening. One phrase was going around and around in her head:
the area to be excised
. A wave of nausea broke over her, turning her skin clammy and filling her mouth with a bitter, metallic-tasting liquid. She struggled to stand but succeeded only in sliding off the bed like a rag doll onto the floor. Hands came toward her, and she cried out.

Mr. Blake lifted her back onto the bed. “Rest now,” he murmured into her ear, “or the doctor will have to restrain you.”

“Yes indeed,” said Dr. Cattermole. “I have all the necessary means at my disposal. And the full cooperation of your father, of course.”

“Do as he says,” whispered Mr. Blake. “It will be for the best if you do.” He stroked her hair soothingly. Alice closed her eyes and turned away from him.

W
HEN
A
LICE RETURNED
to consciousness all was silent. Dr. Cattermole and Mr. Blake had gone. Three lamps were burning, illuminating the room in a glare of sickly yellow light. From the contents of the place, which she had barely been able to register before, Alice knew instantly where she was—in a bedroom at the rear of the house on the third floor, close to the attic stairs. It had been the home of Mr. Talbot's collection of stuffed birds for a number of years now—ever since their previous roost, the billiard room, had been taken over by the scientific instrument collection. Alice saw that Mr. Blake and Dr. Cattermole had moved the birds to the sides of the room. There was a clearing now in the center of the floor around which the birds were gathered, as though the room were a theater filled with an audience of beaked and beady-eyed spectators. The object of their gaze, Alice noticed with alarm, was an operating table. She blanched. She had not seen Dr. Cattermole's operating table since Lilian had lain upon it. The stirrups on either side of it were the same, the cracked and shining leather upholstery as stained and worn. Beside it, on a washstand, stood a large basin, a jug, and a glittering array of surgical instruments. Among these Alice recognized the silvery beak of the speculum. Next to this a jar of leeches glittered, as black as molasses in the lamplight.

Alice tried to cry out in terror, but no sound emerged from her open mouth. Her skin turned hot, and then cold, her flesh recoiling in horror from the sight of the doctor's instruments of butchery, so that she felt as though spiders were crawling all over her. Her breath came in gasps, and a layer of icy sweat coated her body, suddenly cleaving her dress to her legs, arms, and stomach, as though she
were drowning in her own terrible panic. The last time she had seen those instruments she had witnessed a degree of pain and cruelty she had not thought possible. She had seen her sister lie motionless and bleeding upon that couch, her thin awkward legs white beneath the crimson stickiness that covered them.

Alice tried to rise from the bed. She had to find some way out of the room. But she discovered she could not move. Looking down, she realized that there were wide leather straps across her legs, her abdomen, her arms and chest, that pinned her to the bed as surely as the dose of ether had done. Alice thrashed, as far as it was possible to do so, beneath her leather constraints. If she could just get a hand free she might be able to loosen them somehow.

But at that moment the door opened. Mr. Blake and Dr. Cattermole entered. The former carried his camera box, the latter carried a tea tray upon which sat a large pot of tea, a cup and saucer, and a plate of Bakewell tart. Dr. Cattermole put his tray down on the display case of finches and poured a cup of tea. Mr. Blake opened his camera box and pulled out his camera. Alice noticed that the dark tent, in which she and Mr. Blake had spent so much time over the past months, had been erected in a corner behind the avian audience. Alice peered at the photographer as he fixed his camera onto a large wooden tripod positioned at the end of the operating table. Mr. Blake glanced at her but was unable to meet her gaze. Once the camera was in place, he busied himself with choosing the correct lens and with buffing the glass plates he was to use, and he made sure that his back was to her. Alice stared at him but said nothing. How stupid she had been. Over the past months she was sure that they had developed some kind of understanding, some kind of relationship built on sincere regard, mutual respect, fondness even. It seemed she had misjudged him. She wondered how much money her father had offered the photographer to act as assistant in what was soon to take place.

“Miss Talbot,” said the doctor, licking crumbs off his lips, “I see you are awake again. I must apologize for the restraints I was obliged to use, but you are quite clearly a resourceful woman, and
we could not possibly have left you unattended. Still, we are here now.” He sipped his tea but made no move to release Alice from her bondage. “Of course, last time we were here it was your sister who was in need of medical attention.” He shook his head. “How your dear father grieves over the fate of his daughters. One a fallen woman, saved only by the timely intervention of a most forgiving man of the cloth. The other, unsexed by her pursuit of knowledge and tottering on the brink of madness as a result.”

“Release me!” cried Alice. “You are committing a grave and punishable crime to hold me here in this way. This is assault. I am held without my consent.”

“But your consent is not needed, my dear. Your condition has rendered you quite beyond reason. Your father will testify to that. Any one of my colleagues downstairs would agree.”

“What nonsense!” cried Alice, struggling to master her terrible fear. “If these so-called colleagues are so much in agreement with you, why is it that you hide me away up here? Why are they not up here with you?” Alice fought against her bindings, her face becoming flushed, her hair lying disordered on her pillow. She felt terror writhing like a cold serpent within her stomach. She forced herself to sound rational. She knew Dr. Cattermole would proceed with his surgery no matter what she might say, though she could not bring herself to say nothing. “Come now, Doctor. Release me at once and we shall say no more about it.”

Dr. Cattermole licked his fingers. “You do realize,” he said, “that were I not able to return you to docility with a simple operation, your fate would be one of long-term restraint: a lifetime of enforced idleness, either in an asylum or in secluded apartments within the home. Clearly, your father is anxious to avoid this, in part due to the need he has for you as his housekeeper, in part due to the stigma of having a daughter lose her mind.”

“I have not lost my mind,” cried Alice. “I have been encouraged, by my father, to read, to write, to think, to express myself clearly. I have honored his wishes by acting as his curator, his assistant in all matters pertaining to the Collection. If I am outspoken, it
is because my father allowed me to be so. If I am curious, it is because he encouraged this in me. If I am intelligent, it is because I was born that way and he took advantage of this to use me in any way he saw fit. If he would rather I kept my opinions to myself, he need only tell me so. There is no need to butcher me to gain my cooperation.”

“I can assure you, Miss Talbot, to ease the sufferings of the mind, we must attend to the body.” Dr. Cattermole sipped his tea, and wiped his lips with the edge of a folded napkin. “In particular, the
sexual
organs.”

“But
this
is madness!” cried Alice. “Your opinions are based upon conjecture. This is simply an experiment for your own gratification. You have taken against me simply because I don't flatter you; I don't smile and simper and dress to delight you.” She frowned. “And I don't pose naked for you and your camera.”

Dr. Cattermole appeared unmoved. He chuckled. “Ah, but you will today, my dear. You may be certain of that.”

From the tray of medical instruments beside the operating table, Dr. Cattermole's speculum winked at her in the lamplight. At that moment, Alice wondered whether she was the only person in the room who was capable of sensible thought. She looked at Mr. Blake hopefully. After all, he had always seemed sympathetic. But he was buffing his lens and making sure the camera was secure on its tripod.

Dr. Cattermole put his plate down silently and came toward her across the room. He bent over her, his face so close that she could smell the sugar and almonds on his breath. “I have reason to believe that there is a certain part of you that demands my immediate surgical attention,” he whispered. “Now, my dear, I intend to examine the organ in question, photograph it, and remove it. This I shall do, for the sake of your health, of course, and in accordance with your dear father's wishes. And I shall do it with or without your consent.” He smiled. “Be assured, Miss Talbot, I shall have that small part of you pickling in a jar by the end of the night.”

“Take these straps off me this instant,” screamed Alice.

At that moment, the door burst open. Her father stood on the threshold, breathing hard. His face was livid and his hair awry. His beard appeared to be smoldering slightly; his jacket was singed and peppered with flecks of yellow. He was accompanied by an atmosphere all of his own, and as he stood in the doorway the room filled with a draft of cold air laced with the stench of sulfur and smoke. He gazed around the room, his eyes staring, his mouth open, his chest rising and falling as though he had run, without stopping, all the way from the garden to the top of the house (which was, in fact, exactly what he had done).

“Cattermole,” panted Mr. Talbot. “It's started.”

“What has?”

Alice thrashed beneath her restraints. “Father, help me,” she cried.

Mr. Talbot eyed his daughter warily. “Is she mad, Cattermole?” he whispered. “Is that why you have restrained her so?”

“Most certainly,” said Dr. Cattermole.

“For goodness' sake, Father,” cried Alice. “Do I sound mad? Do appear mad?”

Mr. Talbot stared at his daughter's flushed face, at her disordered hair, and wide, black-ringed eyes. “Why, yes, as a matter of fact,” he said. “You most certainly do.”

“What is it, Talbot?” snapped Dr. Cattermole. “You look like the devil himself.”

“The volcano,” cried Mr. Talbot, his eyes blazing with passion, his face beaming. “A most magnificent sight. Cattermole, my dear fellow. You must come down and see for yourself.”

Dr. Cattermole stood up. “I have work to do up here,” he said.

“Come, come,” said Mr. Talbot. “This is a sight you will never see again, and it will not wait. The ground has opened up and there are plumes of burning sulfur, spouts of blazing iron, smoke belching forth—why, in all my years in the iron foundries I never saw the like. It is amazing. Quite remarkable. It is the mouth of hell itself—in my own front garden. Come on, man, there is no time to lose.”

Mr. Talbot disappeared from the door, with a waft of smoke, like a theatrical apparition. His feet could be heard stamping down the hallway. “Come on, Cattermole,” he shouted. “Everything else can wait until later.”

Dr. Cattermole stared longingly at the door after his friend. He hesitated for only a moment. Then, “Make sure everything is set up as it should be,” he snapped at Mr. Blake. “I shall be back.”

A
S SOON AS
the door was closed Mr. Blake leaped over to Alice's side. He took her hand. “Alice,” he whispered. “Miss Talbot. Are you unhurt?”

“If I am, it's no thanks to you,” muttered Alice. “How much did they offer you? I hope it was a lot. Or were you easily bought?”

“I had to do what I did,” said the photographer. “How else could I help you unless I pretended to be a part of their scheme?”

Alice blinked at him. “You are not a part of their scheme?”

“Of course not.”

“But—”

“There is no time to lose if you are to escape. The doctor is interested in the artificial volcano, but he will not remain downstairs for long if he has something more interesting to do up here. He has been watching you for a long time now. He told me so himself.”

“Are you intending to release me or to talk to me until Dr. Cattermole returns?” Alice struggled beneath her bonds once again. “Hurry!”

Mr. Blake began to fiddle with the buckles.

“Just cut them,” cried Alice. “There are all manner of knives and blades on the washstand. Come on, Mr. Blake. You are not thinking straight!”

Mr. Blake nodded and dashed to the washstand. He returned with the largest of Dr. Cattermole's surgical blades. In a few moments, Alice was free.

She leaped to her feet and ran to the washstand. Her head was
heavy, but she felt no aftereffects from the dose of ether she had been given. She gathered up all of Dr. Cattermole's instruments. “Quickly, Mr. Blake,” she cried. “Open the window.”

Mr. Blake did as he was asked, and Alice hurled the speculum, the blades and probes, the hooks and needles and syringes, out into the night. They could not see the artificial volcano from the back of the house, but a draft of night air blew in through the open window, carrying with it the unmistakable reek of sulfur. A shower of sparks whirled above them into the darkness of the night sky. Alice threw the leather restraining straps out of the window too. The stirrups from the operating table followed them. Alice began to drag the operating table across the room, but Mr. Blake stopped her. “It's too large,” he said gently. “It won't fit. Besides, is it not time to leave? We don't want to be here when the doctor returns.”

Alice nodded. “But surely we're locked in,” she said. “How can we get out? Cattermole didn't leave you with a key, did he?”

“No.”

Alice went to the door and turned the handle. She peered through the key hole. A draft of cold air tickled her eyeball. There was no key on the other side of the door. “He's taken it with him,” she said. She ran to the window and leaned out.

But their prison was so far from the ground that Alice felt as though she were peering over the edge of a bottomless pit. They could not jump down or climb down. She looked upward, but the edge of the roof was far away beyond a featureless stretch of brick and a lip of curlicued stonework. Alice ran back to the door. She banged on it. She kicked it. She rattled the handle and shouted for help.