An Inconvenient Wife (35 page)

“Yes,” I said.

“Every new patient receives a full examination. We’ll be seeing each other regularly.”

Maddy closed the door. The room felt too small, too close. The doctor went to a door in the far wall and opened it, and I
saw an examination table, instruments, things too familiar to mistake.

“I’ve had enough examinations,” I said.

“I’m sure you have.” He smiled, revealing stained teeth. “I assure you, this is quite necessary. Dr. Little and I have taken
over your care. Therefore I will need to examine you.” He jerked his head to Maddy, and she pulled me ungently to the other
room.

“Let’s get undressed, Mrs. Carelton,” she said to me.

There was no dressing screen, and when I glanced at her in question, she gestured to me roughly, and I understood that I was
expected to undress in the open. When I did nothing, she came over and stripped off my gown and petticoats with practiced
movements. Her broad, flat fingers tugged at the fastenings of my corset until it came loose. When I was clad in only my chemise,
she bade me sit on the examination table, and Dr. Rush came in, wiping his hands on a towel.

I hugged myself, feeling exposed and miserable and powerless in a way that I had never felt before. I had had examinations
like this so many times, but always because I wanted to be well, always because I hoped the doctor would find the answer.

“Now, Mrs. Carelton,” the doctor said. “You’ve been diagnosed with uterine monomania. Your husband indicates that you’ve been
unable to conceive during the length of your marriage.”

I could almost see the goose pimples on my thighs beneath the thin lawn of my chemise.

“I’m sure this is familiar to you, Mrs. Carelton. Maddy?”

The nurse forced me onto my hands and knees. I closed my eyes against her rough hands pulling my chemise up over my hips,
baring me to the doctor. I felt his hands, the cold speculum, and I could not stand it. “I don’t belong here.”

The doctor sighed. The sound was tired and irritated; there was no attempt at pity. “Yes, my dear, I know. No one does.”

T
hrough all of this, I refused to think of Victor, though he was always hovering in the back of my mind. I told myself that
I would think of him and his abandonment after I convinced Dr. Little of William’s treachery. When I was free again, I would
decide what to feel about Victor. Beyond that I would not contemplate. For now all that mattered was freedom.

When Maddy led me to Dr. Little, I was resolved. His office, through a maze of close hallways and many rooms, seemed to take
forever to reach. When she closed the door behind me, I heard the squeak of a chair in the hallway—she was waiting—and that
filled me with an odd sense of importance, as if they expected me to turn into a raving lunatic at any moment. Dr. Little
sat at a large desk in the corner of the room, against a window where the sun came streaming in. The room was quite warm,
and I had a moment of confusion—the office was so like the one I’d visited him in before, with its plaques and books. But
here the wallpaper was plain brown with no design. Only the chairs, with their rich silk upholstery of deep maroon, and the
highly polished desk gave any nod to decoration.

I stood in the middle of the room, my hands folded before me, feeling nauseated. There was so much at stake; I had to convince
him, and yet I could not think of the words.

He studied me through round spectacles—like Victor’s, I thought briefly, though they perched on top of a fleshy nose. “Mrs.
Carelton,” he said, rising. “Please, sit down.”

I settled myself on the very edge of a chair.

He took up a paper from his desk and scanned it, then his brow furrowed as if he sought some answer in my face. “You’ve had
your examination with Dr. Rush this morning?”

“Yes.”

He tapped his finger on the desk. “His examination seems to bolster my previous diagnosis of uterine monomania. According
to your husband, you’ve only grown worse in the time since I saw you last.”

“No,” I said. “I haven’t. I’ve been much better.”

The doctor sat on the corner of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, dangling the paper from his fingers. He looked
thoughtful. “Your husband says that you were engaging in delusions and hysterical fits, Mrs. Carelton. That you were immodest
and uncontrollable. He lists several examples of your unacceptable behavior: that there were several instances of”—here he
reddened—“reckless and disturbing sexual conduct, that you began drawing obsessively, and that you frequently embarrassed
neighbors and friends with your talk and actions.”

When his words registered, I was so disbelieving that all I could think to say was “But that’s not true.”

“Which part?”

I felt a rising panic. “William knows . . . he
knows
I’ve been getting better. That’s why he sent me here, you see, because he was threatened by it, because I humiliated him.”

“How did you humiliate him?”

“I—I had an affair,” I said desperately. “With my doctor.”

“Your doctor?”

“Yes. Yes. William found out and he sent me here. He drugged me first, so I wouldn’t protest.”

“You had an affair with your doctor, so your husband sent you here,” Dr. Little repeated.

“Yes. He says I’m insane, but he’s lying.”

“Lying?” Dr. Little gave me a sad smile. “My dear Mrs. Carelton, why would he do that?”

“To keep me here. To imprison me.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“Yes, I do. I do.” I could no longer contain my anxiety. I rose jerkily from the chair and began to pace. “I embarrassed him,
and this is all simply to remind me of who I am.”

“I see.” Dr. Little exhaled. “You did not begin drawing obsessively?”

I jerked to a stop. “What?”

“It’s a simple question, Mrs. Carelton. Were you drawing obsessively? I have here several reports—not just from your husband
but from others, your father as well—that you were.”

“My father?” I sank again into the chair. “My father knows I’m here?”

“Yes.” Dr. Little’s look was pitying.

Papa had helped William imprison me. The realization silenced me.

“Mrs. Carelton, it says here you were drawing in your every spare moment. Your maid says it. There is also an account of how
you left a party to draw in the courtyard. Is this true?”

“Yes,” I said, unable to think. “I suppose it is.”

“Did you embarrass your friends?”

“I suppose so. I don’t know.”

“Did you display uncharacteristic sexual behavior?”

I could not believe this was happening. Not this interrogation, not Papa’s involvement, not anything. I began numbly to see
that I would not escape this place, that the reprieve I’d hoped for was not coming. Papa would not help me. William had put
me here. And Victor . . . oh, Victor. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I only wanted William to kiss me. But he was afraid I would
sap his energies.”

“In other words, Mrs. Carelton, you have done every one of the things I’ve mentioned.”

I felt the chains binding me ever more tightly.

“Mrs. Carelton, I understand how this must all seem quite overwhelming, but the fact remains that your husband loves you and
wants the best for you. He informed me of your mother’s unfortunate history, and I know that he and your father fear you will
repeat it. They both believe that Beechwood Grove is where you should be just now. I must admit that, confronted with your
behavior these last months, I have no choice but to agree. Rest is what you need. Rest and medication.” He came before me,
squatting until his face was even with mine. “Mrs. Carelton, is your husband lying?”

I thought of how I had changed beneath Victor’s care, how I had become someone I didn’t know, how it must have seemed to William.
He was my jailer, true, but I knew also that William believed he loved me. We had been bound together in hope and hopelessness
for years.

I shook my head and whispered, “No.”

Dr. Little smiled. “As I thought.” He stood and went to the door, muttering something to Maddy before he turned back to me
and said, “Maddy will take you back to your room, Mrs. Carelton. We will meet again tomorrow.”

I barely registered the walk back to my room; I knew only that we were there, and that someone had unpacked the bag I’d forgotten
about, had hung my clothes on the wall hooks and filled the bureau drawers. I saw what I had thrown into the bag in my haste
to leave William: a silk dress embellished with lace, a ball gown, a gown of muslin, things so inappropriate for this place.

Maddy took my nightgown off the bed and handed it to me with the curt direction to change. From the window I saw that it was
merely early evening, but time no longer mattered. I did as the nurse bade me, and when I was done, there was a knock on the
door. It cracked open to show another nurse, one from last night. Greta, with her great thick arms and dirty-blond hair covered
by a cap. She held a bottle and a cup.

“I’ve come with your medicine, ma’am,” she said.

Maddy motioned for her to come in. “Now, I see it this way, dearie,” Maddy said. “You either take your medicine like a good
girl, or I use the wedge on you. Might even break a few of your pretty teeth, which I don’t think you’d take to kindly.” She
reached into the pocket of her apron, bringing out a piece of wood angled into a wedge. I could see the teeth marks cut deep
into the grain.

I had not planned to argue.

Greta measured medicine into a cup and went to the pitcher to add a bit of water. She put the cup into my hand, and the pungent
green smell of chloral reached my nostrils. I downed it in one gulp.

“Now, then, that’s a good girl,” Maddy said, taking the cup from me, leading me to the bed. “You just lay down now, dearie.
You’ll feel better in the morning.”

I woke before dawn, confused and frightened. I did not know where I was; the shadows were strange; I couldn’t hear the ocean.
It was hot . . . hadn’t the windows been left open? I thought I remembered Victor padding naked to them, flipping the catches,
throwing them open.

But then I saw the faint play of light on the ceiling from lamps outside, and it came to me. Victor was not here.

I crawled out of bed. I felt drowsy, my limbs were heavy, there was a nasty taste in my mouth—the chloral. I stumbled against
the bed stand and sat on the edge of the mattress, and the sadness and pain of Victor’s abandonment rose to drown me. I wanted
to hope it was all a lie, a terrible delusion. I lurched to my feet, fumbling with the buttons on my nightgown, impatient
to have it off, to see my own body, to find a mark—a bruise from his kisses, perhaps, something to show me he had been there,
that he had loved me. I stood there naked and desperate. I touched my breasts, searching for the memory of his hands there;
I ran my fingers over my waist and hips, across my thighs. I remembered every encounter, every time he’d touched me with his
long fingers, every movement studied and elegant, every touch arousing. Had he ever loved me? Or had it been as I feared,
that he had used me and controlled me? Had I only seen what I wanted so much to believe?

There was the key in the door. Startled, I reached for the nightgown I’d dropped on the floor, but before I could, the door
opened. Maddy went still when she saw me, her hand frozen on the doorknob, and then her dark brows came together in a thunderous
frown.

I hastily grabbed up my nightgown, holding it before me to shield my nakedness.

She yanked it away, so I was forced to cover myself with my hands. “They warned us about this,” she muttered. “Dr. Little
will want to know about this.”

“Please,” I said. “I was just getting dressed.”

She went to the door, which she had not bothered to close. Anyone walking down the hallway could see. “Greta!” she called.
There was a flurry of footsteps. The burly maid came to the door.

“What is it?”

“Mrs. Carelton here has been gratifying herself.” Maddy spat the words as if the very thought was repulsive.

“No,” I said, growing frightened. “No, I was merely getting dressed.” I tried to go to her, but the chloral had left me drunk
and unbalanced. I fell to my knees.

“Tell Hilary I’m bringing her down.”

Greta smiled. “Will you need the muff?”

Maddy turned to me. “Will I need the muff, Mrs. Carelton? Or will you get dressed and come with me like a good girl?”

“Go where?” I asked, huddling, trying desperately to cover my nakedness from those who peered inside the door as they made
their way to breakfast.

Greta reached into her pocket and took out a pair of leather mittens fastened with a chain.

“Not those,” I said. “Please, not those.”

Maddy gave her fellow nurse a grin. “I think we’ll do just fine without them, Greta. Go tell Hilary.”

Greta went off, and Maddy shut the door at last. I was grateful until I saw the way she looked at me. “Now, then, dearie,
think you can get dressed? Or do you need my help for that?”

I scrambled to my feet. She handed me my nightgown. “That’s good enough,” she said, and I didn’t question her. I put it on
as quickly as I could, ashamed of my nakedness, of the way she never took her eyes from me, of the shameful, humiliating thought
that she was looking too closely—indecently—at my breasts. When I had it on, she opened the door and grabbed my arm—I was
beginning to learn that Maddy never did anything gently—and took me down the hall, away from the dining room. Again I was
lost in a maze of stairs and narrow hallways until we came to a room. It was cold and austere, with stone floors and no windows.
There were full-length tin bathtubs everywhere, and coiled hoses leaking water, and iron bedsteads covered with thin gray
mattresses. There were drains on the floor.