The Medea Complex (10 page)

Nurse Agnus knocks and enters, smiling at the both of us.

“Beatrix!” she says, the smile growing wider. It quickly
disappears, turning into a blush. “I mean, Miss Fortier. How nice to meet you.”

Miss Fortier turns to the attendant, her hands shaking. “Oh,
how nice to meet you too-”

I interrupt.

“Thank you, Miss Fortier. I bid you good-day.”

I want her out of my office. Yet she lingers.

“Sir,” she says, rummaging in her purse, dropping it. She
casts aside handkerchiefs and coins until she finds an envelope. “Could you
give this to my Lady? It's a letter, from me. She will be very happy to hear
from me. I know she will.”

I take the letter from her and nod, neglecting to inform her
that we don’t, as a rule, pass letters onto patients.

It is not until much, much later that I wonder how Agnus
knew Miss Fortier's first name, and I completely forgot to ask her about the
importance of French.

Edgar

January 10th, 1886

Asquith House

I am alone, sheltered in a house tainted with blood and
decorated with murder. The thick covers that surround me heat my body, but fail
to thaw the coil of cold anger around my neck. Misery is my only bedfellow.

Ultimately, what do fancy homes and pricey possessions give
to the person that owns them? Satisfaction? Superiority? What has my father
been searching for all these years? What did he expect to gain from this? It is
I, not he, that has borne the brunt and result of our lies.

It is I that saw my own child, dismembered into several
different pieces across a fancy kitchen floor.

It is I bearing the burden now.

And yet, he has the audacity to ask me for money?

What I wouldn't give to possess all that is owed me. A wife
who is not in a lunatic asylum, a son that is not dead, and a father that cares
for me. I don’t understand how this has become such a nightmare.

This is her fault.

I hate her.

I love her.

I hate her.

I need her.

The realisation does not come quietly, and I sob into the
sheets. 

The servants hate me; I saw the glint in that bloody lady's
maids' eye. And in those of the brat with her, what's her name? Betty. Yes, she
too, will go when I am master of this manor. Do they think I haven't noticed
the distinct undertone of simmering resentment? Do they imagine that their
jealousy is well hidden behind the 'Yes Sir's', and 'No, Sir's'? Yes, I know
what their problem is. They see me as a usurper: a commoner that has waltzed
into their home and become a man. A gentleman. I am now what I always aspired
to be. I may not have the money but damn them, they will treat me as a
gentleman. If not, I'll sack them all, and buy a new staff from Europe. Just
like the Doctor. Yes, that is what I will do when my wife is free, and our new
baby son is born.

Happy with my newly positive thoughts, I jump out of bed.

But wait. Can I go ahead with this day as I did so
yesterday? Can I spend another morning sat alone, staring out of the window?
Another afternoon pouring over newspapers from yesteryear, whilst all the while
my wife lies rotting amidst her insanity?

She needs to come home to me, so therefore, I must help her.

I need her.

Where is that book the Doctor gave me?

It is not on the bedside table.

It is not on the floor.

Oh no. Have I lost it? I can't remember what I did last
night. Was I drunk? Is it possible I put it somewhere?

Frantic, I throw cushions and lamps and a wooden animal out
of my way, all of them bouncing safely off the plush rug underfoot.

I find Insanity and Allied Neuroses still sitting unopened
next to the dregs of last night’s alcohol, atop Anne's vanity table. Opening it
up, I flick through it.

'We may classify by the causes, as in epileptic, puerperal,
or alcoholic insanity; or by the forms which the symptoms assume; thus, mania,
melancholia, or dementia.

‘At almost any period after delivery symptoms of insanity
may arise’

‘She becomes sleepless and nervous, fancying that she is
going to be deserted, or that something is going to happen to her children and
herself’

‘Inheritance plays a very important part in puerperal
insanity’

I close the book and put it back on the table, thinking.

Lord Damsbridge has been away these past weeks, attending
some political function, on account of him sitting in the House of Lords, so
there is nobody to speak to about this situation. In any case, he and I are not
so close as to discuss such frivolities as my loneliness, especially not when
his only daughter sits in a nuthouse. When he moved into the dowager house, I
got the distinct impression that he blamed me for it somehow. Is it true what
the old lawyer said, that my father-in-law will not let me stay here, in
Asquith House? I don’t think Lord Damsbridge ever realised that it takes two
people to make a baby, and yet only one person to destroy it. And the one who
did so wasn't me. It was his precious daughter.

I go to my washbowl, satisfied to see it filled already, and
splash cold water upon my face. I reach out blindly for the towel to wipe my
eyes, and my hands settle around something hard and lumpy.

The wooden giraffe.

It landed right next to my ablution bowl, and I didn’t even
register what it was.

My dead sons only toy.

Furious, I leave it and make my way into the next bedroom,
my eyes settling upon the crib. How have I slept in the room next to this every
night?  No wonder I have nightmares! I rush over to it and start kicking it
repeatedly, not stopping until the wooden slats crack and fall apart, not
caring if I alarm the servants with the noise. Eventually, a pile of broken
wood lies on the floor, which I scoop into my arms. Before I know what I am
doing, I am running along the hallways; lined with paintings of ancestors long
deceased from this world, and then I am outside in the garden wearing nothing
but my night wear, making a fire, upon which I make a pyre of the cot. The heat
and smoke sting my eyes.

"Sir!" The shout arouses my attention from the
flames. The fire I am currently imagining Anne burning within. Burn, slut,
burn. "Sir, oh dear!" Miss Fortier near on runs straight into me, in
such a hurry is she to get to my side. "Goodness heavens above! Fire!
Sir,  sir, let me get some water immediately!" I grab her arm as she
turns, evidently meaning to run back through the mud to fill a bucket.

"Do not distress yourself so, Miss Fortier." I
say, stabbing it with a stick. "It's a good fire. A right bony bonfire
indeed. Poke it; look at the sparks it sends up."

Wide eyed, she glances down at my hand that still holds her.
I release her, and turn back to the pyre. I throw the stick upon it as she rubs
her arm.

"Sir, what is it you have burning? What if the land
shall catch fire? Oh, sir..."

"Enough, Beatrix."

She dithers, not sure where to put herself.

"Return to your duties Miss Fortier and leave me
be," I say.

She looks to the ground, and then to my face. "Sir,
forgive me for speaking so terribly out of turn, but I worry about you. I hear
you crying at night, and I know just how terribly in grief you are. Please, I
implore you; take care of yourself." I wonder if she knows of my drinking
habit of late.  I wonder if she can smell it on me now. I wonder why I don't
feel ashamed. I stare at her, and resist the urge to hit her. Though I
understand her trepidation, I certainly don't need Anne's maid giving me
advice, and my silence unnerves her.

“Sir, I-”

I click my jaw.

The unspoken response gives her an answer she didn't want,
and she turns from me and runs away back towards the house, lifting her long
skirts high above the mud that splatter her boots.

Maybe I can control my grief. Maybe I can't.

Oh, but how can I forgive her? How? She has ruined
everything, everything.

What happens if she should not come back? What happens to
me, and our marriage?

My whole life is falling apart.

I will get my wife back. I must. The mother of my child; the
murderer of my baby.

The love and the hate of my life.

Anne

February 2nd, 1886

Royal Bethlem Hospital

I have been here for fifteen weeks already. Where has the
time gone?

So far, they have taken my picture three times, plunged me
under cold water twice, and tied my hands once. Still, I am strong, and they
shan't break me.

Apparently the shape of my head is normal. That's good.

Fat Ruth has never given me her keys instead of porridge, and
I have never had anything other for breakfast in this stinking hole of a place
since the day I arrived here. I feel almost destitute at times. Though they
have started letting me out of my cell for longer periods each day, and
sometimes they even take their eyes off me, it's hardly enough time to make
another attempt at escape. So, I don't try anymore.

Grace has become my mute friend, she doesn't say much but
that's fine with me. Obviously her nerves got on top of her being locked up in
here, and I can empathize with that. I sit on the floor next to her under the
watchful eye of Agnus. I like Agnus, but how can I possibly trust her amongst
this place of thieves, robbers, liars and tricksters? She treats Grace with
nothing but compassion. I see true sympathy in her eyes regarding our plight
but still, she is employed by these people so she can't be that pleasant. I
treat her with wariness, though she always tries her best to engage me in
conversation.

This day, Agnus tells me Grace has been here for eight years.

"Eight years!" I exclaim in utter mystification.
"Why in heavens did her family not pay the ransom?"

"Anne, how many times do I have to tell you?"
Agnus admonishes.

"Yes, yes, I have not been kidnapped," I repeat
back to her, a sentence she repeats to me daily when I start becoming slightly
hysterical about my current predicament. "Can you believe that Doctor has
fake certificates hanging on the wall in his fake office?”

“Anne, you are in a hospital. He really is a Doctor.”

I grumble.

“Yes yes...I must try to remember this."

"Yes Anne, you must, if you ever want to get well and
get out of here," Agnus says, softly brushing Graces' hair. "And not
through escaping. We are responsible for your safety, and we have force at hand
if necessary. Do not compel Ruth to use it.” She sighs. “You got that man into
a world of trouble."

“What man?”

“The one you tried to escape with.”

I make a noise in my throat.

At this point, I hardly care. 

"How old is she, then?" I say, pointing at Grace.
I do not wish to discuss escape attempt number one. Eleven, for the gentleman.
Nor do I want to be reminded of the fact I was restricted to my cell for three
days as punishment, and emptied my bowels on the floor.

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen! She looks more like fifty!" I am
incredulous.

"She is deaf and mute." says Grace.

"Pardon?"

"Anne, open your ears. Grace is deaf, not you."

I adopt a look of appropriate remorsefulness.

"She was suddenly afflicted by scarlet fever at only
nine years old, since then she has been unable to communicate. She gradually
became insane."

"That's terrible," I say. I mean it. "But I
spoke to her, that time I asked her to move, and she looked right at me!"
I argue, trying to contradict what she has told me. It cannot be true that a
young girl has had her life stolen away from her at such a precious age.

"She sensed your presence. And anyway, I didn't say she
was blind, Anne."

"Hmmm."

I ponder my situation.

"If I was deaf, I should kill myself." I add.

Agnus shakes her head, but I swear I can see a curve of a
smile at the edges of her mouth.

"So, Agnus, is that your real name?" I move on the
floor and sit next to Grace where I take over Agnus' stroking of her hair. It
relaxes me too; it reminds me of stroking a horse. My horse. Ophelia.

"Yes, Grace, why wouldn't it be?"

I raise my eyebrows.

"Of course, yes, we are all conspirators in your grand
kidnapping fantasy. Sorry, I managed to forget for a minute there."

"It doesn't do a Lady to be sarcastic." I say.

"Who said I was a Lady, Anne? And anyway, I am not sorry."

Silence.

"Anne, could we drop the subject of your having been
kidnapped for ten minutes?"

"I don't have a stick; how am I to tell how long ten
minutes is?" I say. "Though I suppose we may chat awhile, if you tell
me a bit about yourself and why you are here.” I pluck a hair from Graces head,
and she winces. “Convince me, will you?"

Agnus doesn't notice.

“I just wanted to help people, Anne. It is a debt I owe.”

"Ah, so you are in cahoots with my kidnappers!”

“No Anne, oh no, you've misunderstood me.” She holds her
arms out to me, and slowly rises to her feet. I move backwards towards the
wall. My breathing comes fast and heavy, and I consider running away.

“Anne...the debt I owe is a moral one. There was once a
woman who took very good care of my mother, and I owe her.”

I'm mystified.

“Well, how on earth is being in here helping?”

“It just is. I’m making a difference to women like Grace
here...and you.”

I fiddle with the strings on my gown and look at the floor,
thinking. Is she trying to make it better for us poor, lost, kidnapped women?

I suppose it might make some sort of ridiculous sense.

"Listen," Agnus says, whispering. "Where do
you suppose Ruth is right now?"

"Fat Ruth?" I say, loudly.

"Shush, Anne! Just Ruth, plain and simple Ruth. Don't
be so rude."

My good cheer returns.

"Well, Fat Ruth is busy chasing a suicidal hostage down
from the roof." I smirk. "I heard her shouting as she wobbled down
the corridor earlier. You know, she can't even run, she's that fat. The hostage
is probably dead on the ground by now because she's so slow."

"Stop it, Anne." 

"Sorry."

"I can see you're not. Well, listen, Ruth certainly
doesn't appear to be within our vicinity right now, does she? In all likelihood
she will be engaged for some time...” She turns her head, left and right, right
and left. “How about you and I retire for a cup of tea? It’s past Graces'
nap-time anyway."

Perhaps I can steal her keys when she boils the water.

"That would be nice." I say, silently plotting.

When Grace is settled, we venture to a small room which
nobody uses. Agnus tells me it used to be the restraint room, but now the
hospital has lots of mobile restraints, it isn't needed anymore. Agnus makes us
a pot of tea, whilst I sit down and pick at the table.

I don't try to steal her keys. She keeps them in her pocket,
damn her.

"Thief." I say.

"Listen, Anne."

"Yes?"

"Be careful of Ruth. She is the ring leader here; just
last week there was a nasty incident involving a patient playing a game of
backgammon with her." Agnus says over her shoulder as she stretches to
retrieve two cups from the top cupboard.

"Pardon?" I say.

"Don't irritate her, don't needle her, and for heaven's
sake, never ever call her Fat Ruth to her face. She likes to act as if she has
seniority here, above other employees, patients, and even the good doctor at
times. Though the doctor doesn't stand for her at times. She doesn't
understand, like many of them here, I fear, the operations of the mind. And
what she doesn’t understand, she cannot tolerate, but she is not to blame for
that. Entirely, anyway. Recently, she seems to almost be becoming a little
crazy herself." She puts a dainty hand over her mouth and gasps. “Oh, I am
sorry Anne; I never meant to imply you were crazy, of course.”

"Hmfph." I reply. She’s crazy, they’re all crazy.
I’m the only non-crazy one here by all accounts.  Crazy, crazy, crazy.
"You speak French, right?"

"Yes, Anne, I do. Why is that so important to
you?"

Oh, if only she knew. The only person that knows me in the
whole world spoke French.

"I can tell all of my secrets in French." I
mumble. I am so desperate to tell someone. Three months is far too long.

Having stirred the tea, Agnus plops the used tea bags in a
nearby bin and brings them over to the table. I make a show of peering at the
dirty dish colored drink.

"It's not poisoned Anne. It may not be the best tea in
the world, but it's all they supply us with here.  Budgeting, or some such.
Though I highly suspect drinking too much of it might be bad for our health,
one cup won't kill you.  Here-" She lifts my mug away from me and places
her own in front of me. "Better?"

Marginally. I grunt.

"Anne, I am bound by confidentiality not to repeat
anything you choose to tell me. In any language, unless it puts yourself or
others at direct risk of harm." She looks me in the eye. "Gods truth,
Anne." She raises her cup to her mouth, palm curled flat against it.

I look steadily back at her.

“Do you want to hear something interesting?”

Her eyes glint.

“Yes, I would love to, Anne.”

I go over to the bin, and retrieve the two tea-bags.

“Anne, what are you-”

“Wait. I'm going to tell you something.” I put the teabags
over my eyes.

“Anne-”

I shout.

“You should really hold your teacup correctly, Agnus! It
drives me crazy!”

“Anne, stop being ridiculous.” She says it in such a quiet,
reasonable tone, that I can’t help but put the tea-bags back in the bin, and
sit back in the chair.

"How much do they want for me? That's the only thing I
want to tell you," I say. "I want to go home to my father."  I
can't tell her the thing I really want to tell. I can't. Nobody in this world
would understand, save two people, and neither of them is here. Tears threaten
to overtake me.

Agnus sighs, and drains her cup.

"Listen carefully Anne, I am going to give you
something to show you that you can trust me. We are not supposed to give
personal correspondence to patients. The letters they receive, if any, are put
away in a cabinet and given to them when they are recovered. The sad thing is,
half of those letters are never opened, because the patients don't become well.

“I'm giving you this because I see something in you, and I
feel you just need a nudge in the right direction. There is a letter here for
you, perhaps from a friend or a relative, and I am going to give it to you to
prove that you can trust me. And that and you are not a prisoner."

A letter? My heart starts to beat a little faster. She pulls
a creamy white envelope out of her pocket, and I positively restrain myself
from tearing it out of her hands. It says:

Anne,

It is with great sadness and condolences that I write you
this letter. I have not seen you for many months and I hope that you are being
well taken care of, and that you will soon be released and we will see each
other when you return to Asquith House. Being a ladies maid without a lady is
rather unusual, and I hope to see you soon: when we will rejoice much and
discuss everything that has happened, and how we both fare. I can tell you that
Edgar is treating me most kindly in your absence, and although I do not have as
much to keep me busy, we are both doing well, and we both miss you very much
indeed. Don't be worrying about us too much though, indeed I wish you not to
fret at all. You are at the hospital to become well, and I wish you speedily
recovered as it is very important to me that you keep yourself healthy and
happy. Whilst we are apart, I am doing what I can to keep busy, making
beautiful new dresses and linens, some sewing, some mending of clothes, what I
can to make the house magnificent for your welcome home. Although I feel I must
tell you about Edgar: sometimes he concerns me greatly. The other day I found
him burning some wood from the cot of the baby. It seems he is doing well, he
eats heartily, he sleeps through the night, he is happy and walks a lot, and yet
this lasts only for short periods: then suddenly he has nightmares and smashes
things in the house. Yet he is never sick. He has freshly prepared food daily,
full of vitamins, minerals, fibre: courtesy of the cook, perhaps this is the
reason and it is comforting, but at the same time worrisome. He is sick with
grief, but in the  mind.

 Ever affectionately yours / B F

.Uh oh. Tears prick the back of my eyes, and before I can
hold them back they are falling like rain onto the creamy white paper.

"Oh, Anne!" Agnus comes around the table and
gathers me into a hug. Looking over my shoulder, she reads the letter.
"From your maid, huh."

"Yes, Beatrix. Oh Agnus, I miss her so much."

"Well then, let's set about getting you better shall
we?" Releasing me, she returns to the opposite side of the table and sits.
She looks me over.

"Do you suppose a kidnapper would be offering you
comfort and mugs of hot tea, as well as giving you letters from your
family?"

I suppose they would, actually, if they were trying to convince
me of something against my will. But I don't feel like arguing this point with
her right now. The letter has left me somewhat shaken: happy, elated in fact,
but equally miserable and desolate and therefore I can't be bothered engaging
in a reality check with her. So I simply shake my head, and tell her I would
like to return to my room now.

"Room, is it Anne?" Agnus squeals and does a
little jump. "See? Progress, already."