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-VII-
Blackmore oversaw his usual duties, conferring with each of the men working under his direction. It was also his job to meet with the Lady Halifax herself once a week to discuss the successes and shortcomings of her business. A woman of breeding, practicality and integrity, August respected her immensely, and was proud to work for her. He was due for the meeting in a little under a quarter-hour, but as if magnetised to the room his woman occupied, he found himself dallying until he had a mere few minutes to spare. He sighed, and took his leave with a handshake to his adjacent peers. Oh, he was eager to make his first report on his newest charge to the Mistress, but he was a smitten pup around his lover and wished he did not have to hide his relationship from the general society of the asylum.
After a short travail and those mere few minutes, August rapped smartly upon the door of Madam Halifax’s office at precisely half past two. Her calm, nevertheless perfectly audible voice issued a welcome. He entered and closed the door behind him.
“Good afternoon, madam.” He said, taking her hand and just pressing his lips to her knuckles. At her wave, he sat in one of the two chairs before her desk. Her office was the largest in the building (naturally) and was fashionably furnished and decorated. Lilian Halifax smiled genteelly.
“Good day, Dr Blackmore. I trust all is well in my facility?” The lady was elderly, but far from infirm, and her dazzling blue irises sparkled behind her spectacles with wit and intelligence. Her hair, long since silver, was pulled back into a nearly austere bun. She wore a modest gown, buttoned neatly up to her throat, in black. The widow Halifax had dedicated her golden years to giving something back to the world, and her money let her stretch comfortably into avenues that meant something to her.
“Running smoothly, dear lady. Although our newest patient is putting a little vinegar into the mix,” he intoned amusedly.
“Ah yes, I read your letter. It has been a long time since you’ve taken a patient to yourself, hasn’t it, August? She must be something special.” The doctor leaned back in his chair. Lilian was a good friend since his initial employment, and it was her recognition of his talent that had promoted him so quickly to the immensely trusted position of head physician. There were plenty of men working under him with more experience, but none with his insight or the well-deserved, unwavering faith of the girls.
“Indeed. I think she might be the one I’ve been waiting for, Lilian,” he said very quietly. Both knew the difference between speaking as friends and as employer and employee. For a time, he had to speak to her as friend, as he often did when no one else could hear this particular vein of his thought. As he surmised, her eyebrows rose in intrigue. “No, I’m certain she is the one.”
“My goodness, August. That is a serious proclamation indeed.” The lady wove her fingers together before her chin. He assented with a nod. “Has the young lady given herself with full knowledge and willing heart?”
“Aha, yes,” he chortled. “She agreed to my terms and intentions rather enthusiastically, and seems already to be improving, I daresay.”
“Now, was this the lass who caused all the fuss at breakfast yesterday?” Mistress Halifax cocked an eyebrow.
“Mm-hm, ’twas she.” He gave her a full account of the happenings Valentine had caused thus far, even mentioning the budding friendship with Annie Tailor. He also politely described their first conversation, though he omitted the more scandalous details of the encounter. “She’s a perplexity to all but me, though I must say I look forward to seeing how she continues to interact with the others.” In response, Lilian laughed gaily.
“Oh, I can tell you how that will turn out. She sounds a headstrong girl; clearly, though, her aim will be to ally as many of the patients as possible with herself. I can sense the same as you, August. She isn’t here because she is out of her mind. She will treat her friends well.”
“Yes, about why she is here. From what she told me during our meeting-” Valentine’s relationship with her mother and her admitted dark desires already exposed- “I’ve taken the liberty of crafting a letter to her parents, if you would be so kind as to read it. Call it a test.” He passed her a leaf of paper filled with his own neat writing. Mistress Halifax took a few minutes to read it over.
“Seems rather standard practice, doctor. Then again, so do most of your undertakings,” she commented whimsically. The letter, as she saw, contained a straightforward address of Valentine’s mental health, the same diagnosis he’d declared to the asylum staff, and a brief explanation as well as a courteous invitation to write with any concerns, questions or requests of him as Valentine’s primary caregiver. He made no mention of the true sharpness of the girl’s mind and quite spectacularly failed to mention that he beylikdüzü escort was examining them for issues and not their daughter. “And exactly what is the desired outcome of this letter?”
“Their response,” he answered promptly. “I want to see if my letter gets answered, and if so, what is said. It will tell me more than you think.”
“I see.” She said. “You want to know exactly how much they care, or claim to. Well done, doctor. Send it and let me know the results.” He took it back.
“Of course, madam. And naturally you will receive drafts of my study as it progresses.”
“Just do me the honour of keeping everything very discreet, August,” she said with concern. “I know you had given up hope of gaining this chance. I do hope you succeed.” There was a familiar twinkle in the windows of her thought. “If you can prove your theory you would do a great service to the long-suffering female sex.” Having been married, the mother of six children, Lilian was well-acquainted with the truth of the marriage bed. It certainly wasn’t frigidity and passionless procreating that led her to six bouts of birth. “If only my darling Edmund were still alive,” she sighed. August clasped her hand in congenial regard.
“I only hope I am blessed with as many years of happiness as you and he were.”
“A sentiment I echo, dear August.”
***
“What are you doing, Valentine?” Annie asked, jerking her companion from the reverie of words. Without missing a stitch of her embroidery, Annie had been watching the other’s slender fingers bounce rhythmically, over and over in a wave from the thumb to pinky in repeat. Valentine’s journal was spread upon her lap, her right hand clutching her pen.
“Hmm? Oh, counting syllables.” Hastily she scribbled something and then looked up. She had completed another rhyme and took her pause to stretch.
“Whatever for?” asked the sewer. As fluidly as Valentine’s digits flew in her count, Annie’s plunged and pulled a needle full of thick cherry-red floss. She was so thoroughly practised at it she could tell the placement of the next stitch by touch alone.
“Sonnets,” the writer replied. “Shakespearian sonnets, fourteen lines, ten beats per line. It’s called iambic pentameter.” Sonnet-writing was Valentine’s favorite poetic pastime, and she had decided to start her Master’s bidding with a trio of them, composed upon their relationship at its beginning. She planned to write another three at the halfway mark of their year, and a final three at the end. Together they would form a compositional portrait of their journey. Valentine suspected the doctor would like it very much.
“Ooh, sounds lovely.” Stitch in, stitch out. “May I hear one?” A sheepish expression took Valentine. Annie actually paused in her work. This was the first time in hours the fiery girl had ever looked less than composed.
“When I am finished,” Valentine teased, mentally noting the need for a fourth one. “It wouldn’t be quite as good unfinished.” She regained her mental footing and composure. Annie smiled, giving a squeal.
“I look forward to it! None of the other gels have ever taken writing as their pastime. Is it very hard?”
“Naught but practice, Annie! Like yours. I could never embroider as quickly as that.” Miss Godwin held her open hand toward the circular frame.
“Hm, yes, but…” the Tailor lass started, letting her piece fall into her lap. “It doesn’t really engage the mind, does it? I could probably do this in me sleep. But creating an entire book’s worth of ‘appenings and people all out of words, that seems much harder.” Valentine bobbed her head and shoulders from side to side, not wholly dismissing the notion, but not of the opinion that it was inaccessible.
“Really, the best way to learn to write is simply to read. Do you read much, Annie?” The light chatter and assortment of noise around them did not stifle conversation at all, but on the whole the gathering was dull. There were several tepid games of cards in progress, and many laps full of sewing and knitting. From the overheard snatches of conversation no one was currently speaking of anything more interesting than the weather and the day’s events. With time, though, doubtless she’d hear more.
“Not much. I was not really privy to as strong an education as you were.” Annie’s cheeks were reddening, and she spoke as though she did not wish to be heard.
“Perhaps not, but that doesn’t mean you’re beyond one.” Valentine was gentle in her cadence, just as secretive. “I can certainly impart what I learned onto you.” Beaming confidently, she laid a hand upon Annie’s shoulder. The girl was giddily wide-eyed.
“Really? You would do that?” That was too exciting to the grown-up street girl. She could read, but nothing like her father could, and her education went only as far as the textile arts themselves. To have a noble’s chance at learning was previously out of her beylikdüzü escort reach. She did not even know enough sums to tally her father’s clients’ expenses! Valentine answered the question with profound seriousness.
“Of course, Annie. There is not a thing I would not do for your welfare.” The girls clasped hands excitedly, everything laid in their laps.
“Thank you, Valentine! Oh, I should like to have a chance to make me own way in the world when we leave here. I’ve not ‘ad much ‘ope of that before!”
“Rest easy then. Together we will make quite the pair, I daresay!” They giggled together, and returned to their tasks, each a little more fervently. They kept up an exchange of banter until it was time to adjourn for supper.
Unseen by the girls, Henry and Wilson were among the asylum staff assisting doctors and nurses with mundane tasks in between regular chores like dusting and polishing. Though coming and going on the needs of their jobs, both men were eyes for Charlie, focusing on Valentine’s every move. Both of them had separately agreed; the girl was too damned beautiful for Charles to resist, and though her behavior had been erratic since arrival she was flawlessly social as they watched. Charles purposefully rotated himself into the much-hated rug-beating duties to avoid her, but his lads had an awful lot to report, especially concerning her attachment to Annabel Tailor. They both knew that Charles had his eyes on Annie a while ago but botched his opportunity and could not risk taking another. That Valentine had chosen her for a bosom companion was a strange coincidence. Though unable to speak, they exchanged looks even when appearing busy with the usual matters, and after their time together working they communicated very well without saying a word.
As the final meal approached, they prepared themselves to keep surveillance steady. It would be easier to interact in the dining hall, where all voices and clatter would drown out their conversation.
The doctors began to herd their groups once more, temporarily parting Annie and Valentine. August reappeared in time to see his girl snap her journal shut and approach him, rather more lighthearted than she was.
“Everything well, Miss Godwin?”
“Better, Doctor,” she replied with candor, “but what I said before still stands.” He showed his remembrance with a nod, and offered his arm. As they led the group toward the meal, he spoke again.
“I’ve been to see our proprietress, Madam Halifax. Since I am her trusted right hand, and you are my first case study in a long time, she will be requesting a meeting in the near future. You have nothing to worry about. She will want to know you just as you are,” he said, putting a particular stress on the last four words. Valentine gave him a customary reply of acceptance, but a bemused glance passed across her face. Curious. She shrugged it off. He would tell her, just as she would tell him what she’d learned.
The final meal was a gloriously well-cooked filet mignon accented with a red wine demi-glace and accompanied by fresh vegetable. Valentine took hers rare, and the girls ate and talked. Annie gradually felt and expressed herself more at ease; coming, even, to let her laughter ring through the room as the vivacious Valentine spun tall tales of her childhood misadventures. Dr Connelly, observing, was flabbergasted. Throughout the meal he kept stealing looks back and forth from the girls to Blackmore, churning himself deeper in a tizzy each time. Poor, soft-hearted man. August remained just on the border of smugly pleased. He certainly seemed as amused as the girls themselves.
As the patients dined, the doctors followed suit, each of them served at separate tables so that they retained visibility and coverage of the room at all times. Often the men would eat a bit of their meals and wander about, going back to sup sporadically now and again, repeating until their food was stone cold. With the constant surprises of the new girl, it was worse than usual. Blackmore seated himself two tables from Valentine (giving him a better view of the landscape she constructed) and dined, unperturbed by the hubbub. His compatriots were given to their own particular set of neuroses and stresses, and they could chatter like washerwomen when they had a mind for it. After all the girls were abed, he would bet good money that his ten staff here would be in the doctors’ lounge, pulling draughts of brandy and eating late bacon sandwiches.
Working to clear empty plates and dirty glasses, among other soiled mealtime accoutrements, Henry and Wilson furtively spied upon their target and attempted to absorb any conversation. Frustratingly, nothing they caught was of anything important.
“…So I decided to start stealing my mother’s stockings, one at a time randomly so she wouldn’t know when they’d gone. At first she had no idea some of her pairs had become singles, but beylikdüzü escort when she noticed…” This was as much as Wilson caught while replacing empty dishes of butter at the table. “…It was something to watch when she finally gathered the maids and howled all of them down. By the end, she’d dropped their pay a pound each and started washing them herself!” Henry caught not much more while refilling water glasses from a pitcher. Annie was laughing so hard she doubled over clutching her stomach. By both the lads’ accounts absolutely nothing damning was being said. They both knew that Annie hadn’t ever spoken of Charles’ attempt to ‘seduce’ her. Valentine, it seemed, had not spoken of her own brush with him- and indeed, appeared quite unperturbed. Naturally they didn’t know the details, but once Blackmore had used Richardson’s note as an excuse to warn staff from dealing with her in conjunction with his diagnosis, her erratic behaviour confirmed Charles’ story anyhow. Still they feared the potential of the girls trading information and uniting against their ringleader. Charles would know all as soon as the patients were dismissed to their beds.
“What in the world could she be telling Annie?” Connelly fretted, anxiously bobbing from his barely-touched dinner to Blackmore’s side. August took the time to savour his last bite of steak and made sure to swallow and daub his mouth with a napkin before replying.
“Calm down, man. I assure you I will discover what tricks Miss Godwin uses to lure your patient into fits of laughter,” he said with underlining sarcasm. It did not register with the nervous one, and August sighed just slightly.
“She’s never been like this! I don’t think I have ever even seen her smile!” It was difficult for a learned man of medicine to accept that someone untrained could do his job better than he- even worse when that someone was supposed to be receiving that medicine herself!
“Could it be that what Annie needed was simply a friend, Dr Connelly? Hard to make in these environs, depending on the individual.” Blackmore said soberly, swirling a dram of port in his glass. The other man stopped pacing. For a minute he seemed to ponder the idea, but ultimately shook his head.
“Preposterous!” he blustered. “Why it’s too simple!” He went back to scratching his head and pacing. August stifled a snort of laughter and rose from his place. The port in his glass soon followed his meal and warmed him from the belly. He was counting the minutes, the moments, until he was alone with her, the siren bewildering everyone except himself. A simple lemon cake drenched in mint-infused honey was being served; dinner was nearly done. August did not think he could manage to make love to the lass even one more time in the rest of this day, but he did very much want to hold her, kiss her- find out the trouble that had roused her ire at lunch. Whatever was in his power to do for her, and for Annie as well, he would do.
He watched, poised, and finished his drink.
***
The evening wound down into sleepy calm, and Valentine was wholly pleased with the shift in energy from the little Londoner she’d befriended in the madhouse. Anxiety and loneliness still lived in her heart, but newly-born in her was hope, and courage. The waif’s smiles came easier, and the desperate unhappiness had ebbed. The Godwin daughter was pleased. As dessert was presented, once more her searching gaze fell upon the room, seeking souls also mired in dire despair. It wasn’t long before her eyes strayed to a far corner of the room, poorly lit, and she spied a lone figure barely visible in shadow, at a small table clearly meant for only one. No one was paying her mind, and she sat with her head hung over her food. The pang of sadness, and this time, frustration, clawed Valentine’s heart. She turned.
“Say, Annie, who is that sitting all by herself over there?” The blonde followed a pointed finger to the corner. Annie had to squint, but she soon realised exactly whom her companion was referring to.
“Oh, that’s… Rosamund.” The blonde fidgeted in her chair.
“Why is she alone in that dim little corner?” It didn’t seem at all right. There were long dining tables aplenty for the patients of Mistress Halifax’s; why that one lone table in such a neglected spot? Valentine could barely see the figure sitting there.
“Well…” Annie hesitated. “No one talks to ‘er. Most of the gels won’t ‘ave anything to do with ‘er. She’s ‘ad ‘er own table there for as long as I’ve been ‘ere, and even some of the doctors treat ‘er like she doesn’t exist.”
A deep frown took Valentine’s visage.
“That’s bloody dreadful! Why?” The younger girl squirmed again.
“It’s because she’s African,” Annie murmured. Valentine spun in her chair and peered into the corner again. It wasn’t shadows cloaking the lonely young woman. Her skin was richly dark, and it set her apart from every other face in the hall. “None of these nobby gels want to talk to ‘er for that, and there’s a lot of awful stuff flyin’ around about why she’s ‘ere. They say she killed a man and sacrificed ‘im to a ‘eathen god.”
“That sounds utterly preposterous,” the woman scoffed. “Ignorance born of fear, it seems. You grew up in London, Annie, surely you have met Africans before.”
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