Part 39 (1/2)
They reached a door. A pair of large men in gray smocks stood to either side; their necks were brutish, the backs of their hands thick with coa.r.s.e hair.
”It is best if you do not look into the cells,” the day warden said, pulling another large key from the ring and fitting it into the door. ”Walk directly behind me, and keep to the center of the corridor. Do not stray toward the bars. Above all, do not respond to anything you might hear. Do not nod, do not glance, do not speak in reply no matter what is directed toward you. Do you understand, Miss...?”
”Mrs. Quent,” she gasped, but the day warden had already opened the door and pa.s.sed through. She hurried after. He shut and locked the door behind them, then started down a corridor.
It was dim, as she had imagined it would be, and the air was oppressive with foul scents, as she had also imagined and for which she had prepared herself. It was the noise she had not expected.
The sound a.s.saulted her at once: a tumult of shouts, of keening, of laughter, of howls and groans, moans and grunts, and wordless jabberings whose purpose or cause-or even the very mechanism by which they were formed and uttered-she could not begin to guess. The clamor echoed and reechoed off the arched ceiling, doubling, trebling, cementing itself into a wall of sound as solid, as imprisoning, as any structure of stone.
Ivy halted, stunned for a moment by the din, but the day warden had kept moving. He was already several paces ahead, and she started after him. As she did, arms snaked out between the bars to either side. So narrow was the corridor that only by walking in the very middle could she avoid their reach.
Remembering the day warden's admonitions, she kept her gaze fixed on his back. All the same, out of the corners of her eyes, she was aware of forms huddling or writhing in the dimness beyond the bars. Nor could she prevent herself from hearing the things that were screamed or wailed or hissed as she pa.s.sed-terrible things, the imploring no less so than the violent. They would give her anything if she would help; they would slit her throat if she would not. They could see through her skin; she was gray as ash inside. She should strike the warden down and take his keys; she was an angel and must do the work G.o.d had sent her here to do-she must set fire to this place.
At last the day warden turned down a side pa.s.sage. This was narrower and lined not by open cells but rather by shut doors, each with a small iron plate set into it. The cacophony did not fade, but it lessened a bit, such that Ivy could hear the day warden when he said, ”Here it is-Number Twenty-Nine-Thirty-Seven. Violent fits and hallucinations alternating with periods of profound catatonia.”
Ivy stared at him. ”Do you not know his name?”
”We find it is better to catalog our patients according to the order of their arrival, as well as the nature of their affliction.”
”But how can you help a person if you do not know who he is?”
”It is not people we are here to help but rather their conditions. It is not the patient that is important but rather the symptoms he or she manifests.” The warden's face, previously impa.s.sive, became animated. ”By setting aside consideration of the person and reserving all attention for the affliction, we can reach a purer understanding of the essence of the malady and can examine it impartially, without any distraction. It is the latest medical technique. We are a very modern facility, as I'm sure you will agree, Miss...?”
”Mrs. Quent,” she whispered, her throat tight.
But he had already turned his back to her. He slid the iron plate in the door to one side, revealing a window-or a hole, rather, too small to put even a hand through.
”You're in luck,” he said, peering inside. ”The subject appears to be awake.” He stepped away from the door and motioned for her to approach.
”Can I not enter?”
”That's quite impossible. We can't allow anything that could interfere with the subject while he is in the initial stages of observation. It might contaminate his behavior and thus lead to a misunderstanding of the nature of his affliction.”
These words were a blow. Ivy could not believe it was observation he needed. All the same, observe him she must, to see for herself that he was, if not well, at least alive. She drew a breath and peered through the opening in the door.
Shock struck her anew. ”He is bound! But why?”
”It is for his own well-being that he is restrained. He was very agitated when he was brought to us.”
Of course he was agitated, Ivy wanted to cry out. He had been removed from his home, separated from his family, forced beyond the door through which he had not set foot in over ten years. If he had struggled, then it had been only as anyone struggles when subjected against their will to pain and terror. However, she did not say these things; they would be wasted upon the day warden. She made herself become calm. If he saw her face in the opening, then she wanted it to be the familiar and rea.s.suring thing he knew. Again, she approached the door.
”h.e.l.lo, Father!” she called out softly. ”It is your daughter-it's Ivy.”
If Mr. Lockwell heard her, he did not show it. He sat slumped in a chair, which was the only object in the room and to which he was bound by strips of cloth around the chest, the wrists, the ankles. His hair was matted against his skull, and he had not been shaven. His face was slack and drooping; his eyes stared without focus.
Ivy wanted to weep; instead, she affected a cheerful tone. ”I've come back to the city, and I won't be leaving again. You needn't worry about Lily and Rose. They are well, though they miss you very much. We all miss you. And I have news to tell you-such wonderful news.” It seemed he lifted his head a bit, and this heartened her. ”I'm Mrs. Quent now. Are you surprised? No more than I am, Father. He will be coming to the city soon, and when he does we will all dwell together and be happier than you can imagine. So do not worry. In no time at all you will leave this place and come to live with-”
The day warden slid the iron plate shut so quickly she barely had time to step back to avoid losing part of her nose.
”Telling the subject lies is not to be tolerated,” he said. ”It can only reinforce his delusions.”
”Lies?” she gasped. ”What lies have I told him?”
”That he will leave here anytime soon is impossible. His derangement is of the severest nature. You must not give him hope.”
”How can it harm him to have hope? Why should he not believe that he is leaving here, that he is going home?”
He shook his head. ”I can see your cousin was right to have your father consigned to us. I only hope it is not too late. He told me that he suspected the subject's delusions had been reinforced by his family for years-an intelligent man, your cousin. It is a sad fact that often, in the desire to aid, the subject's intimate relations only inflict more harm. You do not seem to understand that your father is a very ill man, Miss-what was it?”
This time it was her voice that rang off the hard ceiling. ”My name is Mrs. Quent!”
The day warden's eyes narrowed as he regarded her, then he nodded. However, all he said was, ”You may come back next quarter month if you wish.” Then he turned and started back down the corridor.
Ivy cast one last glance at the shut door, then followed after the warden, back toward the screams and the laughter.
S HE RETURNED TO Whitward Street to find it as silent as the hostel had been cacophonous, and in its way as oppressive. Fearing the housekeeper or her husband would be lurking in the kitchen, she hurried up the stairs. As she pa.s.sed the parlor she heard Mr. Wyble call out to her in greeting. Her every instinct was to keep climbing, but as they were required to dwell with him for a short while longer, she knew she must be civil with him. She stopped in the door of the parlor but did not go in.
”I know why you were going upstairs so quickly,” he said. He sat in a chair by the window, a book open on his lap.
”You do?” she said, wondering if he had at last come to apprehend the grievous blow he had struck to them all.
”Indeed,” he said cheerfully. ”It is my job as a lawyer to understand the motivations of others. You are aware it is not your day to have the parlor, and so you were concerned that entering to greet me might make it appear as if you had a wish to spend time in here. Out of propriety, so there could be no misconstruing, you thought to hurry past. You are very conscientious, cousin, but we are family. You need not be so formal. If you would like to come in and sit for a quarter hour, I should hardly mind it at all.”
Ivy gripped the door frame to steady herself. ”Thank you for your offer, but I must see to my sisters.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and dashed up the stairs.
She found them in Rose's room. Lily was tearing off the ribbons from one of her gowns, while Rose sat by the window, Miss Mew on her lap.
Ivy took off her bonnet. ”I saw Father,” she said. ”He is very-” She thought of the day warden, of what he had said about telling lies to appease. But, no-she would not hold anything he had said in regard. ”He is very well. You must not worry for him, and remember what I said: Mr. Quent will be coming to the city soon. When he does, he will bring Father to us, and we will all live together.”
Rose said nothing, only continuing to pet the tortoisesh.e.l.l cat, while Lily swore an oath.
”I can't undo this knot. It's ruined, the whole frock is ruined. Not that it matters. No one will ever see me in it anyway!” She crumpled up the dress, then stood and brushed past Ivy. ”I'm going to my room.”
A moment later came the sound of a door slamming. Ivy sighed, then went over to Rose. She scratched Miss Mew behind the ears, and the cat purred in response.
”Is he angry at me?”
Rose was looking up at her, her expression troubled.
Ivy shook her head. ”Who do you mean, dearest?”
”Father. Is he angry at me? I wanted to stop them. I knew I should, but my arms wouldn't work, and they took him away!”
Ivy knelt by the chair and put her own arms around Rose. ”No, dearest, he is not angry at you. He knows this was not your doing. He loves you very much, as we all do. Even Miss Mew.”
Hearing her name, the little cat gave a mew in answer. This won a small smile from Rose. Then she turned her gaze back out the window.