Bride of a Distant Isle (33 page)

When I awoke early the next morning, I slipped out of my cot and into the icy room. I ran to the window and what I saw made me cry. My prayer had not been favorably answered, but why blame God? The man himself had not returned for me. I tried to push away an image of the beautiful Miss Emily Baker. Perhaps Marco had finalized arrangements with her brother instead of with Edward.

The
Poseidon
had sailed. In the end, perhaps, it had been as Edward had said. When Marco no longer needed me as a comfortable and social go-between, and I would not run off with him, he shrugged and left.

Had my father done that, too?

Marco's—no, Captain Dell'Acqua's—friends had predicted that he would insinuate himself into my life and then avenge his mother. That must have felt like ointment on the wounding burn his father had made. Now, he'd left me. Wooed and abandoned. In the time-honored manner of rogues.

And yet . . . I closed my eyes, remembering his lips upon my cheeks, my eyelids, his hand steady against the back of my head, his beard rough on my jawline.

That kiss.

I
dressed myself; I was well able to take care of myself, as I had for years. My mind had remained clear, and for that I was grateful—and curious, truth be told. I was sitting on my bed with a book when a knock came. I expected it to be Nurse Strange, who I understood was taking my old room, but no, it was Edward.

He opened the door. “May I come in?”

I did not rise to greet him. “What choice do I have?”

He did not offer a false smile and at that point, I did not expect one.

“I expect you'll have watched the
Poseidon
sail,” he said.

“You've many faults to answer for, Edward, as do we all. But taking pleasure in someone else's misfortune is not one I would have ascribed to you.”

He looked properly shamed.
Good.

He sat on the small chair near the cot and poured two cups of tea. Only after he drank some did I.

“You could have taken vows,” he said, glancing at my rosary, which rested near my cot. “Clementine said that was under consideration. The driver overheard you telling Lady Leahy. He passed it along to my driver. He shared it with one of the maids. She told Clementine.” He finished his tea and poured himself another cup.

Yes. I had told Lady Leahy in the carriage.

“Even the priest was sent to enquire.”

“My confessor? You pressured him into asking me?” I did not care how shrill my voice was.

“No, nothing of the sort—he couldn't be pressed,” Edward admitted. “We just wondered aloud, in his presence, if the decision had perhaps weighed too heavily on your mind.”

“I have no calling to take holy vows.” I finished my tea and set the cup down with a clatter.

“That became eminently clear with the frolicking with Dell'Acqua.”

“It was hardly frolicking, Edward.” I could have, but did not, point out that Albert had arrived early, two months shy of Edward's nine-month wedding anniversary. My cousin had hastily married a girl he'd barely known and who had not been his mother's choice.

“Whatever it was, it was irregular, and as much as we wish this kind of thing was not passed through the generations, it often is.” He stood; and as he did, he wobbled. He didn't look alarmed in the least. And then the cabinet behind him wobbled and I realized that neither was wobbling—I was seeing them, instead, in waves.

“The doctor is downstairs,” he said. “That is what I've come to tell you. He will accompany Mrs. Strange upstairs to examine you for . . . lunacy.”

I stood up in shock. “No. Edward. No. I will not be examined!”

“But I say you shall.” He took my arm to both stead and restrain me, and once he set me down on the cot again he used the speaking tube to ask Oliver to send up the nurse and the doctor.

They arrived shortly.

The doctor examined me and I did my best to appear clear and level-headed, but I felt my focus go in and out and thoughts seem to pass from my left ear to my right and back. I wasn't sure if I spoke them aloud.

“Let me ask you a few simple questions, Miss Ashton,” he said. “If I may.”

I nodded.

“I understand from your family that you believe people are trying to defraud you.”

“It's not what I believe, Doctor, it's what is, indeed, happening right here. Any number of people will tell you this is true!”

He stroked his mustache. “I've made some enquiries. Unfortunately, your concerns have not been validated.”

He made some notes in a book. “So it would seem to be that others are conspiring against you?”

I nodded. But this did not seem to be the right answer, as he made more notes and grunted.

“Have you caused your loved ones to suffer apprehension and alarm because of your actions?”

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” Edward amended that firmly.

“Is there a family history of mental imbalance?”

He made notes before I could answer, though, so it was clear he knew that my mother had been declared insane.

He then stepped just outside my door, on the small landing at the top of the stairs, to confer with Mrs. Strange and Edward. Of course I could hear them. We were but feet away.

“I think it would do her good to have a restful stay somewhere . . . else.” He seemed to address this comment to Edward. “If you feel it's best.”

“I do,” he said. “It pains me to admit this is the course of her life, but it is. I cannot allow it to interfere in my household, with my young son. And most important, she could become a danger to herself.”

A danger to myself? I was about to march out of there, but then someone might insist on restraining me henceforth. With ties or straps.

“Could it be a long stay?” Edward's voice was tentative.

“As long as you deem it necessary,” the doctor said. “We normally leave these decisions in the hands of the family, who know the patients best. Now, to where should she be sent?”

“My wife has assembled a short list of suitable institutions.” Edward's voice again.

Mrs. Strange spoke up. “Perhaps Medstone would do?”

Medstone! My mother had been committed there and had not returned. Did Edward even recall the name?

“It's nearby, and I know the staff there quite well . . .” She let the insinuation hang. “I've worked there quite often. I would have quite a bit of autonomy to help manage her affairs, as it were, until matters were fully settled.”

“I will not go. I do not agree!” I shouted toward the door.

Apparently, Edward did agree with Mrs. Strange's implication. He completely ignored me, as did they all. “Yes, that will be fine. You'll submit your receipts at the conclusion of your duties?”

She must have nodded because I heard nothing but, shortly, she returned to check on me before going to my rooms to pack my remaining items.

I was to be committed to the insane asylum. My greatest fear was coming to pass.

“Don't be afraid,” she said soothingly. “I will accompany you.”

I did not answer. I could not be expected to be happy that someone in Edward's employ was to escort me cheerfully to and through the gates of hell.

My mind was still unclear. “I must lie down. Go away.”

She nodded and patted the back of my hand. “We will leave on the morrow.” After leaving me, she locked the door behind her.

A few hours later I was rested though I still felt worn, and I did not know if it was due to illness or the desperation of the situation I found myself in. I decided to call down, through the speaking tube, and have someone deliver a carafe of water or wine and some food, as I was hungry. Mrs. Watts told me she'd send someone up straightaway.

Quite soon afterward, Mrs. Strange knocked on my door. “Dinner tray,” she said, setting the tray on the small table. “Medstone may bring you unexpected peace.”

“My mother was committed to Medstone twenty years ago.”

“Yes,” she said. “I'm very well aware of that.”

I waited for her to say more on the matter, but she did not. “Would you like me to give you something to sleep? A tincture?”

“No, thank you.”

“It might help. But you should be careful not to take too much. It could make you comatose, or worse.”

Was she suggesting something morbid? “I shan't need anything, thank you,” I said firmly.

“I shall fetch you at eight, then,” she said. “Sleep sweetly.”

Indeed.

She pulled the door shut behind her. I drank the water and ate the meal, which was beautifully plated, all my favorites. I saw Chef's hand behind it and squeezed back tears.

My last meal at Highcliffe. I was too hungry and thirsty to forego food and drink, but I did not take tea and did not touch the honey pot. Why did I recoil at them?

My mind, clear now, could see.

More wild accusations are not going to help you. Next thing you'll be accusing us of poisoning your food
, Clementine had said.

I had never liked partnering her at cards. She could not stop herself from prematurely revealing what she held in her hand.

But poisoning me with what? Perhaps . . . perhaps the tea, the Chinese tea, was what had provoked my mind. The disturbing hallucinations were related to China. Chinese tea.

The tea? We all drank it. Of course. I was the only person in the household who took honey with her tea, and Edward had found some way to corrupt it. Well, Edward took honey as well. But he, better than anyone, would know when to use it and when not to.

Edward had been poisoning me.

MEDSTONE, A PRIVATE HOSPITAL AND LUNATIC ASYLUM

LATE OCTOBER TO EARLY NOVEMBER, 1851

I
was ready early; I could not sleep and had very little to prepare. Mrs. Strange arrived to escort me to the main foyer. We stopped at the second floor for just a moment, and she allowed me a glimpse into my old rooms, my mother's old rooms.

They were packed again; Mrs. Watts had been busy. The Chinese dragon clock, which did not provoke unsettled feelings, blessedly, remained on the mantel but had not been wound.

Time had completely stopped for me, too. What could I do? There was nowhere, and no way, to escape.

The staff lined up in the vestibule leading to the hallway and nodded or said good-bye. Some looked nervous. Perhaps they truly believed me mad. Chef hugged me like a child, which caused me to cry a little. I steadied myself to take the small box he held out to me.

“
Les bon bons
for the long journey,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Clementine and Edward were waiting by the door, without Albert, of course. They would not want to subject him to a fuss.

Clementine kissed my cheek. “Good-bye, dearest Annabel. We shall visit.”

Edward kissed both cheeks, too. “I'm sorry,” he said. “There is no other way.”

Oliver lifted my bag, and as he and I followed Mrs. Strange down the steps and toward the carriage that had been sent from the asylum, he tugged on my arm. We were of a height, and he leaned over.

“I put a pouch in your bag,” he said. “When I was collecting your things to carry down. It's from the foreign captain. He tried to speak with you, but Mr. Everedge would not let him. He slipped it to me, and I said I would try to pass it along.”

My spirits lifted, if just a little. What could be in the pouch? A note? Evidence of something important? I dared not look now and call attention to it.

“Thank you, Oliver,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Please, if you can, let Lady Leahy or Lady Somerford know where I have been taken. Ask them to assist in any way possible, and with all haste.”

He nodded. We reached the carriage, which was not dilapidated but not exactly one of quality, either. The driver held the door for me. I refused to step up and so, with firmness, a footman took my arm and lifted me in, forcibly. Mrs. Strange was helped in and then closed and locked the door behind us.