Secrets of the Heart (26 page)

The driver banged on the roof of the traveling coach. After Devlin had traveled all day, stopping only briefly for dinner, Ashcroft was near. Peering out the window through the deepening twilight, Devlin again assessed the building and the vast brick wall that surrounded the asylum. Blocking out the pain of their last meeting, he prayed for her safety.

He prepared himself mentally for any questions that Sullivan might ask, hoping the manager was too self-absorbed to ask for his paperwork. He needed to get Madeline safely away and as quick as possible. It was imperative that Sullivan not discover the real reason he’d returned to Ashcroft. If the man uncovered the truth, it would put Madeline and her mother in further danger. And then how to protect Countess Vale from her dangerous husband would become the next obstacle.
Lord, I’m going to need a miracle.

A guard stopped the coach at the entrance. “State yer business.”

Devlin leaned out the coach window. “I’ve come to see Mr. Sullivan. I am Dr. Grayson.”

The heavyset guard recognized him. “’Bout time.” The guard shifted from one foot to the other. “Hope yer plannin’ on stayin’ awhile.”

“Why is that?” Devlin asked.

“Ye’ll be seein’ soon enough. Best be gettin’ on with ye.” He waved them through the gate.

He imagined that Wiggins or some other patient had become violent. Devlin had the distinct feeling he should turn and leave while he still could. But if Madeline was here, he had no choice but to aid her.

The moment he entered the asylum, he knew he would not be leaving anytime soon.

Something is not right. People stare at me, and I know not why. So far away. Yet I know they are not. I wish they were. I wish they were, far, far away. Sleep. That’s what I need. Sleep will make them go away and leave me in peace and the nightmare will be over.

Separated from reality by a misty curtain, Madeline observed her surroundings like a play upon the stage. She watched others shuffle past her. She couldn’t speak; she couldn’t open her mouth; she couldn’t remember how. All was bedlam.

When she first arrived at the asylum yesterday—or was that the day before?—she’d wanted to run. She’d lost track of time. Entering an asylum as a patient committed for an underdetermined amount of time terrified her. But Vale knew she wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize Mother’s safety, and he’d enforced that with the drugs he’d forced down her throat.

Upon entrance to the women’s quarters she gasped at the sight of the patients. Elderly and young women pointed at her. A gray-haired woman who looked to be in her forties walked about nodding her head and saying, “The king is coming. He’s coming to see me. We’ll have tea, and then we’ll see.” A woman about her own age raged and tried to get a manacle off her neck screaming, “I can’t breathe! Help me!” She scratched at the iron until her neck bled. Madeline covered her ears and thought she’d go mad with the sights.

She looked for Amanda but couldn’t find her. Instead she saw one tortured soul after another—some beaten and rocking to and fro on the floor, others chained and embracing each other for warmth. Madeline prayed she would awake from this nightmare and be safe at home in her bed with Nosey curling up around her feet. And then a manacle clamped around Madeline’s neck.

“Welcome to hell, my lady.”

Madeline grabbed at the fetter around her neck. Another manacle clamped around one ankle, and she found herself trapped with the other “unfortunates.”

She’d lost track of time with more drugs forced upon her. Rough hands lifted her by each arm and dragged her into the cold-water treatment room. The skin on her bare toes was raw and sore, her dress ripped and dirty. A man’s gruff voice broke into her cocooned thoughts. “We’ll be needin’ ye to do some work ’round here. Maybe the tank will wake ye from yer stupor.”

Shoved under water she struggled and twisted, but two pair of hands held her fast… no escape. Frigid suffocation. Terror claimed her mind. Lungs burned.
God help me.

Brutal fingers tangled in her hair and yanked her above the icy water. Madeline sucked in air and was again plunged under the wave. Cruel, muted laughter stung her ears. Panic rose. She pushed against unrelenting hands, aching for breath.
Please help me.
She crested the surface and gulped more air, preparing for the worst.

“The opium’s made ye daft but docile enough.” Two men imprisoned her in steel grips and hauled her to the side of the bath, laughing and telling crude jokes. “Ye still livin’?”

Madeline gasped and choked.

“We thought that would wake ye, but we better be sure. Seems ye lost yer tongue.” The smaller man grabbed her hair and held her under until she nearly lost consciousness then pulled her up close to him. “A hard bit of baggage ye’ve been to control.” His stinking breath wafted over her face.

As she gulped in air, her lungs ached with the effort. “Let me go.” She coughed.

“’Tis going to be a full moon tonight,
my lady
,” the larger man said, then yanked her away from his friend and pulled her tight against his chest. “You know mad folk bay at the moon, don’t ye?”

Mind-numbing awareness battered its way toward consciousness. “Stop it! I’m not mad!”

“Yer in Ashcroft, darlin’. Ashcroft Insane Asylum. That makes ye mad. Can’t be doin’ no bay’n inside; ’tis not polite. I think ye ought to sleep outside tonight. Maybe I’ll come visit ye later.” He laughed, then whispered in her ear, “You’ll be wantin’ a body to keep ye warm.”

She gasped at the intimate suggestion. They dragged her onto a small balcony and chained her to a wall by one wrist. Even if she’d had the strength to try, there was no hope of escape. Her cheek against the hard, cold stone she moaned, “God help me,” and shivered in the chilly air. Water pooled around her still form. Her burgundy walking dress clung to her, a frigid shroud of death.

“God help me. Devlin,” she whispered.

Chaos surrounded him. Devlin recognized the symptoms: fever, chills, backaches, headaches, and blister-like pustules. Smallpox! He’d walked straight into a wretched smallpox epidemic. Blast the scourge.

Looking up from the woman he’d just examined, he knew she was in the stage that offered temporary relief. The rash covered her. Within a matter of days the disease would progress. He grabbed a nearby attendant. “Where’s Sullivan?”

“Probably hidin’ out in his office, the squeamish worm. He’s not set foot in here since the outbreak.”

“We must plan to prevent further spreading of the disease. When did it begin?” Devlin asked.

“About ten days ago.”

Devlin looked at the attendant in astonishment. “Ten days! Why wasn’t a doctor sent for earlier?”

The man shrugged and hurried on his way.

Rage swelled in Devlin. Madeline was here in this epidemic. He went in search of Sullivan. The manager sat in his office, surrounded by everyday luxuries, while the poor souls inside the asylum had very little to comfort them.

“Why in the name of heaven haven’t you sent for help?” Devlin grabbed Sullivan by his lapels, yanking him to his feet. The smell of liquor, pungent. “You’re drunk. Where is Lady Madeline Whittington? What have you done with her?” He threw the man back in his chair.

“She’s here… somewhere,” Sullivan mumbled, groping for his glasses.

Devlin slammed his fist down on the desk. “Where?”

Sullivan cowered. “I don’t know. There are more than a hundred patients here. I can’t keep track of all of them. You’ll have to send some of the attendants to look for her.”

“Tell me you haven’t allowed anyone to leave the asylum, Sullivan. You have an epidemic here.”

“You passed the guard, didn’t you? He knew we could use someone like you. Other guards are posted to be certain no one leaves and no one enters.”

“You’re going to help me.” Devlin grabbed Sullivan by the collar and ushered him out of the office and toward the locked door of the asylum.

“No!” Sullivan pushed away from him. “I can’t go in there. I haven’t had the vaccine either,” he whimpered. “I haven’t had the vaccine!”

Devlin let him drop to the floor in a heap. “How many of the patients and staff have been vaccinated?”

“Not sure.” He slurred his words. “Some had Jenner’s vaccine; some didn’t. We have tried to separate the sick from the well, but…”

“You worthless toad. I’ll do what I can, but be warned. If anything happens to Lady Madeline, I’ll kill you… if the pox doesn’t.”

Back inside the asylum Devlin stood a moment, overwhelmed. Where could he begin to look for Madeline? The asylum, both massive and confusing, imprisoned maybe a hundred patients, but there were far more than a hundred rooms. He dare not waste precious time searching from room to room.

The stench from the sick nauseated him. Devlin leaned against a wall, closing his eyes for a moment, praying for wisdom.

“Here’s another one, Doctor. Don’t look like she’ll last long,” called an attendant.

He opened his eyes. His medical duties called, though his heart and body screamed for him to run, to search, to rescue Madeline from this nightmare.

“Put her over here,” he directed, and then went to evaluate her condition.

Two keepers lowered a cot with the body of a thin, elderly woman on it. Devlin crouched down and touched her cheek. “She’s burning up.” The room already held at least ten cots.

He listened to her breathing, then scanned the pustules on her arms. They had broken open and scabbed over. Her breathing was labored; the disease attacked her lungs.

She could lose the battle at this stage in the progression of the disease. Devlin looked in the woman’s eyes, but she was unable to focus on anything. The fever had taken over. He stood and gazed down at the frail body. The slight glimmer of a single, silver strand of a necklace caught his eye. Bending to examine it, he gently unraveled it from the cotton blanket. There was something strangely familiar about the locket attached to the chain. Devlin could not keep from opening it.

Time stopped.

Devlin struggled with the enormity of an emotion he thought he’d abandoned years ago. Hope. He sat on the floor next to the woman and stared at two tiny portraits, one of him and his brother and the other of his two sisters.

“It can’t be true,” he whispered in disbelief. “Mother.”

C
HAPTER 17

Earth hath no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

—T
HOMAS
M
OORE
,
“C
OME
, Y
E
D
ISCONSOLATE
”

S
HE DIED
… a long time ago. My father told me she was dead.” Devlin choked back tears and slowly rose to his knees, then turned the woman’s face gently toward him. “Mother?” The past rushed up and hit him with the force of a cannonball. “You can’t be my mother.”

Elethea Ravensmoore’s eyes fluttered open briefly, and she smiled. “Devlin.” Her green eyes brightened with joy for a moment and then closed, as if trying to capture and keep the vision of her son. Her labored breathing continued.

Devlin wondered if he’d only imagined his name on her lips. He gently placed her scab-covered hand in his and prayed. “I don’t understand. Sweet sanity, how can this be happening? God, don’t let her die, not after all this time. Please give her… give us… a second chance.” He carefully lowered her hand to her side and placed the locket inside the top of her worn and faded dress. Anger ripped through him like a scalpel slicing flesh. He found it difficult to breathe, or believe. “How could this happen?” He stared at her frail form.