Requiem (The Penny Dreadfuls Book 1) (11 page)

“Excellent, what’s his address?” Chastity asked.

“’e’s in Bedlam, Miss,” Asok said.

Chastity smiled her thanks to Malachi then joined Asok at the door. “Bedlam, whatever for?”

Asok shrugged his lopsided shoulders. “The lads ‘ave no idea. When they found ‘im they was sceered of th’ place and come right back here.”

Chastity opened her purse and handed Asok a handful of coins. “Thank them for me and give them a few days off, I’ll handle it from here.”

“Are you really going to Bedlam, Chastity?” Malachi asked.

Chastity nodded. “I go where the clues go, it’s part of the job. Take care, brother.”

She brushed past Asok and returned to her rooms where she gathered some of her more concealable gear. She looked longingly at her sword belt, but it wouldn’t do for a lady to go out in broad daylight armed to the teeth. She instead wrapped a warm cloak around her shoulders and rushed out into the city.

BETHLEHEM ROYAL HOSPITAL
for Lunatics, more commonly called “Bedlam” was an hour coach ride from the Sanctuary on the edge of the city center. Chastity spent the ride writing her report to Father William, leaving out her brush with Inspector Price.

When they neared her destination, she opened the curtains and looked out. The hospital would have been imposing even without the stories of what went on inside its walls. The structure was made of native brick, five stories in height with a great central tower that held a clock that never chimed or even told the correct time. Many suggested this was because, if you were at Bedlam, it was already too late.

The cab dropped Chastity off in front of the wide double doors and the driver, though polite, left as soon as his fare crossed his palm. He, along with the rest of the city, had heard the stories. Most of the patients that passed through the doors were never seen again.

The door was opened by a tall young man in a black suit who ushered Chastity into a central office lit by a mixture of gas and electric lights. The combination gave the room an odd greenish tint that made the hair on Chastity’s neck stand on end. A nurse seated behind a wide desk looked Chastity up and down and her face creased into a frown that would have sent children fleeing behind their mother’s skirts.

“Can I help you…Miss?”

She put such disdain in that last that Chastity wanted to slap her.

“Good morning, I’m looking for a patient named Jacob Lancaster.”

The nurse pursed her lips and made a show of checking her patient list. “Are you family?”

Chastity put on her thickest accent. “Aye, m’lady. I’m his cousin Rhiannon, I came in on the train after my mother received a telegram saying he was here. We’re all very worried.”

The nurse’s face softened, as if being a Scot made her clothing more appropriate. “Of course, please sign in and have a seat, someone will collect you shortly.”

Chastity scribbled ‘Rhiannon MacKenna’ on the log and sat in one of the uncomfortable-looking chairs set around the room. The chair was as uncomfortable as it looked and by the time another nurse entered and called her supposed name, Chastity’s legs were going numb. She followed the nurse through a maze of white-washed corridors past the offices of various administrators and through a revolving door into a large cell beyond which were a variety of patients, many confined to chairs or in straight waistcoats, the rest wandering the halls freely. A man, too young to be a doctor, offered to take Chastity’s cloak through the bars. Chastity passed it through and was then allowed out of the cell and into the ward.

“Welcome to Bethlehem Hospital, Miss MacKenna. My name is Richard and I will be your escort here in the ward. A woman alone isn’t safe on this side of the gate. Even our nurses have escorts within the ward.”

Chastity thanked him, then turned her attention to the patients. She was appalled at what she saw. Many of those confined showed wounds she knew could only have come from electric therapy, which was a new and hardly tested technology. Others appeared to have had all of their teeth removed and drooled uncontrollably while others still seemed lucid enough to look helpless and frightened. Chastity knew from experience that many of the patients branded as lunatics were nothing more than poor and homeless brought in to ensure the hospital continued to receive the support of the crown. More patients meant more coin.

Richard took her elbow and started through the ward. “This way, Miss.”

Chastity allowed herself to be brought through the ward into the long, dank corridor of patient rooms. The doors were open on most, allowing the patients to wander freely, but some were closed and even barred. Near the middle of the hallway they passed a junction where a caged office was placed. Lamps burned inside and two nurses were chatting about how awful the patients were and how grateful they were that Dr. Hendricks had “pacified” so many. Chastity had no idea what that meant, but she didn’t like the sound. Illness wasn’t something that could be pacified, only treated with kindness and medicine. She frowned at Richard, but he only smiled and led her deeper into the ward. A moment later, he stopped in front of a door that looked the same as all the others and knocked.

“Mr. Lancaster? Mr. Lancaster, sir you have a visitor.”

There was no sound from the other side. Richard unlocked the door with a key from the ring he’d been carrying and pushed it open. Beyond was a small, rectangular room with an iron bed bolted to the floor and wall, a table and a chair. A lean man dressed in soiled pants, white shirt and suspenders lay curled on the bed, his face to the wall.

“Jacob?” Chastity asked. “Jacob, its Rhiannon from Scotland.”

The man rolled over and looked at her with blank, frightened eyes. “Rhiannon?”

“Yes, it’s okay, I’m just here to visit.”

She sat behind him on the bed and offered him her friendliest smile. He smiled back, showing the wide gap where his front teeth should have been. Though tooth loss was common even in the upper classes, the injury looked fresh.

Chastity looked over her shoulder at Richard. “Would you give us a few minutes?”

Richard smiled. “Of course. I’ll leave the door open and be right outside. Call if you need anything.”

He stepped out of the room and Chastity turned back to Jacob. “Jacob, why are you here?”

Jacob ran a hand through his matted hair. “I’m sick, I’m…I’m seein’ things. Who are you again?”

“I’m your cousin from Edinburgh, from the MacKenna side of the family. What are you seeing? Do you mean hallucinations?”

“Monsters, things in the night, they tol’ me I had come to Bethlehem and get better…”

He trailed off into a fit of coughing and crying that left him breathless. Chastity waited until he had composed himself then asked, “What kind of monsters? Ghosts? Goblins?”

Jacob shook his head. “I don’t know, things that eat flesh, things that gived me an awful fright! I’m safe here, the doctors will cure me.”

That’s debatable,
Chastity thought.

“When did this happen? You were at work just a few days ago, right? At the coffee house?”

“Aye, I was. But Rosee is such a skinflint, ‘e paid only tuppence to unload the carts,” Jacob said.

Chastity raised Jacob’s chin so she could see his eyes. “You stole the cart, didn’t you?”

Jacob nodded miserably. “An’ that’s when I started seeing them. The…thing that was waiting at the cemetery for the cart, it had to have been a man, but it weren’t, not to me. It were a monster right out of them penny books.”

“Was that the only time you saw them?”

Jacob shook his head. “No, t’was just the first. Then I started seein’em all over, watchin’ me! I tol’ our gran and she said I should come see the doctors here.”

“I’m so sorry, Jacob. It will be okay. I just need to know one more thing. Which cemetery was it?”

Jacob hugged himself and shivered. “Ol’ Cross Bones. ‘E met me at the back gate. I left the cart an’ ran, I never took the money.”

“Thank you, Jacob,” Chastity said. “I think we should get you out of here.”

“That isn’t for you to decide, Miss MacKenna,” Richard said from the door. “Excuse me, it is time for Mr. Lancaster’s treatment.”

Richard stepped past her and helped the unresisting Jacob to his feet. Chastity stood and stepped in front of them. “What sort of treatment?”

“Electrical stimulation,” Richard replied.

“I don’t think so,” Chastity said.

Richard smiled as if humoring a child. “It isn’t your decision, Mr. Lancaster made his mark on the treatment forms and agreed to whatever cure Dr. Mandrake felt was necessary. Excuse me, wait here and I will come escort you to the door.”

Chastity let him pass with a cold feeling in her gut. From what Nikola had told her, she knew that electricity wasn’t safe as a treatment, not now and possibly not ever. The effect of electricity on the human brain was still unknown.

She waited for ten long minutes, closing her eyes in horror when the lights began to dim in a rhythmic pattern. She imagined she could hear Jacob’s screams and decided she could wait no longer. She walked into the corridor and retraced her steps to the cage where she’d left her cloak. Contrary to what Richard had suggested, the patients she passed seemed oblivious to her presence, stumbling along in whatever haze they now lived in.

When she reached the cage the same nurse that had met her outside was seated on a stool on the other side, reading a novel of the type Jacob had referred to. The nurse looked up at Chastity and frowned.

“Where is Richard? Did he let you come back alone?”

Chastity threw her cloak over her shoulders and fastened it at her neck. “He was tending to my cousin, so I ventured out alone. Nothing has happened, but I would like to return to my inn and compose a letter home.”

“That is peculiar, Miss. If you visit again, kindly wait for the assistant to return,” the nurse said. “We’ve had more than one lady accosted by the patients.”

She waved to another assistant, who unlocked the door and allowed Chastity through. A few minutes later she was outside, for once grateful for the London particular that clung to the city like fungus. The fog was thick and frequently smelled of soot and old boots, but it was better than the repulsive stench of the asylum.

There were, of course, no cabs waiting near the hospital. It was a ten minute walk before she found one and another twenty minutes before a driver was willing to deliver her across town to old Cross Bones Cemetery. Once she found one, she paid the ridiculous fare he requested up front and leaned back into the seat, still worried about Lancaster and what was to become of him.

CROSS BONES CEMETERY
, final resting place to pirates, thieves, paupers, and prostitutes lay on the far side of the Thames atop a hillock, in plain view of the Barrel and Sword Tavern. Though thousands had been buried within the confines of the cemetery’s iron fence it had been officially closed a few years before, even to mourners unless they obtained a special permit from the police. The official story was that the area was unsafe, but Chastity was no longer so sure that was the only reason it had been closed. She stepped out of the cab in front of the cemetery’s southern gate and waited until the stagecoach had vanished back toward the bridge before checking the huge rusting iron gate. It was locked and covered with the official police seal, a plug of wax that would keep curious passersby away from the gate, at least in theory. The cobbles beneath the gate were scraped and gouged, which meant someone had opened it recently. With all the rain recently, any old scratches would have been dulled or washed away.

Chastity chewed on her thumbnail for a moment then turned and crossed the street to the tavern. Even outside she could smell the aroma of fresh bread and stew; the scents made her stomach rumble and she remembered she hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before.

The inside of the tavern was warm and inviting, more so than she expected for a place located across the lane from a cemetery. Perhaps a dozen tables, dimly lit by hanging lanterns, sat around a floor that was an odd mix of flagstones and sawdust. A bar ran the length of the western wall and a staircase led up to the second floor where a handful of rooms were available for rent. Conversation softened as Chastity entered, then resumed when the other patrons got a good look at her and decided she was interesting, but not a threat. She took a seat at the bar and placed a pair of coins on the wood in front of her. The barman, a large man with tattooed arms and scarred hands, set down the mug he’d been polishing and approached, his face blank.

“Welcome, m’lady. What can I get you?”

His accent was Irish and had a pleasant lilt, which contrasted with his menacing appearance.

Chastity smiled and nodded at the pot bubbling atop the fire not far away. “I’ll take a bowl of whatever’s simmering and an ale, please.”

The barman placed a wooden bowl in front of her. “Help y’self. I’ll get your drink.”

Chastity took the bowl and squatted next to the fire, which was more a mass of coals reminiscent of hell than a cheerful blaze. A burned cloth sat next to the fire and Chastity used it to grip the ladle in the pot and fill her bowl with stew. She didn’t look too closely at what was in it, she didn’t care.