The Asylum (11 page)

“Is that so, miss? Would that be young Mr. Mordaunt, then?”

“Yes, it would, and you will kindly fetch him without further delay.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, miss.”

“And why not?”

“Doctor’s orders, miss.”

“You are mistaken. I am a voluntary patient here, and if you do not fetch Mr. Mordaunt at once”—I could hear my voice beginning to tremble—“he will be most displeased.”

“Really, miss?” She sneered, in the tone of one humouring, or rather baiting, a madwoman. “Well, I takes
my
orders from Dr. Straker.”

“Dr. Straker is in London, attending to business of mine—”

“Well, fancy that. We are goin’ it this morning, aren’t we? Now I could swear Dr. Straker give me my orders just ten minutes ago, and them orders was that Miss Ashton was to stay in bed until he—”

“What did you call me?”

“Miss Ashton, miss. That’s your name, according to Dr. Straker, and he ought to know.”

“My name is not Ashton. I am Miss Ferrars; I am a voluntary patient”—my voice was now shaking wildly—“and I wish to leave this place at once. Now fetch Mr. Mordaunt!”

“Come along now, miss; no point getting hysterical, now is there?”

“If you do not unlock that door and let me out this instant, I will—I will have you arrested and charged with false imprisonment!” The last words came out as a shriek.

“Well, I’ll tell you what, miss. You can go back to your bed, nice and quiet, and wait there in the warm till Dr. Straker comes to see you, or I can ’elp you undress and put you to bed myself. Now which will it be?”

I thought of trying to dodge past her, but she stood squarely in the middle of the passage, with her great hands resting on her hips and her elbows almost touching the walls. If I resisted her, I might find myself in a straitjacket.

“I will go quietly,” I said, “if you will promise to tell Mr. Mordaunt I wish to see him urgently.”

“Now that’s more like it, miss. You come along quietly to bed, and I’ll tell Dr. Straker that you asked particular to see Mr. Mordaunt, and we’ll see what happens, won’t we?”

She moved aside to let me pass and followed me closely back to my room.

“That’s right, miss. You get into bed, and I’ll be back with your breakfast before you know it.”

A massive hand urged me on. As the door closed behind me, I heard a jingle of metal, followed by the scrape and snap of the lock.

Hodges returned half an hour later with breakfast, which I could not eat, and then insisted that I should bathe, locking me in the bathroom while she made up the bed. “Dr. Straker will be along presently,” was all she would say. As the minutes crawled by, my hope of rescue shrank to nothing. Either Frederic had deceived me all along—hard as it was to believe, remembering those deep, wrenching sobs—or he was so in thrall to Dr. Straker that he had not the backbone to defy him. The more I brooded, the more my suspicions increased. Tregannon Asylum, according to Frederic, was a benign, compassionate, enlightened place, but there was nothing benign about Hodges; she was exactly what I had always imagined a madhouse attendant would be. And if Frederic had lied about that, what else had he lied about? How long had Dr. Straker been back from London? Had he even
been
to London? I tried to look out through the observation slot in the door, but it would not open.

An eternity later, as it seemed, the lock turned over again, and Dr. Straker appeared in the doorway. He looked so grave that my protests died on my lips; my first thought was that something had happened to Frederic, and I watched him fearfully as he settled himself beside the bed.

“I am sorry to have to tell you, Miss Ashton, that my instinct has been confirmed. I have been to Gresham’s Yard, and I met Georgina Ferrars and Josiah Radford, her uncle. The mystery of how you know so much about them is a mystery no longer. The only riddle we have yet to solve is the riddle of your own identity.”

He paused, awaiting my reaction, but I could not utter a sound.

“Believe me, Miss Ashton, I understand how distressing this must be, even though I have tried to prepare you. It will be best, I think, if I begin by telling you what transpired. Gresham’s Yard is just as you described it, and until the maid said she would fetch Miss Ferrars, I was preparing to eat my hat. But at my first glimpse of Georgina Ferrars, a great deal became clear: the resemblance between you is quite remarkable. Miss Ferrars was profoundly shaken, but not wholly surprised, to learn that I had a patient who not only looked like her and appeared to know everything about her, but was claiming to
be
her. ‘It is Lucia!’ she exclaimed, ‘Lucia Ardent; it can only be Lucia!’ The initials, you will agree, can hardly be a coincidence. But I see the name means nothing to you.

“Three weeks ago, around the tenth of October—Miss Ferrars could not recall the precise date—she was alone in the bookshop when a young woman came in. Miss Ferrars felt sure she had seen her somewhere before, but she did not immediately associate the face before her with the one she saw every day in the mirror—did you wish to say something, Miss Ashton?”

Numb with shock, I could only stare at him.

“The young woman introduced herself as Lucia Ardent. They fell into conversation, and an intimacy sprang up. It was Lucia—if you will forgive the familiarity for the sake of concision—who first remarked upon the likeness between them. Within a couple of days, Lucia was living at Gresham’s Yard.

“Lucia, or so she claimed, was the daughter of a Frenchman named Jules Ardent, and an Englishwoman, Madeleine Ardent—who, according to Lucia, had refused ever to speak of her past. All she would say was that her childhood had been most unhappy and that she did not wish to recall it, or ever revisit England; she never revealed her maiden name. Jules Ardent died when Lucia was an infant—all this, you understand, rests upon Lucia Ardent’s unsupported word—leaving them an income of about two hundred a year. Lucia and her mother lived an itinerant life, moving about the Continent, staying in pensions and hotels until Madeleine Ardent died about a year ago. Lucia Ardent had always wanted to see England, and so, drawn by the mystery of her birth, she came to London, took lodgings in Bloomsbury, and by sheer chance wandered into Josiah Radford’s bookshop.

“All this, you understand, is what she told Georgina Ferrars, who had no reason to disbelieve her. As a child, Georgina told me, she had often wished she had a sister, and now it seemed that she had found one. Lucia was, from the beginning, insatiably curious about every aspect of Georgina’s past, and it was only later that Georgina realised how little she had learnt in return. As the days went by, Georgina became more and more conscious of the resemblance between them, and they had many long conversations about its possible bearing on the mystery of Lucia’s origins. Lucia had brought only a small travelling-case”—Dr. Straker glanced meaningfully at the valise Bella had unpacked—“and as they were much the same size, Georgina was happy to share her own clothes with her newfound friend. Josiah Radford, who is exceptionally shortsighted, was soon unable to tell them apart.

“Within a fortnight they were, Miss Ferrars told me, as close as if they really had been sisters. It was already settled, with Josiah Radford’s blessing, that Lucia should make her home there, but first—or so she said—she must return briefly to Paris to settle her affairs. Miss Ferrars would very much have liked to accompany her but felt that she could not leave her uncle.

“And so, last Monday—just two days, Miss Ashton, before you arrived here—Lucia Ardent packed her valise and departed in a cab, promising to return within a fortnight. It was only after she had left that doubts began to creep in. Miss Ferrars noticed, first of all, that Lucia had taken every single thing she had arrived with. And then she discovered that her two most cherished possessions were missing: a blue leather writing case given to her by her aunt, and a valuable ruby and diamond brooch in the shape of a dragonfly, which had belonged to her mother.”

It is a nightmare,
I told myself.
You must wake up now.
But his face refused to dissolve.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I wish I could make this easier for you, but we must face facts. You will be wondering—since you are, beyond question, the woman who left Gresham’s Yard two days ago—why I do not address you as Miss Ardent. That is because Lucia Ardent is an alias: the account she gave of herself is an obvious fabrication, since it contains not a single verifiable fact. Lucia Ardent is your own invention, and since you came here as Miss Ashton, I propose that we continue to call you by that name, until we discover who you really are.”

“I
am
Georgina Ferrars,” I said hopelessly, finding my voice at last. With the words came the thought,
He is lying; he must be lying.
“If—if this woman really exists, then
she
has taken
my
place—”

“There is no doubt of her existence, Miss Ashton; I am speaking to her at this moment. Just as there can be no doubt that the young woman I met in London is the real Georgina Ferrars; an imposter might possibly deceive Josiah Radford, who is exceedingly shortsighted, but not the maidservant.”

“What was her name—the maid’s?” I asked, clutching at straws.

“I have no idea, but I am sure there is nothing wrong with her eyesight.”

“It is clear,” he continued, when I did not respond, “that when you arrived here as Lucy Ashton, you were well aware that you had trained yourself to impersonate Georgina Ferrars.
Why
you did so remains a mystery. But I would say, without question, that you had become aware that the balance of your mind was disturbed: why else would you have sought out a leading specialist in disorders of the personality, and presented yourself to him under the name of a madwoman?”

I remembered Frederic—not once, but twice—saying exactly that.

“You adopted an alias because you were not yet ready to confess—no doubt for fear of the consequences—but the alias you chose was itself a kind of confession. And then, sadly, your mental turmoil led to a seizure, which seems to have obliterated everything
but
the personality you were so determined to assume.”

“No!” I cried. “I swear on my dear mother’s grave, it is
my
life I remember!”

“Miss Ashton, Miss Ashton; I am not questioning your sincerity. But the past you think you remember is a dream, woven by your troubled imagination out of the material of Georgina Ferrars’ life. You cannot see this, because it is
all
you can see. But rest assured: we will not abandon you; as I said before, you will be cared for here, without charge, no matter how long it takes us to discover your true identity.”

I dug my nails into the palms of my hands, fighting down terror.

“If you will only take me to London,” I said in a small, strangled voice, “and let me speak to my uncle; and to Cora, the maid; and Mrs. Eddowes, the housekeeper; and Mr. Onslow, the haberdasher in the square, they will tell you that I am the real Georgina Ferrars, and not this imposter—”

“I am sorry, Miss Ashton, but that is out of the question. I explained to Miss Ferrars that you were not responsible for your actions, and that bringing you face to face with her might help you recover your memory, but she does not wish to see you again. She feels, understandably, betrayed. ‘Let her return my writing case and brooch,’ she said, ‘and apologise for the distress she has caused us, and then perhaps I will consider your request.’”

“She is lying—” I began, but the futility of it was plain. I took a deep breath and summoned the last of my courage.

“Then since you will not help me, sir, I wish to leave this place immediately. I am a voluntary patient—”

“I am sorry, Miss Ashton, but I cannot allow it. I should be derelict in my duty if I allowed a young woman in the grip of a dangerous delusion to wander away unattended. If you were to appear at Gresham’s Yard in your present frame of mind, you would probably be arrested for disturbing the peace. You
were
a voluntary patient; I now have no choice but to issue a certificate of insanity.”

I saw, too late, that I had made a fatal mistake.

“Sir, I beg your pardon,” I stammered, hearing the note of terror all too clearly. “I spoke in haste; perhaps I am not myself. I promise to stay here quietly until—until I am better; there is no need for a certificate . . .”

He regarded me silently for some time, a faint ironic twist at the corner of his mouth.

“Almost convincing, Miss Ashton; but not quite. Unless I am much mistaken, you would make a dash for the gate the moment our backs were turned. No; I’m afraid my duty is plain. You may be a danger to others; you are certainly a danger to yourself. And now if you will excuse me, I must summon Dr. Mayhew; I advised him of these developments this morning, but he will need to examine you in person.”

“I am not mad!” I cried as he rose to leave. “Ask Fr—Mr. Mordaunt;
he
believes me.”

“He
did
believe you, Miss Ashton. Mr. Mordaunt is—easily led; he has learnt a salutary lesson.”

Dr. Mayhew’s “examination” consisted of his grunting several times, peering at my tongue, and muttering, “Hmph, mmph—highly agitated—danger to herself and others—no doubt about it,” after which he took the pen and the document that Dr. Straker was holding out to him, added his signature, and departed.

“Well, there we are, Miss Ashton,” said Dr. Straker. “We shall keep you here in the infirmary for a couple more days, just to be sure, and then transfer you to one of the women’s wards. I know it is hard, but try not to think too much. Hodges will bring you a sedative, and in the morning I shall look in to see how you are getting on.”

At the sound of the door closing behind him, I buried my face in the pillow and wept as I had never wept before.

I was roused from my misery by a clatter of keys and the heavy tread of Hodges.

“Come along now, Miss Ashton; this won’t do. I’ve brought you a pot of tea and some bread and butter, and a nice sleeping draught.”