“I don’t know, precisely. Something about a sweet he was given in Damascus that made him violently ill. He won’t explain. I doubt he ever told my mother the details, either. Supposedly he was given something as a joke, but it made him violently ill. I don’t know if that is what caused his attitude toward foreign countries or if it might have just been a contributor. He is anti any foreign investment or dealings. He was opposed to England going to war with Napoleon, certain he would never invade England. And he argued the country was raising taxes and wasting money by going to fight in other countries. Very insular is my father. Very loyal in his way, though insular.”
He frowned, a petulant pout, which made him look younger. “He was against Aileen as my choice for my wife as she is from Scotland,” he admitted.
“He doesn’t believe Scotland should be part of England?” James asked.
“Correct. But his disapproval of my wonderful Aileen did not become a major issue until he learned where her father was.”
“That he was in a sanatorium?”
He snorted. “More than that, it was that he was in the Camden House Sanatorium.”
“Why was that an issue?” Cecilia asked. “Did he know something about the institution?”
“In a way, yes. You see, that is where he has had my mother committed.”
Cecilia and James exchanged glances. “Your mother!” Cecilia exclaimed.
“Yes, off and on since I was seventeen years old.”
“Off and on?”
He sighed. “My poor mother suffers from excessive nerves. She does not handle disruption well, and my father is nothing but a disruptive man. Theirs was an arranged marriage and as such, to my mind, is a major argument against that societal marriage arrangement. At the sanatorium, my mother is calmer and happier. She only returns to our estate around the holidays, as that is her favorite time of year. She loves to decorate the old house with pine garlands, wreaths and mistletoe. She is happy, she laughs and is relaxed. Then, after twelfth night, she once again sinks to a mere shadow of herself, crying all the time, begging my father to let her return to Camden. And he does readily. Neither of them enjoys the other’s company, and her residing at the sanatorium allows them to live apart without scandal.”
“But what a life!” Cecilia exclaimed. “Locked in an asylum!”
“Camden House is not like most sanatoriums. Certainly not like Bedlam,” the young man hastened to assure her. “It looks more austere than it is, being a large gray-stone-and-brick former monastery situated on the edge of fens with marshy swamps around it.”
“That does not sound appealing.”
“It’s built on a small knoll with the drainage canals surrounding it, there is only one approach to the property.”
“Rather like a moat, I would imagine,” James said.
Stackpoole laughed. “Almost! Inside there are private rooms for those with the funds to pay for private accommodation. For others, there are small dormitories. The men and women are kept in separate parts of the main building. There are some common areas allowed for those deemed not a danger to others: a dining room, a large, combined library and card room, and an outdoor area—all properly chaperoned, of course.”
“It sounds like you are quite familiar with the sanatorium.”
He nodded. “I try to visit my mother quarterly. There is an inn close by where I can stay. It caters to the families of those in the sanatorium.”
“The New Bell Inn?” James asked.
“Yes.”
“That is, fortuitously, where we have booked accommodations,” James said. “Can you tell us more about the sanatorium over all?”
“Like what?”
“The staff, the atmosphere, how available it is for visitors, that sort of things.”
Mr. Stackpoole blinked rapidly as he thought. It gave him an owl appearance. “The sanatorium is owned by Dr. Thaddeus Worcham, and he does live on the property with his wife. He generally has young doctors from medical schools on visitation for six months to a year at a time, those that wish to learn more about afflictions of the mind.” He frowned. “And about eight months ago, he hired a superintendent to assist with the functional aspects of the sanatorium.”
“I take it you do not like him,” James observed.
Mr. Stackpoole’s mouth twisted as he considered his feelings. “I don’t know if I do or don’t. He strikes me as not as affable as he appears to visitors, and from the few things my mother has let drop when I visit, I gather it is a carefully crafted façade.In truth, I have been wondering if I should investigate other accommodations for my mother.”
“Interesting,” James murmured, exchanging a glance with Cecilia.
“It is easy to gain entrance to the building, though a staff member must unlock a broad set of double doors to get beyond the entrance hall. Most of the time, they have been ready to do so without questions.”
