‘Robert, my dearest love.’
He felt a sob rising in his chest and felt helpless to quench it. ‘Poor Evelyn. I have never seen her so wild and feral. What are we to do?’
‘Doctor Birch will help Evelyn,’ she soothed, wiping away his tears as if he was a child. And like a child, he allowed her to do it. To both their relief, his tears stopped as suddenly as they had begun. They would never speak of his moment of weakness again. They stood for a moment, arm in arm, looking out onto the gardens that their daughter had so vividly captured in watercolour.
Eventually, his wife spoke her thoughts aloud. ‘The things she said . . . were so very cruel.’
Her husband laid his arm around her shoulder. ‘She was not in her right mind, my dear.’
‘She hates us.’
‘No. She thinks we do not care.’
‘But we do.’
Sir Robert stroked his wife’s arm. ‘We do. And we will prove it. We will stand by her and give her the best and most up-to-date treatment available.’
‘Doctor Birch will know what to do.’
‘And whatever he prescribes, we will ensure that she has it.’
From their window, they could see vibrant fuchsias and hydrangeas in full bloom.
‘One would never guess she did not like painting landscapes,’ said his wife thoughtfully.
‘No,’ replied Sir Robert. ‘However, she is not her normal self at the moment and what she says cannot be relied upon. I have learnt that our daughter hides her troubles very well.’
* * *
Doctor Birch stood in the hall, savouring the moment of his dramatic return. He knew Sir Robert and Lady Pendragon waited anxiously for his opinion on their daughter’s mental state, but he did not care. Let them wait a little longer, he thought, as he considered his next move. After all, they had made him wait long enough.
In truth, he still smarted at their lack of contact since their son’s death. Before and during Nicholas’s illness he received constant invitations to dine with them, which he used to his advantage and often boasted about. However, since Nicholas’s death he had received none. Their silence had been deafening and caused him great concern. He did not think for one minute that they blamed him for the child’s demise, for the boy had a weak heart that should have killed him months ago. No, he was apprehensive that he had lost their patronage and the commendation that went with it.
True, attending social engagements and entertaining guests during deep mourning could be considered inappropriate. He had also heard tales of patients withdrawing from all contacts who reminded them of a tragic time. Yet, he truly believed that his position within the Pendragon family was on firmer ground. To be so brutally dismissed from their lives, like a trader whose wares were no longer required, fuelled a resentment that stillburned daily in his gut. Fortunately, this new crisis had them crawling back to him and the nature of it excited him greatly.
Several years ago he had developed an interest in the disorders of the mind. It followed an incident in Truro, where a terrified woman, who felt persecuted by demons, ran through the streets clawing at her own face. A crowd had followed her all the way to the quay, but was unable to persuade her otherwise or save her when she finally jumped into the water. The affliction of madness controlled thought and body. To be able to cure it would hold much power. Frequent trips to sideshows and asylums followed, where he spent hours observing the wild existence of the mad. Now Evelyn had shown signs of hysteria. How fortunate he had an interest in the subject and understood more than most.
Her parents’ anxious attentiveness, when he entered the drawing room, helped stroke his ego and made him feel generous enough to offer a morsel of reassurance, although in reality their prior indifference would not be forgotten lightly.
‘Your daughter is sleeping peacefully, Robert,’ he said, determined to make the point that titles were for society to use, not him. He turned to Lady Pendragon and addressed her in a similar vein. ‘I gave her some laudanum, Beatrice. It has helped settle her nerves.’
He took the glass of port offered and sat down in a large, winged chair. Evelyn’s parents sat opposite him on the sofa, leg to leg, shoulder to shoulder, with no stomach for drink.
‘How did you find her?’ asked Lady Pendragon.
‘Highly agitated and confused. She even expressed feelings of paranoia.’
Lady Pendragon stifled a sob. ‘Our daughter has always been such a good child.’
‘When did you first notice this change?’
It was Sir Robert who answered, as he felt he was to blame. ‘In truth we have only now become aware of the extent of the change. Following Nicholas’s death, I engaged our son’s former tutor for Evelyn. I hoped that if she had the best education, she may be better equipped to be my heir.’ He frowned at the recollection. ‘Mr Burrows, her tutor, found her lazy and lacking motivation. In the end, it was her insolence towards him that made him leave. We challenged Evelyn this morning. She became hysterical, cruel and quite violent. We had to call for help to restrain her.’
Doctor Birch studied the remains of his port as he enjoyed its astringent aftertaste on his teeth and gums. It was a very fine wine indeed and he was secretly pleased that they had remembered his preference for it, despite the early hour.
‘Evelyn tells me she is fourteen.’ Her parents nodded. ‘A female’s nature is inextricably linked to her reproductive organs,’ said the doctor. ‘Hysteria, nervous excitability and great irregularities of temper can cause irritation to these sexual organs and, if untreated, lead to madness.’
‘You think our daughter is mad?’
