Doctor Birch afforded them a smile. ‘No, Beatrice, at least, not yet. Does madness run in the family?’ He listened patiently to the scanty information they had regarding a distant relative. There was always someone in a family, a secret never to be mentioned, lurking in the background somewhere. ‘From your testimony and her very own lips, Evelyn has certainly exhibited behaviour that is sociably unacceptable and must never be repeated. Should this behaviour continue into adulthood, well it would be social suicide for her.’ He lifted his empty glass. It was immediately filled by Lady Pendragon. He took a sip and savoured it, knowing that they waited anxiously for him to continue. ‘It is well recorded in medical journals, that females are uniquely vulnerable to mental instability. Their character isweaker and must therefore be protected. I have studied the work of many psychiatrists—’
‘Alienists?’ cried Lady Pendragon.
‘Yes, they are one of the same. Have you heard of Doctor Silas Weir Mitchell?’ He smiled inwardly, of course she had not. He would be the one to enlighten her. ‘He is an American neurologist and an expert in the field of hysteria and neurasthenia. He has developed a treatment for these ailments which have proved most successful.’
Sir Robert remained wary. ‘He is an American?’
Doctor Birch expected Sir Robert’s response. For someone whose fortunes were made on trade with other countries, he had a healthy suspicion of all things foreign.
‘He is a prominent physician who has written many books on the subject,’ explained Doctor Birch. ‘I have been aware of him for some time. His treatment resonates with me more than any other.’
Lady Pendragon leant forward. ‘What is the treatment?’
‘He calls his treatment The Rest Cure. It heals the patient’s physical and moral degeneration and is very simple. It involves complete rest of the mind and body.’
Sir Robert noted his wife’s interest, she understood these things far better than he. Even so, his guilt made him err on the side of caution. ‘I will not have her committed to an asylum.’
Doctor Birch smiled, as if he was an endearing child. ‘That will not be necessary. The treatment can be given here.’
‘This treatment,’ ventured Lady Pendragon, ‘what does it entail?’
‘Complete isolation, bed rest and a high fat diet to enrich the blood.’
‘Bed rest does not seem too harsh, Robert,’ she said, turning to her husband. ‘She can paint and read. I will spend more time with her and help her to pass the time.’
‘I’m afraid that is not possible,’ said Doctor Birch. ‘As I have already mentioned, both the mind and body requires rest. She must be in complete isolation, but for the maid who cares for her.’ He placed his empty glass on the table at his side. ‘Evelyn is very ill, Beatrice. Reading, painting and visitors are to be banned; even the burden of personal care must be lifted from her tired shoulders. This means that washing, eating, even turning in bed will have to be done for her.’
Evelyn’s parents looked stricken. He must convince them to accept if he was to secure this opportunity to recreate Weir’s treatment.
‘Your daughter’s wellbeing is teetering on the abyss. The respite will give her body the time to heal and at the end of this treatment, she will be your dutiful daughter again. However, I require your full co-operation and my directions must be followed to the letter. We must not let her down in her time of need.’ He looked at them through his eyebrows. ‘Youmust not let her down.’
The inference that they had let Nicholas down hung in the air between them. Sir Robert, laden with the guilt of a bereaved parent, allowed it to go unchallenged and accepted his recommendation. Both parents were unaware that Evelyn no longer teetered on the edge of the abyss, but was about to fall headlong into it.
Chapter Twelve
Following their visit to Mr Burrows, Timmins had kept his word and Drake’s apprenticeship changed for the better, starting with him being recalled from the valley gardens. Heavy chores, which relied on muscle rather than wit, were no longer delegated to him and the hours he had spent studying the theory of gardening was now called upon and used in practice.
The weeks that followed revitalised Drake’s passion for the land, as the head gardener was as eager to share his knowledge as Drake was to absorb it. For the first time his dream to emulate the finest landscape gardeners in England looked possible, he just had to work hard, remain focused and put Miss Evelyn out of his mind. Only Miss Evelyn — Evie — refused to leave his thoughts.
Drake found his eyes often straying from the task at hand, hoping to catch a glimpse of her painting at her easel or strolling through the gardens with a parasol resting on her shoulder. He was no longer concerned for her welfare, as he knew she was safe from Mr Burrows. The tutor had ceased visiting Carrack House immediately after their confrontation. Drake knew this as every morning since their encounter, he had waited for the tutor’s horse and gig to drive up the gravelled road and felt a great sense of relief when he did not appear.
At night, as he cradled his head in his bent arm and listened to the soft snores of the bothy boys, his mind would relive the day, but inevitably return to Evie and her unexplained absence. She had not visited to tell him the news of her tutor’s departure or thank him for helping her that day he found her running in the rain. She had not even visited the kittens, which were now young cats with long gangly legs and an appetite for mice. He couldn’t help wondering if she had forgotten him and the thought hurt him more than he cared to admit. He could notreally blame her. She was the daughter of a titled man and he was a nobody — but he would besomebodyone day.
As always his thoughts turned to the memory of holding her. He hadn’t planned for it to happen. He had just reached for her and she had stepped forward, fitting perfectly within his arms as if she had been made for them. Holding her made him light-headed and weak, yet he had felt strong enough to take on the world should the need arise in order to protect her. He frowned. It made no sense to feel such intense, contradictory feelings. If he was to make a success of himself, he could not afford to risk his apprenticeship again for a relationship that had no future. Next time, being banished to the valley gardens may not be good enough. It would be, ‘Goodbye, Drake Vennor, and good riddance.’ He should be glad she was not around. Yet, as always, he could not help wondering what she was doing or feeling hurt that she had not sought him out. He wanted to hate her for her cold-heartedness. He wanted to, but he couldn’t. He justcouldn’t.
* * *
One could hear Mrs Beecham, long before one stepped inside Carrack House’s large kitchen, for the cook shouted rather than spoke and lacked the skill of listening. Drake had accompanied Timmins on his early winter visit to the kitchens to discuss the household’s requirements for the coming spring. They exchanged amused glances as the cook’s billowing voice greeted them at the door.
Mrs Beecham, all sweat and flour, was stirring the contents of a mixing bowl with such ferocity that her whole body rocked and twisted with surprising agility. Neither man, for that was how Drake now saw himself, dared to interrupt.
As her speed slowed, they removed their caps. Mrs Beecham saw the movement and looked up. Her feelings of irritationchanged to bashfulness when she saw Timmins. A rosy glow lit up her rounded cheeks as she pushed the bowl aside and self-consciously patted her stray hair into place.
‘Why, Mr Timmins,’ she said, untying her apron and giving her dress a cursory brush. ‘Is it that time of year already?’ She gave him a coy smile. ‘I must look a right mess.’
Timmins reassured her. ‘Mrs Beecham, you can never look a mess.’
The cook smiled. ‘Oh, Mr Timmins, you are like a ray of sunshine on a dark day and the Lord knows there have been too many of those.’
