Davien’s estate laid just along the outskirts of the heart of London in the rural West End district of Chelsea, which meant that if they were going beyond the Tower, then the woman Charlotte knew was somewhere in the East End.
They traveled along the Thames until the landmarks of the city began to make their presence known. From Westminster Abbey to St. James Park and the statue of King Charles I standing in proud honor at Charing Cross. Once the Tower came into view, they kept going, through the Whitechapel district and further north, until Charlotte slowed her mount near the area of Bethnal Green. They rode in silence down the Cambridge Heath Road until Charlotte finally reined in before a large, whitewashed mansion—where she dismounted. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, casting an eerie glow on the manor.
“Welcome t’ th’ White House, Your Grace, although this place has been called many names over th’ years—Kirby’s Castle, Wright’s Madhouse, but it was renamed when George Potter took over . . .”
“Enough,” Davien snapped as he dismounted, grabbing the satchel that held the tablet as he went. “You didn’t tell me that the woman you knew lived in a bloody asylum.”
“I dinna really know her, only the rumors.” Charlotte didn’t appear chagrined in the least. “She’s a pauper with th’ gift o’ sight. Where else do ye think she might live?”
Davien had to admit that she had a point, but that didn’t mean he was pleased by her deception. “We’ll discuss this later. Right now, let’s just see if what you heard had any truth to it.”
Davien had never stepped foot inside an asylum before, and he hoped that he never had to do so again. The moment he opened the door, the stench of human excrement hung in the air and nearly suffocated him. The haunting sounds of despair and clanging, dragging metal sounded from everywhere—and nowhere. The very walls seemed to pulse with cruelty and neglect.
He saw Charlotte recoil and he knew that she wasn’t unaffected. “This is inhumane,” she breathed.
“Agreed,” he clenched his jaw, knowing that he would remember this day for years to come. Once they were finished interviewing Charlotte’s seer, he vowed that he would do everything in his power to see that such horrid conditions were brought to the attention of the King. “Do you know the name of the woman we’re looking for?”
“Her name is Mrs. Clay. That’s all I know.”
“Then it will have to be enough.”
Davien was about to stride off in search of a member of the staff when a woman in white appeared further down another hallway. He called out to her and she paused. Her face was so pinched and cruel that it was no wonder she worked at such a place. “You’re a mighty fancy gent to be coming in here,” she sneered.
He ignored the barb. “I’m looking for a woman by the name of Mrs. Clay.”
“Are you now?” The woman pointed up the stairs. “Second floor. The women’s wing is to your right. I’d show you myself, but we’re terribly short staffed.” With that, she walked off, presumably to attend to her duties, but Davien wasn’t so sure that she cared about anything but herself.
Davien and Charlotte walked up the stairs, where the putrid scent grew even stronger. He heard Charlotte gag, before she covered her nose with her hand. “And I thought th’ workhouse was bad,” she whispered in horror.
As they turned a corner, Davien echoed her sentiments. The sight before him was worse than anything he might have imagined. He was glad that Cosette wasn’t here to see such pitiful conditions. Most of the women present were naked and lying in their own filth, some of them two or more to a straw bed that was visibly moving with vermin. The cause of the clanking metal they’d heard earlier was because their hands and feet were chained to the walls, the floor, the beds.
They were surrounded by all ages, young and old, and if they weren’t rocking, or murmuring to themselves, they were staring blankly into space. Living in such squalor, surrounded by such deplorable conditions, Davien couldn’t believe that this would ever help the state of their mind. He was even more convinced that something needed to be done. “Let’s find her and get this over with,” he said curtly.
Charlotte nodded and walked over to a woman, perhaps in her early twenties. “Can ye help us, miss? We’re lookin’ fer a woman by th’ name of Mrs. Clay—”
Suddenly, the woman shot forward with a shrill scream, her eyes wild, her hands shaped into claws. But just when she would have reached for Charlotte, the chains caught and pulled her down to the floor with the force of it. She writhed like a wild animal in the clutches of a trap.
Davien had enough. He didn’t care what he had to do to locate a seer, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. “This is useless.”
He turned on his heel, Charlotte behind him, when they heard a voice speak up from the corner of the room. “I’m Mrs. Clay.”
Davien turned to the woman who had spoken, slowly making his way back to her. She was middle-aged with wiry, gray hair that hung down her back. She wore a soiled, thin cotton shift, one of the few that actually had a covering, and when they paused before her, she pulled her blanket more snugly against her. Out of all the women in this room, she appeared to have the most clarity in those brown eyes.
“Wot are ye doin’ in a place like this?” she asked with a cockney, English accent. “And what is your purpose with me?”
Davien looked to Charlotte, who replied, “I was told that ye might be a seer.”
She chuckled. “And ye believed them?”
“I had no reason not to,” she countered. “Please. We need yer help—”
The lady shook her head with a mocking snort. “I live in this place o’ hell day after day. We’re chained like dogs from th’ afternoon all through th’ night. We’re denied clean water, bathed weekly outside with a mop dipped in cold runoff, and lucky t’ get enough t’ eat t’ live t’ see th’ next day. Most o’ us don’t make it through th’ winter.” The cackle she released sounded a bit insane. “And ye want me t’ help ye?”
Davien clenched his jaw. “We’re sorry to have wasted your time, madam.” He started to move away, but Mrs. Clay stilled suddenly.
She pointed to his satchel. “Wot do ye have in there?” She sounded lucid once more.
He debated whether or not to remove the tablet. After all the effort they had done to retrieve it, he didn’t need anything to happen to it. But he went with his instinct. He opened the leather flap and removed the tablet.
