It wouldn’t be the first time Ezekiel gave up something for a woman, and sacrificing a few hours of sleep wouldn’t kill him.After all, Detective Hall was right.A Sunday afternoon nap could easily make up for it—so long as it didn’t interfere with Tristan’s feeding schedule.The only challenge was composing those pieces.Miss Davis wasn’t likely to tolerate him more than a few hours, so maybe he could do both.If he was lucky, something about the morning would inspire a few bars of music.
All right then.Decision made.
Now to go shake out his Sunday suit and pray it was still clean.
Chapter Twelve
WHY HADCONSTANZA THOUGHT UNBURDENINGher past onto paper would free her from its bondage?She should have known better.Confession?Ha!All it had brought her was penance without reprieve.It didn’t matter what she did.There was no washing the stain of her past from her soul.She was a cursed woman, cursed by her ambition for a life far more extravagant than she deserved.Even seeking absolution through confession reached for something unattainable, and she was a fool to have tried.At least if she’d kept to only claiming to be Constanza Brisbane, she wouldn’t have had to suffer under the insidious Nurse Ingram.
Whack!
The harsh sting of that pernicious woman’s stick slapped across Constanza’s hand, and a blob of ink splashed onto the half-filled page.
“Do not hesitate.Write only what you see.”
Constanza glared at the woman.The only reasons she’d hesitated were because she’d already been at this for hours and her hand ached.This exercise was a mockery of truth.Did they truly expect it to convince her she was wrong and didn’t know who she was?It was they who knew nothing.Josephine Davis was merely a persona assigned to her by her husband, a persona Constanza despised.Josephine was a meek, unmusical woman racked by fear.She wasabandoned by her husband, pitied by her daughter, and forgotten by all, even by the half brother who’d helped her escape England.
Constanza Brisbane was her true identity now, a woman grown beyond the foolishness of Katherine Yates’s youth.She was a fighter, strong, courageous, and determined.She was a musical force crescendoing to the fortissimo of her career.Her husband cherished, adored, and desired her.Her daughter admired and wanted tobeher.Everyone knew her and clamored to hear her sing.Constanza was—
Whack!“I said write!”
—a woman forever suffering the consequences of Katherine Yates’s crimes.
Constanza shook out the discomfort in her hand, then set the nib to paper.
Whack!“Speak as you write.”
An absolute must for this ridiculous exercise to work, because speaking and writing meant Constanza had no space in her mind to argue with the words being committed to paper.She rolled her eyes, but did as commanded.
“I am Josephine Davis.”Not that I want to be.“Wife of Mark Davis.”Marcellus, not Mark.“Mother of Nora Davis.”Eleonora is prettier.“I am not an opera singer.”Not anymore.“I am not a thief.”Unless you count the extra biscuit I stole from the dessert tray at lunch.“There is nothing special about me or my past.”Except I have three lives and a past that will kill my daughter and me if it catches up to us.
And so it went on for another hour before finally Nurse Ingram made her stand.
“Who are you?”
“Josephine Davis.Wife to Mark Davis, mother of Nora Davis, and no one special.”
“And your past?”
“As deadly as an adder and as criminal as Judas Iscariot.”
The expected slap echoed in the room.“Dr.Chalfant shall hear of this defiance.”
Constanza wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of rubbing the smarting cheek.“For it to be defiance, you would’ve had to give me a past other than the one I claim.”
“Impertinent wench.”Nurse Ingram pivoted toward the attendant—mercifully, without slapping Constanza first.“Prepare an ice bath.Mrs.Davis needs a shock to her nervous system to make it more pliable for receiving the truth.”
An ice bath in January?How original.It hadn’t made a difference yesterday or the day before, but who knew?Perhaps the third time would be the charm.But what more did Constanza deserve?This was her penance, and she would pay it until absolution was finally granted.Once forgiveness was hers, she’d play Dr.Chalfant’s game, convince him she washealed, and walk free to live her life as she so chose.She’d find Winston and Ursula, bring an end to their threat, and then she and Eleonora could make a life together on the stage.
As expected, Nurse Ingram delighted in shocking Constanza into numb compliance.Forced dunk after forced dunk beneath the icy water took longer than the previous time.Constanza’s lungs burned for breath.What breaths she managed were expended on repeating her identity as Josephine Davis, whose worst crime was the need to be committed to an asylum.By the time she was allowed to shiver outside the tub, knifelike tingles stabbed her feet, hands, and face.An attendant tugged a thin gown over her wet body, her dampness immediately seeping into the material.Nurse Ingram added a brisk half-hour walk outside to Constanza’s punishment.Wet hair and only a blanket for a coat made it extra miserable.Fortunately, no talking was required.Frosted puffs marked each breath as Constanza trembled and shook.By the time the attendant returned Constanza to the ward and tucked her beneath the thin bedsheets, Constanza’s teeth chattered and her body convulsed.
Oh, if only speaking a story different than her own would makeit true.But despite Dr.Chalfant’s and Nurse Ingram’s goals, this marrow-deep chill only served to freeze in place the memory of the day in England when Constanza had finally realized what demons she’d sold herself to and what she would become if she didn’t flee.
“See that she has a cup of tea and remains abed the rest of the day.Nothing is to excite her senses.I will return later with a portable writing desk and new pages for her to copy.”Nurse Ingram marched out, no doubt glad to be rid of her for the time being.
Usually Constanza found ways to dump the bitter tincture meant to dull the senses and induce sleep, but today she would welcome it.Better to sink into oblivion than to relive that day or the many others when her conscience lay dead and buried by her ambitions.
As she curled herself into a ball, striving to contain what little heat remained, two orderlies escorted a familiar woman into the room and assigned her to the bed next to Constanza.Thin and somber, the woman lay unmoving, her vacant eyes fixed on nothing.Mrs.Beaumont, if Constanza recalled correctly.But why would she be brought into a ward where its patients were considered volatile and dangerous?The woman couldn’t even be roused enough to show affection to her son.
