Prologue
Her twin sisterhad gone mad.
Camilla Hardy stood on the steps of Blackwood Asylum, unanswered questions pounding in her head.Periodic dementia… unresolved melancholy,the physician had written. It had to be a mistake.
Loathing the long wait for assistance, Camilla shivered. Her cloak offered paltry protection against the wind. The moon’s pale light shone on the dull mahogany entryway. Shadows lurked all around and forced her to huddle closer to the scarred door. An owl’s hoot echoed through the nearby forest. The disconcerting sound grated on her already frazzled nerves.
Camilla knocked on the door, not once, but three times. Still, no one answered. An abominable sting throbbed in her knuckles, and she rubbed the ache. She glared at the double doors’ warped planks and rusted hinges. Craning her neck, she peered down the side of the building.
Perhaps there was another entrance. Obviously, nobody cared to receive visitors at this one. Before she could move off the step, the old door squeaked open. A stooped man peeked around the thick wood. He held up a lantern, and the mellow light illuminated the deep creases in his face.
“May I be of some assistance?” he asked in a scratchy voice.
She bundled her cloak around her throat and stepped closer. “I am Lady Hardy. I received a letter from Dr. Smytheconcerning my sister, Katherine Worthington. Is the good physician here?”
The elderly man squinted. “I am Smythe. I sent the letter.”
She raised her brows. “Where is your caretaker, sir?”
“We have but a small staff, my lady. Everyone does what they can.” He opened the door wider. “Please, follow me. I shall take you to your sister.”
Camilla stepped into the dark corridor and lowered the hood of her cape. The stench of unwashed bodies and urine filled her nostrils, curdling her stomach. She fished through her wrist-purse and pulled out her handkerchief, quickly pressing the rose-scented cloth to her nose. In haste, she hurried her gait to catch up to the physician, and followed him down the shadowed hall.
Each room she passed had bars on the small windows of the doors. People stood behind them, watching her with wide, glassy eyes, as though they looked right through her. Chills trickled down her spine. Were these patients dangerous? And why, pray tell, was her sister here?
Answers. She needed them soon or she would be the one going insane.
“Excuse me, sir. How long has my sister been here?” she asked, lowering the handkerchief.
“For a fortnight.”
“Then why was I not informed sooner?”
“Because it took her this long to start talking.”
Worry clenched Camilla’s heart. What on earth had happened to Kat?
The elderly man stopped in front of a door and withdrew a heavy set of iron keys fastened to his waist. He inserted the key and turned it with a loud click.
“Is a locked door necessary for my sister?” She spoke in soft tones, afraid her voice would carry through the halls.
The stern expression on the man’s face never wavered. His white, bushy brows pulled together in concern. “Aye.”
“May I ask why?”
“She is not well, Lady Hardy. Locking the door is for her safety.”
Camilla’s heart sank, and she frowned. Could her sister be ailing as their father had?No, certainly not.Kat had never been ill a day in her life. Signs would have shown if her twin suffered the same malady as their father. The physician must be speaking of a different person altogether.
He pushed the door open, wide enough for her to enter. Camilla straightened and took the lantern from his outstretched hand. With her chin held high, she proceeded into the room. Now was not the time to appear frightened, even if her heart hammered so fast, she feared it would bruise a rib or two.
Through the barred window, the quarter moon’s silver light cast shadows about the room. The only piece of furniture was a bed with a threadbare mattress. One worn brown blanket covered the feet of the figure on the bed curled on her side, staring toward the door.
Camilla’s heart wrenched at the sight of her sibling. It had been two years since Kat entered into a quick marriage to a man she had barely met. Camilla wanted to attend the marriage ceremony and meet her new brother-in-law, but she had been in Scotland visiting her in-laws during that time, sharing their grief after the death of her husband.
The person Camilla remembered while growing up looked nothing like the woman in this room. Matted light brown hair framed the woman’s face in wild disarray, and the gray of the hospital gown erased all color from her complexion. Dull eyes, drooped to half-mast, slowly lifted and met Camilla’s gaze.
“I will be right outside if you need me,” the physician said before leaving.
