Spider Light(44)

I can’t see that it matters how public Reaper Wing’s recreation hour is. The patients can never be allowed out of Latchkill, of course, and keeping them in their own wing is obviously necessary, but that’s no reason not to give them a little normality.

As for Dora Scullion, please leave her to me. She is most certainly not quarter-witted; it is simply that, to quote the words of another, she dances to music other people cannot hear.

Sorry, but I never have time for morning coffee and will be extremely busy on Monday anyway.

Daniel Glass



Latchkill Asylum

Thursday a.m.

Dear Dr Glass

It is most generous of you to take an interest in Scullion. I hope your musical project, whatever it is, turns out well.

I have always considered the hyoscine mix very beneficial and, as you know, I feel that isolation and restraint is often necessary. Perhaps we may try electro-hydrotherapy instead?

Cordially,

Freda Prout (Matron)



Bracken Surgery

Thursday p.m.

Dear Matron

No!

Water and electricity are a potentially lethal combination, and, in the wrong hands, disastrous. Do you want to take Latchkill back to the days of starvation, fetters and flogging, or try rearranging the brain by means of the spinning stool!

I have recently been studying the use of mesmerism at Bart’s Hospital in London–or, to give it its modern name, hypnotism–and I am coming to believe that it can be very beneficial in understanding the hidden conflicts and buried memories of the mentally ill. I intend to talk to Latchkill’s governing board about the possibility of attempting this procedure on several of the patients.

Daniel Glass



‘I’d have liked you,’ said Antonia, coming up out of the nineteenth century, and addressing the long-ago Daniel Glass. ‘I like the angry compassion you had for the patients, and I like the way you tried to help some poor frightened little kitchenmaid. I wonder if you did try hypnotism on your patients, and if so, how successful it was?’

As she worked through the rest of the papers, making notes as she did so, she wondered how Dr Glass would react to today’s methods and treatments, and how he would feel about Antonia reading his letters. She had the feeling he would not have minded at all, and might have been rather amused. You could be one of the ghosts that occasionally wander around in this cottage, Dr Glass, but I don’t mind that because I think you’re rather a friendly ghost.

The ten-minute walk to Quire House this afternoon ought not to be such a massive ordeal. It was a lovely autumn day–the kind of day Richard had always enjoyed. Antonia wondered if she could think about Richard as she walked, and this struck her as a good idea because if Richard was with her when she went out, she would be fine. It would probably not be too painful, after so long she could blot out that last sight of Richard lying on the floor, with that hellish Caprice music spattered with his blood. She could focus on good memories instead: on how his eyes used to narrow when he was amused, and how immensely still he always was when he listened to music. The way they had always laughed at the same things, and how she could never hide it from him if she was upset or angry, no matter how much she tried, because he always sensed what she was feeling. No one but Richard had ever done that; Antonia did not think anyone else ever would.



Godfrey Toy was delighted Miss Weston kept their appointment. He had been a bit worried as to how serious she had been over helping to catalogue the cellar’s contents. Halfway through the morning he had begun to wonder if he was being too trusting and whether he ought to ask Miss Weston for a reference of some kind–Oliver would probably think he ought to. But it seemed rather discourteous and even a touch melodramatic. It was not as if there were likely to be any state secrets or incriminating letters in Quire’s cellars, and even if there were, Miss Weston would hardly turn out to be a Middle East spy, or a blackmailer of cabinet ministers or royalty. It was true that one or two of the smaller display items had recently vanished–jewellery and a pair of enamelled snuff-boxes–but that was one of the hazards of running this kind of place. Godfrey did not entirely trust Greg Foster, but he was trying to be fair to the boy, so he had not said anything. The thief was just as likely to be one of the visitors.

Still, he hoped the professor would not make one of his snarky comments about gullibility or manipulative females. If he did, Godfrey would just remind him of the other occasions when they had allowed people to do local research at Quire.

In case Miss Weston might be regretting her offer, he had thought out a little speech about forgetting she was here on holiday, and not wanting to impose on her time. But so that she would not think he was being dismissive, he had also rushed down to the town to buy some really nice things for a little afternoon snack which they could have with a cup of tea. Cinnamon toast, which Godfrey loved and which hardly anyone ever bothered with nowadays, and some of the really delicious scones from the bakery. Cherry conserve to go with them. Just as he was preparing to go back to Quire, he spotted some stuffed olives and smoked oysters in the delicatessen, so he put these in his shopping bag as well, in case Miss Weston stayed on for a glass of sherry. You never knew. He added a bottle of Croft’s Dry Original, and then a second bottle of an amontillado because you had to cover all contingencies.

But far from regretting her offer, Miss Weston seemed genuinely keen. She said she was working through the photocopied material, and finding it absorbing. She had been particularly intrigued by the material on Latchkill Asylum.