CHAPTER 6
Every time Gabe stepped foot in Rosewood Lunatic Asylum, a chill crept up his spine and his gut twisted in despair. Honestly, it was a vast departure from Bedlam, but still not a place one would want to spend much time. Not all of the nurses seemed overly concerned with the care of their patients. Lunacy and misery permeated every corner of the mansion turned asylum. And the screams that echoed from the various bedchambers would be the stuff nightmares were made of.
“Ah, Major.” A slightly balding doctor nodded in Gabe’s direction as he stepped over the threshold into Rosewood. “You’ve returned?”
How could he do otherwise? Clayton had no other family to see after him. “How is my brother today, Doctor Peat?”
“His lordship is the same as he was yesterday, sir.” The man wiped his hands, which seemed to be stained with something that looked like blood, on the edges of his coat. “Or he was a bit ago, at least.”
Good God! That wasn’t Clayton’s blood, was it? Gabe winced at the thought. Before he could even ask Peat about the condition of his hands, however, a high-pitched feminine wail was wrenched from someone the floor above them. The sound echoed throughout Rosewood and made that familiar, awful chill swirl down Gabe’s spine. For the love of God, he would never end up in a place like Rosewood, no matter what. No. Matter. What. Should Gabe ever discover he was afflicted with the same madness that had ensnared his brother, he’d throw himself into the Thames or beg Christian to end his life for him with one of those daggers. Eternity in purgatory had to be better than this existence. It simply had to be.
“I’ll just show myself to his chambers,” Gabe said to the doctor, though the last thing he wanted to do was climb the stairs and encounter whichever woman was screaming somewhere along the way. Of course, the odds of encountering the screamer were slim as most of the patients at Rosewood were bound to their beds the same way Clayton was bound to his.
“Of course, of course,” Peat called after him. “I believe his breakfast is still on a tray, Major. He refused sustenance this morning. Perhaps he will eat a bite for you.”
That was doubtful. Clayton was generally in such a state that one could not reason with him nor carry on any sort of conversation. Over the fortnight that Gabe had been in London, his brother hadn’t recognized him even once.
Gabe climbed the stairs and then started down the corridor toward his brother’s chamber. Another series of screams trailed after him, and Gabe cringed at the sound. What an awful Hell on Earth this place was. He silently prayed that Oakcliffe would be a more serene environment, some place not so horrid for Clayton to live out the rest of his days.
Gabe quickened his pace to his brother’s door, and then knocked, not because Clayton was in any condition to admit him entrance, but just out of civilized habit. He did not wait for any sort of response to his knock, however, and simply strode inside his brother’s chamber, feigning a smile he did not feel for Clayton’s benefit.
“Good morning,” he began, hoping he sounded cheerier than he felt. Even after the last fortnight, Gabe was certain he would never get accustomed to seeing the wild expression in his brother’s eyes or the sheer number of painful looking lesions that covered his skin. Heartbreaking. Seeing Clayton like this was heartbreaking.
But Clayton did not respond, not really. He muttered to himself as he was wont to do, but it was unintelligible.
As the doctor below had suggested, a tray of food was on a table beneath a nearby window. Porridge and milk.
“Are you hungry?” Gabe asked, making his way to his brother’s abandoned breakfast.
Of course, Clayton only muttered an unintelligible response, if it was even a response at all.
But if the caretakers at Rosewood had not been successful that morning, Gabe should make another attempt to get his brother to eat something. He dipped the spoon into the now cold porridge and then brought it to Clayton’s lips. “Come on,” he said. “You don’t want to starve to death.”
When his brother opened his mouth, Gabe fed him the spoonful of porridge.
“There we are.”
But his relief was short lived as Clayton spewed the porridge all over Gabe a half second later.
Oh, good God! He stumbled backward in surprise as slimy porridge slid down the front of his regimentals.
His brother struggled against his bindings and screeched like he was possessed, and Gabe took a staggering breath. “For God’s sake, Clayton,” he breathed out. “If you don’t want porridge, I’ll get you something else.”
“Treasure!” Clayton wailed.
Damn it all. They were back on this treasure nonsense. “We don’t have a treasure, Clayton,” Gabe said calmly.
But his brother only cackled in response. “My treasure! My treasure! It’s mine!”
He truly was mad as a March hare and it was devastating to witness. “Clayton,” he said more forcefully. “We do not have a treasure. Please stop saying that we do.” Damn it all, Hill was right. Outbursts like this could most definitely put his brother in harm’s way.
“It’s mine!”
Perhaps a change of topic would distract him. “I only want you to eat a little something, Clayton. If you don’t want porridge, what do you want? Baked eggs or—”
“Treasure!”
“Please,” Gabe pleaded.
But his brother only struggled against his restraints and cackled again, a maniacal sound that sent a fresh wave of chills rushing down Gabe’s spine, and his heart ached all over again. Clayton would never get better. He would only get worse from here, at least that was what Peat had explained upon Gabe’s first visit to Rosewood, but he hadn’t wanted to believe it. But even in the fortnight since he’d been back in England, he could see that his brother was only getting worse. And coming to terms with that reality was more than distressing.
If only there was a cure. If only there was something Gabe could do, something that would actually help his brother, something beyond simply visiting him and making certain he was cared for. But there was no cure and nothing Gabe could do other than watch Clayton fall deeper and deeper into his madness and witness the destruction of his physical stature to the horror that was syphilis.
Defeated, he sank down into a chair at his brother’s bedside and a released a breath. “I’m so sorry, Clayton. I’m so sorry you’re living in this Hell.”
Clayton’s only response was to struggle against his bindings and mutter something beneath his breath. Gabe scrubbed a hand through his hair. He might not be able to do anything for his brother, but Clayton’s earldom did need to be managed. And in Clayton’s current state, that duty would fall to Gabe.
Perhaps Mr. Hill would give him an idea of how he should go about that management. After all, being responsible for the earldom was not something Gabe had ever been trained to do. He also had a feeling that he needed to see Northend with his own eyes to assess the state of their family seat. It had been a million years since he’d seen the place, but it needed to be done. Of course, heading to Norfolk would take him from London for days and depending on what he found upon his arrival, perhaps even longer. And perhaps he’d take a look at Oakcliffe while he was at it, and see for himself if the place in the Peak District was more serene. He did hate the idea of leaving Clayton all alone in his absence, but what other choice did he have?
Gabe refocused on his brother who began muttering louder than he had a moment ago. Of course, Clayton wouldn’t miss his presence while he was gone. He didn’t even know who Gabe was anymore, and had no idea if he was there or not.
As soon as he left Rosewood, he’d head to Hill and Hall and hope the Northwold solicitor had an idea of where Gabe should begin in his quest to drag the earldom from its impoverished state.
“We have to go back to Chatham House?” Cassie touched a hand to her heart. “But we only just escaped with our lives.”
Escaped with their lives? Heavens, her sister was dramatic. Sophie shook her head in mild annoyance. After all, Grandfather hadn’t put up any sort of fight in keeping Priscilla under his roof and had seemed to be quite relieved for the girl to take up residence at Beckbury House. In fact, extricating Priscilla, or Prissa as she’d asked them to call her, had been much easier than Sophie could have ever imagined. So very odd, that. She had quite enjoyed the look of surprise on Papa’s face when they’d returned home with their cousin in tow, however. And she enjoyed it even more when Papa said only a fool should ever bet against her.
“It’s only dinner,” Sophie replied, glancing down at the summons in their grandfather’s hand as she sank onto the settee between Charlotte and their recently rescued cousin, Prissa. “And it isn’t just us. Grandfather is requesting the entire family this evening.”
“The entire family?” Charlotte focused her attention on their cousin. “I daresay you know him better than all of us. What do you think that means?”
Prissa frowned slightly as she returned her teacup to her saucer. “I’m honestly not certain. I once thought I had a very good idea about why Grandpapa did the things he does and said the things he says…” She shook her head, and her dark hair fell over her shoulder. “But I’m not certain I know him at all anymore, if I ever truly did.”
Cassie squeaked. “What if he’s assembling all of us there to reveal which of us he intends to marry off to Hellsburg?”
“Papa would never allow him to do such a thing to any of us,” Sophie said, parroting Chase’s words from the night before. “And since he so easily accepted Mama’s offer to have Prissa stay with us, I can’t image he has such plans for her future, either.”
“Is that what you thought?” their cousin asked, focusing her attention on Cassie. ”Grandpapa only wanted Hellsburg to take Bella away. I don’t believe anyone else needs to fear that exact future.”
That didn’t make any sense at all. Sophie had been so certain their grandfather wanted a bride for their awful Prussian cousin and not a husband for his granddaughter who already had a betrothed. “Why would he want Hellsburg to take your sister away?”
“He was always awful to Bella,” Prissa admitted. “I can never remember a time when he was kind to her. But our Prussian cousin departs for his homeland tomorrow. There has been no talk of him taking a bride with him, not now that Bella has escaped England with Lord Avery.”
“Tomorrow!” Cassie whimpered. “Grandfather could change his mind if he has that long.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Sophie complained. Tomorrow was hardly the same thing as a fortnight. Everyone just had to hold their breath until Hellsburg was gone. Besides… “Papa would never agree to such a thing for any of us,” she said again. “Do try to keep your wits about you, Cassie.”
“I hope your sister is faring well,” Charlotte said, changing the subject and sending Prissa a soft smile as she lifted her teacup to her lips once more.
Their cousin’s face lit up at that. “I did receive word from her yesterday. She seems to be quite happy, happier than she’s ever been, in fact.”
“True love,” Cassie sighed. “I do hope I have a true love of my own someday.”
And an image of Gabriel Prideaux flashed in Sophie’s mind. She had loved him with her entire soul, and she’d been quite certain he’d loved her. But he hadn’t. He wouldn’t have left her like he did if he’d loved her.
She remembered breathing in the sandalwood scent of him. She remembered the daisies and bluebells that he’d surprised her with behind the stables. She remembered their first kiss. And their final one, and the salty taste of her tears upon her lips when he left.
Thinking of Gabe would do her no good at all, even if he was back in England. They had barely said two words to each other upon his return, and he certainly hadn’t sought her out. If she hadn’t stumbled upon him at Chase’s the previous evening, she wouldn’t have even known he’d returned. Sophie pushed back to her feet, willing those thoughts away from her mind.
She must have done so abruptly, however, as everyone turned their gaze to her in question. Sophie’s cheeks stung just a bit from all the pointed attention. “Shopping,” she said as the word sprung to mind. “I am in need of a new fan, I just realized. Do any of you want to head to Pall Mall with me?”
“Honestly, my mourning wardrobe is rather wanting,” Cassie said. “I’ll go with you. I’m going to need more ribbons at the very least.”
Prissa blanched, and Sophie narrowed her eyes on her youngest sister. Honestly, did Cassie have no concern for her words or how they might sound to someone who was suffering the loss of her father and brother? Her mourning wardrobe was wanting. What an insensitive thing to have said. At least taking Cassie with her to Harding, Howell & Co. would allow the two of them to have a private conversation in the carriage as her youngest sister was clearly in need of a reminder to show a little empathy.