The Gray Chamber Read online

  Chapter Eleven

  Everything that is painted directly and on the spot has always a strength, a power, a vivacity of touch.

  ~ Eugène Boudin

  Bane clenched and unclenched his fists as he paced the length of Edyth’s reception room, waiting on Miss Birch to join him. He had sent messages to Blackwell’s Island multiple times to no avail, and he knew the reason behind the silence had to be because of some stipulation set into place by Mr. Foster. He was fairly certain the only way he was going to gain entrance into the asylum was if he had a relation of Edyth’s at his side. So, he had waited impatiently for Miss Birch to return home from whatever place she had been hiding.

  Bane watched as the crystals of the chandelier above him swayed and clinked against themselves with each step of someone upstairs. He studied the coved ceilings and exhaled, determined not to appear panicked. He looked at the long portrait on the left wall of a woman who bore a strong resemblance to Edyth but wasn’t the woman he remembered as her mother. He stepped toward it to read the gilded plaque on the bottom of the frame. LADY EDYTH HORTENSE BLAKELY. Edyth had inherited her grandmother’s dark eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair, the hope of being distracted vanishing as concern for the woman he loved threatened to paralyze him yet again.

  Miss Birch appeared in the door in a stylish filmy dinner gown of green. “Why, if it isn’t Mr. Banebridge. What a pleasure it is to hear that you have been calling for me in my absence. I didn’t know you were going to join us for dinner.”

  “Miss Birch.” He gave her a sharp bow. “I have to admit that I have been rather frantic for your return.”

  She sent him a soft smile and folded her hands in front of her skirt. “So it would seem, and while I am flattered by your attention, I do not think it would be wise for us to form an attachment given—”

  “That’s not the reason why I am calling. Do you know where your cousin is residing? I think I know, but I want to hear from you … if you do.”

  “That’s an odd thing to ask, but yes, I do. When I returned from the Manhattan Beach Hotel, my stepfather informed me that she is off visiting her friend down in New Orleans.”

  Another lie from Mr. Foster, no doubt. He inwardly groaned at the loss of time, needlessly wasted on waiting when Miss Birch had been so close.

  “But I have to admit that I thought it rather peculiar, because she has never mentioned a friend in New Orleans, but, of course, we haven’t known each other that long, so it’s not all that strange, I suppose. Why do you ask? Where do you think she is?” Miss Birch’s voice grew concerned.

  Bane could see in her features that she had believed what her stepfather told her even as doubt was now clouding her eyes. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I had misgivings that Mr. Foster would create just such a story to cover his tracks. I prayed that Edyth’s absence was because she was seeking legal help without the threat of being found and taken, but I now fear that Mr. Foster did not even give her a chance to hire a lawyer.”

  “B–but why wouldn’t Edyth be in New Orleans? And why on earth would she need a lawyer?” She crossed the room and clutched his arm. “Tell me. Is my cousin in trouble?”

  He twisted his hat in his grip, the word sticking in his throat. “Yes.”

  She clapped her hand over her mouth, the blond curls framing her face atremble.

  “I have reason to believe from your stepfather’s lawyer and from evidence I found in her bedroom that—”

  “You were in her bedroom? But you are not engaged to my cousin, unless something has happened since I left?” Her eyes widened. “Is that why you are so worried that she is missing? Did you two have an argument?”

  Bane tossed his hat onto a chair and held his hand up, frustrated at the flow of questions. “Please, Miss Birch, cease your interjections and allow me to finish. It doesn’t matter that I was in her bedroom, for she was not there. I had to check to ensure her safety. However, what I found there was anything but reassuring. Her room was in utter chaos and held signs of a struggle.”

  She slapped her hand over her mouth again. “Dear Lord in heaven, you don’t think she was kidnapped?”

  He nodded. “That is exactly what I think happened. But not for ransom, rather something far more dangerous. After I spoke with your father’s lawyer, Jasper Wentworth, two days ago, I’ve been anxiously waiting for your return to see if you knew anything of her fate. I hoped against all evidence to the contrary that Edyth was not committed to the Women’s Lunatic Asylum on Blackwell’s Island.”

  Lavinia clutched the back of the Queen Anne’s chair, her perfectly shaped nails digging into the gilded wood. “Where Doctor Hawkins works? Certainly you don’t think she is in that wretched place?”

  “I found some scribblings on her desk, and from my conversation with Wentworth and the asylum’s lack of response, I am led to believe that she is indeed there. I have sent messages to the asylum for the past two days and this morning and afternoon, but no one has answered. I have a suspicion that your uncle ordered that no one be given word of her whereabouts if they are not family. That’s the only reason I can think of that they would ignore my messages. And now that I have spoken with you, I will be taking the first ferry to the island tomorrow morning to see for myself. Will you come with me in order to gain us access to see her?”

  “Of course,” she replied, sounding a bit breathless as she paced to the window, wringing her hands. “This is terrible. But why have you waited until now to go to the island?”

  “As I said, if my messages are being blocked, I fear I have no chance of getting inside. I decided it was better to wait for your return than to alert your uncle that I was making inquiries at the island. If we discover nothing tomorrow, I am hiring an investigator. This has become too much for me to try to figure out on my own.” He ran his fingers through his hair with a grunt, muttering, “I’m a fencing master, not a detective.”

  “Well, there’s no need to jump to conclusions. However, from what I’ve heard from Doctor Hawkins, your guess is correct in that most patients can only have visits from their family. We should have access unless it is in my stepfather’s instructions to refuse even me admission, but we can try.”

  Bane shoved his hands into his pockets and happened to glance out the window and see Doctor Hawkins hopping out of his carriage. “There might be another way to enter should we be barred. Doctor Hawkins can get us inside.”

  “True, but it might be a little tricky even for him, since he has only just started working in the asylum. But I’m certain if anyone would know anything about our dear Edyth, it would be Roger—I mean Doctor Hawkins.” She blushed and corrected herself.

  “If that is true, then why wouldn’t he have recognized her already and told you about it?”

  “Doctor Hawkins told me that it is a large facility that is fairly bursting at the seams with patients. And if my uncle has her locked away, it makes sense that Roger has not seen her yet. But if we can get him to sneak us inside, we can surely save her.”

  “Save who?” Roger appeared in the doorway in his dinner coat.

  She crossed the room and drew him inside before closing the door. “We don’t have much time before Mr. and Mrs. Foster join us.” And within a matter of minutes, Miss Birch had informed him of Bane’s findings.

  Roger frowned. “I, of course, will try to take you inside. My shift begins at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. But surely your presence and Mr. Banebridge’s is not necessary. I could find out all you seek without you, and then we could formulate a plan.”

  Hope stirred within him at long last and Bane ached to act. “I know it is not necessary, but I need to find her now. I need to see her for myself, or at least try, else spend the day in agony, wishing I had gone.”

  “I understand, but we must proceed with caution and not deviate from the standard schedule if we do not wish to arouse suspicion.” Miss Birch rested her hand on his arm. “We can at least take comfort in the fact that she is be
ing well looked after and is in no danger at present.”

  “Well, uh, I don’t know how well looked after she is if I haven’t seen her,” said Roger. “There are limits to what the families of patients see at the asylum. And as the newest doctor, they have only shown me the asylum’s best floor so far, secretly hoping that I will not be appalled with what I find. Or so Jasper Wentworth has told me. His father works there.”

  Bane ignored the fact that this man was friends with Jasper and waved him on. “When will you see the other floors of the asylum?”

  “That I can answer. One of the doctors will personally be escorting me about the building the whole of next week. I am to see what they call the Lodge, which is the women’s violent ward. However, I first must sign some sort of document that states I will not disclose any of the patients’ health, the swearing of which is standard for patient confidentiality. But I wasn’t anticipating the stipulation that if I discuss any of the conditions or internal workings of the asylum with anyone outside the island, my position will be in jeopardy.”

  Bane clenched his jaw at the phrase “violent ward.” And a vow of silence did not bode well for the treatment of the patients on the island.

  “Will you stay for dinner, Mr. Banebridge?” Miss Birch asked, nodding toward the door and alerting them to the turning knob and Mr. and Mrs. Foster’s entrance.

  “Lavinia, you know it is terribly impolite to invite guests to dine without consulting the hosts. I am afraid that tonight is not convenient, for the staff have only prepared enough for the four of us.” Mrs. Foster looked pointedly at Bane while she crossed the room on her husband’s arm.

  Bane bowed. “I was just departing, ma’am, but before I take my leave, Miss Birch said Edyth has left New York for New Orleans?”

  Mrs. Foster’s neck grew splotchy. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I was wondering if you knew at which hotel Miss Foster is staying? I’d like to send her a telegram.”

  “Of course. She is not staying at a hotel at present, but I should know by morning which she has chosen.” Mr. Foster stumbled over his explanation, making Bane’s palms sweat with the thought of Edyth being in trouble.

  “Thank you. I’ll send her a telegram once you send me her address,” Bane replied.

  “Do,” Mr. Foster growled. He turned, took his wife’s arm, and motioned for the group to follow through to the dining room.

  His unexpected answer gave Bane pause. Was Mr. Foster simply calling his bluff, or was he actually telling the truth that Edyth was not on the island?

  Edyth squinted in the moonlight breaking against the whitewashed wall. She turned her head to find herself in a different room, this one with bars on the inside of the windows instead of outside the windowpanes. A small difference, but one that disturbed her to the core. And then she remembered, her body quaking under her damp gown. They had taken her to the Lodge upon her return. She crossed the room and pressed her ear to the door before a deafening scream of a patient in the hallway sent her scrambling backward. From her position on the floor she caught the continual tap, tap, tap against the adjoining cell wall.

  “Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?” She scooted to the wall and pressed her arms against it as if embracing the other poor soul trapped in this underworld. The tapping ceased before the patient began pounding, accompanied by a guttural scream that filled the air. The clanging of keys echoed in the hallway, followed by the shouts of orderlies entering the room and then the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Then, nothing but sobs.

  “Lord, save me from this place.” Edyth huddled in the corner, hugging her knees to her chest and rocking back and forth. How could a place as horrible as the asylum become even worse? She ached for the comfort of scripture. Why hadn’t she spent time memorizing passages? She could kick herself for taking the privilege of reading them for granted.

  Edyth’s focus locked on some scratch marks in the baseboard under the cot. Curious, she crawled under, the cold of the floor seeping into her bones. She made out E.H.B. with a little heart carved out followed by the initials B.B. She stared at the letters that looked like they had been painstakingly scratched out with someone’s fingernails. She ran her fingers over the initials, wondering who they had belonged to. The person in this cell before her must not have been completely out of her mind to carve such a tender memory on the baseboard. Her heart ached for the love that this so-called madwoman felt for B.B.

  With trembling hands, she began picking away at the rotting wood and carved E.F. loves R.B. Seeing their initials side by side made her smile. At least their names could be together. She traced Bane’s initials and wished he would allow her to call him by his Christian name. Raoul was a romantic name to be sure, but Bane suited his strength.

  The rattling of the keys at her door sent her body to quivering, but she rose, positioning herself in the defensive position Bane had drilled into her. She would not attack them for fear of what they would do to her, but she would not allow them to hit her again.

  The wide form filling the door knocked the breath out of her lungs. “Uncle! Are you here to take me home?”

  Ignoring her question, Uncle Boris strode into her room as if he owned it. He probably did, for she was certain that he paid for everyone’s silence with her money. He nodded with approval. “I see you are settling in favorably, Niece, and while it’s not the Manhattan Beach Hotel, I’d say this is what a petulant child deserves.”

  No. Of course he didn’t mean to set her free. Why had she even allowed herself to hope? She knew better. She stepped forward, clenching her fists and itching for a weapon, but if she attacked him now with all the witnesses in the hall, she would never prove her sanity. “Petulant child? Because I wouldn’t sign over my fortune to you? How dare you. Free me at once, and I will have the judge take pity on you and not have you committed to the men’s asylum yourself for your inane scheming.”

  Uncle Boris threw his head back and gave a short, harsh laugh. “My dear, it is amusing that you honestly think someone would take your word over mine. You are never getting out of here.”

  She felt the bile rise in her throat. “People will soon notice my absence, if they haven’t already.”

  “Yes, I am sure the Banebridge family will miss you, but not for the reason you may think. Rather, they will be sad to hear of your untimely death.”

  Despite her desperate attempts to maintain control of her emotions, her entire body began to quake again. Surely the man would not have her murdered? Edyth thought of the life that was being stripped away from her, a future with a husband and children. She thought of Bane and the love that was only beginning to blossom between the two of them. Would her uncle be so cruel as to take everything from her, even life itself? She seized his jacket sleeve. “You can have it all. I will sign over my fortune. Release me, and you’ll never hear from me again.”

  He chuckled. “Why would I do that when I have already told everyone that you are away in New Orleans? And while in the French Quarter, which is a dangerous place for a woman to roam about unescorted at night, I believe you will meet with a tragic death and your money will revert to me without even a hint of scandal. Your death will stay any prying questions out of respect for my great loss.” He moved out from under her hand and brushed off his jacket, his lip curling at the smudge of dirt she had left from the rotting baseboard. “No one knows that you are here, so I will be free to live my life with my wife and child.”

  She narrowed her gaze. Child? She remembered Mrs. Foster standing on the threshold with her hand on her abdomen, goading Edyth. That woman is with child? She swallowed against the bitterness that seeded in her heart that the woman who had locked her away from her future was going to have everything Edyth had dreamed of since her parents died. A husband, a baby, a home where she felt free to be herself without judgement.

  She clenched her fists, steeling herself against her rising despair, and gave him what she hoped was a confident smile. “The records are easy enough to access, U
ncle. Anyone can look up Edyth Foster and—”

  “True, but there is no Edyth Foster in the books at this asylum. Nor has there ever been. Mrs. Foster and I have taken great care in the details.”

  “What? How?” Edyth’s hands fell limply to her sides. How could she be imprisoned here if her name wasn’t even recorded?

  “Money, my dear. Money.”

  Bile singed the back of her throat as she curled around her hand pressing to her stomach. All it took was a dishonorable man’s word against an unwanted female to get her committed and a bribe to silence the staff of her fate.

  “As I was saying, I have rented a room for you in the famous Commercial Hotel in New Orleans, where you will be seen and served before meeting with an accident. The actress I hired was thrilled with the sum I provided. As far as anyone knows, Edyth Foster is in New Orleans, and here, you are just some unfortunate soul that happens to be related to me that I wish to forget.” He turned his lips up into a sneer. “And believe me, I will forget you. I informed everyone here on staff that you fancy yourself to be your distant heiress relation and that you call yourself Edyth. However, they are to only call you by nonsensical titles. No one will ever find you. No one.”

  Nurse Madison’s strange words clicked into place. “Edyth Foster is dead.” Her legs gave away and she fell to her knees on the hard floor.

  “Such theatrics will not move me.” He snapped his fingers, and the male attendants behind him brought in three large crates. “I have a gift for you to reward you for your little escape attempt. You almost removed yourself from the game for me with that one, and I wholly appreciate it.”

  She lifted her head, staring at him with blank eyes.

  The attendants flipped their crates over, dumping the contents in her chamber. Before she could register what they were kicking about in her cell, the scent of thousands of dead rose petals filled her senses. The sight of them turned her stomach, wrenching her back to that horrible day when she buried her parents and the weeks afterward when the roses in her parents’ room were left to rot per her uncle’s instructions not to touch their belongings.