Poor Tom Is Cold by Maureen Jennings

your own clothes,” said the matron. “Your gown did need to be laundered,” she added, and Peg knew that she must have been filthy when she’d been admitted.
    Keeping her in nightclothes ensured she was conspicuous and vulnerable. The better you behaved, the better you were treated and the more privileges you got. Peg had soon realised the asylum was run on very similar principles to the orphanage where she’d grown up.
    She went quietly over to the window. The sash was stiff but she managed to push it open. There were bars that smelled metallic and they were cold and wet with rain. She knew she was on the third floor and, as she sniffed the damp night air, she caught the smell of livestock. She must be facing the south side of the building, which overlooked the vegetable gardens and stables. Mrs. Foster had told her proudly that the asylum tried to be as self-sufficient as possible and that they raised pigs and a few milch cows.
    “The bacon’s really quite excellent,” said the old lady with glee.
    Suddenly, Miss Anderson sat bolt upright.
    “Good morning,” she said to Peg in a loud voice. “How are you, Annabel?”
    Miss Anderson called everybody Annabel, which was apparently the name of the family household maid, long since dead.
    “I’m very well, thank you.”
    Miss Anderson burst into song.
    “Onward Christian soldiers, marching as to war …”
    She was well launched into the first verse when the two other women in the room both woke up. Mrs. Foster called out, “Please be quiet over there. I’m trying to sleep.”
    Miss Anderson was oblivious and began to sing louder. “With the cross of Jesus going on before.”
    Mrs. Foster glared, then flung back her covers and jumped out of bed. Before Peg realised what she intended, she ran over to Miss Anderson and attempted to put a hand over her mouth.
    “I’ll make you be quiet, then, you silly canary.”
    The older woman grabbed at the hand across her mouth, trying to pry the fingers loose. Mrs. Foster wasn’t big but she was much more vigorous than her victim. She started to push her back into the pillows.
    “I’ll shut you up once and for all.”
    Her ferocity was so alarming, Peg had to do something. She rushed over and tried to pull her away.
    “Stop it! Come on now, stop it.”
    The woman let go and turned her fury on Peg. Her fingernails hadn’t been cut for some time and the claws aimed straight for Peg’s cheeks. She would have inflicted a serious injury, but Peg managed to grab her by the wrists and keep her at bay.
    Next to them, Miss Anderson was trilling at full voice. “Forward into battle, see His banners go.”
    Mrs. Foster was trying to get at Peg’s face, spitting at her and kicking. Her toenails were likewise untrimmedand she scratched Peg’s shins badly. Suddenly, the door opened and Reid swept in.
    “What’s going on in here? Stop that at once. Mrs. Foster! Let go of her, Mrs. Eakin.”
    Peg grunted, too intent on protecting herself to answer. The attendant caught hold of Mrs. Foster’s arms from behind and, quickly and expertly, spun her around and two paces back.
    “Mrs. Eakin, please get into bed,” she managed to call over her shoulder. Panting, Peg retreated and at that moment another attendant who had heard the noise came hurrying into the room. Reid was holding Mrs. Foster tightly but she was bucking and struggling like a wild creature. Miss Anderson sang on. The second attendant went straight over to her, took out a strip of linen from her pocket and in one swift movement, bound it around Miss Anderson’s mouth. She made no attempt to remove the gag, but continued to sing in a much muffled way, staring at the ongoing struggle between Reid and Mrs. Foster. Abruptly, the fight stopped; Mrs. Foster went limp and sagged in the attendant’s arms. Reid spoke to her soothingly.
    “That’s my good girl. Shush now.”
    The fourth occupant of the room, Mrs. Mallory, had covered her head with her quilt but she was