The Medea Complex by Rachel Florence Roberts Page B

Betty.”
    She looks confused.
    “Have you ever heard of an entail, Betty?”
    “ An En-what?”
    That's a no, then.
    “The Manor and its grounds are entailed, that means that
they can only ever belong to the son of Lord Damsbridge.”
    “But 'ee don' 'ave no son. Only Anne.”
    “Exactly.” We stop at the door to the kitchen, and I pat her
on the head. She's a lovely child, and she's incredibly loyal and loving
towards everyone around her. I know she considers Anne to be a sort of older
sister, in an admiring manner. When Anne was here she always took the time to
speak with Betty and inquire about her own and her family's health. A couple of
times I caught Anne putting a shilling into Betty's grubby little hands.
    “So it dannae belong t' no-one then Miss, only Lord Damsbridge?”
    “That's right. So stop worrying.”
    She frowns, and fiddles with her dress. “But that man did
'ave sumthin' under 'is arm. I'm not lying.”
    “I know you're not lying, Betty. You're as honest as a
puppy.”
    She smiles.
    “Well then, I'll be seein' ye'!” With that she dives into
the kitchen, and warm shouts of greetings and endearments echo in my ears.
    I climb the stairs to Mr Stanbury's chamber. Anne's clothes
need to be aired at least once a day. Thankfully, the moths haven't gotten to
them yet, though I worry about it constantly. Her dresses must be perfect for
when she comes home. I make my way across the room, heading for the wardrobe,
when I notice an errant sock on the floor. I bend to pick and as I do so, spy
something underneath the bed.
    An envelope.
    Addressed to Anne.
    I hold it for a moment. Do I chance to read it now? Where is
Mr Stanbury? I rush to the window and look outside, holding the note. The
carriage has gone, which means he could be anywhere. I run across the room, and
close the door. If he comes up here, at least the turning of the handle will
give me time to throw it back underneath the bed.
    I sit on the bed, and read it.
    By the time I have finished, I am determined to light a
fire.
    Anne will never see this letter.
     
     

A Lie By Omission
     
    Dr Savage
    November 10th, 1885
    Royal Bethlem Hospital
     
     
    Dear Dr Savage,
    It is with regret that I write to you rather than
speaking with you face to face, but at present I am engaged in a rather tedious
yet necessary business matter, and will be away from London for a few weeks.
Doctor, it has come to my attention that you have adopted a regime of
mechanical restraint since the retirement of your eminent predecessor, Dr
William Reece Williams. I shan't go so far as to echo the opinions of your
contemporaries in labelling such methods as primeval: nor do I believe that in
the future, you shall look back upon your defence of restraint with the same
wonderment of those whom encouraged domestic slavery. However, being aware of
this issue arouses in me some sense of anxiety, as only a father whose own
daughter is locked in such a place could appreciate. So, whilst I believe that
your personal character is sufficient to serve your profession and henceforth
my daughter well, I hereby request that you do not put Anne under any
restraints of this manner, nor of any other, including that which is termed
'chemical restraint'.
    Kindest Regards
    Lord Damsbridge
    Folding the letter into eight, I bite my tongue and remind
myself that anger is poison.
    It is one thing for a Lunacy Commissioner to attempt demands
and restrictions upon me, but for a lay-person to instruct me in my treatments!
And with a rather clear sense of blackmail, at that! Lord Damsbridge has the
good fortune of birth and riches but the ignorance of a peasant when it comes
to the field of psychiatry. No doubt he has read one of Dr Bucknill's numerous
articles and letters published in The Lancet: that man has been doggedly
pursuing his mission over the past two decades to abolish the use of mechanical
restraint throughout the entirety of England. Damned journalists and their
sensationalist cosh!