The Pleasure Trap by Elizabeth Thornton

she was wanted downstairs. Heart beating a little faster, she followed him out. Just inside the front door, one of the keepers had Dexter on a leash, and in his free hand he clutched what looked like a filthy stocking.
    His face was red with anger, though he spoke civilly enough. “Is this your dog, ma’am?”
    Eve looked at Dexter. Oblivious to the trouble he’d caused, he gazed happily back at her.
    “Yes,” she said. “He’s my dog. Thank you for bringing him home. I hope he hasn’t been a trouble to anyone.”
    “Trouble!” The keeper breathed in and moderated his tone. “I’ll tell you what your dog has done. He has taken this stocking,” he waved the article in question, “and laid a false trail for my dogs to follow. I’ve had to call them off.”
    As contritely as she could manage, Eve said, “Did the stocking belong to the woman who ran away from the hospital?” When the keeper nodded, she went on, “I’m truly sorry. I’ll see that it doesn’t happen again.”
    The keeper muttered something under his breath, unhooked Dexter, and abruptly left the house.
    Eve lost no time in returning to her room with Dexter at her heels, then she sat on the bed and scratched his ears. His head was damp. “At least tonight we can be happy for that poor woman. If it’s raining, the dogs won’t pick up her scent.”
    Her hand stopped scratching Dexter as she became lost in thought. A runaway from Bedlam was no laughing matter. The woman could be dangerous. But there must be a better way to treat these poor wretches than to lock them up in an insane asylum, then forget all about them.
    She heard the tramp of feet as men left the house, then the sound of feminine voices outside her door. Lady Sayers’s voice rose above the others, telling everyone to get back to bed and that they’d talk about it in the morning.
    When Eve slipped between the sheets, she left the candle burning. Dexter’s weight at her back was a great comfort. She listened as she heard the sound of the rain, no more than a whisper at first, then louder as the heavens opened. That would wipe out the woman’s scent so the dogs could not pick it up again.
    She closed her eyes, but sleep would not come, and after tossing and turning for half an hour, she threw back the bedclothes and got up.
    The unpleasant encounter with the keeper kept running through her mind. She wondered where the runaway was and whether she’d found a dry shelter and had enough to eat. She was torn two ways. Maybe Bedlam was better than letting her die of exposure or starvation. Who was she to say?
    St. Mary’s of Bethlehem Royal Hospital. It was a grand-sounding name, but the name didn’t change what went on inside the building. Everyone knew that shackles and physical punishments were still the most common method of controlling the deranged. There were other more humane places of confinement, but they cost the earth. Only rich people could afford them. There were no influential patrons at Bedlam to protect the interests of the patients.
    Eve knew one thing. She wouldn’t wish her worst enemy in Bedlam.
    Her restlessness made Dexter restless, too. He was scratching at the door to get out. For once, she didn’t mind. The keepers and their dogs were long gone, and a short walk might clear her mind and calm her fidgets.
    After lighting a fresh candle, she put on her warmest coat, pulled on stout walking boots, and draped a shawl over her head. Even in April, the nights could be chilly. Commanding Dexter to heel and cupping the flame of the candle with one hand, she left her chamber and traversed the long corridor to the door to the servants’ staircase.
    Halfway down the stairs, Dexter sniffed the air, then scampered past her before she could stop him. What was worse, her candle went out. Feeling her way with one hand on the rail, she descended the stairs one careful step at a time. On the landing, she halted. It was highly irrational, but she couldn’t persuade her feet