Shackled within Bethlam

Shackled within Bethlem

Old Street, London.

Perched idly at their Marlborough dining-room table, Eleanora indulged in Sense and Sensibility. By her ankle sat a pristine tabby, grooming himself with outstretched claws. Having rescued Jack from a nearby inn when he was all but a tuff of fur; it was a rarity that the feline left her side. The door swayed open and slammed into a cabinet of china, Eleanora dropped her book in startle. In the doorway stood her husband Robert, his arms full of parchment scrolls.

         'Wherefore is that blasted manservant?' He asked in an irked groan. Eleanora watched as he strode toward her, and retrieved her book just in time before Robert dropped down his work. His chestnut curls struck out in a frazzled fashion but it did little to lesson his handsome features.

         'I informed George he could retire home for his Mother is stricken with illness,' Eleanora told him, she displayed little interest in what he had carried home. They were no doubt illustrations of ship-craft and she never developed the interest that her husband had. Robert pressed his lips as he gazed down at her but shook away any temptation to scold her.

         'He ought to be on foot for you, love. I instructed at all times.' Eleanora placed one palm against her stomach and smiled at him.

         'He will not arrive shortly,' she voiced with certainty. 'Mother told me it always takes longer for sons.' Robert beamed as he watched her swollen belly.

         'There is nought finer than a boy,' he said. Robert sat at the head of the table and began to sort through the scrolls. Eleanora resumed reading her novel. It was not until mid-day when the doorbell rang that they looked up from what they were doing. Robert checked his pocket watch and stood. 'That must be Lord Barker, we will retire to my study. Mary!' At the call of her name, a youthful maid rushed in. Her cheeks were flushed and she hastily flattened out her uniform. 'Lord Barker and I will have tea in my study.'

         'Yes, Sir,' she said and left at once to pursue his demands. Robert collected his plans and departed from the room. Eleanora sighed to herself and closed her book, she used the table to aid herself out of the chair and walked through the entrance hall to the coat rack. Lord Barker was flirting boldly with Katherine, another maid who was scarcely in her womanhood.

         'Lady Eleanora, you look ravishing,' he greeted.

         'Always a pleasure to see you, Marcus,' she replied, she picked up her shawl and struggled to drape it around herself.
         'Still refusing service, I see,' Marcus jeered, he crossed the distance between them to pull the shawl around her properly.

         'I am with child, not an invalid.'

         'You ought to need no ailment to require maids and servants, my Lady. It is but a luxury of your birth right.' Marcus showed little understanding and tutted when she did not respond.

         'Still trying to persuade my wife to run away with you, Lord Barker?' Robert asked as he descended the staircase with a smirk.

         'But of course, Sir,' Marcus responded with a mischievous tone. 'It has never been fair for you to keep such a beauty to yourself.' Eleanora shook her head at their playful chatter and picked up her basket.

         'Where are you venturing?' Robert asked, he placed an arm around Eleanora; and pulled her into his chest. Eleanora huffed but held no real irritation.

         'To the market, I could do with the fresh air.'

         'Katherine will attend,' he told her.

         'It is not necessary,' Eleanora refuted.

         'Nonsense, Eleanora,' Marcus said, 'do as your husband wishes and speak not of invalidity.' That was the matter closed.

         'It will rest my worried soul, love,' Robert murmured to her as Marcus ascended the staircase. Robert planted a soft kiss upon her cheek and tailed his friend. Katherine looked to her with uncertainty.

         'Worry not,' she told the maid, 'it seems we shall both be in trouble should I order you to stay. Put on your coat and we shall leave.' Katherine did as she was instructed and the two of them left for market.

Upstairs in Lord Cosgrove's office, the men stood by a burning fireplace. Marcus gripped a glass of whiskey while Robert sipped his tea with comfort. Marcus heaved out a sigh.

         'What of it then?' He asked, Robert hummed in response.

         'I suppose it ought to be done but you must swear by your children's lives that nought will happen to Eleanora,' Robert warned. 'I assist you as a friend.' Marcus nodded hastily.

         'I understand, your family will be safe,' he assured. Robert sauntered to his desk and sat down, he casted an eye to the ship blueprints and then regarded his companion. 'It will barely spend your time, Robert. We will be in and out with alacrity, nothing bad will come of this.'

         'You had better hope so,' Robert stated, his voice lacked any fondness for his old friend.

***

The charming summertime brought their son, a wholesome boy with Eleanora's green eyes and Robert's dark curls. Christopher was doted on by family and friends, he was a noiseless child who responded only to touch despite how often Eleanora spoke to him. The second winter thereafter blessed their family with a petite girl, a delicate porcelain doll named Alice. She battled sickness in her early days but Eleanora silenced any talk of death, she knew within her heart that their daughter was stronger than any man could foresee. If only she had paid attention.

***

'Come swiftly,' Eleanora demanded as she neared her house on the end of the row. Behind her, two women struggled to keep up. One was Christopher's governess; she had long plain hair, aged skin and wore a navy-blue dress that ceased at the knee. In her arms struggled an elegantly dressed infant in velvet attire. The other woman was a handsome girl who wore a black dress and white pinafore, her blonde curls secured under a bonnet. She frantically pushed a platinum baby carriage which obtained a sleeping new-born. Eleanora mounted the front steps and pounded on the door, her face misshapen with worry. The door rolled open, revealing to her a mature aristocrat in a suit with tied back silver hair. Lord Edgar Cosgrove, Robert's Father, gazed at her in dissatisfaction.

         'Eleanora,' he greeted with pomposity.

         'Where is he?' She asked as she stepped by him with no frugal time for manners.

         'Robert is in the drawing room,' he informed her. She teared down the right-wing corridor and thrusted open the second door on her left. By the window stood a dishevelled Marcus, he gazed down at the motionless body on the floor. Eleanora stopped, her eyes wide. No sound emanated from her for a few moments and then sobs erupted as she threw herself down over Robert's body.

         'What happened?' She asked as she firmly cradled his head. She looked down into his wide eyes and pressed her forehead to his. 'What happened?' She asked again, anger laced each word as she turned to Marcus.

         'I have no knowledge, my Lady,' he said softly. 'I arrived mere minutes before yourself.' Eleanora shook her head; she did not believe him. Something had happened, something terrible. Robert was a good man, a kind man. No one would wish him harm, not his friends nor his staff.

         'No,' she muttered repeatedly as she hugged his limp frame. 'Not you.'


In the days that passed, Eleanora became sombre and hardly spoke to anyone. She did not nurse her daughter; she did not read to her son. The only time she departed her bedroom was to question Edgar about the police enquiry into Robert's death. No matter the lack of evidence, Eleanora knew that he had not simply passed of natural causes. He was a healthy man; he always had been for he had not fallen to illness once in the five years of their marriage.

Edgar was vigilant, he rebutted all theories she came up with; reminding her that her place was to nurture her young, not to meddle in affairs she knew nothing about. It was the day of Robert's funeral that Marcus set foot back inside the stately town house. He did not question Eleanora's absence nor did he flirt with Katherine at the door. He travelled directly to Robert's study and let himself in. Edgar was stood at the bookshelf, a glass of port in his hand.

         'You called for me,' Marcus said. Edgar eyed his unkempt hair and dishevelled suit.

         'I hope you are going to clean up before the funeral, my son may have allowed such common ways but I will not.' Marcus glowered.

         'What is it?'

Edgar sighed.

         'Eleanora. It seems my son encouraged her to educate herself. An imprudent judgement. She is speaking about war conspiracies and deals gone awry down at the docks.' Edgar crossed the room and sat down in a worn leather armchair. 'She must go.'

         'By God, you are not saying what I think you are,' Marcus said, appalled. Edgar shot him a furious look that had the young Lord gripping the sleeves of his blazer.

         'She has taken to her room, refuses to nurse her children and barely eats at all. I spoke with an old friend, Doctor Cain. He concurs that she may be developing acute melancholia; a madness.'

         'She is grieving, it is not unusual for women to fall plagued by their feelings. Give her time,' Marcus said, he knew Edward would have ordered the older gentleman away at hearing such things.

         'She is ill, Marcus,' Edgar snapped. 'Ill people should not stay confined to their bedrooms. She will infect those of the household, think of the children. Edward was a foolish man but even he would not have stood for this.'

         'If he were here, this would not have arisen,' Marcus replied heatedly, he looked to the empty desk his friend had often recently inhabited while they spoke of current wars and the rise of taxation. He was an intelligent man, and compassionate too. He would not forgive Marcus if aught happened to his Eleanora. 'I made him a promise.' Edgar snorted.

         'How amiable of you. Nevertheless, I am in charge now. Eleanora will be treated for her sickness at the finest hospital in London.' Marcus shook his head, frantic.

         'You cannot.'

         'The matter has already been seen to,' Edgar told him, silencing his thoughts. 'I will be escorting Eleanora to Bethlem Royal Hospital tomorrow morning. If you do not wish to join her, I would suggest you hold your tongue. Discretion is advised. Would you sooner see us both hanged for a simple mistake?'

         'A simple mistake?' Marcus asked. 'Have you no heart? Your son is dead.'

         'And I have grieved. Now I must continue on and take care of his family.' Edgar swallowed the rest of his drink and sighed; he enjoyed the burn. 'If you have any goodbyes, I suggest you make them tonight. I will be informing Eleanora of her leave this evening.'

         'No,' Marcus said. Edgar pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Let me be the one to tell her. Lord knows she needs a friendly face.'

         'Do as you please, Lord Barker. You are dismissed, clean yourself up.' Marcus did not waste a moment longer in the presence of such a wretched man. He departed the study and walked along to the nursery. Christopher sat in his cot, wide eyed and silent. Alice was sleeping across the room, both dressed in clothing suitable for that of a wedding. Marcus moved to Christopher and raised the child up to his side.

         'I hope you grow to be half the man your Father was, young Lord. For your sake, and your Mother's.'

***

Moorfields, London.

'Please stop,' Eleanora breathed, her body trembled. Tears had tarnished her cheeks as her bloodshot irises stared at the high ceiling of cobwebs and filth. Her nakedness caused pimples to jut out on her discoloured skin, the damp of her hair sprawled beneath her. Exhaustion held her captive as Doctor Monro sharpened a thin blade at his workstation. If he had heard her plea, he did not show it. His focussed eyes inspected his instrument with curiosity and then his shoulders squared.

         'Not long now,' he said as if Eleanora was merely waiting for his service. He tended to the leather straps that held her in place. Content, he began. Doctor Monro tied a white strip of cloth tightly around Eleanora's upper arm, gripped her forearm to put pressure on the cephalic vein and inspected where to insert the blade. Eleanora's body jerked as the steel lancet slid in. Blood oozed from the wound and assembled on the concrete slab she lay upon. The Doctor's lips thinned as he watched the blood lashing the floor of his lab. It was not an unusual occurrence but he did not like the thought of negative humors staining his property.

Eleanora tensed so firm that every part of her figure started to ache. Her jagged nails sliced the palms of her hands and she cried out.

         'Please, good Sir, I am healthy.' Doctor Monro gazed cynically at her face but said nothing. It was not unusual for patients to stutter falsities under treatment.

         'This is the last for the day,' he assured her. 'Then Marta will return you to your room.'

Eleanora's chest heaved as she sobbed.

         'May Heaven hath mercy.'

         'The good Lord always bestows mercy, my child. Not long now.'

***

It was some short time after her birthday in April that Mr Edward Burland visited with her in the women's gallery. It was a broad sullied hall with aisles of rusted cells on either side. The only source of light emanated in through small four-sided windows, too high up for any patient to see out of, and any sound of footsteps were drowned out by hysterical wails of misfortune.

Edward was a proper nobleman; a true man of Oxford, he insisted. He originated from a society Eleanora sincerely missed, more with each day that passed, and he spoke with such precise formality that he even had the steward and her female keeper, Marta, questioning his vocabulary. His stature was poised with polished clothing of silk and finery. It was a marvel that such a man would walk the brittle halls of Bethlem Royal Hospital. Not because he brought with him wealth but because Eleanora would not believe he was there to mock them as many other established persons did, nor could he have agreed with such a way they were treated. He stood before her iron cell and gazed down upon her with such disbelief, and for fear he recognized her; she tightened her gown and offered what little of a courteous smile she could.

'What of you?' He asked in a tone so soft Eleanora had long since heard it. 'You are no plain tib1.' How was it he could tell so from the sight of her if not by a familiar face? Eleanora hugged her frail figure, she desired to disappear from this new exposure. It brought with it a shame she had not experienced in many years, a memory she wanted to burn inside her skull.

'This here is Lady Eleanora Cosgrove,' the steward stated, the aged splinter of a man spared a moment to glance at her in pity. An expression, Eleanora understood, rarely graced his features for it was often he who delivered the patients directly to Doctor Monro.

'Why would a beauty such as you be confined behind these bars, my Lady?' Mr Burland asked, he kneeled to regard Eleanora. It was few who acquired the honour of man to kneel before her in any lifetime, and Eleanora could not help but smile, convinced compassion had finally prevailed. The moment was truly a gift she would treasure weeks thereafter as she endured treatment. Then the silence lasted, Eleanora heard his question again. Her face fell.

'Her husband passed,' the steward told him. His words defected any sentiment, for a man such as that could have cared not if another's world was ripped apart.

'It was so sudden, so unjust,' Eleanora told Mr Burland. Her strength to look up had ceased. 'The loss of him has drawn my health from purity, I would sooner stand within Lucifer's court should we have another once more. This madness... my Father-in-Law could not permit it around my children.' A form of torture she had thought she could have withstood but in the absence of them, Eleanora feared she had only made her madness worse. She would not believe they did not miss her. She was their Mother. No cell nor medicine could have modified that.

'My heart aches for you, Eleanora. If I may call you that?'

'Of course,' she agreed. For it was better her name than her patient number, which often changed due to newly absent cells.
'You must call me Edward,' he insisted as though they held any reasoning to befriend one another. Eleanora was not to complain, nobody else within the gallery was worthy of any friendship. 'What of your children? Do they write to you?' Eleanora shook her head in sorrow.

'Christopher was only 2 when I left, and Alice still but barely born. I pray for their health but have received no word of them.' Edward looked away, forlorn.

'I am certain they are in good health and are awaiting your return,' he told her though did little to sound believable. Eleanora found no fault in him, it would have been no mercy should he have believed with complete certainty her beloved ones were in tremendous health despite her absence. She did not wish them illness but found she often hoped that they felt their chest ache when they thought of her. A childlike excitement stirred Mr Burland upright. 'Where do you hail from? Perchance I can send word of your recovering and wishes to hear from your family?' Would such measures have worked? Eleanora was not sure. For her Father-in-Law was not a kind man, he bored little resemblance to his son at all; not in looks and certainly not in heart. Robert would have done everything within his power to keep her away from the likes of Bethlem. He would decree she was not possessed with madness and challenged any persons who thought different on the matter... but it mattered not. If Robert was still there she would not have lost her way. They would still have been a family.          

'Eleanora?' Edward asked, he regained her attention.

'I appreciate your kindness, Sir, but they will not come. My house is in close neighbourhood and I have received no visitors. Not once.' Eleanora felt no reason to hide her sadness from him, for it was a sadness any person would feel had they been abandoned by God. She pleaded with him daily to send her children, to let her see them with her own eyes but he no longer showed her any fairness. It left her awake at night trying to uncover what sin she had committed that would warrant this. 'I am innocent,' she said. Edward Burland nodded in agreement but said nought.

'We should let Lady Cosgrove rest,' the female keeper suggested, she watched Eleanora with scorned eyes. Her common-blood still fuelled an inverted snobbery despite the position Eleanora beheld in society.

'Yes, and we will continue with the tour. Many marvellous things to show you,' the steward declared. Eleanora struggled to her feet in haste, unbalanced by the shackle around her ankle. She could not approach the end of her cell but nevertheless, attempted to be closer. Edward grimaced at the sight of blackened skin that covered most of her lower legs.

'It was a pleasure, Sir,' Eleanora told him, she tilted her head in politeness and allowed her legs to give way beneath her.
'Mr Burland, if you would like to follow me,' the steward insisted, he turned his back on Eleanora. Edward placed his hands around the iron bars of her cell.

'I will not forget you, Lady Cosgrove,' he told her, and she would not forget him, 'I pray you will see your children soon.' They held one another's gaze until the steward's footsteps echoed off the silver walls of the ward, Edward followed Marta back through the gallery, and Eleanora was left alone.

***

Screams ricocheted through the bars of the gallery as Eleanora lay still upon drying paste of shit and vomit. Her ribs protruded and stretched her flesh around curves of bones. Her eyes were swollen and her cheeks hollow. Breathing now caused an ache that she clung to, glad to still feel at all.

         'Lady Cosgrove, you have visitors,' Marta declared through her teeth, Eleanor did not have the strength to respond. Marta crossed in front of her cell and grimaced, the stench of the ward had worsened since a few of the women had become incontinent. And, in addition to their crimson flow, it painted a very sordid picture. 'It seems you are in no state for company,' she said. Eleanora let her eyelids close and fell into a doze. She did not hear Marta tell two young children that their Mother was asleep and would send for them when she was better.

As the day darkened, Eleanora's breathing slowed. It was nearly midnight when two male keepers unlocked her cell. They unshackled her ankle and carried her out of the gallery, they took the back stairs of the asylum down to a small private alcove lit by candles. Doctor Monro was washing his hands when they entered.

         'Excellent,' he said. 'Place her down over there,' he instructed, he nodded toward a wooden cot. The keepers left in silence and Doctor Monro began to whistle to himself, he picked up a silver rod the length of his forearm and a circular-ended hammer with a thin black shaft. His face betrayed no ill-emotion as he walked towards the door. He closed it and turned back to Eleanora. 'Let us begin.'

***

Russel Square, London.

Edward settled himself behind a waxed mahogany desk. Papers of importance stacked on either side of him with open books, pots of ink and elegant pens that stood in wait. He selected his favourite stationary and a blank piece of parchment. The fireplace casted warm ember glows across the room as Edward began to write:

Dearest Lady Eleanora Cosgrove,
I am writing to you with agreeable news. Some weeks gone, I penned a request to a man of medicine close by my residence in Russel Square, north side of Bloomsbury. I enquired about treatment and informed him of your state, whence I visited with you at Bethlem Royal Hospital. He is well-informed on the barbarity of the institution. I have not halted thoughts of you since I left, no kind soul would believe Bethlem was a place of sanctuary. No health nor prosperity rises within those walls. More die there than God ought to have control over. I question what warrants his mercy every night as I pray. Doctor Ainsley has agreed to conduct an examination of you in the days following, and should he agree with my thoughts; you will be returned home. As well as this, I spoke recently with Lord Edgar Cosgrove regarding the absence of your children's visits. He has assured me that they will be along to see you shortly.

I hope you are most well, and that we might meet again under better circumstances.
In my highest regards,
Mr. Edward Burland.