"Yes," Seth said, and to his credit, he didn't hazard so much as a glance in my direction. "I've only just opened my practice here a few months ago."

"A physician? Seems we hardly need another one of those."

"Perhaps not," Seth said graciously. "But one never knows."

William said, "Victor's interested in joining the Staten Island Athletic Club. I've been trying to talk him into polo, but he claims he has no talent for it."

"I'm afraid not," Seth said. He looked at me and said to my father, "Your daughter does you credit tonight, Mr. Van Berckel. Mrs. Carelton, you look lovely this evening."

"Thank you," I said. My heart was beating so hard I could barely hear my own voice. I did not know how to feel about meeting him here-it was so out of context. I had known I would see him in society again, and I thought I had braced for it, but not well enough, it seemed. To think of what he knew of me . . . I had the image of him seated before me, between my spread legs. My hand went involuntarily to my low decolletage. He did not miss even that small motion.

"Where is your office, Dr. Seth?" Clara asked.

"On Broadway, isn't it?" Papa said, then smiled at me triumphantly.

"Why, yes, it is," Seth said. "Not the best part of town, I realize, but I returned from France only last September. I had little time to find an office."

Papa nodded. "G.o.d knows we've enough ailments to fund a mult.i.tude of doctors. I've paid half of them myself."

I took a sip of my punch, pressing the gla.s.s hard against my lower lip.

"The fees today are so high." Clara shook her head in mock disgust. "I should think it would be economical to have a doctor as a friend."

"Which is precisely why I don't treat my friends," Seth said, and the others laughed.

I could not bear it, not another moment. The images from my dreams, from my times in his office, would not leave my head. I felt violated, invaded. I did not want him to have a life beyond the hours I spent with him. I wanted him caged there, coc.o.o.ned in his office, contained so that I saw him only when I wanted to. This was impossible.

I put down my cup with a loud enough clank that Papa frowned, and then I touched William's arm and whispered to him, "I have a headache, William."

"One moment," he said to me.

I smiled weakly at the others. "You must excuse me for a moment," I managed. "But it's so warm in here-I really must get some air."

"Of course, my dear," Clara said, and then someone else said something, but I was already past them, through the curtains, into the hallway, where people milled, talking, laughing, looking at me curiously.

The lights went dim, the signal for the performance to start again. I made my way to the foyer, past the startled doormen, outside. It was cold; the snow had turned icy, drivers were huddled in a circle talking, rubbing their hands, burying their faces in scarves, and yet I hardly felt the chill upon my bared shoulders, or on the gold and gemstones that touched my skin. It was a relief to breathe air that burned my lungs, that smelled of ice and mud. I felt myself calming in only a few moments. Then one of the drivers caught sight of me and spoke to the others, and one of them-Jimson-hurried over, touching his hat, looking worried behind the bulk of his collar. "Ma'am?"

I meant to tell him to go back. I meant to say that I was going inside again, that I was escaping the headache. But before I could say any of that, I felt a hand on my arm, and I turned to see Dr. Seth standing behind me, with William coming quickly after.

"It's nothing to be concerned about," Seth said to Jimson. "Mrs. Carelton needs a moment to rest."

Jimson looked at me questioningly, and I found myself nodding my agreement, watching as he reluctantly went back to his friends.

William came beside me. He held my cloak, which he put gently around my shoulders. Surprisingly, there was no hint of irritation in his voice when he said, "Your father's quite worried about you, as am I. Do you wish to go home, darling?"

"Yes," I said, gathering my cloak close. "Yes, I would like that. I'm so sorry, William. It's simply that my head-" I caught Dr. Seth's gaze, how he watched us, how avid was his expression, and blurted, "I didn't know you cared for the opera."

He nodded. "I spent quite some time in Leipzig. I've developed a fondness for the German."

"I see."

"You seem distressed, Mrs. Carelton."

"It's just that I didn't expect to see you here."

"I don't know why not," William said. "You've seen him about before. And I told you I was putting his name forth for SIAC."

"I've distressed you," Seth said. He sounded chastened, apologetic, and that bothered me too, that he would know so well how I felt.

"It's only that I'm surprised."

"I'll go get DeLancey," William said. He was never so accommodating. I could only think it had something to do with Dr. Seth's presence. "We'll leave straightaway."

But William did not go, and Seth did not move. I did not move. Seth said, "Tell me, Mrs. Carelton, why seeing me here disturbs you so."

"Why shouldn't it?" I whispered. "You're my doctor."

"You seem afraid."

The word shook me. "Afraid? Of course not."

"Perhaps you're worried that your friends might reveal your secrets."

Something leaped in me, some twinge of feeling. I turned away.

William laughed. "Secrets? Lucy has no secrets."

"Is that true, Mrs. Carelton?"

I could not look at Seth. "Of course it's true. This is absurd, to be having this conversation here. It's freezing."

"Yes, it is absurd." Dr. Seth hesitated, then said, "William, might I have a few minutes with your wife?"

William frowned. "Whatever for?"

"I think I may be able to relieve her headache."

"It feels better already," I protested.

William glanced at me in worry and nodded. "Yes, of course. I'll go find Lucy's father."

"Don't be silly," I said. "Let's all go inside, where it's warmer. I am feeling much better."

It was as if I hadn't spoken. William hurried away, leaving me standing alone with Dr. Seth beneath the glare of streetlights and the icy brush of snow.

Dr. Seth turned to me. "Your husband insisted I come to your box. Otherwise I wouldn't have surprised you that way. Apparently your father had some desire to meet me."

"He thinks you're a charlatan." I had not meant to say the words, but he waved them off impatiently.

"He'll be impressed, then, when I cure you."

I forgot my discomfort in a rush of grat.i.tude, and then was startled that he should so easily change my emotions. "When you cure me?"

"Yes, of course." He stepped closer. "But we've discussed this before, Mrs. Carelton. I can help you only if you trust me."

"I do trust you."

"Then why did you leave so hastily when I came to your box? What is it you're afraid of?"

He was too close. I took a step back. "Why, nothing."

Dr. Seth held out his hand. "Come," he whispered, and I felt helpless against him. I put my hand in his, and his fingers crept up, circling my wrist, pressing lightly, almost a caress. "Now, Mrs. Carelton, shall we find out what your secrets are?"

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the carriage, dimly lit from the streetlamps shining outside. Dr. Seth was sitting across from me, his arms crossed over his chest. William and my father were nowhere to be seen.

Notes from the Journal of Victor Leonard Seth Re: Mrs. C.

January 26, 1885 During the last few days, I have happened upon Mrs. C.'s husband quite by accident. He has been most grateful about my treatment of his wife, and I have allowed him to put forth my name for inclusion in the Staten Island Athletic Club. I had not seen the harm in this before tonight, when our meeting ended in his taking me to his family's box at the opera. Mrs. C. was there and was quite obviously distressed by my presence. She left the box in a panic. I rea.s.sured her husband and the others that, as a doctor, I could help with her admitted headache. I followed her outside, where she stood shivering in the snow, and used hypnosis in an attempt to soothe her.

Again she went into trance so easily. Again her unconscious seemed to find relief in relinquishing control. I have always believed that hysteria lies in egoism and willfulness, but tonight I had the opportunity to observe the etiology that underlies Mrs. C.'s fits, and I begin to question my own hypothesis.

Mrs. C. is depressive and highly strung. The events that triggered the attack were my unexpected arrival at their box, and her attempt to conceal her discomfort over the true nature of our relationship. I begin to think that in her case, hysteria is a form of self-blindness. Is it possible that I am mistaken-that Mrs. C. does not understand herself what her motives are or what she desires?

I was struck by the question and very much wished to know the answer.

I am astounded at the result. Though I intended to start with a simple questioning, Mrs. C. went far, far beyond my expectations in revealing an obviously painful and traumatic event. Under hypnosis, she is as open to me as she was closed before. In the trance state, details of this incident seemed as clear to her as the day they occurred, and it was evident from her reactions that she was experiencing that day as if she were living it in the present moment.

After establishing that she was deeply in trance by use of catalepsy and a.n.a.lgesia, I embarked on my quest for answers.

S: Imagine a clear day, the sound of the ocean upon the sh.o.r.e.

She calmed immediately. It was clear the image had resonance for her.

C: Yes. The ocean.

S: Is this an ocean you recognize?

C: Bailey's Beach.

S: In Newport. Do you like this place?

C: I do. I love it there.

S: Why is that?

C: William proposed to me there.

I was surprised that she had expressed such a sentiment. In most of the female neurasthenics at Bernheim's school in Nancy-especially in the upper cla.s.ses-a proposal of marriage may be satisfying: A woman has won the man whom her family supports, or who has the financial security she craves. The proposal may even be a relief. But it is rarely an occasion for joy or tenderness, as Mrs. C.'s tone implied hers was.

S: You wanted him to propose?

C: Yes. Oh, yes.

S: The last time we spoke of this, you said that your father had forced William into your arms. Isn't that true?

She spoke reluctantly.

C: He was my father's choice.

S: And you didn't resent that?

C: I did . . . and I didn't.

S: What do you mean by that?

C: It was another choice Papa made for me [there was bitterness in her voice], but I suppose in the end it didn't really matter. I loved William.

S: Loved. Do you still love him?

She paused here and then said, "I cannot make him happy."

S: That is not the question I asked. Do you still love him?

She bowed her head and said nothing. I a.s.sumed she was crying and had thought to calm her again when she looked up with dry eyes.

C: Sometimes I do.

S: Not all the time?

C: [obviously saddened] No.

S: When is it that you don't love William?

At this point she did begin to cry.

C: I don't know.

S: You said you cannot make him happy. How so?

C: Because I cannot . . . conceive.

S: Children would make William happy, then?

C: Yes.

S: And making William happy is what you want?

She was crying so that she could not speak. She only nodded.