I went to the armoire, threw open the doors, and took a traveling bag from the cluttered depths.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

I said, "I'm leaving you." I began tossing things into the bag, gowns and underclothes, a pair of shoes.

"Lucy. Lucy, you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying. I'm leaving you."

"Think of who you are, Lucy. G.o.d d.a.m.n it, I won't let you go. You're a Carelton. You're my wife. And that's what you'll be until you're in the grave."

I was stopped by his words. His face was as cold as I had ever seen it, the rawness of his emotion bared. I saw once again the inflexibility of his will, and a vision came to me: a grave marker, my name chiseled in marble, CARELTON at the very top, with Lucille Marie Schyler Van Berckel beneath. The truth of William's words struck me, its very permanence, so I had to shake myself a little to forget it.

"Let me go, William," I said. "It would be best to let me go."

"I won't do that."

"I don't want this life any longer." The bag could hold no more. I fastened the buckles and put it on the floor, and then I pulled out the traveling gown I'd arrived in and threw off my dressing gown so I was standing completely nude before my husband. I saw him flush and step back; he had never seen me so carelessly naked. It made me feel curiously powerful, dispa.s.sionately sensual in a vengeful way, and I let him watch as I pulled on my drawers and stockings, my chemise. I threw back my hair to pull on my corset.

His face was white. "You aren't going anywhere. You're my wife, d.a.m.n it. You'll do as I say."

I tried to shove past him. "Not anymore."

He threw me back in the room as easily as he had the night before. His strength made me angry, so I tried to push past him again. "Let me go," I said. "I don't love you. I don't want to stay."

"I don't give a d.a.m.n what you want," he said, and this time he shoved me so hard I went sprawling to the floor. "You're my wife. You're a Carelton."

He left me, shutting the door firmly. I heard the turn of the key in the lock, the thin echo of his voice as he said, "I'm sorry, Lucy, but you aren't yourself just now. It's best if you go to bed. I'll call the doctor right away."

William didn't return. As the morning crept into a dully hot afternoon and I began to sweat and grow light-headed, I took off the corset and put on my dressing gown again. I sat on the balcony watching the sea until the afternoon turned to evening. I began to hear music floating on the breeze, and I realized that things were moving on exactly as they always had. Somewhere there was a supper I had been invited to, a supper where they were gathering and drinking and gossiping, and for some reason, I found my vision blurring with tears. I went back into my room and lay upon the bed, falling into a restless sleep where dreams plagued me, until I heard someone knocking on the door.

It was dark. William came into the room bearing only a candle. He stood in the doorway and looked at me steadily, his eyes seeming to glow in the darkness. He held a gla.s.s of lemonade.

"I thought you might be thirsty," he said. "It was a hot day."

I was captured still by the dreams; this seemed only another restless image. I sat up and nodded. I was thirsty; I'd had nothing to drink all day. He put the gla.s.s in my hand and said, "Drink it all, Lucy," and I obeyed him. The drink was strange, a little warm, with a familiar taste, but my throat was dry and I drained the gla.s.s.

He took it from me and backed away. "Go to sleep now," he said, and then he was gone.

The next morning I woke groggy and dull, my mouth bitter with laudanum. I could barely move. William had drugged me, I knew that, but the morphia made me helpless. I could not care. I could only stare blankly as he came into the room with a hearty-looking man wearing bushy muttonchop whiskers and dressed soberly in black. He held papers in his hand, which he looked at often.

"You see?" William said. "She cannot even rouse herself to modesty." The man nodded, and his gaze raked over me where I lay exposed on the bed. I could barely bring myself to show any interest in him until he came over and took my wrist, his fingers curling around it. Then I wrenched away from him violently, remembering Victor's fingers just that way. I backed up against the headboard, twisting my hands together and wrapping myself around them so he could not get them.

The man looked at me sorrowfully. "Mrs. Carelton, can you hear me? Can you understand me?"

I began-inexplicably-to cry.

He did not try to touch me again. "I understand your situation," I heard him say to William, and my husband came over to the bed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Lucy, my dear, I am sorry. But you must realize what a danger you are to yourself."

I turned away from him and heard him sigh. Then he went to the door and said something, and two men came in-David, who averted his eyes hastily when he saw me, and someone else, some man-boy I'd seen in town. His stare locked upon me greedily, but I didn't care. I could barely bring myself to wonder why they were there, what they wanted.

Sadie came in behind them. She looked sad and anxious. Quickly she went to the armoire. She pulled out drawers and petticoats, a chemise, a corset, my traveling gown, and brought them over to where I lay on the bed. "You two go on out," she ordered David and the other. William said, "Wait in the hall," and as they left, Sadie urged me to sit up.

"Come on, now, Mrs. Carelton," she whispered. "Let's get dressed, shall we? That's a good girl."

I was too limp to care or to help her. "Where are we going?" My voice sounded slurred even to my own ears.

"Why, out," she said, glancing at William. "It's a good sunny day. Wouldn't you like to go for a ride?"

"William won't let me," I said. "I'm his prisoner."

"Don't be absurd, Lucy," he said impatiently, coming to the bed to help Sadie. "Let's get you dressed."

They pulled me up and I stood on unsteady feet. I held on to the back of a chair as my dressing gown was pulled off. My eyelids were heavy, my limbs slack. It was as if they dressed another body or a doll. The layers were put upon me one after another: chemise and corset, petticoats and skirt. The corset made me woozy, so when they ordered me to sit down, I did so, watching as they shoved my feet into boots, the flash of the b.u.t.tonhook in the light.

"Her hair?" Sadie asked.

William shook his head. "We've no time. They're waiting for us. Believe me, they won't be surprised."

Sadie gave me a pitying look.

William said, "Come now. Let's go."

The bag I'd packed was still there, buckled and ready. He picked it up and called for the boys and handed it to David. Then he took my arm and we went down the stairs.

I felt a niggling worry: This was odd, even for a dream. Real but unreal-where was I going? Who was waiting? But I couldn't muster the strength to ask those questions. I forgot them nearly the moment I thought of them.

We went from the house. The carriage was there, and William bundled me inside and put my bag on the seat. He muttered something to Sadie, then climbed in beside me. I felt the shudder as David climbed onto the box, another jolt-it must have been the other boy-and then we started off.

The rocking motion of the carriage immediately lulled me to sleep. I was awakened by the sound of voices. I blinked and tried to sit up. The carriage had come to a stop. I looked out the window to see two men approaching, both in dark suits, both sweating beneath their hats. William stepped from the carriage and spoke to them. I heard him say laudanum, and the taller man nodded and came to me.

"Mrs. Carelton," he said in a quiet voice. "How nice to see you. How are you feeling?" He seemed familiar, but I couldn't place him, and I was too sleepy to try.

He held out his hand for me, and there seemed to be nothing to do but take it. He helped me from the carriage and handed the other man my bag. William came up to me and said, "They're going to take care of you, Lucy," in a mild voice that made me afraid.

"Take care of me?" I managed.

"Go with them, darling," he said.

I began to feel panicked. "Where are they taking me? Where am I going?"

"You'll go on the steamer into the city," he said. "Back to the Row. Your father is waiting there for you."

"Papa?"

"Newport has been draining for you, I know," he said. He squeezed my arm, kissed my cheek. "I'll meet you there in a few days. I've some . . . things to finish up here."

I looked past him to where David and the other boy stood looking hesitant. The two men stood waiting for me, one of them holding my bag. I was too tired to resist, and I wanted to be away from my husband. When each of the men took one of my arms, I went with them down the dock and onto the steamer. They took me into some little cabin, a room I'd never seen before, appointed with comfortable settees and lamps, with windows that clouded as the ship began to move from the dock into the sea.

When the door closed behind us, one of the men stood beside me, too close. He put his hand on my arm, and I started to chastise him when I saw what he held: a syringe. He was rolling up my sleeve.

When I opened my eyes, I was in a carriage. The leather shades at the windows had been drawn, but now the door was open, and I saw past the darkness to dim lights that illuminated a stone wall, an entranceway.

"What's happening?" I murmured. "Where am I?"

I heard the creak of leather. I felt the press of warmth against my leg. It was then I recognized the tall man who sat across from me. Dr. Little. I looked at him, and he gave me a thin smile. "Welcome to Beechwood Grove, Mrs. Carelton. I expect you'll be very happy here."

PART III.

Beechwood Grove Asylum.

July 1885.

Chapter 25.

My G.o.d," I said. I grabbed on to the strap hard. "No. No. Take me back. Take me back this moment."

Dr. Little smiled. "Come, come, Mrs. Carelton. Everything's taken care of."

"No." I shook my head. "No. I don't belong here."

"I'm afraid everything is quite in order. Your husband secured the opinions of two doctors, and a judge has agreed with them. Please, Mrs. Carelton. We'll take good care of you here. You need a rest."

"I don't want a rest." I backed into the corner, disbelieving. "I don't belong here."

The doctor sighed. "Please, Mrs. Carelton. It would be best if you didn't make this difficult."

"Take me back. I want to go back."

"I would rather not do this, but I'm afraid you leave me no choice." Dr. Little opened the carriage door and motioned to two women who stood outside. They came forward. They were stronger than they looked, twin monoliths. One grabbed my wrist, twisting it from the strap so I cried out. The other seized my other arm and yanked me forward. I fought them, but they pulled me stiff and struggling from the carriage, wrenching me down the step so hard that I stumbled and slid on the wet gra.s.s and mud.

"You see, Mrs. Carelton, we can be quite persuasive," the doctor said. "Do you think you can walk now, or do you still need a.s.sistance?"

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

Dr. Little turned to the second man who had brought me here. "I do think we can take care of things from this point on," he said.

As the man turned to leave, I called out in sheer panic, "No! No! Don't leave me here!"

He didn't pause but climbed into the carriage and shut the doors. I struggled against the women, who held me fast. One of them said, "Now, now, dearie, it's best if you don't fight."

The driver slapped the reins, and the carriage was off. I tried to think what to do, but my mind was still so fuzzy. It was dark; the road the carriage had disappeared down was deserted. It ended here, at a tall iron gate that was being closed by two men. There was darkness all around: trees, bushes . . . the only lights were the lamps at the entrance, whose light we stood within.

"Your husband is quite concerned about you, Mrs. Carelton," Dr. Little said in a soothing voice that only fed my fear. "It seems you have lately caused your family much worry."

"No," I whispered.

He said, "Please believe me when I tell you that it would be best if you let Charlotte and Greta show you to your room. I believe you will be quite comfortable."

There seemed no other option. I was drained, and all of this was impossible, like some terrible nightmare. I wanted sleep. I wanted to wake up and find this was all an illusion.

He led the way from the gate onto a cobbled path that opened to the vast stone entryway. Lamps gabled from the door, which he opened to usher us in. The nurses did not release their hold, and I was grateful for it. My legs were weak with my acquiescence, with my growing horror.

They took me upstairs to another great door, which the doctor opened with a key from the chatelaine hanging inside his suitcoat.

"This way," he said, and we were past the door and into a hallway that was softly lit by gas lamps and lined with doors, all closed. For a moment I relaxed. I felt oddly as if I were a guest in some well-appointed house in the country, being led to my room for a fortnight's stay; there would be chocolate brought in the morning with freshly baked buns and nothing but a day of riding and socializing to look forward to.

Then I heard the scream. One of the nurses tightened her grip on my arm. The doctor looked up but kept walking.

"Mrs. Meyers again?" he asked.

"She wouldn't take her medicine tonight, Doctor," said the other nurse.

"Send Maddy to take care of it," he said. Then he smiled at me. "These interruptions are quite infrequent, I a.s.sure you. They shouldn't intrude upon your sleep."

Before I could answer, we stopped at a door. Dr. Little swung it open easily. "Your room, Mrs. Carelton."

I had a vague image of dimity curtains closed against the darkness, hangings of chintz, carpets, a bed.

"It's quite late," Dr. Little said. "Will you need anything else this evening?"

I shook my head, feeling numb and strange. "Nothing."

"Then we'll wish you good night."

He backed from the doorway. The nurses released my arms. I didn't move as they left me there. The door closed; I heard the clinking of his chatelaine, the key in the lock, and then their footsteps.

I stumbled to the bed, hitting my shin at the corner, which was oddly sharp. I lifted the bedcover and saw that the wooden posts were heavy, with iron bands fastened by screws. The whole of it was bolted to the floor, as were the bureau and the chair in the corner.

I sank onto the mattress, burying my face in a pillow that smelled vaguely of dirty hair and sweat beneath the scent of harsh soap. I turned my face away. Then I saw what had been carefully hidden by the closed curtains: the pattern cast on the window by a light from outside. Narrow bars.

I woke to a loud, insistent knocking on my door. I slitted my eyes-it was still dark outside-and turned over, ignoring it. I heard the click of the lock, the door opening, and then someone was shaking me.

"Get up, Mrs. Carelton."

"It's too early, Sadie."