A NOVEL OF HISTORICAL SUSPENSE

An English noblewoman must confront the man she believes responsible for her father’s death.

Madeline Whittington, daughter of the deceased Earl of Richfield, emerges from English Society's prescribed period of mourning in the winter of 1817. Apprehension grips her as she rejoins society. Madeline believes that she no longer belongs in a world of gossip and gowns, instead she wants to help the orphans living within the walls of Ashcroft Insane Asylum; a repulsive place they do not belong.

Because of his elder brother's unexpected death, Devlin Greyson is Earl of Ravensmoore and struggles between two worlds: one of affluence and privilege and one of poverty and disease. Torn between his desire to become a doctor and the numerous responsibilities of his title he wrestles with God's will for his future.

The theme of this book is forgiveness. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. Colossians 3:13

The uniqueness of an English nobleman pursuing a trade gives this book an interesting twist. Nobleman rarely pursued trades. However, research indicates this path wasn't forbidden, but would have been very unusual.

Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased,/Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,/Raze out the written troubles of the brain,/And with some sweet oblivious antidote/Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff/Which weighs upon the heart?

-William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act V, Sc. iii

CHAPTER 6

Ashcroft Asylum loomed in front of them like a giant bird of prey. The rain had let up considerably, yet a light drizzle continued to fall. It did little to improve the appearance of the menacing fortress surrounded by a high stone wall. A huge, black iron, gate provided the only public entrance.

Devlin tried to convince himself he had nothing to fear as they approached the building. He was not successful. Each moment he came closer to the asylum, he gave up more and more of himself to the wretched place. The asylum seemed to possess his very soul.

The memories crashed in on him as though it were yesterday. He remembered arriving home from boarding school the summer after his eleventh birthday.

“So, you have returned.” His father frowned at him.

“Where is Mother?” Devlin asked, as he peered around his father to look for her. His heart beat like a drum in anticipation.

“Your mother was admitted to Ashcroft Asylum this spring. She is not herself.” His father placed a hand on his shoulder. “I know this is difficult for you, but you are old enough to understand. She is gone.”

“You are lying.” He shook off his father's hand and took the stairs two at a time until he reached his mother's rooms. “She must be here,” he said nervously, unwilling to accept his father's words. Tears blurred his progress. “Mother! Mother!”  

Devlin tugged open the door. Instead of the pleasant smell of his mother's perfume, the musty odor of disuse assaulted him. White sheets covered the furniture like phantoms in residence.

His father entered the room. Devlin turned on him. “You did this!   You never wanted her here. You never loved her. I hate you!”

“That's enough, young man. You don't understand.”

“That's right. I don't understand.” Tears coursed down his cheeks. Devlin glared at his father, showing him the rage he felt. “I want to see her!”

Again, he placed a hand on Devlin's shoulder. “You cannot,” said his father, his voice cold. “I forbid it. Ashcroft is no place for a child.”

“Ashcroft is no place for my mother!” Devlin pushed the unwanted hand away. “Let her come home,” Devlin pleaded. “I want to see that she is all right. I must.”

“That is not possible, she is too sick to leave.” His father turned away. “You must accept it.”

“I will not accept anything until I see her for myself.”

The memory faded, but the anger and hurt lingered in his heart, stubbornly clinging to him, invisible cobwebs of pain. He shook his head to clear his mind, but still he saw the past looming in front of him, an unconquered demon.

*****

Devlin had never entered the asylum to visit his mother; his father held firm and refused. His letters unanswered. He didn't' know what her day-to-day activities had been during that time. He'd imagined all kinds of horrors, no one dared talk about it and then she had died. Now, he came face-to-face with what he'd feared most, the reality of asylum life.

Devlin struggled to maintain an appearance of calm that he did not feel. Emotions stampeded through him, out of control. He ached to turn back.

As they approached the main gate, a guard stepped from a small shelter. He did not appear a friendly sort and eyed them suspiciously. “What be your business, gentlemen?”

“We are here to see Mr. Dolin Sullivan,” Langford said. He gave the guard a dire look. “We are from the hospital. Sullivan wants us to take a look at one of the patients.”

“He told me ye was comin'. I just like to make sure. Can't trust no one these days. The rich are always comin' up with ways to spy on ‘em that's lost their wits. It amuses ‘em.”

Devlin spoke up. “I can assure you, we have not come here to be amused. Nor do we find others suffering something to laugh about.”

“‘Tis as it should be,” the guard said, pushing open the heavy iron gate. “Good luck to ye. Ye'll be needin' it when ye comes face-to-face with Wiggens.”

They rode through the open gate. A chill of apprehension crawled up Devlin's spine.

“What do you suppose he meant?” Melton asked. “This place gives me the shivers.”

“It means,” Langford said, “that we may anticipate. . . the unusual. I haven't been here in years. They had a doctor, but I heard he left some time ago. They will have a hard time filling the position. Always do. Here's Sullivan.”

Sullivan's mouth sagged at the ends giving him a humorless expression. What remained of his hair scattered across his head like a dark spider's web, reminding Devlin of a gangly troll. He looked more like a lunatic than any manager of an asylum should.

“Ravensmoore, Melton, may I present Mr. Dolin Sullivan, manager of Ashcroft Asylum.”

Devlin nodded, coolly continuing the assessment of their host.

“Mr. Sullivan, my students. Perhaps you can talk one of them into your employ.”

  “So good of you to come. Let us discuss the problem in my office. The stableboy will see to your horses.” He nodded to a tall, slender, boy with dark circles under his eyes.

Sullivan turned and led the way through a long stone corridor. Devlin heard a great cacophony of sound muffled by the walls of the asylum; people talking, laughing, crying.

They entered Sullivan's well-lit office. Immediately struck by the spaciousness of the area, Devlin thought the man enjoyed life a bit above his position. He'd imagined it would be small, stifling and cluttered. Instead a cozy fire burned in the hearth, the room emanated organization and comfort.

As if reading his thoughts, Sullivan said, “I try to keep my office as hospitable as possible since this is where I meet with family members.” He looked directly at Devlin. “Have a seat, gentlemen.”

Langford chose a comfortable looking wing chair, while Melton and Devlin found seats nearby. He wondered if the if the need for their presence had caused the commotion within or if   disorder reflected normalcy for those committed.

Sullivan distanced himself   behind his desk. “Andrew Wiggins usually keeps to himself, doesn't cause trouble.” Sullivan rubbed his hand over his head causing wisps of   hair to stick straight up on end.  

“Something happened today. I don't know what exactly, but he went berserk. Nearly beat one of my guards to a pulp. Took four guards to dislodge him.”

“You want us to repair the damage he caused then?”   Langford suggested.

“Yes, but there's a bit more to it. Wiggens is in a secluded cell, injured. We couldn't restrain him. Lucky to contain him at all. He'll need attention. It'll take great skill and caution to deal with him.”

“Why?” Melton asked.

“You'll see for yourself,” Sullivan said.

“Why didn't you just have the guards hold him down while someone administered an injection?” Melton asked, seemingly intrigued.

“It takes more than you may realize to restrain Wiggens. Once he is out of control, it is nearly impossible. I need your help.”

“What you need,” Devlin said, watching Sullivan intently, “is a bunch of fools to clean up after you.”

“Ravensmoore.” Langford shot him a warning glance, then turned to Sullivan. “We will do what we can. I did not bring my students here to be injured. If it is too dangerous, we will not be able to assist you. Is that clear?”

Sullivan looked pleased. “Certainly, Dr. Langford. I knew I could count on you.”

“Well, don't count on too much. I won't know if we can be of assistance until I see the patients.”  

“Of course.” Sullivan got up from his desk. “Follow me.”

The three of them followed Sullivan down a long cold corridor to a heavy oak door; the entrance to the asylum. Devlin thought about his mother. Fear washed through him.

The guard opened the door as they approached the entrance. Devlin steeled himself. The voices grew louder and the smell was a mixture of urine, stale air and fear.

“The women's area,” Sullivan said.

Devlin absorbed his surroundings. Women dressed in rags and women dressed as though going to a ball in Town encircled him. Women who walked the steps his mother had walked.

These were the sights she witnessed every day, the odors she endured. The place she took her last breath. Panic clawed up his throat.   He wondered how his father had left her in this ghastly place?

Melton pulled him from the circle of women. “You all right, Ravensmoore?”

Continue Chapter 6 of Asylum

Read Maddie's excerpt (Chapter 9)