In Harry Potter's elegant room at the Clarendon Hotel, to which he hurried right after he left Juliette the prior evening, Art invited Harry and Penny to his ancestral estate in Surrey in order to begin Harry's treatment. Provided Harry allowed himself to be treated. Art suggested they could chat about it during the ride from London to Surrey.
He arrived to fetch brother and sister in his own carriage at ten o'clock the next morning. Art and Harry strapped Penny's one bag to the back of the carriage. Art compared her needs, as indicated by that single bag, to those of the other females he knew who seemed to need ten bags to cross the street. He'd already picked up Dr. Gruenstein, who sat like a happy Buddha on the bench seat and smiled at them as they entered the carriage. Penny liked him a lot.
If the circumstances had not been so critical to her brother's health and well being, she could have immersed herself entirely in viewing the landscape as the carriage bowled them along. It was glorious country, as green as Montana after a spring rain, but even prettier.
"I've never seen daffodils just pop up beside the road like that," she said, awed by the beauty of the countryside.
"Well, they don't exactly pop up," Art told her. "People scatter the bulbs alongside the roadways."
She pulled her head inside the carriage so she could look at him. His indulgent smile made her stomach pitch crazily. "They do?"
"They do."
"What a lovely custom." She stuck her head out the window again and hoped the cool breeze would wipe away her hot blush. Merciful heavens, she didn't think she could stand much more of Art's company without doing something rash.
Harry was not as sanguine as Penny about the day's agenda. "To hell with the scenery," he declared hotly. "I don't need a damned alienist." Abashed, he apologized to Dr. Gruenstein, who only chuckled his indulgent chuckle. Penny wondered at the poor doctor's tolerance. First Art and now Harry insisted upon abusing him. Reluctantly she gave up on the scenery, drew her head inside the coach again, and smacked her brother's arm.
"Harry!" she said, much as she'd said Art! the day before.
"I said I'm sorry," Harry muttered, sounding like a defiant four-year-old.
Penny sniffed. "You know good and well your behavior has been outrageous lately, Harry. Don't you remember what you did at that awful party?"
Art glanced at her sharply, and she felt obliged to apologize in her turn. "I beg your pardon. But it was an awful party." She frowned at her brother. "Mostly because of your behavior, Harry, and you know it." Actually, it had been an awful party before that, but Penny didn't think she needed to confide the real reason she thought so: that her heart had been breaking to know that Art would marry Juliette Griffin.
"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled so softly she barely heard him.
"You do remember what you did, don't you?" she asked, eyeing him curiously.
He took a deep breath. "Sort of."
"What do you mean, sort of?"
Harry lifted his shoulders in a gesture bespeaking his helplessness. "I—I don't know. I sort of remember the incident, but it's more like I was watching it than participating in it." He looked around the carriage as if trying to find somebody—anybody—who understood. "It didn't feel like it was me who was being such an ass. It felt as though I was watching it all. Just like that time in Piccadilly."
"Hmmm," came from Dr. Gruenstein. Penny looked at him, but he didn't seem inclined to elucidate on his murmur.
"But you do admit that something's wrong?"
"Penny," Art said reprovingly.
Penny paused to give him a sharp look that said—or, at least she hoped it said—that he had nothing to do with this. Art Collingsworth didn't have an iota of faith in Dr. Gruenstein's theories and could, therefore, jolly well keep his opinions to himself. She guessed she got her point across, because he gave her a quick scowl and turned to look out his own window.
"Well, Harry? You have to admit that the trouble you've been getting into is atypical. You have to, because it's true."
"I guess." Harry didn't enjoy making the admission. Penny didn't blame him, but the truth, after all, was the truth.
"Well, then, I think it's to your advantage to talk to Dr. Gruenstein at Art's house and see if he can't offer you some helpful advice."
Harry squinted at his sister. "Advice?"
Penny nodded and tried to look innocent. "Advice. Nothing else, Harry, unless it's called for."
"And who's to say whether it's called for or not?"
"Well—"
"I won't do anything without your consent, Mr. Potter." Dr. Gruenstein cut in. "Believe me. There's no way I could do anything without it."
"Honestly?"
The doctor smiled his kind smile. "Honestly."
Harry looked relieved. Penny guessed she was glad of that, although she felt impelled to add, "But, Harry, if you keep on the way you've been doing, somebody's going to do something someday, with or without your consent. If you shoot off any more guns in public squares, you'll be sent to jail. Then all the doctors in the world won't be able to help you, especially if you hurt somebody."
Silence spread around Penny's bald words like ripples in still water. Harry's eyes went bleak, the first time she'd ever seen them thus.
She was sorry to have caused such distress in the brother she loved, but she felt a terrible need to get through to him. If somebody didn't get through to him soon, she feared her dismal prognostication would come true. She didn't think she'd be able to bear it if Harry ended up in jail. And their parents! Oh, merciful heavens. Penny couldn't even begin to feature what their parents would think. She decided not to remind Harry about their parents. Sometimes one could be too cruel in one's effort to do the right thing.
"All right," Harry said at last. "I'll go along with whatever you have planned. Unless it involves machines."
Dr. Gruenstein laughed cheerily. "No machines," he promised.
Harry looked relieved.
"My land," Penny breathed as she gazed at Art's Surrey home. Her gaze rose to follow the turrets soaring into the sky in front of her. They'd been traveling along a winding drive through a magnificent park for some minutes before they took one last turning, and the Collingsworth estate sprang into view. "I've never seen anything like this in my life."
Art was accustomed to his home; after all, he'd grown up in it. Today he looked at it as a stranger might. Especially if that stranger was an American from the wild and woolly territory of Montana. A lump grew in his throat, and perhaps for the first time he understood the full cost of everything his father and mother had to lose. This land had been in his family for generations. Art belonged to it as much as it belonged to him.
"It's—it is rather special, isn't it?" he said softly.
"Special? It's beautiful, Art. It's simply lovely."
"It has a name, you know. Collingswood."
"Collingswood." Penny repeated the name lovingly, as if it were sweet upon her tongue, and Art's heart ached for a moment.
She turned to look at him. As he beheld the sparkle in her eyes, he couldn't deny the wish that it would be she he would be carrying over the ancestral Collingsworth threshold instead of Juliette Griffin.
Oh, Juliette wanted Collingswood. She craved it in fact; he harbored not the least doubt about that. Art couldn't imagine Juliette appreciating it in the same way Penny did, though. Juliette's eyes would never glow from admiring the sheer beauty of the place. No. The only beauties Juliette would ever see in Collingswood were the name and the perceived glory that went with it.
Maybe it took an American to love it the way it should be loved. Art pondered the curious idea for the several more minutes it took the coach to sweep up to the front door. He'd sent word ahead, via Tipton, to inform his butler and housekeeper that he'd be arriving later in the day with guests. The butler, Granger, had been efficient as usual. With his wife, Granger stood at the massive front doors, his appearance infinitely more dignified than Art's ever was. Several maids in black dresses and crisp white aprons stood to attention behind Mrs. Granger, and two black-clad footmen stood behind the maids.
"My goodness, who are all those people?"
Penny sounded awed, and Art grinned. "It takes a lot of people to run an old mausoleum like Collingswood, Penny."
"You mean all those people work for you?"
"Every one of them."
She frowned. He saw her eyes squint when she turned to peer at him again.
"Do you mean to tell me that your family, which consists of you and your mother and father and—what? A brother and a sister?—need all of those people in order merely to get along?"
"Well, the house is pretty big, too, Penny. Don't forget the house. And the grounds. It takes a lot of labor to keep them looking like this, you know."
"Well..." She was still frowning when she craned her neck out the window again. "It seems awfully—extravagant, somehow, for one family to need all those people just to live."
Laughing, Art said, "I couldn't agree more."
"Is that the truth, Art?"
Harry's crisp tone startled his sister, who bumped her head drawing it back inside the carriage. It did the same to Art, who asked, "The truth? Of course it's the truth."
"Harry! Why are you looking at Art in that mean way?" Penny's hair had dripped out of its pins when she bumped her head, and she was madly coiling it back up again and stabbing at it with pins, higgledy-piggledy. Art was sure she'd never be able to manage it all, and wished he could help.
Harry didn't look at her. He glared at Art. "If you hired all those people to keep an eye on me, Art, I won't stand for it. Damn it, I know something's wrong with me, but I don't need keepers!"
"Harry!" Unmistakably shocked, Penny stopped stabbing pins into her hair. She sat still for a minute, poised with her hands to her head. The profile of her body was magnificent, and Art itched to study it more closely—preferably by hand. "How can you even think such a thing of Art and me?"
Dr. Gruenstein said, "Tut, tut, Mr. Potter. Things haven't come to such an extreme pass yet."
Harry turned his glare on the doctor. "Yet? What do you mean, yet?"
The poor little fellow shrugged.
With difficulty Art dragged his mind away from what he'd like to do with Penny's body. "For God's sake, Harry, what do you take me for? I'd never serve you such a trick."
"I wouldn't let him," Penny added, her voice plainly conveying the truth of her words. She jabbed one last pin into her hair and dropped her arms. Art sighed.
Harry eyed his sister narrowly. "You mean it, Pen?"
"Oh, Harry." Her eyes filled with her easy tears, and Art wanted to hug her, an effect that didn't surprise him nearly as much as it used to. "How can you even ask me that?"
Harry still looked unconvinced, although his hostility wavered. "Well," he said, his voice very soft, "I know I haven't been myself lately. I know I've become—well—kind of out of control."
Dr. Gruenstein nodded.
Penny said, "Oh, Harry," again, and had to blow her nose.
"That's why we've come here, Harry," Art told him. "But we'd never set spies on you or give you into the hands of—of keepers without trying our best to figure out what's going on and cure it first. Believe me, old man, we care about you too much for that."
"We love you, Harry," his sister declared, her voice thick.
Art thought about that for a moment before he said, "Yes. We love you, Harry." Since one man seldom, if ever, professed his love for another man, and he didn't want Harry getting any false ideas, he added gruffly, "For God's sake, Harry, you're my best friend. Have been ever since school."
Harry still looked tense for a moment or two before his shoulders slumped and he let out a breath. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I—I—" He had to take a deep breath. Then he blurted out, "I'm scared as hell, Art."
"Oh, Harry!" Penny cried yet once more.
Harry bowed his head and muttered softly, "I'm afraid I'm going crazy."
"We're going to do all we can to help you, Harry," Art said.
"Yah, we will do all we can do," Dr. Gruenstein confirmed.
Penny couldn't speak, but only held her handkerchief to her drippy eyes and nodded.
Art and Harry clasped hands across the coach, and Penny had to blow her nose again.
Dr. Gruenstein beamed at the three of them.
The doctor's first experiment at mesmerizing Harry came that evening after an excellent meal prepared by the Collingsworths' cook, under the supervision of Mrs. Granger. The meal was served without wine or any other spirits. Art had told Mrs. Granger to remove the decanters that normally rested on the sideboard and to serve lemonade to his guests.
Penny had never seen so many dishes served at one meal in her life. She couldn't help but consider all this opulence wasteful, and to tell Art so.
A little exasperated, Art huffed, "Oh, for God's sake, Penny, life is different over here. That's all. We don't roast meat over open pits like you do back in Montana. We eat our meals indoors, with servants to serve them."
Bridling, Penny snapped, "We eat indoors, too, Art Collingsworth, and we even have a stove and a cook. But we don't need ten people to wait on four. That's ridiculous. And think of the waste." She waved her hand over the table to indicate all the uneaten food.
"What do you think the servants eat, Penny? We never have leftovers, because this—what you think of as waste—is eaten by them as well."
Penny looked unconvinced. "Well..."
Since Art had been begging his father to cut back on the domestic staff at Collingswood for years now, he felt a little hypocritical objecting to Penny's observations. Yet it galled him that she, a newcomer—and an American, to boot—should voice his own objections. He hauled out one of his father's patented answers. "Collingswood offers these people employment, Penny. Without their jobs here, they might have no employment at all."
"But so many people for one family!"
"We have public days, too, in case you didn't know it. Collingswood attracts hundreds of visitors, all of whom enjoy going through the house and grounds. Collingswood is a national treasure, and it costs a fortune to keep it up."
She blinked, clearly not having anticipated the public aspects of keeping a lofty position in Britain.
"The staff at Collingswood, both for the house and for the grounds, live in the village, Penny. The businesses—the grocers, butchers, blacksmiths, barbers, milliners, laundresses, and so forth—earn their livings from the people residing there. If it weren't for the employment afforded by Collingswood, I hate to think about how many people not directly employed here would suffer."
"My goodness gracious."
Penny appeared almost stunned. Feeling close to victory, Art zeroed in to deliver his final shot. "Penny, the families of some of these people have worked for the Collingsworths—at Collingswood—for two centuries. They're as much a part of the family as the family is."
"Good heavens!"
"So you might want to take all of those things into consideration before you jump to conclusions."
"Penny? Never." Harry laughed his old Harry-like laugh, and Art grinned.
She opened her mouth, but shut it before she said anything. Art experienced a satisfying sense of triumph at having silenced her. Then she opened her mouth again, and he guessed he should have known it would take more than a sensible rejoinder to silence Penny Potter. God, he loved her!
"Aren't there any other jobs that need doing in England?"
"Of course there are." Art's exasperation flared again.
"Penny," Harry said good-humoredly, interrupting before she could say anything else, "quit badgering poor Art. He's not used to people finding fault with everything. How'd you like it if he came to Montana and criticized everything we've known and loved all our lives?"
Her eyes opened wide. "Oh, Art, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to criticize!"
Harry shook his head and grinned. Art shook his head, too, but he couldn't find a grin to save his life. "What did you think you were doing, then? Just out of curiosity, mind."
She looked nonplused for a moment. "Well—well, I was just interested, is all."
"I see." Art's gaze visited the ceiling. It was a lovely ceiling, all carved cherubim flittering amongst piled clouds and stars. It took two maids a day and a half to clean it twice a year, and Art couldn't stop himself from thinking those two women might be employed doing something more useful with their time than cleaning the Collingsworth ceiling. He didn't tell Penny so.
"I'm sorry," she repeated.
He could tell she was contrite. "It's quite all right, Penny. I understand how you, as an American, might view the class system prevailing in my country as archaic." He felt really rather magnanimous saying so.
"It's different," she admitted.
"It's a hell of a lot better than some places," Harry told her. He turned to Art, his smile genuine. Except for the lines of worry around his lips and eyes, he looked like the old Harry "Remember Brazil, Art?"
Art shuddered. "How could I not remember Brazil? I've never had to eat termites before."
Penny said, "Ew!"
Dr. Gruenstein laughed with delight.
The lighthearted banter ended soon enough. After coffee had been served in the parlor, the mood began to tighten up.
Penny felt it; it started with Harry, spread to Art, and ended with her. The doctor seemed immune, but she figured that was because he, as an alienist, was above being anxious. She wished she were so lucky.
After they'd been silent for a full five minutes, Dr. Gruenstein said, "So, Mr. Potter, I think we should discuss with you what we think might be happening to you."
Harry eyed the doctor warily. Dr. Gruenstein's benign twinkle didn't seem to reassure him much. Penny's heart hurt for her brother.
Very gently the doctor said, "We won't do anything to cause you harm, Mr. Potter. We want only to discover what is the cause of your distress and to ease it, if we can. Your sister and Mr. Collingsworth are very worried about you."
Harry darted a glance at Penny, who nodded, and at Art, who continued to gaze at him steadily. After a moment he said, "All right. I guess I have to do something."
"Yah. Is best. If you don't do something, one of these days somebody else will do it for you, I fear."
"Dr. Gruenstein has experience with cases like yours, Harry," Penny said quickly. Then, when she remembered how those cases had ended, she wished she'd kept her mouth shut. She stammered, "And—and so does the church, too."
"The church?" Harry's eyes narrowed as he watched her.
Now she doubly wished she'd kept her mouth shut.
"Both your sister and Dr. Gruenstein seem to believe that your body has been invaded by a devil, Harry."
Art's comment was made without inflection, but Penny heard his skepticism anyway, and bridled. "Art!"
"What?"
Harry's roar made her jump. "Not a devil, Harry," she said quickly, and turned to glare at Art. "It's not a devil, Art, and you know it. It's a—it's a—" Oh, dear. No matter what she said, it sounded silly. For the first time, Penny realized how her theory would sound to Harry, and she wished she could wash Art's mouth out with soap and water for spilling the beans.
"Don't worry, Mr. Potter," Dr. Gruenstein cut in. "We aren't devil chasers." He chuckled softly. "I have come across two cases in my career in which a man's body has been influenced by the baleful spirit of another man. It is just such a harmful spirit, I believe, that is influencing you."
"What?" Harry said again. His brows veed ominously over his eyes, which had never looked so hard to his sister.
Dr. Gruenstein walked over and patted Harry on the shoulder. He visibly winced, and the doctor sighed. "Here, Mr. Potter. Let me see if I can explain this thing to you." The doctor gestured Harry into a chair. He sat reluctantly, but didn't drop his posture of a man ready to bolt at the first sign that he might be held against his will. Penny sat, too, and kneaded her hands in her lap as the doctor carefully explained his theory to Harry.
It took some doing, but eventually Dr. Gruenstein convinced Harry that he should at least allow himself to be hypnotized. Harry still claimed not to believe in evil spirits infesting bodies.
"Think of it as something akin to a bacillus, Mr. Potter," Dr. Gruenstein said soothingly. "We have just learned that it is a bacterium which causes consumption. Think of this malignant spirit as a bacterium that is attacking you from within and causing your behavior to be diseased. Like the bacillus that causes consumption, this spirit will weaken your body and your spirit if it is not stopped."
"Well, I guess that makes a little sense." Harry frowned heavily at the doctor. "But not much."
"If we can determine exactly what this influence is," Dr. Gruenstein continued, "perhaps we will be able to negate it, or remove it from your body."
"How do you expect that to be accomplished?"
Penny saw her brother's fingers tighten on the arm of his chair, and wished she could put her arms around him as she used to do when she was a little girl. She wasn't a little girl anymore, though, and Harry wasn't a little boy. He was a man, and he was in trouble, and all she could do was watch and pray.
"If we can talk to this spiritual bacterium while you are under its influence, I hope it can give us a clue as to how to get rid of it."
"Talk to it? How do you expect to do that?"
"Through the medium of hypnosis, Mr. Potter. It is my theory, which I hope to test this evening, that this influence is only able to affect you when your natural resources are subdued, as when you have been drinking. I am hoping that if you relax sufficiently during hypnosis, it will come forward."
"Will—will it hurt me?" Harry licked his lips, and Penny realized exactly how worried he was about all this.
"I don't know," Dr. Gruenstein told him candidly. "If you don't allow this, I can think of nothing else to do. I fear it might take over completely one day, and that would certainly do you no good. Nor would your family and friends be pleased."
"Right," Harry said, subdued.
At last he allowed himself to be moved to a cozy chair that Dr. Gruenstein had placed in front of the fire. Dr. Gruenstein sat in another easy chair across from Harry, leaned forward, and chatted as if he had all the time in the world. He spoke of inconsequentials, never once raising his voice, never again mentioning the therapy they were about to undertake. He seemed willing to remain there talking about trifling matters for as long as it took Harry to relax sufficiently to be mesmerized.
Penny could only marvel at Dr. Gruenstein's easygoing nature. She'd have gotten mad and hollered at Harry long before now if she'd been alone with him. Unconsciously, she edged closer to Art, from whose warm, solid body she derived a good deal of consolation. It seemed natural to her when he wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder, and she smiled at him in thanks. His expression was very tender as he looked down at her.
"It will be all right, Penny," he murmured.
Penny wanted to nuzzle his chin with her cheek, and only stopped herself from doing so when she remembered she was nothing to him, and he was nothing to her. Or they should be nothing to each other, at any rate. With a deep sigh, she watched Dr. Gruenstein take a pocket watch on a long gold chain out of his vest pocket.
So it was about to begin! She went tense all of a sudden and didn't realize when her hand slipped around Art's waist. She appreciated it when his arm tightened on her shoulder.
"It often helps," Dr. Gruenstein said in a soothing, conversational tone of voice, "to focus on a bright object. If you were to allow yourself to concentrate on my watch, you might find the effort relaxing. Just let yourself look at the watch as it sways there. The trick to all of this is to let yourself relax. Just relax. Relax. Relax."
His German accent didn't seem nearly as sibilant this evening, Penny thought drowsily. It was actually quite charming. And it was definitely calming. Her head felt heavy, and she almost didn't know when it tilted to rest against Art's shoulder. His arm felt good around her, and she felt warm and safe as her eyes, too, fastened on the watch swaying back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, and Dr. Gruenstein's voice droned on and on and on.
She sighed, and her eyes began to close even as she stood there watching.
All at once Harry's body jerked upright, shocking Penny to attention. In alarm, she threw her other arm around Art. He held her tight.
"Who the hell are you, and where the hell am I?" came out of Harry Potter's mouth in a high, nasal, unpleasant voice.
Penny gasped.
Art whispered, "Damn."
Dr. Gruenstein smiled.