SEVERAL DAYS OF the unvarying routine of early rising, the detested cold-water treatments, communal meals, and delightful walks through the Malvern Hills passed, before Cecilia was informed, as she sat with her book in a wicker chair on the porch, that Dr Gully would be pleased to interview her at four o’clock in the afternoon. At home she would have devoted at least an hour to the selection of the proper dress and accessories and putting up her hair, but in the relaxed atmosphere of the hydro she merely arrived at the appointed hour in her usual smock with her auburn curls tied back with a black ribbon. ‘You may go in,’ said a female attendant standing outside the arched doorway to the clinic director’s study on the ground floor of the ladies’ building.
Cecilia turned the handle and peered inside the spacious office; Dr Gully sat at his walnut desk, surrounded by bookshelves, before a tall window with a view of the garden. With a benevolent smile, he rose from his chair and said, ‘Please have a seat, Mrs Castello,’ gesturing to one of the red leather armchairs. Cecilia smiled nervously and sat, quickly glancing around the room, illuminated by sunlight from the window in which motes of dust were suspended, with a Persian carpet and the pleasant aromas of pipe tobacco and abraded leather. ‘I’ve been acquainted with your family, of course,’ the doctor began in a conversational tone, ‘for many years. Tell me, dear, the origin of the name Castello?’
‘It’s Portuguese,’ replied Cecilia. ‘My husband’s family are British, but they came from Portugal, quite a long time ago.’
‘I see. And I believe I detect an Australian accent.’
‘Yes,’ said Cecilia, feeling quite relaxed by the doctor’s easy-going manner. ‘I spent my early childhood there, though, as you know, my family’s Scottish and we divide our time between London and Oxfordshire.’
Donning a pair of reading glasses, Gully opened a folder on his desk, turned several pages, and said, ‘I gather your difficulties have arisen in relation to your husband?’
‘Yes, but I …’ Fighting back tears, she began again: ‘After Richard resigned his commission, he seemed to undergo a change, and he, well, he began drinking rather too much, or too often …’
Reclining in his chair with his fingertips touching, and the same benevolent expression in his eyes, the doctor elicited a lengthy though at times halting narrative of the marital difficulties that had culminated in Cecilia’s departure from home and decision to seek refuge at her parents’ country estate. Occasionally jotting a note, Gully put his pen aside and said, ‘Thank you, my dear, for confiding in me. I’m sure this has been terribly painful.’ Cecilia nodded and dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. Rising abruptly, Gully hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat over his rounded belly and began to pace by the window. ‘Women,’ he said at length, ‘are expected in our society to accept such behaviour in a marriage without complaint. To do their duty.’
He paused and looked Cecilia in the eye, who nodded glumly and said, ‘Yes, Father insists I must return home.’
‘Which,’ Gully continued, ‘in many instances, is a profound error. From all that you’ve told me, and much that I reckon you haven’t, I believe that your husband, Mrs Castello, is an alcoholic and probably beyond redemption. And like many such men, especially coming from a military background, given to abusing his wife, even to violence.’
Cecilia raised her red-rimmed eyes and whispered, ‘He struck me. In the face. Before the servants. And flung me to the ground, ruining the organdie roses in my sash!’
Gully leaned forward, resting his palms on his desk. ‘May I call you Cecilia?’ he asked.
‘Of course.’
‘I’m afraid, Cecilia,’ he said gently, ‘it would be hazardous in the extreme to return to your husband.’
‘But Father insists …’
‘I’m well acquainted with the attitude of men like your father. Tell me, Cecilia,’ he said, folding his arms on his chest. ‘Are there issues of infidelity?’
Blushing, Cecilia nodded.
‘Have you confronted your husband?’
‘Yes,’ she replied softly, wiping away tears. ‘After the, ah, the first woman. And of course he insisted … it was a lapse in judgement, that it wouldn’t …’
Dr Gully nodded and said, ‘But then …’
‘But then there were other liaisons, reported to me by the housemaids.’
‘I’m afraid, Cecilia,’ said Gully firmly, ‘you have no choice. You must remain separated from your husband.’
‘How can I? When my time here is finished, how could I possibly…?’
‘Your father,’ said Gully, sitting down and resting his elbows on his desk, ‘has arranged for you to spend four weeks with us.’ Cecilia nodded. ‘I believe we should find a way to extend your stay. It will be midsummer, after all, the ideal season for the cure.’
Cecilia found that the doctor’s mild yet firm tone and his attractive, though not handsome, looks for a man in his mid-sixties were not only comforting but also exerted a certain magnetic attraction. ‘I should like that,’ she said with a smile that dimpled her cheeks.
‘Is your husband a man of means?’ asked the doctor.
She nodded. ‘Richard comes from a well-to-do family. His father is a Tory MP and the founder of the international telegraph company, and his mother is the sister of the Duke of Fife. They have a large house in Kensington.’
‘I see,’ said Gully, stroking his chin. ‘Well, dear,’ he concluded, rising from his chair, ‘let me give this some thought, and we’ll talk again in several days.’
Cecilia paused on the brick path to listen to a distant rumble. A mass of charcoal cloud billowed above the horizon across the valley. ‘I expect we’re due for another downpour,’ said Agnes, standing at Cecilia’s elbow. The past several days had been marked by bright sunshine and warm temperatures through the early afternoon followed by rain showers. Cecilia strolled by the roses, inhaling the bouquet and listening to the buzz of insects and the songbirds in the tall oaks. ‘I’m growing to like the hydro,’ she said, ‘notwithstanding the water treatments and the disagreeable old ladies we’re thrown with.’
‘And the wretched food,’ said Agnes, leaning over to smell a bright pink rose. ‘I’m craving a cup of tea and a biscuit.’
‘Or a glass of wine,’ said Cecilia. ‘But you’ll be leaving soon.’
‘My time’s almost up,’ said Agnes. ‘I must say it’s done me a world of good. The pain in my side’s completely gone.’
‘I shall miss you.’
Giving her a sidelong glance, Agnes said, ‘You’ll make another friend. Tell me your impressions of Dr Gully.’
Rounding a corner, Cecilia sat on a wrought-iron bench, and Agnes dropped down beside her. ‘Oh, he’s a most remarkable man,’ said Cecilia. ‘I never imagined that someone of his reputation would take an interest in me.’
‘Though it’s none of my business,’ said Agnes, glancing up at the darkening sky, ‘what did he recommend?’
‘Well,’ said Cecilia, lowering her voice, ‘he believes I must defy my father and remain separated from my husband. And extend my stay at the hydro.’
‘I see. I think you should be very careful, as we have very little means of resisting our husbands, or fathers. I cautioned you that the doctor holds very liberal views on the place of women. Why, he even advocates the suffrage.’
‘And I think he’s quite correct,’ said Cecilia, excited but puzzled by the impact of the suffrage, and hearing the first patter of raindrops on the leaves overhead. ‘Oh my,’ she exclaimed as the skies opened and both women leapt up and started for the building. ‘We’ll be drenched.’
Cecilia stood at the dresser brushing out her auburn hair and examining her reflection in the mirror. After weeks of warm sunshine, a cold, steady rain was falling, beading the window and obscuring her view of the nearby hillside. Putting the silver-handled hairbrush aside, she picked up a watercolour from the dresser and studied the landscape of the Malvern Hills blanketed in spring wildflowers, painted by Agnes on one of their outings and presented to Cecilia as a parting gift. At the sound of a gentle tap, she walked to the door, leaned her head close, and said, ‘Yes? What is it?’
‘A message from Dr Gully, mum,’ replied an attendant. ‘He wishes to see you in his study.’
Cecilia returned to the mirror, powdered her cheeks, added a touch of rouge, and put up her hair with pins and ribbons. Lastly, she applied a dab of perfume to her wrists from the vial she had secreted in the dresser drawer and hurried from the room. She found Dr Gully standing before his desk, wearing a pale-green waistcoat under his black frockcoat and the same genial expression as before. ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, reaching out to take Cecilia’s hands. ‘You’re looking well.’
‘Thank you, Doctor.’
‘Call me James.’
Taken aback, Cecilia said, ‘Oh. Well, then, thank you, James. I’m feeling much better. The treatments have worked wonders.’
‘I’m delighted to hear it. Ah, what an inviting fragrance.’
‘From Paris.’
Gesturing to the settee and chairs arranged before the stone hearth, where a cheerful fire was burning, Gully said, ‘Please sit down, my dear.’
Once he was seated facing her on the settee, Gully said, ‘A dreary day, though I suppose we were overdue for a change.’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ve been giving considerable thought to your situation, Cecilia.’ Gully spoke in an avuncular tone, crossing one polished boot over his knee. ‘I remain convinced that it would be a grave mistake to return to your husband.’
‘I should have explained,’ said Cecilia, ‘that Father is providing us with an annual allowance of a thousand pounds, which, if I go against his wishes….’
Raising a hand, Gully said, ‘Never mind your father. I’ve decided to act as your legal representative and demand that your husband provide you with the support to which you’re entitled. I’ll arrange for you to remain here at the hydro. Free of charge, of course.’
‘But Dr Gully … James … I couldn’t possibly accept such an offer. It’s far, far too generous.’
‘I insist on it. My solicitor is drawing up the papers for my appointment as your guardian. In the interim, I’ve taken the liberty of drafting a letter for your signature advising Captain Castello of your decision and demanding suitable recompense.’
Conscious of her racing heart and a sensation of light-headedness – could he do this, what an astonishing idea? – Cecilia merely nodded and said, ‘I see.’
Gully rose from his chair and went to his desk. ‘Here it is,’ he said, handing her a single sheet of bond. He stood with his back to the fire as she read it, advising her husband that as his behaviour toward her made life intolerable she was formally demanding a separation and the payment of alimony in an amount sufficient to provide for her living expenses. ‘He’ll protest, no doubt,’ said Gully, as Cecilia looked up, ‘but in the end he’ll come round.’
Deliverance from her terrible dilemma, considered Cecilia, under the protection, the guardianship, of a great man like the doctor, was far more than she had ever imagined possible. And, it struck her with sudden clarity, a deliverance that her father would be powerless to prevent. Her father, after all, had authored the suggestion to place her under Dr Gully’s care. ‘Oh, James,’ she exclaimed, rising from the settee and impulsively throwing her arms around him, ‘how could I ever repay you?’
‘Don’t worry, dear,’ he said, patting her back. ‘It’s nothing for a man of my means. Now,’ he concluded, taking her gently by the shoulders, ‘you must sign the letter and I must be off to my next appointment.’
Within days Cecilia received a reply in the form of a telegram demanding that she return home at once. This was followed by a long letter in her husband’s hand expressing his sincere apology for his ‘excesses’ and ‘maltreatment of my beloved wife’, together with a pledge to reform his behaviour and ‘begin anew their life together’. Though she answered neither the telegram nor the letter, she penned a note to her parents explaining the course of action she was taking and begging their acquiescence. Cecilia was, in fact, relishing her new-found and wholly unexpected liberation, free from her father, her husband, and yes – from her corsets – plunging into the therapeutic regimens of the hydro with the gusto of a recent convert and without the least concern or sympathy for her husband. She no longer missed the company of Agnes, or sought any other female companionship, as she was entirely absorbed with thoughts of the revered doctor … of James. During the leisure hours of the afternoon she devoted herself to reading the great man’s publications, gamely ploughing through the turgid prose of his treatise on hydropathy and academic writings on the virtues of homeopathic medicine. As she sat in her usual chair in the library with a thick medical text open in her lap she was approached by one of the female attendants who bowed and said, ‘You have a letter, mum.’
‘Thank you,’ said Cecilia, accepting an envelope. Tearing it open, she read her father’s neat cursive. Your mother and I, he wrote, have endeavoured to conform to your stated desire that we accept your decision to separate from Capt. Castello, but are unable to do so. She felt little emotion as she quickly finished the letter, in which her father, above all a man of business, advised that her marital allowance could not be continued under the circumstances yet acknowledged that she was free to accept the protection and generosity offered by the estimable Dr Gully and to remain under his care at the sanatorium, as her return to Buscot Park would be unacceptable. Refolding the letter in the envelope, Cecilia reflected with a sigh that the loss of her father’s support was the price of her permanent separation from her husband. Exiting the library to return to her room, she observed Dr Gully as he emerged from the Bridge of Sighs and entered the lobby. Hurrying to him, she said, ‘James … is there any news?’
‘In point of fact there is,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’ve just returned from an interview with my solicitor, who informs me that your husband has declined to file an objection to the guardianship.’
With a quick glance to make sure they were alone, Cecilia said, ‘Thank heavens.’
‘What’s more,’ said Gully cheerfully, ‘he’s indicated his willingness to negotiate an alimony settlement. It appears that he wishes to put the matter behind him.’
‘Oh, James,’ said Cecilia, clutching his arm. ‘How can I ever thank you?’
‘There is something that would please me very much.’
‘And what is that?’
‘As tomorrow is Sunday,’ said Gully, placing his hand on her arm, pressing the cotton cloth against her, ‘I intend to take my customary long walk in the hills. You could accompany me.’
A month had passed since Cecilia’s arrival at the hydro, it was early summer, warm and verdant, and the quotidian customs of English country life in the thirty-fourth year of the reign of Victoria remained comfortingly traditional, circumspect, and solidly middle class. Never more so than on the Sabbath, with obligatory attendance of services at the parish church followed by a hearty repast, a nap, and, for those so inclined, an outing in the Malvern Hills. As it was generally understood among the staff and other female guests that Dr Gully had taken a ‘special interest’ in the young Mrs Castello – though his legal guardianship was a carefully kept secret – their departure together on the footpath attracted little notice from the women reclining on chaises or sitting in wicker on the porch overlooking the garden. The doctor was attired in an alpine hat and jacket, with tweed plus-fours, woollen socks, and laced-up boots. Cecilia wore her long cotton smock, belted at her slender waist, sturdy walking shoes and a wide-brimmed straw hat tied with a ribbon under her chin. Both carried alpenstocks and Gräfenberg flasks, and a rucksack was slung on the doctor’s shoulders. ‘A perfect afternoon,’ he commented, as they started down the grassy path. Cecilia nodded as she walked in his footsteps, glancing up the bright blue sky and cottony clouds that cast irregular shadows across the valley in the warm June sunshine.
Feeling utterly at ease as she strolled alongside him, Cecilia said, ‘I never thought to ask, James, but is this your birthplace?’
‘What, Worcestershire?’ he said with a smile. ‘Heavens no. I was born and brought up in Jamaica.’ When she responded with a surprised look, he said, ‘I grew up on a large coffee plantation owned by my father, rather like your experience growing up in Australia, I suppose.’ Halting at a fork in the path, he briefly studied the signpost and said, ‘To the left, toward Sugarloaf Hill.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Willow Crescent,’ said Gully. ‘My favourite destination, with a view of the entire Malvern valley.’ Leaning on his staff as they began a gentle ascent, he said, ‘Yes, I fondly remember my early years in Jamaica. A life of luxury, in a large colonial villa on Blue Mountain, native servants attending to one’s every need….’
‘What happened?’
‘I was sent to Britain, to study medicine at Edinburgh. It was while I was there, in 1833, that the Emancipation Act was passed, freeing the slaves in the West Indies. My father, of course, was ruined and, as a consequence, I learned my first truly important life lesson.’ He stopped at a bend in the path and surveyed the hill above them on their left.
‘Which was…?’
‘To make my own way in life, relying on my own resources and ingenuity.’
Cecilia nodded and smiled, thinking, no man has ever spoken to me like this, as he might speak to his fellow man, even to his equal. ‘Would you say,’ she asked, ‘that this lesson should be applied to a female?’
‘I would indeed,’ he said, starting off again. After the lapse of a quarter hour, walking in silence except for the doctor’s occasional comments on the local flora and geologic conditions, the path turned steeply upward, a series of switchbacks in the final ascent to the shoulder of Sugarloaf Hill. Their exertions were rewarded with an exceptional vista: the whole of the broad Malvern valley ringed by pale-blue hills lay before them in bright sunshine. Willow Crescent was a treeless, rounded summit, with a smooth, lichen-covered outcropping of limestone that served as a natural resting place to picnic or merely take in the panoramic view. ‘Magnificent,’ said Gully, as he shrugged off his rucksack and patted his brow with his handkerchief.
Cecilia, breathing hard, uncorked her flask and took a long swallow of cold spring water. She stretched out beside Gully on the limestone ledge and rested on an elbow, the fabric of her wonderfully simple dress tucked about her ankles. ‘I’m certain I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.’ Shading her eyes with a hand, she said, ‘Is that the hydro?’
Gully nodded, gazing at the turrets of the Tudor mansion on the distant ridgeline, and said, ‘It is indeed.’ He turned to Cecilia, smiled, and said, ‘I’ve brought us a treat.’ He carefully unpacked the contents of the rucksack: a tin of wheat biscuits, round of cheese, a ripe pear, and two small cups. ‘A good, aged Stilton,’ he said, ‘and, what’s more,’ – he paused to uncork his leather flask and pour each of them a cup of straw-coloured wine – ‘a decent Moselle.’
‘Mmm,’ said Cecilia, taking a sip and enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. ‘The first wine I’ve tasted since leaving home.’
‘Well,’ said Gully with a chuckle, ‘as we’re outside the jurisdiction of the clinic …’ Taking a penknife from his pocket, he sliced the pear and spread cheese on several biscuits.
After sampling the fruit and cheese and taking another sip of wine, Cecilia said, ‘James, I’ve been reading your publications on, ah, homeopathic medicine….’
‘Excellent,’ he said encouragingly.
‘I was hoping you might elaborate.’
‘Of course.’
Sitting up and crossing her legs beneath her skirt, Cecilia listened with rapt attention, moving her ankles a bit and occasionally helping herself to more wine and cheese, as Dr Gully propounded his controversial views on the importance of diet, certain foods in particular, fresh air and exercise, and cold water therapy in the treatment of a host of chronic ailments. ‘And,’ he concluded, ‘in the prevention of any number of maladies that so often are the consequence of the propensity of our race to indulge in the consumption of rich food, animal fats, tobacco, and’ – he paused to take a sip of wine – ‘alcohol in excess.’
Cecilia, feeling the unaccustomed, pleasurable effects of the wine, stared into Gully’s lively, intelligent eyes, restraining the impulse to reach out and touch him, possibly just to run the tip of her fingers along the side of his face. ‘James,’ she said after a moment, ‘I’m quite sure I’ve never been happier … than when we’re together.’