The weekends were a kind of holiday in the hospital, if only in the sense that we took a break from routine. After Saturday morning there were no therapies, although sometimes if a patient became troublesome she might have to be put under restraint for the protection of herself and others, but this did not need either Morgan or me. Technically we were off duty from midday Saturday onwards, although the rule was that one of us was always on hand in case some emergency arose.
In the afternoon the patients’ stultifying routine was relaxed. In the day room the cover was taken off an old upright piano that stood in one corner and a member of the staff would play popular tunes upon it, and sometimes patients too, the ones who could be trusted not to damage the instrument. The pianist would play dance tunes and the patients were permitted to dance with one another, or on their own if they wished, as some of them did, standing swaying about in time to the music, lost in whatever worlds their minds inhabited.
Observing these sessions was like watching dolls come to life. Deadpan expressions became animated, sullen looks turned to smiles, lifeless eyes shone brightly. There was a hubbub about the place that gladdened the heart to see and convinced me that the philosophy of Moral Treatment was right; if we only treated these poor women with kindness and made an effort to engage them in real life, they would respond by becoming so much more human, more like their former healthy selves, and have a better chance of being cured.
Of course, it was not all plain sailing. Often one of the women would grow over-excited by the dancing, the lack of restraint and the noise, and play up or become hysterical. Sometimes a collision on the dance floor would lead to an argument or even a physical fight. There were disputes over the piano and squabbles about which tune should be played next. All of this was ammunition for Morgan, when I ventured to suggest that an improvement came over the patients with the more relaxed regime, to argue back that it was all right for a limited time but would always eventually end in tears.
On Sunday morning there was a service in the hospital chapel that everyone was expected to attend, staff and patients alike. Morgan himself read the lesson in something of a drone that I’m sure was calculated to be soporific, so as not to arouse the emotions of his audience but to maintain them on a manageable level. So well did he succeed that his discourse was always punctuated by snores from the inmates. Afterwards we sang hymns, with one of the attendants accompanying on the chapel organ, old favourites like ‘Shall We Gather at the River’ and ‘Rock of Ages’. There was a certain lack of reserve in the way these were rendered, with many of the women overly lusty in ringing out the words and others so out of tune as to provide myriad descants.
Luncheon was much looked forward to by the patients, for they were given proper soup followed by some decent roast meat, not a great quantity but not fatty or rancid like the normal fare, and there were a few vegetables too. The meal was always consumed with a lively buzz of conversation, which was not only on account of the food itself, but also in anticipation of what was to follow, because that was when visitors were allowed.
On this particular occasion, it was almost as if the patients’ Sunday excitement had transmitted itself to Morgan, so much did he seem to be looking forward to his examination of Jane Dove. I swear even his moustache was bristling with anticipation, and he was like some animal eager to devour its prey as we walked along the corridor to her room.
When we entered, Jane was sitting in one of her armchairs. She stood up awkwardly and dropped him a half curtsy. Morgan nodded at her and then looked about at the arrangement of the room, the pictures, the sorry-looking furniture, the battered armchairs, the scratched table, the well-trodden rug, and said, ‘Well, this is a surprise, I’m sure. I had no idea we were running a luxury hotel here, absolutely no idea at all.’
I managed a thin smile at this; it was better to indulge his humour than challenge him, which would only upset him and prejudice him even more against poor Jane. I looked at her for signs of nervousness and was relieved to see she appeared calm and in control of herself. It was a complete contrast to the turbulence I felt within my own breast, but then it was always much more difficult to rely on someone else rather than yourself; you never knew when they might let you down.
Morgan gestured to Jane to resume her seat and then settled himself in the other armchair facing her. He gave her a broad smile. ‘I understand from Dr Shepherd that you have made the most marvellous progress under his new regimen.’ His voice dripped sarcasm.
‘Sir, I have tried my best to improve myself,’ she said innocently, as if taking him at face value.
As I stood behind Morgan where he could not see me, my jaw must have dropped open. I had never found humility to be one of Jane’s attributes.
‘Very well then, let me hear you read.’
Jane looked about her as if in search of something suitable. On the desk were The Complete Works and Great Expectations. I walked over to it and picked up the latter and held it up, ‘What about this, Jane? Can you read a little of this for Dr Morgan, do you think?’
‘Yes, sir, I will try.’ She looked sweetly at Morgan. ‘But you must make allowances for any mistakes, sir. I have not long learned.’
Morgan nodded. It was obvious he anticipated some half-baked disaster. I handed Jane the book and she opened it at the beginning and began. ‘My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my infant tongue …’
Her voice was clear and she ‘read’ with great expression. What was especially clever – a thing we had not worked on together – was that every few words she would stumble over a word and then correct herself, or pause and stare hard at the book, her lips moving to herself as though she was trying to spell out the letters before continuing. I stole a glance at Morgan and saw, as he watched, the smugness vanish from his face and something akin to admiration replace it. Outside we could hear the chatter and laughter of the visitors who had just arrived on the boat. It somehow magnified the quiet and tension in the room.
But Jane seemed oblivious to it all. At the end of the first paragraph she paused and looked up at Morgan. He waved a hand at her. ‘Go on, my dear, go on.’ I wondered for a moment if he suspected the trick that was being played upon him, but Jane handled the situation perfectly, unable to prevent – or so it seemed – a little smile of triumph appearing, as if she was pleased with herself at reading for him, and then immediately stumbling on the next word, taking some time, it seemed, to work it out, which had Morgan leaning forward in his chair in anticipation of having caught her out, but then sinking back as she managed the word and went confidently on.
After another few lines he held up a hand. ‘That’s enough of that,’ he said. ‘Now I’d like to hear you read something else, if you please.’
My heart was in my mouth. Jane shot me an anxious glance. This is what we had hoped would not happen, that she would have to rely on the trick with the broken back of the book. For the moment I was unclear whether Morgan intended her to move to another passage of her own choosing or if he meant to take the book from her and find another piece himself. Before I could find out, there came a knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ said Morgan, somewhat impatiently, obviously annoyed at the interruption.
The door opened and Eva’s head appeared around it. ‘Oh, Dr Morgan,’ she said. ‘Sorry, sir, I did not know you would be here.’
‘Well, I am. What do you want, girl?’ he said brusquely.
‘It’s Dr Shepherd I wanted, sir,’ she said.
‘Is there a problem?’ I said.
‘Oh, no, sir,’ she replied with a smile. ‘Not a problem at all. You have a visitor, sir. A young lady.’
My mouth fell open. My legs turned to water and my head swam. I thought I was going to faint. ‘A young lady?’
‘Yes, sir. She’s waiting downstairs in the staff sitting room.’
I turned to stone. I could neither speak nor move. Morgan swung round in his chair and looked up at me and said, ‘Well, go on, man. You had better go and see to her.’
‘B-but –’ I stammered.
He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Don’t worry about us, man. I can take care of things here on my own. Off you go now, doesn’t do to keep a lady waiting.’ He sounded like an indulgent father.
I managed to get my feet going and shuffled over to the door, moving like a man in leg irons. It was only as I was going out that I remembered Jane and caught the look in her eye that cried out, Please don’t abandon me! I could not even think about her now. She and her future had suddenly become the least of my problems. I summoned the weakest of smiles and turned away.
Outside Eva was waiting for me and set off ahead of me. I was in a blind panic and my instinct when we reached the bottom of the stairs was to head out of the front door and run, but no sooner did the thought enter my mind than I dismissed it. Run where? There was no escape. I was on an island.
As Eva turned into the corridor that led to the staff sitting room, I stopped and said, ‘Just a minute.’ I was trying to buy time, give myself breathing space in which to gather my wits, think of a way out. ‘Um, did the lady say who she was?’
‘Yes, sir. A Miss Adams. That was the name, I believe.’
I nodded as though registering this. Well, who else could it have been? No other person had written to Shepherd since I’d been there and nobody besides Caroline Adams seemed to know he was there. My head was swimming. Discovery was inevitable. I thought, the woman is expecting Shepherd to walk in the room and knows I am not he and Eva thinks I am Shepherd – how do I reconcile this? It was vital to prevent them seeing me at the same time. ‘Eva, it’s all right,’ I said, ‘you can go and get on with your work. I don’t need you to announce me.’
‘If you’re sure, sir –’
‘Quite sure, thank you.’
She turned and walked back toward the stairs. I took out my handkerchief and wiped my brow. I was in a cold sweat. At the foot of the stairs Eva paused and turned to look back at me, her expression one of concern. I put on a smile, which seemed to satisfy her and off she went back upstairs.