Chapter Nineteen
Erik.
Helen Roylott and her twin sister Julia joined the Imaginarium as aerial artists, along with their friend Irene Norbury, when I first started advertising for performers in 1896. I had been delighted by the prospect of employing twins. I had envisioned starting the show with a magic act, where a beautiful woman disappeared only to reappear seconds later, descending from the catwalk over the stage in a huge silver hoop. It was a huge disappointment to discover that Helen and Julia were fraternal twins. While they were clearly siblings with the same height, athletic build and grey eyes, no-one could mistake one for the other, especially since Helen was fair-haired and Julia was dark.
While both were excellent trapeze artists, Julia had expressed an interest in the business side of the Imaginarium, whereas Helen had chosen to focus more on her stagecraft. When I had made Meg my leading lady, I had auditioned every woman who desired it to be her understudy. I had no hesitation in choosing Helen; she was a talented singer and dancer, an amiable young woman who was eager to learn. After Madame Giry died and Meg was ground down by grief, Helen took her place, ensuring that the show could go on. The only trouble was that Helen could not hold a candle to Meg.
Perhaps the accumulated stress of the last few days had landed more heavily on my shoulders than I had thought. Perhaps I was not as good as controlling my temper as I believed. Perhaps I was simply tired. I tried to keep my feedback constructive and gentle, but by the end of Saturday's final performance, I was inwardly seething.
"Miss Roylott," I caught Helen by the elbow as she left the stage. "A word."
She blinked at me. "Can I get changed first?"
I could hardly deny her that, but the delay did nothing to soothe my bad humour. By the time she had joined me in my office and I had finished explaining the exact criticisms I had with Helen's recent performances, she had tears in her eyes and I had a throbbing headache. It felt as though someone had placed a vice around my brow and was slowly tightening it, squeezing my skull.
"What do you propose we do to improve my performance?" Helen's voice was trembling as she tried to contain her emotions.
"You and I are going to visit Miss Giry after tomorrow's shows are done," I told her. "And you will ask her advice on the role of leading lady."
"You're going to take me to a lunatic asylum?!" She went white with shock and I glowered at her.
"Go home. Tomorrow will be a long day for you."
Helen left the room and I closed my eyes, considering removing my mask in order to massage my temples. Tomorrow would be a long day for me as well, and the sooner I reached my own apartment, the sooner I would be able to take an aspirin and fall into bed. I was trying to summon the energy to stand from my desk chair, when I heard the rattle of the elevator arriving, the doors opening. Through the still open door, I saw Julia Roylott cross the short stretch of carpet towards my office.
"Mr Danton! I want to talk to you!"
"It is late, Miss Roylott," I told her wearily, "and I am tired. We will talk in the morning."
"I am tired!" She entered the office and stood before my desk with her hands on her hips. "And we will talk now! You made my sister cry!"
"Julia, I—"
"You made her cry when she has done nothing but try her best! If it weren't for Helen, you wouldn't have anyone to take over while Miss Giry is away, and it is not acceptable for you to—"
"Meg is pregnant."
I had not intended to tell her, to tell anybody who did not need to know, but the words just came out as a flat, simple statement. Julia Roylott blinked at me.
"What?"
"She's pregnant."
"So… she's not mad after all, this whole thing has been a ruse?"
"There is no ruse." I closed my throbbing eyes. "Meg did cut herself and she is very ill in her mind. But on top of that, she is pregnant."
"I—I didn't know."
"No-one knew; it was only discovered because of her hospital admission. But that is why I am perhaps overly harsh with your sister. It is not the same as when Helen took over from Meg after Madame Giry's death, she will be the leading lady for months. I don't think the asylum will release Meg before she gives birth, they believe it would be better for them to care for her throughout the pregnancy. But even if they do, Meg won't be returning to the Imaginarium until after the child is born and at least a few months old. I need Helen to be the best and I can accept nothing less."
The headache was making my vision appear to pulse in time with the pounding in my skull.
"Maybe you expect too much," Julia muttered as she turned away from me, adding under her breath. "Maybe that's how people get driven mad."
The blood rushed to my disfigured face. I wanted to leap to my feet and launch into a tirade against my employee, demand what she meant, what right she had to say such things. I stayed where I was, held down by tiredness, and the notion that losing my temper—again—would not do any good.
XXXXX
Helen looked anxious when she entered the rehearsal room the following morning, her fingers fidgeting with the wrappings of the small bouquet of flowers she was carrying, and dark smudges under her eyes.
"Good morning, Miss Roylott," I greeted her. "Before we begin, I wish to apologise for my tone last night. I meant to convey my concern for the standard of the Imaginarium's shows as a whole in Miss Giry's absence, not to imply that you are to blame for any faults outside of your control. If you do not wish to visit her with me this afternoon, then I shall not insist upon it."
"I'll come with you," she replied, still looking nervous. "I bought her flowers. And I do want to improve on my performances, she probably does have some useful insights." She attempted a smile. "While you and I have the time together, we should make the most of it, no?"
"My thoughts exactly," I agreed, taking my seat at the piano. "Now, let's start with the usual warm-up exercises. And please, Miss Roylott, try to relax. My bark is worse than my bite."
It had not always been the case, I could admit to myself now, but there was no benefit in terrifying this young woman into compliance. She was trying her utmost to do what I wanted of her, even if that was still beneath what Meg could achieve, and I had to be content with that.
Helen read during the cab journey to Kirkbride, a railway edition of Vanity Fair. I wondered when I had last read a book. I owned plenty, in a multitude of languages, but lately I had not found the time for anything but work. The very idea of sitting with a glass of wine and a novel, of not doing anything productive, made me feel restless and fidgety. It was strange, given that was how I had preferred to spend my evenings when I lived in France.
The sky outside the cab window was the pale grey of unpolished silver, with rain spitting onto the glass, and wind making the flags outside homes and businesses billow proudly so that their red, white and blue seemed to defy the dull clouds. It snatched at both of our hats as Helen and I arrived at Kirkbride, she struggling with her oversized handbag and the bouquet. I helped her down from the cab, not bothering to open the umbrella I held, and when we entered the building, gestured to one of the armchairs in the lobby.
"Take a seat and wait while I speak with Meg's doctor."
"Very well," Helen looked around her nervously, as though expecting to see lunatics running loose like uncaged monkeys, but the air felt deadened in this place, oppressively quiet. I was sure that somewhere nearby I could hear someone crying. The ten days since I had left Meg here seemed to hang in the air like the ghosts of musical notes, deep and mournful. Helen retreated to the armchair and buried herself in the comfort of her book. I went to the reception desk, and gave my name to the nurse on duty. I only had to wait a few minutes before she escorted me to Lockwood's office, and the doctor rose from his desk when I entered the room.
"Mr Danton, good afternoon." He shook my hand.
"Good afternoon, Dr Lockwood. How is our mutual friend?"
I was not reassured by Lockwood's sigh, and he gestured me to one of the visitor's chairs as he returned to his own seat.
"When you described Miss Giry to me, you said that she was recalcitrant. That is certainly true, and I am keen to trace the route of that negative attitude towards authority figures. I have explained to her on several occasions that I want to try talking therapy as a means of treatment, but she is not receptive to the idea."
"In what way, not receptive?"
"She won't talk to me. I thought at first that she would, but over the last few days, she has drifted into communicating with monosyllables. She sits where you are now and glares at me, only answering 'yes' or 'no' to the questions I ask her. I have explained over and over again that if she wants to become well, then she has to participate in her own recovery. The nurses also report that Miss Giry is acting defiantly, refusing to obey their instructions. I am sorry to say that at one point we had no choice but to administer her prescribed medication by force."
My hands tightened on the arms of my chair. "An unwise decision, doctor."
"Maybe so, but it was the only option available to us."
"I told you that she is phobic about medical situations, and I did not exaggerate. I ask that you behave as gently as possible."
"I will reiterate that to my staff."
"How is she around the other patients?"
"With the patients she seems to get along fairly well. As you said, she is good with people and makes friends easily. She has made particular funds with Emily Tamworth and Nell Brown. Meg is just unwilling or incapable of seeing the staff here in the same capacity; as I said, it is an issue with authority figures."
"May I see Miss Giry? I may be able to drum some sense into her. And one of her colleagues is with me today."
"Of course you can both visit Miss Giry; but you must be prepared for her to look different. Her current medication is in large part a sedative and we will need to adjust the dosage. You will find her a little lethargic."
I passed the message on to Helen Roylott when I returned to the foyer, and she swallowed hard, looking unnerved as she put her book away and picked up her flowers again. The nurse who had been manning the reception desk led us through wood-panelled corridors, into a huge room with more panelling. French windows overlooked acres of garden, and there was a fireplace at each end of the room, where flames crackled cheerfully. It had a scratched parquet floor and was full of small tables where perhaps fifteen patients in their dark red dresses and grey aprons sat with their visitors. It was a little like a schoolroom setup, and the hum of conversation filled the air, and yet there was still a heaviness about the atmosphere in the room, a sense of misery. I heard Helen quote under her breath beside me:
"Abandon hope all ye who enter here."
"None of that," I told her sharply. "The women here are already going through Hell. This place is to help them."
Helen looked at me and blushed, not having realised that I would hear. "I'm sorry."
The nurse guided us to a free table, and I pulled out a chair for Helen, aware as always of the heads that turned to gawk at my appearance. I took the chair beside her, concealing my discomfort behind my well-practiced calm exterior. My mask seemed to be glowing, and felt hot against my skin.
I was watching a starling pecking at the wet grass outside, when I heard Helen draw in her breath sharply beside me, and followed her gaze to the doorway. I felt shock flash though my own body when Meg Giry entered the room. Her belly looked slightly rounded, accentuated by the empire-cut of her uniform, and I did a quick calculation in my head to understand how far her pregnancy had progressed. She must be almost four months gone. Her hair was greasy, tied back from her face in a low ponytail, and the dark smudges under her eyes made her face look whiter than ever. Across the right side of her jaw an enormous bruise spread in splotches of purple, green and yellow. She was moving unsteadily, as though she were drunk.
"Meg." I rose from my seat. It was a moment before her brown eyes focused on me, dull surprise filling them even though they looked darker than ever.
"Erik. What are you doing here?" Her words were slightly slurred.
"Miss Roylott and I came to visit you." I explained. When she made no further move, I prompted: "Please, little dancer, come and sit with us."
She took the chair on the other side of the table, looking around vaguely at the other people in the room before focusing on us. Helen smiled warmly.
"It's good to see you, Meg. How are you feeling?"
"Feeling?" Meg repeated slowly. "I am feeling… Feeling. I don't know how I'm feeling. Lockwood keeps asking me, and I don't know. I feel sad and scared and strange."
"I… I bought you flowers," Helen held them out to her. "I hoped they might cheer you up. And they're to say congratulations on your pregnancy."
"That's so kind," Meg reached to take the bouquet, then she seemed to hear the second part of Helen's statement, and looked at me. "Are we telling people about the baby then?"
I chose my words with care. "It is becoming difficult to hide the fact of your pregnancy, Meg, and I have no intention of denying paternity of the child." Even saying the words made the heat rush to my masked face and my heartrate increase.
Meg ran her fingers over the flower petals.
"Are you here to liberate me?"
"No," I replied carefully. "Not yet, at least."
"Then are you here for someone else?"
"No," I repeated. "What a peculiar question. I am not here to liberate anyone. Who hit you?"
She blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Your jaw is bruised." I reached out and very gently ran my finger along her jaw. "Who hit you?"
"No one," she appeared to hesitate. "It was an accident. There was a fight between two of the other inmates, and I got caught in the crossfire."
"Are you lying to me?"
"No, it's the truth. The staff had to pull them apart. They sent Emily to the White Room. It was awful."
She raised her hands to her face and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles, the way an infant might. Helen glanced at me, worried and confused, and I could only shrug back, since the White Room meant nothing to either of us.
"At least you have not abandoned me. I thought that you might; give someone else my place in the Imaginarium and leave me here to rot. Annabella hasn't had a visitor in months, her family are ashamed of her."
Her words caused a lump in my throat, and I had to swallow hard.
"I would not abandon you, Meg. I promised your mother that I would take care of you. And just because you are here does not mean that you are banished from the Imaginarium. As a matter of fact, Miss Roylott is also here today for some of your wisdom."
"My wisdom?" She looked between us. "What do you mean?"
"I wanted to ask for your help," Helen leaned across the table towards her. "My performance as the leading lady is nothing compared to yours, and Mr Danton has expressed disappointment. I think the audience has too. I don't have your sparkle, I don't think, and I wondered if you had any advice."
"I don't sparkle either," Meg murmured. "Not anymore." She looked at her colleague and gave a watery smile. "Remember that each performance is the first time that someone in that audience has seen the show, and the leading lady's job is to hold the whole thing together, and providing support for all the other performers. That's what I think, anyway." She glanced at me. "Erik is the boss, but he isn't the one feeding off the energy of the audience and having to adapt to their mood." I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms, and saw Helen smirk beside me. "He is also a musical genius. When he is coaching you, do listen to what he says, but do not let him bully you."
"Bully?" I repeated.
"You can be a bully," she returned. "You know that as well as I do. You can be harsh, and on occasion you can be cruel. Less so now than in the past, perhaps, but we all have our faults. You deserve respect, as our employer. But we deserve respect too, as your employees."
I sighed, and nodded. The two women talked for a few minutes longer, until I knew that there was no putting off the discussion Meg and I had to have.
"Meg," I tried to keep my tone gentle. "I have spoken to Dr Lockwood, and he says that you are not being co-operative with him or his colleagues. He has explained to you that the treatment he wants to use is called talking therapy and actually requires you to talk to him, so why are you being deliberately difficult? Why are you refusing the medication he is prescribing to you?"
"Because Lockwood is a liar and his colleagues are vile!" Her voice crackled with more energy than I had seen from her thus far today, and people look around. I reached across and placed my hand over hers, clenched into a fist on the table. "Take me away from here, Erik," her voice dropped to a whisper, pathetic in its desperation. "Please."
"Don't do that, Meg. You already know my answer. What makes you believe these things?"
"Lockwood lied to me the very first day I arrived. He gave me sugar pills, or what he says were sugar pills. He told one of the nurses to give them to me in order to see how I reacted to them. I do not appreciate being manipulated like that." She leant back in her chair, muttering: "I had enough of that from you."
"Young lady, if you think that you can—"
"Mr Danton," Helen interrupted, and I realised that I had raised my voice above the murmur of the rest of the room. I stopped myself and cleared my throat.
"Meg, Lockwood has a job to do and you are not letting him do it. This behaviour is not going to convince him, myself or anyone else that you are no longer a danger to yourself. You said you were going to try, for the baby. I am very disappointed in you."
I could feel Helen staring at me, her gaze layered with disapproval and Meg blinked hard, fighting back tears.
"I do want to get better for the baby, I truly do, but I don't understand how talking about my past to someone who has no right to my business is going to achieve anything. It is hurtful and it is embarrassing. And being forced to take medications with no explanations of what they are and what they are supposed to do" She rubbed her face again, this time with the palms of her hands. "It's not what I was expecting. Even after what you told me I was expecting some kind of medieval torture chamber masquerading as medical care, and I am so glad that I was wrong to think that. But I am frightened here, Erik, all the time, and there is no sympathy for that."
"Are you experiencing cruelty?" Helen asked gently.
"Not… exactly," she confessed, and looked around the room again before leaning towards us and lowering her voice still more. "Some of the women in here are actually crazy, they need real help. Compared to them, I'm just a little sad and scared."
"My dear girl," I sighed, "what you are going through is more than being 'a little sad and scared'. You have suffered, and I freely admit that I should have seen it sooner. But you need real help too, little dancer, and resisting what is being offered to you is only to your detriment. Now, I need you to promise me that you will obey the doctors and nurses here, and open yourself to the talking therapy that Lockwood has recommended." She looked desperately between Helen and I. "Promise me, Marguerite, or I will be obliged to resort to harsher measurements. Do not force me to do so."
"I promise," she answered, her voice heavy with reluctance. I reached over the table to rest my hands over Meg's again in an attempt to bring her whatever comfort I could.
"Is there anything I can do to make your time here more comfortable?"
Her eyes were glittering with tears, and this time she let them fall.
"There is no music." Her lower lip began to tremble. "There is no music anywhere in here."
I remembered what life had been like without music, trapped in the Brooklyn apartment when we had first arrived in the United States. To someone whose whole life hitherto had revolved around music, its absence was a blow almost more crushing than the loss of liberty.
"That at least," I said gently, "is something that I can amend."
XXXXX
When we left Kirkbride, Meg gazing after us like a forlorn little ghost of her true self, Helen inhaled like someone rising from a pool of water, face tilted up towards the rain which was pelting straight down now that the wind had dropped.
"I have distressed you again," I observed, opening my umbrella as she strode away from the building as fast as she could. "It seems to be my lot, for this week at least, to upset those who work for me."
"That asylum is not a pleasant place to be," Helen paused, waiting for me to join her so that she could shelter beneath the umbrella. "No doubt it is the best possible establishment that you could find, but the happiness just seems to be sucked out of the body the moment you walk through the door. All those poor people, they seemed sad rather than mad. I can't bare it." She heaved a sigh. "There, but for the grace of God."
I raised my eyebrows at the use of the incomplete phrase: 'there, but for the grace of God, go I.' Did Helen mean that she, too, had experienced such a crippling bout of depression. I glanced at her wrists, but could see no evidence of self-harm. But how much did people hide their pasts? How much did anyone look beyond the superficial?