-VII-

Blackmore oversaw his usual duties, conferring with each of the men working under his direction. It was also his job to meet with the Lady Halifax herself once a week to discuss the successes and shortcomings of her business. A woman of breeding, practicality and integrity, August respected her immensely, and was proud to work for her. He was due for the meeting in a little under a quarter-hour, but as if magnetised to the room his woman occupied, he found himself dallying until he had a mere few minutes to spare. He sighed, and took his leave with a handshake to his adjacent peers. Oh, he was eager to make his first report on his newest charge to the Mistress, but he was a smitten pup around his lover and wished he did not have to hide his relationship from the general society of the asylum.

After a short travail and those mere few minutes, August rapped smartly upon the door of Madam Halifax's office at precisely half past two. Her calm, nevertheless perfectly audible voice issued a welcome. He entered and closed the door behind him.

"Good afternoon, madam." He said, taking her hand and just pressing his lips to her knuckles. At her wave, he sat in one of the two chairs before her desk. Her office was the largest in the building (naturally) and was fashionably furnished and decorated. Lilian Halifax smiled genteelly.

"Good day, Dr Blackmore. I trust all is well in my facility?" The lady was elderly, but far from infirm, and her dazzling blue irises sparkled behind her spectacles with wit and intelligence. Her hair, long since silver, was pulled back into a nearly austere bun. She wore a modest gown, buttoned neatly up to her throat, in black. The widow Halifax had dedicated her golden years to giving something back to the world, and her money let her stretch comfortably into avenues that meant something to her.

"Running smoothly, dear lady. Although our newest patient is putting a little vinegar into the mix," he intoned amusedly.

"Ah yes, I read your letter. It has been a long time since you've taken a patient to yourself, hasn't it, August? She must be something special." The doctor leaned back in his chair. Lilian was a good friend since his initial employment, and it was her recognition of his talent that had promoted him so quickly to the immensely trusted position of head physician. There were plenty of men working under him with more experience, but none with his insight or the well-deserved, unwavering faith of the girls.

"Indeed. I think she might be the one I've been waiting for, Lilian," he said very quietly. Both knew the difference between speaking as friends and as employer and employee. For a time, he had to speak to her as friend, as he often did when no one else could hear this particular vein of his thought. As he surmised, her eyebrows rose in intrigue. "No, I'm certain she is the one."

"My goodness, August. That is a serious proclamation indeed." The lady wove her fingers together before her chin. He assented with a nod. "Has the young lady given herself with full knowledge and willing heart?"

"Aha, yes," he chortled. "She agreed to my terms and intentions rather enthusiastically, and seems already to be improving, I daresay."

"Now, was this the lass who caused all the fuss at breakfast yesterday?" Mistress Halifax cocked an eyebrow.

"Mm-hm, 'twas she." He gave her a full account of the happenings Valentine had caused thus far, even mentioning the budding friendship with Annie Tailor. He also politely described their first conversation, though he omitted the more scandalous details of the encounter. "She's a perplexity to all but me, though I must say I look forward to seeing how she continues to interact with the others." In response, Lilian laughed gaily.

"Oh, I can tell you how that will turn out. She sounds a headstrong girl; clearly, though, her aim will be to ally as many of the patients as possible with herself. I can sense the same as you, August. She isn't here because she is out of her mind. She will treat her friends well."

"Yes, about why she is here. From what she told me during our meeting-" Valentine's relationship with her mother and her admitted dark desires already exposed- "I've taken the liberty of crafting a letter to her parents, if you would be so kind as to read it. Call it a test." He passed her a leaf of paper filled with his own neat writing. Mistress Halifax took a few minutes to read it over.

"Seems rather standard practice, doctor. Then again, so do most of your undertakings," she commented whimsically. The letter, as she saw, contained a straightforward address of Valentine's mental health, the same diagnosis he'd declared to the asylum staff, and a brief explanation as well as a courteous invitation to write with any concerns, questions or requests of him as Valentine's primary caregiver. He made no mention of the true sharpness of the girl's mind and quite spectacularly failed to mention that he was examining them for issues and not their daughter. "And exactly what is the desired outcome of this letter?"

"Their response," he answered promptly. "I want to see if my letter gets answered, and if so, what is said. It will tell me more than you think."

"I see." She said. "You want to know exactly how much they care, or claim to. Well done, doctor. Send it and let me know the results." He took it back.

"Of course, madam. And naturally you will receive drafts of my study as it progresses."

"Just do me the honour of keeping everything very discreet, August," she said with concern. "I know you had given up hope of gaining this chance. I do hope you succeed." There was a familiar twinkle in the windows of her thought. "If you can prove your theory you would do a great service to the long-suffering female sex." Having been married, the mother of six children, Lilian was well-acquainted with the truth of the marriage bed. It certainly wasn't frigidity and passionless procreating that led her to six bouts of birth. "If only my darling Edmund were still alive," she sighed. August clasped her hand in congenial regard.

"I only hope I am blessed with as many years of happiness as you and he were."

"A sentiment I echo, dear August."

***

"What are you doing, Valentine?" Annie asked, jerking her companion from the reverie of words. Without missing a stitch of her embroidery, Annie had been watching the other's slender fingers bounce rhythmically, over and over in a wave from the thumb to pinky in repeat. Valentine's journal was spread upon her lap, her right hand clutching her pen.

"Hmm? Oh, counting syllables." Hastily she scribbled something and then looked up. She had completed another rhyme and took her pause to stretch.

"Whatever for?" asked the sewer. As fluidly as Valentine's digits flew in her count, Annie's plunged and pulled a needle full of thick cherry-red floss. She was so thoroughly practised at it she could tell the placement of the next stitch by touch alone.

"Sonnets," the writer replied. "Shakespearian sonnets, fourteen lines, ten beats per line. It's called iambic pentameter." Sonnet-writing was Valentine's favorite poetic pastime, and she had decided to start her Master's bidding with a trio of them, composed upon their relationship at its beginning. She planned to write another three at the halfway mark of their year, and a final three at the end. Together they would form a compositional portrait of their journey. Valentine suspected the doctor would like it very much.

"Ooh, sounds lovely." Stitch in, stitch out. "May I hear one?" A sheepish expression took Valentine. Annie actually paused in her work. This was the first time in hours the fiery girl had ever looked less than composed.

"When I am finished," Valentine teased, mentally noting the need for a fourth one. "It wouldn't be quite as good unfinished." She regained her mental footing and composure. Annie smiled, giving a squeal.

"I look forward to it! None of the other gels have ever taken writing as their pastime. Is it very hard?"

"Naught but practice, Annie! Like yours. I could never embroider as quickly as that." Miss Godwin held her open hand toward the circular frame.

"Hm, yes, but..." the Tailor lass started, letting her piece fall into her lap. "It doesn't really engage the mind, does it? I could probably do this in me sleep. But creating an entire book's worth of 'appenings and people all out of words, that seems much harder." Valentine bobbed her head and shoulders from side to side, not wholly dismissing the notion, but not of the opinion that it was inaccessible.

"Really, the best way to learn to write is simply to read. Do you read much, Annie?" The light chatter and assortment of noise around them did not stifle conversation at all, but on the whole the gathering was dull. There were several tepid games of cards in progress, and many laps full of sewing and knitting. From the overheard snatches of conversation no one was currently speaking of anything more interesting than the weather and the day's events. With time, though, doubtless she'd hear more.

"Not much. I was not really privy to as strong an education as you were." Annie's cheeks were reddening, and she spoke as though she did not wish to be heard.

"Perhaps not, but that doesn't mean you're beyond one." Valentine was gentle in her cadence, just as secretive. "I can certainly impart what I learned onto you." Beaming confidently, she laid a hand upon Annie's shoulder. The girl was giddily wide-eyed.

"Really? You would do that?" That was too exciting to the grown-up street girl. She could read, but nothing like her father could, and her education went only as far as the textile arts themselves. To have a noble's chance at learning was previously out of her reach. She did not even know enough sums to tally her father's clients' expenses! Valentine answered the question with profound seriousness.

"Of course, Annie. There is not a thing I would not do for your welfare." The girls clasped hands excitedly, everything laid in their laps.

"Thank you, Valentine! Oh, I should like to have a chance to make me own way in the world when we leave here. I've not 'ad much 'ope of that before!"

"Rest easy then. Together we will make quite the pair, I daresay!" They giggled together, and returned to their tasks, each a little more fervently. They kept up an exchange of banter until it was time to adjourn for supper.

Unseen by the girls, Henry and Wilson were among the asylum staff assisting doctors and nurses with mundane tasks in between regular chores like dusting and polishing. Though coming and going on the needs of their jobs, both men were eyes for Charlie, focusing on Valentine's every move. Both of them had separately agreed; the girl was too damned beautiful for Charles to resist, and though her behavior had been erratic since arrival she was flawlessly social as they watched. Charles purposefully rotated himself into the much-hated rug-beating duties to avoid her, but his lads had an awful lot to report, especially concerning her attachment to Annabel Tailor. They both knew that Charles had his eyes on Annie a while ago but botched his opportunity and could not risk taking another. That Valentine had chosen her for a bosom companion was a strange coincidence. Though unable to speak, they exchanged looks even when appearing busy with the usual matters, and after their time together working they communicated very well without saying a word.

As the final meal approached, they prepared themselves to keep surveillance steady. It would be easier to interact in the dining hall, where all voices and clatter would drown out their conversation.

The doctors began to herd their groups once more, temporarily parting Annie and Valentine. August reappeared in time to see his girl snap her journal shut and approach him, rather more lighthearted than she was.

"Everything well, Miss Godwin?"

"Better, Doctor," she replied with candor, "but what I said before still stands." He showed his remembrance with a nod, and offered his arm. As they led the group toward the meal, he spoke again.

"I've been to see our proprietress, Madam Halifax. Since I am her trusted right hand, and you are my first case study in a long time, she will be requesting a meeting in the near future. You have nothing to worry about. She will want to know you just as you are," he said, putting a particular stress on the last four words. Valentine gave him a customary reply of acceptance, but a bemused glance passed across her face. Curious. She shrugged it off. He would tell her, just as she would tell him what she'd learned.

The final meal was a gloriously well-cooked filet mignon accented with a red wine demi-glace and accompanied by fresh vegetable. Valentine took hers rare, and the girls ate and talked. Annie gradually felt and expressed herself more at ease; coming, even, to let her laughter ring through the room as the vivacious Valentine spun tall tales of her childhood misadventures. Dr Connelly, observing, was flabbergasted. Throughout the meal he kept stealing looks back and forth from the girls to Blackmore, churning himself deeper in a tizzy each time. Poor, soft-hearted man. August remained just on the border of smugly pleased. He certainly seemed as amused as the girls themselves.

As the patients dined, the doctors followed suit, each of them served at separate tables so that they retained visibility and coverage of the room at all times. Often the men would eat a bit of their meals and wander about, going back to sup sporadically now and again, repeating until their food was stone cold. With the constant surprises of the new girl, it was worse than usual. Blackmore seated himself two tables from Valentine (giving him a better view of the landscape she constructed) and dined, unperturbed by the hubbub. His compatriots were given to their own particular set of neuroses and stresses, and they could chatter like washerwomen when they had a mind for it. After all the girls were abed, he would bet good money that his ten staff here would be in the doctors' lounge, pulling draughts of brandy and eating late bacon sandwiches.

Working to clear empty plates and dirty glasses, among other soiled mealtime accoutrements, Henry and Wilson furtively spied upon their target and attempted to absorb any conversation. Frustratingly, nothing they caught was of anything important.

"...So I decided to start stealing my mother's stockings, one at a time randomly so she wouldn't know when they'd gone. At first she had no idea some of her pairs had become singles, but when she noticed..." This was as much as Wilson caught while replacing empty dishes of butter at the table. "...It was something to watch when she finally gathered the maids and howled all of them down. By the end, she'd dropped their pay a pound each and started washing them herself!" Henry caught not much more while refilling water glasses from a pitcher. Annie was laughing so hard she doubled over clutching her stomach. By both the lads' accounts absolutely nothing damning was being said. They both knew that Annie hadn't ever spoken of Charles' attempt to 'seduce' her. Valentine, it seemed, had not spoken of her own brush with him- and indeed, appeared quite unperturbed. Naturally they didn't know the details, but once Blackmore had used Richardson's note as an excuse to warn staff from dealing with her in conjunction with his diagnosis, her erratic behaviour confirmed Charles' story anyhow. Still they feared the potential of the girls trading information and uniting against their ringleader. Charles would know all as soon as the patients were dismissed to their beds.

"What in the world could she be telling Annie?" Connelly fretted, anxiously bobbing from his barely-touched dinner to Blackmore's side. August took the time to savour his last bite of steak and made sure to swallow and daub his mouth with a napkin before replying.

"Calm down, man. I assure you I will discover what tricks Miss Godwin uses to lure your patient into fits of laughter," he said with underlining sarcasm. It did not register with the nervous one, and August sighed just slightly.

"She's never been like this! I don't think I have ever even seen her smile!" It was difficult for a learned man of medicine to accept that someone untrained could do his job better than he- even worse when that someone was supposed to be receiving that medicine herself!

"Could it be that what Annie needed was simply a friend, Dr Connelly? Hard to make in these environs, depending on the individual." Blackmore said soberly, swirling a dram of port in his glass. The other man stopped pacing. For a minute he seemed to ponder the idea, but ultimately shook his head.

"Preposterous!" he blustered. "Why it's too simple!" He went back to scratching his head and pacing. August stifled a snort of laughter and rose from his place. The port in his glass soon followed his meal and warmed him from the belly. He was counting the minutes, the moments, until he was alone with her, the siren bewildering everyone except himself. A simple lemon cake drenched in mint-infused honey was being served; dinner was nearly done. August did not think he could manage to make love to the lass even one more time in the rest of this day, but he did very much want to hold her, kiss her- find out the trouble that had roused her ire at lunch. Whatever was in his power to do for her, and for Annie as well, he would do.

He watched, poised, and finished his drink.

***

The evening wound down into sleepy calm, and Valentine was wholly pleased with the shift in energy from the little Londoner she'd befriended in the madhouse. Anxiety and loneliness still lived in her heart, but newly-born in her was hope, and courage. The waif's smiles came easier, and the desperate unhappiness had ebbed. The Godwin daughter was pleased. As dessert was presented, once more her searching gaze fell upon the room, seeking souls also mired in dire despair. It wasn't long before her eyes strayed to a far corner of the room, poorly lit, and she spied a lone figure barely visible in shadow, at a small table clearly meant for only one. No one was paying her mind, and she sat with her head hung over her food. The pang of sadness, and this time, frustration, clawed Valentine's heart. She turned.

"Say, Annie, who is that sitting all by herself over there?" The blonde followed a pointed finger to the corner. Annie had to squint, but she soon realised exactly whom her companion was referring to.

"Oh, that's... Rosamund." The blonde fidgeted in her chair.

"Why is she alone in that dim little corner?" It didn't seem at all right. There were long dining tables aplenty for the patients of Mistress Halifax's; why that one lone table in such a neglected spot? Valentine could barely see the figure sitting there.

"Well..." Annie hesitated. "No one talks to 'er. Most of the gels won't 'ave anything to do with 'er. She's 'ad 'er own table there for as long as I've been 'ere, and even some of the doctors treat 'er like she doesn't exist."

A deep frown took Valentine's visage.

"That's bloody dreadful! Why?" The younger girl squirmed again.

"It's because she's African," Annie murmured. Valentine spun in her chair and peered into the corner again. It wasn't shadows cloaking the lonely young woman. Her skin was richly dark, and it set her apart from every other face in the hall. "None of these nobby gels want to talk to 'er for that, and there's a lot of awful stuff flyin' around about why she's 'ere. They say she killed a man and sacrificed 'im to a 'eathen god."

"That sounds utterly preposterous," the woman scoffed. "Ignorance born of fear, it seems. You grew up in London, Annie, surely you have met Africans before."
"I 'ave," the girl said. "Indians too. Certainly never knew any to sacrifice people to gods, 'eathen or not."

With her arms folded tight across her chest, Valentine turned back to her companion.

"Are there no other patients, or even staff here, that are not white?" she asked. Annie shook her head.

"No, not one. It's not like London out 'ere. You know 'ow much it costs to come to this place for treatment, don't you? It's scads of money, Valentine. I'm 'ere on the less expensive ticket, and it's still scads. Rosamund's 'ere because she's got money, and that's what it is. If it weren't for that..."

"Of course it's about money," came the sardonic mutter. "Who has it, who doesn't. What good is a place like this, then? If it's not available to everyone who may need the care?" The indignant lass queried rhetorically. Annie shrugged, bemused. "Naturally, the less wealthy and the poor get stuck with Bedlam," Valentine huffed. "What does wealth even have to do with the worth of the heart or spirit? Even though she's part of their sphere, she still isn't good enough? Well, I'm not going to damn well sit here and let anyone be shunned for the aesthetic of their skin. How stupid to disparage someone for that!"

Valentine turned once more, casting her sight and the touch of her soul toward the forlorn corner. She focused her thought and sent a silent entreaty. Across the room, a sudden jolting feeling- inexplicable and not quite physical- startled a young woman called Rosamund from her lonely meal and caused her to look up. A lone figure dressed in riotous colour stood, raising a hand in greeting, warmth radiating off her even from that far. It seemed like the gesture was for her, but Rosamund was unsure. Why should it be? When had anyone ever made her feel welcome, or noticed?

The hand turned to a wave, a true summons, and the dark-skinned girl could only return a bewildered stare. She held a hand to her bosom. Me? She asked without words, apprehension keeping her from trust. The smiling girl (why it was that wild woman from the infamous breakfast!) waved more eagerly and began to advance. Her dinner companion also waved, if more shyly.

Rosamund stood, and took a tentative step forward. Heads turned, and whispers flew. For once, she ignored them.

It was then the doctors began their bustle, and the development unfolding over dessert was brought to a sudden halt. Dr Whyte approached her first, as he always did, popping into her path before she'd had much of a chance to investigate the late-evening hails of the new patient.

"Good evening, Miss Mariner," the older man greeted her cordially. Rosamund attempted to peer over his shoulder at the other, but by then the patient body was in motion and Blackmore had already swept in to claim his charge.

"Doctor Whyte, that woman speaking to Doctor Blackmore..." Rosamund indicated with her hand. Reginald turned and spied his colleague speaking with the case-study girl; his first patient in years.

"Oh, Miss Godwin? What about her, my dear?" Rosamund watched Blackmore offer his arm, and even as Valentine took it, she still raised a hand of acknowledgment before turning away.

"She waved to me," the young woman said.

"Well! That is quite a change. And you do you feel about that, Miss Mariner?" Stifling the urge to roll her eyes, Rosamund straightened herself and continued to ignore the whispers behind her as Whyte's other patients flocked behind them.

"I want to know why," the lass answered, fiddling with her braids. "But I don't know if I should trust her, or if this is some cruel joke designed to humiliate me further. I also recognise her as the girl who came to breakfast barely dressed yesterday, and I have to wonder why in heaven she would do something like that." Whyte nodded his head, listening intently and already imagining the look on Blackmore's face when he spoke about this.

"Well, Doctor Blackmore is concerned about some of her... erratic behavior, dear girl, but it seems that concerning you ladies, she is quite genuine. I would suggest you speak to her. Why don't we consider it a step forward in your care?" And lo! A smile took her mouth, and Whyte felt a crack. There was only so much he could do for the patient if he was the only one who spoke to her daily. As Whyte looked back at August and that 'hysteric' woman, he wondered. What more would be shaken to its foundations by all this sudden change?

"I shall speak to her, then," Rosamund answered. "I'm so tired of being alone." Whyte returned his attention to her and patted her hand, smiling genteelly.

"No one should ever fault you for that," he said.

Valentine bid Annie a quick good-night and resolved to continue her quest upon the morn. Her Master collected her. After the queues formed as usual, eight struck, and the patients were dismissed from their meal in perfect syncopation. August had his place at the head of the crowd one last time for the day. The groups were divided this time by what wing, east or west, the girls' rooms were in. The main doctor for each patient shared one wing with four others, and in that way, they were all available to each other should the need for help arise- any doctor in that wing could attend to any patient therein. The arrangement covered days off for the men, and happenings such as illness or family emergencies. Each man also received holidays twice a year for a week. All of this was August's devising, Halifax approved, to ensure that the staff were refreshed, supported and at the peak of their ability year-round. Even the non-medical staff enjoyed such benefits. It kept the employees loyal and motivated.

Annie was in a double room in the east wing of the asylum, which cost slightly less than the private rooms in the west. Mistress Halifax's could house exactly one hundred patients. The household staff lived and supped on the second floor, and unusual reversal of common affluence, but done for accessibility and ease on the patients. Halifax herself resided in a neat series of rooms situated in a turret above the kitchens (where it was warmer for her and private). Despite its size, it was a comfortable and efficiently planned facility, and the gardens about it were spectacular in season. Behind the entire construction was the sea, and a long strip of white sand. It was a favorite spot for patient treatments, thought to clear the head with its fresh air and chilly water.

The group finally departed the dining hall, and Valentine turned her mind from the gentler aspects of her mission (befriending the wayward), and back to the dire. She gripped her man's sleeve tightly, as he noticed, but kept her guise calm as they walked. Since they were followed by roughly half the doctors and patients to the west wing, August knew he would have to double back to Valentine's room once the kerfuffle died out. It was a necessary short delay, but he wished he could forgo it in favour of sparking their conversation.

"I will lock you in and leave you a few minutes, little bird. Make yourself ready for bed as you will, and I shall return." He opened her door for her and escorted her inside, then lit her candle and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I won't be long." August left her, locking her door on his way out, and disappeared down the hall. It was an opportune moment for him to visit the facilities while everyone was busy. In the interim, Valentine undressed and slipped into her comfortable, heavier nightgown. The room was a bit chilly at night.

While she waited she began composing a sonnet suitable to read to dear Annie, and she wondered what had become of Rosamund when their meeting was thwarted. Through the crowd it had been difficult to tell where she had her room, though they were in the same wing, as it looked. Her doctor's group had been behind them in the exodus.

Outside her door, the noise gradually died away. It wasn't long, as he said, until the doctor's footsteps came back to her. August let himself in quietly, casting a look of mellow concern over the woman, where she sat folded up on her cot, head bent over her new journal.

"I am pleased you like it, Valentine. I put in a special order to a craftsman friend of mine to ensure you had it today." She picked her head up at the sound of his voice, somber, but still grateful for his presence.

"Of course I like it. I see this leather cover is even removable, so that a fresh book can be put in when the old one is used." She closed the book with a dense snap and drew herself into her centre, looking up at him almost helplessly. August strode to her and seated himself on the cot, extending his arm to pull her in. She obeyed his voiceless desire, and huddled into his chest. As his arms wrapped her she breathed out deep in release of anxiety.

"Now tell me. What did you learn?" He held her tightly, stroking her head. Beneath every place his body connected with hers, he felt her begin to shake. Were her eyes pointed up at him, he would have seen the icy light behind them.

"There is a rat in our midst, Master. A boy, Charles. He affronted Annie." Her voice was cold iron with a core of Greek fire. "She told me there's rumours others have already suffered." Assured in knowing that she would be taken seriously, Valentine unleashed the earlier conversation in enough detail, and made no uncertainty of her own feelings on the subject. August lost his relaxed posture to the anger seizing him as it all tumbled from her lips. The snivelling bastard was taking advantage of patients, right under his nose! The man's nostrils flared as he tried to steady his breathing. His thoughts began to pull his mind to the lad's note delivered to him just before Valentine, and it occurred to August that in the unexpected surprise of meeting the woman, he neglected to ask her side of it! Just as he opened his mouth to do so- "I should have dealt with him more severely when he failed to terrify or ravage me," she added haughtily, catching his attention. She spoke quite unlike the typical victim of a ravager- which caught his notice the moment before he reacted.

Blackmore's sudden response was a combustion of rage.

"WHIT?" He lurched to his feet, aghast and infuriated. "Whit happent? You will tell me at once!" Valentine quailed, shocked to see him burst into such temper. When he was riled, his boyhood tongue crept into his voice, and this time it lit her with desire as well as some trepidation. He was usually so composed, so reserved and calculating through his emotion. Of course, she had not known him as long as it felt. Perhaps, like she, passion seethed below his skin, and he merely had a better grasp of it.

"He escorted me, the evening before I was brought to you, Master." She said haltingly. "I could tell he desired me, from the first moment. But when he had me alone, and thought to corner me, scare me, he could not. I told him that he was welcome to force my body if he could, but I easily turned his half-arsed threat against him. I overpowered him and threw him out of my sight in disgust." Though angry, and pacing, August clasped his hands behind his back and let the pieces fall. The Dominant was roused to wrath, yet not for anything she'd done. No, it was the abuser that would feel the guillotine blade of justice.

"Annie is bad enough, Valentine, as well as any others he's hurt. To know he attempted anything with you makes my blood boil!" Right before his own fated encounter with her, too! He waved her off as he spied her mouth open to protest. "It does not matter if he failed to accomplish it spectacularly. What if you had not been capable of fighting him off? I can't bear to hear any of my patients has suffered so and I neither knew, nor had systems in place to prevent such crimes!" he countered sharply, closing her lips again. "If he tried to force himself on you so boldly, it is highly likely he's done it before and will do it again. He's violated my trust, and I've failed my duty. Damn it, I should have asked immediately what his bloody note was referring to."

She pulled a frown. What note?

"He is guilty of terrible acts and must be punished duly for them!" Something she'd said that he took for granted at the time echoed back in his mind. "...now lost all hope I ever shall." He snorted. The whingeing missive Charles passed him and her curious savagery that morning seemed only tenuously connected at the time. Valentine in his office had clearly shown her aggression, proving the written protest at least partially true. Once her pulchritudinous wrath was in full swing, he'd forgotten all about it. August had been wrong to think her anger and despondency were caused by being committed and denied an opportunity at the life she wanted. Dear Lord, the implications that lay beneath...! His girl's affliction was far more serious than he'd dreamed. He stopped pacing and turned to her abruptly. "The reason for your black mood last morning was that you could not even lose your virginity to a rapist?" He sounded incredulous. Valentine recoiled from his alert and studious stare, and felt her face turn hot.

"Yes." she admitted in a guilty tone. "Naturally I had no idea of your true nature when I faced you the next day. I was simply intent on throwing myself into insanity and allowing it to consume the rest of my longings and dreams." The doctor took a deep, steadying breath, and returned to her side. Suddenly there were tears. Not a response from her body overwhelmed and engulfed by lovemaking, but a rare expression of her unmasked emotions; the previously unshed rain from the storm. Valentine tried to blink them back, furious with herself. Her throat constricted with the fight. Uselessly she tried to shy away from his embrace when he replaced himself sitting on the cot, but he frowned and took control of her form with irresistible determination.

"What is it, Valentine? Tell me now." She sniffled.

"I thought then I was going to be alone," she half-choked, half-spat. "Unsatisfied and bitter 'til death because I was too abhorrent to be claimed by anyone. Too unnatural for even a fiend." Without a word August clasped his hands around her cheeks and forced her to look him in the eyes. He found her words wounding to his very spirit and heart.

The way he felt for her was a continual shock each time she saw it writ in him.

"Are you alone now?" he asked urgently. "Tell me, wumman, are ye alone right nou?" There was a harsh edge to the query, a serious one. Though she trembled, ashamed of herself and the plague of her desire, he was right. As usual.

"No," she whispered. August set his mouth firm and exhaled deeply through his nostrils.

"And you shall not be." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, gentling his posture and his energy. There was still much to speak of between them. "I see we have work still ahead of us, Valentine. Not only for your betterment, but to ferret out the simpering little rotter that has dared sully my establishment. Right now, Richardson's disposal is a priority. I am wholeheartedly glad this matter was brought to light, if a bit later than it ought." As he wished to since their earlier parting, August eased her into his arms and held her, stroking her hair. "The boy's actions are a terrible violation of my policies and the very foundation upon which my job is built. If you knew you could trust me, that I am here for you in all ways, why didn't you tell me, Valentine?" She shrugged, first.

"He was nothing to me." she half-growled. "I already set my mind to torment him. Exposing him... simply wasn't as important as the emptiness consuming me alive."

"After I satisfied those immediate needs, Valentine, it was." Blackmore answered, in a stern but quiet tone. "It was always more likely that he was committing multiple offenses." The girl hung her chin, frowning.

"I wasn't thinking that way, Master. I just bait the trap and see what comes sniffing."

"Then, you set to playing with your catch...?" he muttered, voice rising with a cynical twist. She gave him silent affirmation. "You let him go, and cast again... Laying yourself exposed even further... And, good Lord, you caught me." August's tension broke, as he laughed. "You see what that means, don't you, Valentine?"

"You're better than I am at trapping?" She grinned in his chest.

"Perhaps, but I meant that, clearly, we were meant to work together. I'll give you revenge if you give me justice."

"Without a qualm, Master. Use me as your bloodhound." The growl of her inner beast was there again. "I will roust out his secret crimes, and I will lead you to his defeat."

She runs entirely upon instinctual drives; full-time survival... the man thought. "You are quite in touch with your animal nature, Valentine," he said, catching her under the chin. "Your body traps your mind, doesn't it? Does my play bring you out of your head?"

"Very much so, Master." Now thinking clearly, she understood that Charles could not be allowed free reign. He was her quarry. His attention had to be drawn on only one target. "I could have told you. Should have told you. Even if no one else wanted to. I didn't mean you to think that I... didn't want you to know... or that I couldn't tell you, for whatever reason. I merely thought to deal with him myself. I just wasn't dwelling much on him, when I had you there, fulfilling every one of my desperate needs." His next words flew so quick she knew he'd been holding them in while listening intently.

"You have a tendency to live in the now, don't you, little bird? Like when you pleaded with me to take you, that first time. You weren't thinking about the possibility I could make you pregnant, or worse, were you?"

"I wasn't, but... you did not resist the call, did you?" A chortle flew from her throat. He'd bet money on the face she was making right then.

"No, I didn't. We felt the same." He kissed her forehead. "However, sweet, I am more than prepared to take full responsibility for you and any child you bear me. I understood the potential consequences when I filled you with my seed." A tremour rippled through her belly, and the thought of him siring his babes on her made her cunny throb.

"I shall be happy to bear them into our loving hands, Master." A press of kisses marked his stubbly chin, and Valentine wriggled her arms around him. "I'll embrace whatever life brings my way no matter what, but I will try to temper my impulsive nature with more foresight. I don't wish to make you feel like you have failed me, or this hospital. You cannot prevent evil intentions in other people, Master. You can heal the damage, though, and protect as best you can against more. We can." She clasped his hands. "I want to face whatever comes, with you." They looked upon one another, rapt in partnership.

"Thank you, darling. I want the same." They kissed.

Silence captured them for a time, and August merely held her, soothing her with light caresses. Valentine allowed herself the weakness to press into him as though terrified he would vanish like mist in blazing sun.

At last she whispered.

"What should we do about the rodent, Master?" Even though she could not see it, his eyes blazed with the determination of punishment. He was a true sadist after all, and there was no cause worthier in his mind.

"Tomorrow I will see Madam Halifax as soon as possible and alert her. Doubtless she will wish to begin an inquiry. Unfortunately, I think we are likely to be disbelieved by the men, without any tangible evidence to present. The way I've painted your character will be detrimental to your testimony, to start, and until others decide to come forward, I don't have many victims to even claim wrongdoing." It would be difficult to 'prove' any accusations levelled against Richardson. Despite meaning well, the doctors were likely to argue that mental patients were not known for their reliability, thus disparaging the women, and furthermore, simple fear had already silenced at least one victim. Yet, Valentine already proved his remark to Dr Connelly earlier. The women of the facility would feel safer with her, would open up to her and seek her for both a sympathetic ear and emotional support. She alone could be the one to free their voices. She might also be the perfect lure for the beast to fall into the tiger pit. Yes. It all clicked together in his brain. August began to grin into her hair. "Little bird, he holds no power nor fear over you, does he?" But I do. She scoffed at the very idea.
"Certainly not! I would sooner beat him than look at him. Perhaps I should demand an honourable duel. Ten paces with pistols would be simplest." She mused, one fingernail worrying the corner of her mouth. August merely shook his head.

"No my darling, I have an idea. Time to put your boasted actress skill to the test. We must make him think he has power over you- If he really believes he can get away with this outrageous behaviour, he'll take whatever opportunity he sees. Then his arrogance will lead him by the nose right into the oubliette." August tripped his fingers through the air with grim satisfaction, and at the end of the sentence, his prancing hand met the other with a solid smack, sudden as a mousetrap. Valentine giggled; it was girlish, yet strangely, so like the ruthless edge of a knife.

***

Lights-out fell at precisely ten, and the doctor left his patient after a goodnight kiss and a reassurance that all would be well. With the promise to give only her story to Madam Halifax (until others agreed to speak), he locked the door twice behind him and departed to begin drafting the introduction to his study. The halls were whisper-quiet as he journeyed.

Henry emerged from his place in the shadows when August's footsteps died away. All else was falling into the silence of sleep, and under cover of blackness when the staff finally ended their day of work, it was time to report back to his leader. There were many nooks in the old building sufficient for clandestine meetings, as the numerous love-affairs among the non-medical staff could attest. Charles was a king of the creepiest, most out-of-reach spots, and it was in a largely forgotten storage room he chose to meet for this talk. As soon as Valentine was alone in her room, Henry was to fall back to the dusty, cluttered chamber and commence the report, coming in after Wilson filled in the details from dinner and common hour. He stole through the halls, unnoticed, unhindered, reaching the meeting place without a hitch. Tap- tap tap. Tap- tap tap. Henry gave the "secret knock", and waited for the answer. Tap tap- tap. It came dimly and Henry entered. Two voices shuffled forth from the back of the room, and he moved toward the light of a single candle.

"So she made friends with Annie Tailor- and told stories about terrorising her mother?" Charles was sitting on a drape-covered blocky something, cocking an eyebrow at Wilson. Nothing- not a whit- of the girl's behaviour made sense. Not when she first arrived, not the eccentricity he'd missed while brooding in his room, not her seemingly-normal performance all day. Henry joined his friends in time to catch the facial expression and the question.

"Yep," Wilson answered from his place slumped against a dust-coated wall. "We don't even know why she picked Annie. She just... found her." Charles turned to Henry as he hovered at the edge of the pair. Henry swallowed the lump of apprehension in his throat.

"She also waved at Rosamund Mariner," Henry said with awe. Charles' eyes went wide.

"That hoodoo witch? Why in Hell would anyone want to talk to her?" Henry suppressed a cringe and shook his head.

"She's got the whole place tittering. Blackmore was with her clear through lights out. They were talking for most of it, but I couldn't make anything out." The gangly lad pulled up a decrepit footstool, musty with age, and sat on it. Charles frowned.

"That's odd. Why would he stay with her so long?" The dark schemer worried his upper lip with his fingers.

"Do you think he got to 'er first?" Wilson cut in. "He'd be a damn fool not to take advantage-" he let out a whoof as his ringleader thwacked him in the gut. Charles' face was pulled in a sneer.

"Don't be stupid, Wilson. Blackmore's far too soft to do any such thing as that, and he'd lose his bloody job out of it. There's no way."

"It probably has something to do with the case study," Henry said, leaning in. Both heads turned toward him. "The girl's going to be the subject of Blackmore's next great psychological study and essay. As such, he has taken her completely under his care, as I said before- she will not be a wholly typical patient. He's got more liberty with her than the others have with all the girls in the place." Henry looked back and forth at their expressions, abashed by their ignorance of the information. "What? If you want to get away with anything here, you've got to know this shite." Henry was at war with himself. What Charles wanted was to... to... ravish the girl, against her will, for what he sensed was petty revenge. How could he even be sitting here, cooperating! Giving Charles vital information on how to accomplish this terrible thing! But the pressure of their companionship tugged him. He was the youngest of the trio, and the latest to arrive and work at Mistress Halifax's. He'd come from a modest background and hard work. There had been no time for friends or fun- now he had one day off a week to do as he liked, an income of his own that meant he could eventually marry and settle down to raise a family as he wished, and friends who actually enjoyed sharing the free hours with him. Was such modest happiness worth supporting boys like this? It felt damned awful.

"Well, he can't stay with her all the time." Charles retorted. "It's your job to keep me informed," he said with a hint of threat, pointing at Henry. "I need to know when he establishes a routine, and what it is. I need to know how he controls the mad bitch."

"What do I do?" Wilson asked, rubbing his gut.

"You're the muscle," the dark-headed bastard answered, "I don't know what it is, but the girl is strong. Oddly strong, for a female. It'll be easier to overpower her with both of us." Henry was red-faced, but it was too dark for the others to see. Wilson grinned obscenely, and let out an animal grunt. He was thinking of holding her down, pressing his heft on her body while Charles took his pleasure, then reversing the situation and taking his... Wilson felt his prick harden and longed for the opportunity to relieve it.

"Are we trying for tonight?" The oaf was painfully eager.

"Perhaps," Charles intoned with some mystery. "I want to snoop around a bit for sure- but we've got to give her some time to fall asleep." The other two nodded, and they produced a battered deck of cards to pass some time before undertaking their dire venture.

A round of bed checks began about eleven, and was conducted by the two most senior doctors next to Blackmore, each man taking one wing of the patients' rooms. Richardson knew each round would take a quarter-hour, if nothing was disturbed and no one was in crisis. They gave the check until eleven-twenty then departed, staggered. Henry insisted on being the first to leave; he knew his presence wouldn't be suspicious if he were to run into the patrolling doctor. Just in case, he took a broom with him. Nobody ever took notice of a man sweeping up. When he returned to the hallway, the bed check had apparently concluded, as Whyte was nowhere to be seen in the wing. Everything was quiet and dark. Henry darted at once to Valentine's door and cautiously tried the handle. Locked snug. He breathed a sigh of relief, and stood with his back to the wall, clutching his broom as though it were a talisman. Charles arrived second, a key in his hand. The sight made Henry's blood freeze, but he said nothing. Wilson was last to arrive, and when he came up, a grinning hellion, Charles nodded and bent to the door. As one of the more senior orderlies he was trusted to hold keys to perform his duties. Little did anyone know how misplaced that trust truly was.

Richardson's pulse pounded as he bent to the lock. Images of triumph crowded his brain; Valentine beneath him, Wilson's hand upon her mouth. Fear and madness in her eyes as Charles thrashed himself into her, her heat providing him all the enjoyment he wanted as he spunked. And when he could fill her no more, Wilson could have his turn, and then the two of them would break Henry's reluctance, cajole and taunt him until he took a turn. He would see, poor virginal Henry, how good it would feel, how powerful and satisfied he would be in the end. Girls, women, females. They were nothing but tools and prey for the lust of men. Men held the world, and females were for spawning the next generation to maintain the rule of men. This was Charles' innermost truth, his grand worldview. Under the thumb, all's right with the natural order.

He clicked the lock open and turned the knob.

While the main lock had opened, and the knob turned, the door remained steadfastly closed. Charles looked up. He pushed the door, jiggled it, to no avail. The second lock, usually unused, was in the door engaged. Charles cursed quietly, and pounded the side of his fist into the wooden port. He rounded toward his mates.

"Bastard! He's locked her in. Damn it!" The boy's ire caused him to stamp his foot. His teeth gritted. Murderous eyes were cast in Henry's direction. "Did you know he used both locks?" The redhead paled and shook his head.

"No! I was tucked back there listening-" he gestured to the corner behind the turn of the hall. "I only heard him jingling a bit and walking away." Henry was earnest, but the setback relieved him greatly. Lord knew what Charles intended to do if he'd gotten inside (Henry was afraid he knew all too well), but whatever he wanted this night was duly thwarted. It made Henry remember what he could do, without risking his tenuous position. Small accidents. Bad timing. Ill luck. Prevent the whole ordeal by covert sabotage, always, always feigning the toady. Outward appearance, all dedication. Inward, he would be the knight on his white stallion.

"Can we pick the second lock?" Wilson asked, eyes darting from Charles to the door and back.

"No. It's much older than the main ones. We'd only scratch the brass and somebody would notice- exactly the wrong somebody." Charles chewed his lip in frustration. "My question is why Blackmore decided to use the second lock. Is he trying to keep us out, or her in?"

"Did you even read his letter?" Henry asked, trying to sound casual. "'Jekyll and Hyde' is a damn good nickname for her. He thinks she's dangerous."

"And I know she is," the wicked one muttered. "Which will make it all the better when I take her." Unable to reach his target, Richardson turned from her door and beckoned his cronies to follow. "To bed, men. The bitch will have to wait." Charles led them out of the patients' hall and back toward the staff quarters. There would be no relief for him save what he could find in his own hand, dreaming of her debasement. Wilson followed next, his thoughts in a similar vein, and Henry brought up the rear. Henry, who could not help but be troubled by this precarious war between one innocent girl and one sick-minded young man; Henry, who only sought acceptance from his peers and a comfortable life, nevertheless followed, knowing he could not do nothing at all. He feared, as the girls did, that no one would believe the truth.

But as he was too yet caught up on the opinions of others much lower in worth than himself, he was not quite a hero. He did not yet know how much courage there was in his heart.