Part 7 (1/2)

”He says he did.”

”He says he did. Weren't you aware of it?”

”Not really,” I admitted. ”But it hardly matters. Where was that invitation to the Harpers' late supper? I believe I feel like going after all.”

Notes from the Journal of Victor Leonard Seth Re: Mrs. C.

January 20, 1885 Today was my second appointment with Mrs. C. I had thought I would start with the electrotherapy to win her confidence, but then I noticed a p.r.o.nounced languor in her eyes of a kind I have rarely seen, so I determined to try hypnosis first.

Mrs. C. responded immediately, with a deep level of unconsciousness that I have never encountered. I was able to produce rigid catalepsy by raising her arm and instructing her to keep it raised. a.n.a.lgesia was produced as well-she was completely insensate to a pinp.r.i.c.k on the tenderest spot of her forearm. When I told her to rise and walk, she continued until she nearly plunged out the window, and was riveted to a stop when I suggested it. I then told her that she was thirsty, and that I was handing her a gla.s.s of water, which she should drink. The water, the gla.s.s, all was imaginary, yet she took it from me and drank with gusto until I informed her that she was drinking urine, at which point she gagged and threw the gla.s.s from her, spitting and wiping at her mouth. I told her the sensation of having drunk urine was completely gone, and she then relaxed.

I then tried another simple illusion, telling her she was going for a walk through the woods on a lovely spring day, pointing out the things she saw along the way: a rock, a tree, a pretty bird. She responded to each item with obvious plea-sure and interest.

I suggested to her that she would remain calm and happy over the next few days, that the memory of the walk would stay with her and relax her whenever she felt the urge to give in to hysterical fits. I also suggested that she would have more confidence in her doctor, and that when she returned home, she would feel refreshed and energized. I then proceeded to create hypnotic zones: A touch on the underside of her right wrist will send her into a deep hypnotic state, a touch on her shoulder will awaken her.

Mrs. C. woke with complete amnesia, which I have seen only twice. She did not even realize there had been any pa.s.sage of time. I informed her that she had been ”asleep” for nearly an hour. She was incredulous.

In an attempt to bolster my suggestion regarding her confidence in me, I then treated her with electrotherapy-general faradization at the common areas of s.e.xual neurasthenia: upper and lower spine, inner thighs, v.a.g.i.n.a, and c.l.i.toris, which seemed to have good effect.

She has agreed to return twice a week for treatment, which I think necessary to fully effect a cure in as little time as possible. Given the extent of her suggestibility, I think it will not be long before Mrs. C. has no more need of me, for which I am profoundly grateful-although I am uncertain why, given that there will simply be another to take her place. Another invalid, another bored society matron, another reason for my peers to disparage me because they refuse to understand or believe that there is room for hypnosis in the treatment of illness and disease. How long must I bear their criticism and their ignorant fear? What must I do to gain their respect? Such a thing cannot be found in treating upper-cla.s.s neurasthenics, I am afraid. My peers can only feel the same contempt for my patients that I do. To convince them that the mind itself can cure, that the unconscious can be trained to direct the will-they do not believe that at Salpetriere, Charcot himself is creating hysterics through suggestion! They are afraid to believe such a thing is even possible! And if they do not believe that such a thing is possible in those who suffer from true madness, how then will they come to believe my own experiments, performed as they are on those who suffer from self-indulgent invalidism?

They will not-that is the only answer. Yet I cannot help but persist in believing that someday I will find a way to convince them all.

Chapter 6.

That night was as peaceful a one as I could remember. William and I went to a late supper at the Harpers', and though I knew William was watching me carefully, I felt none of my usual strain. It was as if I'd slept deeply for hours; my mind was clear, and I laughed and ate as I had not for . . . oh, as I never had. Even Elizabeth Sykes remarked on it, saying I seemed especially gay; had I had good news?

I thought I would not need my cordial that night, but when we arrived home well after midnight, I was more tired than I'd thought, and my good mood had inspired William in ways I had not counted on. He came to my room just as I was undressing, and when he left, I felt an overwhelming desire for my nightly dose.

I had the strangest dream. I was in Dr. Seth's office, and he was sitting in that bright red chair, watching as I walked across the room. The window beyond me was bright but hazy, and I was walking toward it. Walking and walking, as if I could somehow climb up into it and be lifted to the heavens, such a beautiful light. How much I wanted to be within it, I could not wait to be within it . . . when came the doctor's voice, a steady, sonorous ”Stop, Lucy,” though I had never given him leave to call me by my first name. Then the light faded to merely the thin, crisp sun of a January day, lapsing into late afternoon. I jerked to a stop at the sill, my hands against the gla.s.s, as sad as I had ever been.

When I woke, my cheeks were wet with tears.

I had grown used to odd dreams since I'd started taking the morphia, so I did not give this one any more thought. When Moira brought my morning coffee, she asked what I would wear to the Carrs' supper that evening, and the thought of that made me truly forget the dream and its sadness.

I had not remembered that William had accepted the invitation to Berry Carr's blue supper, though I should have. My friends had been talking about it for weeks, the plans, the orchestra she'd hired, the entertainment she'd planned-with several of the season's young debutantes playing out the drama of Tennyson's The Charge of the Light Brigade, all in the most elaborate costumes-and canvasback brought in at wretched prices for two hundred guests.

It was just the kind of event that usually sent my nerves jangling. I was surprised at my own calm when I said, ”The black and blue Worth, Moira.”

The Carrs lived on Fifth Avenue, near the site of our soon- to-be home, in their own plush chateau of pale limestone complete with all the worst accoutrements: elaborate dormers, bal.u.s.trades, gaudy ornamentation. But for all Robert Carr's horrible architectural taste, Berry Carr had a genius for flamboyant interior decoration.

We arrived near nine, joining the long line of carriages that stretched from the Carr door down Fifth Avenue. A rich, thick blue carpet had been spread from the curb to the front door, with an awning-to protect it, no doubt, from the snow that had started to fall only an hour before.

William held tight to my arm as we handed our invitations to the doorman and made our way inside. He released me reluctantly, so we could pa.s.s into separate cloakrooms. There, a maid was waiting to take my cloak and hat. I went to join the other women who were preening in front of gilded mirrors.

”My, Lucy, how lovely you look this evening.” Daisy Hadden turned from her primping as I approached. ”I haven't seen that gown in- What has it been? A year, at least. How brave you are to wear it tonight. I never could have accomplished it.”

”It's blue,” I said, trying to think of a suitable lie, when the truth was I could hardly remember that I'd worn the gown before. Papa always said I should keep a record. William would have remembered, but I'd already had on my cloak when I came downstairs, and he hadn't seen it. ”I had nothing else this color.”

”Such a pity there wasn't time to order a new one. Who could have known Berry would decide on blue? I would have thought gold, perhaps, after the Goelings' silver supper. . . . Well, that one is lovely.”

I smiled at her. ”Thank you, Daisy. I've always liked it.”

”Don't worry, I'm sure Berry won't notice. She's far too busy making sure the cooks don't spoil the ices.”

I bent pointedly to another mirror, patting into place a loose hair, waiting until Daisy left before I fluffed the black lace demi-sleeves and adjusted my diamond and sapphire necklace so it fell just at the point of the heart-shaped neckline. I had always liked this gown, and I wished I could recall where I had last worn it-not to some huge entertainment, I hoped.

I went out of the cloakroom to find my husband waiting impatiently. He frowned when he saw me. ”Lucy, that gown-”

”I'd forgotten,” I interrupted, and together we went upstairs.

The entire ballroom, which had once been wallpapered in roses, was now papered in a deep blue brocade. The drapes were deep blue velvet with silver-embroidered hems. At the far end, an orchestra played a low, quiet tune meant not for dancing but for arrivals. There were orchids everywhere, a profusion bunching from blue urns and small silver and blue vases. Near the door, a table stood piled with rows and rows of white gloves and tiny blue velvet boxes holding some kind of favor.

”This is the kind of supper we shall hold,” William whispered, ”when our own house is built. Can you imagine it?”

I pulled away from him. ”I see Millicent,” I told him, and he let me go.

My friend stood not far away, talking to Major Grunnel. An orchid tickled her ear from the vase on the table behind her; she was wearing blue and fuchsia and sparkling diamond eardrops. I didn't know I had been anxious until she looked up with a smile and I felt something inside me loosen and ease.

”Lucy!” she said, and then her eyes widened when she saw my gown. ”Oh, you look wonderful.”

”Indeed you do, Mrs. Carelton,” said the major with a slight bow. ”In fine form, I should say.”

”Thank you,” I said.

We talked of the usual things, the beauty of Berry's room, the inspired choice of blue, the sweetness of the orchids. Then the gray old major walked away, limping slightly-a wound from some war-and Millicent and I were left alone.

”You must tell me,” I said, ”where did I wear this gown before? Do you think Berry will be furious?”

”A year ago, at least,” Millicent said. ”At some supper-I can hardly remember, Lucy, and Berry certainly will not. She was in London then. Don't you remember?”

”I don't think so.”

”Yes, of course you do. There was a rumor of an affair with that old baron. They said she met him in his rooms at the Dartmouth House.”

”No, I don't remember.”

”Honestly, Lucy, it was the talk of the season. Robert himself went to bring her home. I can't believe you don't remember.”

”Much of the last week is in a fog. Last year seems a century ago.”

Millie looked at me oddly. ”You seem well today.”