The housekeeper’s eyes darted up toward the ceiling, then she waved a hand at him. “Oh, just the usual rumors. Let me find Jasper.”
Rumors? The housekeeper was gone before he could ask, so he made his way to the library for some scotch. After a long, cold day, he needed liquid fire in his veins and a relaxing evening, fussed over by Mrs. Willoughby.
Gus entered the familiar, comforting room and took a deep breath. He’d always loved the smell of the leather bindings and polished panels. The jester-like faces in the corners of the crown molding grinned at him as he settled behind his grandfather’s walnut desk. He poured some liquor into a crystal glass and reached into his jacket for the letter that had arrived the day he left London. Cracking the seal on the paper, he sipped his scotch and sank into the overstuffed chair.
It was from an old university chum. Dr. Nathan Froning had kept up his correspondence over the years, sending notes throughout his many travels. Gus remembered the conversations they’d had about the afflictions of the human mind, and the compassion—or horror—society held for those lost souls. Nathan insisted that many of the “lunatics” of the day were misdiagnosed or misunderstood. Gus scanned the page and chuckled.
His friend was now employed at a small retreat in York, run by the Society of Friends, and attended just such patients. The religious group was known for their unique view of madness and used few restraints, insisting that all persons had souls and should be treated as such.
I’m learning more about the human condition than you can imagine. It is truly fascinating, and the most worthwhile work I’ve ever done. But we need good men. The Friends are staunch supporters of the downtrodden and are presently investigating the York Asylum. Atrocities are committed daily inside those walls, and we hope to bring the mayhem to an end.
A man with your qualifications, a physician with ties to Parliament, could demand the attention of the authorities when we are ready. Your voice, joined by your brother’s, would give much-needed legitimacy to our complaint.
Accept my invitation to visit us after the New Year. We’ll have a grand chitchat, and I will do my best to convince you to stay.
Gus took another sip of his scotch, rubbed his jaw, and turned the idea over in his mind. The proposal—and the challenge—intrigued him. It could be a curious distraction from his present dilemma while maintaining his role as a physician. Doctor the mind along with the body. Less death, but more possibilities to aid his fellow man. Isn’t that what he had been searching for? Plus, itwouldbe good to see Nathan again.
He sighed as he stretched his long legs under the desk. A whisper of a breeze caressed his face and ruffled his hair, cooling the back of his neck. Strange, there were no windows open. Mrs. Willoughby must have left a door ajar.
He leaned back again and closed his eyes, his decision made. A calmness settled over him, soothed his discontented soul. For the first time in years, he looked forward to what tomorrow might bring. His mind wasn’t whirling with next week’s cases, or next month, or next year. Just tomorrow.