Silence for the Dead(42)

I blinked. Perhaps exhaustion was coloring my perception, but it seemed a vigorous overreaction to me. “I didn’t think it was important,” I said.

“You may want to rethink that answer,” said Matron. “You may want to rethink it very carefully.”

I pushed my mind into gear. I’d been tattled on by Roger—that much was clear; he’d told her everything. He’d done it because he’d known I would catch hell for it, though why he wanted me to, I couldn’t yet figure. I honestly hadn’t meant to lie to Matron; I’d written the report in a haze and I barely remembered thinking anything at all as I wrote, except that I wanted Captain Mabry to see his children.

But I’d miscalculated. Matron was furious. The list of things that could put Matron into such a tizzy was easy enough to guess, and I figured I knew the item at the top.

“The doctors,” I said.

“The doctors,” Matron shot back at me, “are responsible for the medical care of these men. Completely responsible. They report directly to Mr. Deighton. If an incorrect diagnosis is made and a man is sent home when he shouldn’t because the night nurse didn’t think a man’s symptoms were important, what do you think the consequences would be?”

“I didn’t—”

“If a man goes home,” Matron continued, “and harms his family or himself, the inquiry will lead directly here. Directly to you and to me.”

At our first meeting she’d told me that she was about to lose her position because she couldn’t keep a girl past three weeks. She was as worried about her own job, then, as I was about mine. The thought surprised me. I had never imagined Matron worried about anything.

I bit my lip, thinking. “All right. It’s just that I spoke to Captain Mabry and I don’t think he’s a danger to himself or others, not really. He has fits of nosebleeds, that’s all. I’m not even certain he’s mad.” Except that he sees things. But then, so do I.

Matron gave me a withering glare. “Mister Mabry, like every other patient in this institution, will say anything he can think of to win your sympathy, and therefore gain himself a better chance of escaping Portis House.”

That utterly stopped me. I stared at her, openmouthed. “Escape?”

“Of course, escape. This is an institution, Nurse Weekes.”

“But the doors aren’t locked. There are no fences. The men can leave whenever they wish.”

“And where would they go? Off over the marshes into the ocean? Or over the bridge to the mainland? We confiscate all of their personal belongings when they come here, including identification papers, money, and clothes. They wear clothing identifying them as patients.” Matron pulled a handkerchief from a pocket in her apron and began vigorously polishing the spectacles dangling on her chest. “There has never yet been an escape from Portis House, but if there were, no man could effect it alone. He would need help.”

I couldn’t calculate it. “You’re saying the patients would use me?”

She shook her head and continued to polish. “Just because a man has lost his sanity does not mean he is incapable of subterfuge. In fact, the insane are quite capable of it. And when they have brooded on something long enough, they have no moral qualms at all.” She dropped the glasses and let them dangle again. “So, yes, Nurse Weekes, I am saying that every man here will lie to you if he can. He will tell you what he thinks you want to hear in order to gain your sympathies. He will tell you he is a victim, that he is unjustly accused, that he is unfairly imprisoned. He will not tell you about the people close to him who are so badly frightened that they wanted him locked away for safety.” She looked me in the eye. “Trust me, Nurse Weekes, there are people right now who are terrified these men will come home.”

She had a way of looking at you that made you think she knew everything. But she couldn’t have known how those words made me shiver. I understood terror of a man coming home in a way I had never spoken of to anyone.

“You hadn’t thought of that, had you?” said Matron.

I shook my head.

“I didn’t think so. You need to think, Nurse Weekes, if you’re going to succeed here. Do you know why Mr. Somersham was vomiting?”

“The drugs,” I said numbly. “They were wearing off.”

“That is, in fact, incorrect. Persistent nausea is part of Mr. Somersham’s particular neurasthenia. For the first three weeks he was here, we had difficulty getting him to take food at all. It usually recurs when he’s had some excitement, such as I understand he had yesterday.”

I sat silent. I had been so sure.

“Mr. Mabry,” said Matron, “is subject not only to nosebleeds and delusions, but to violent fits as well. It took us nearly two weeks, I might add, to dry him out. And Mr. Childress assaulted one of the nurses a few days before you started here.”

“What?” Archie?

“He assaulted Nurse Ravell, your predecessor, during a night shift. She was so frightened she left right away without notice.”

That was why she had departed so quickly that she hadn’t taken all of her belongings. I rubbed a tired hand over my forehead. Everything in the dark of night, when I was alone—everything had seemed so different. In the light of day, I questioned what I had seen, what I had thought. I had a particularly bad episode, Archie had told me.