‘We’re almost there, at any rate,’ he said, as though we were having a casual conversation.
I didn’t speak again. Didn’t trust my voice not to quiver. I wouldn’t let him see that I was afraid. The landscape outside was dull and brown – bare trees, dying grass on the verges. And then, out of nowhere, two stone pillars and a wrought-iron gate. A man appeared from the trees, it seemed, and opened it. The car rattled over the cattle grid and sped up a short drive which led to a square grey building. It looked like a monastery, with a small church off to the left. There were two black cars parked near the entrance and Lyndon pulled up beside them.
He got out and opened my door for me. I did not move. After a moment he grabbed my arm and pulled me out. There was a woman in a nurse’s uniform waiting for us at the door. I looked askance at Lyndon, who still had hold of my arm. I had heard about mother-and-baby homes in Ireland – a place where unmarried mothers were sent to have their babies in secret by their families. More often than not, the child was taken away and adopted by a respectable family. I pulled away from Lyndon, but the nurse saw this and grabbed my other arm.
‘No, no!’ I screamed. It was all I could say. A primal demand for escape.
I was bundled into a room. A man was sitting behind a giant mahogany desk. He looked friendly, or so I thought, and I began pleading with him immediately.
‘Please, you must understand, I am a woman of means. I own my own business and the baby’s father left an income,’ I said. ‘My brother has brought me here against my will.’
‘Opaline, let’s not entertain this charade any longer. Doctor, the bastard child was conceived out of wedlock and this husband she speaks of is a pure fabrication.’
I was stunned into silence. The man walked out from around his desk and shook my hand politely.
‘Please, Miss Carlisle, just take a seat and rest. Polly, can you bring the Carlisles some tea? They must be tired after their journey.’
The nurse disappeared and Lyndon sat down in one of the straight-backed chairs. I wanted to run out of there, but I didn’t stand a chance with two men blocking my way, and so I also took a seat.
‘Your brother has informed me that you haven’t been feeling well recently, not quite yourself. Would you agree?’
‘Absolutely not. I have not seen my brother in years and his sole interest in my affairs is borne of malice and jealousy.’
‘As you can see, Doctor, she is still suffering from these delusions,’ said Lyndon in the most sympathetic tone I had ever heard him employ. ‘It has been clear to me for some time that she is not capable of managing her own affairs and so I shall be taking over the little shop with immediate effect.’
My head whipped around and my eyes burned at the sight of him.
‘You read about the manuscript in the letter, didn’t you? You know its worth. That’s why you’ve come for me now. You couldn’t care less about the baby. You are a jealous, spiteful little man—’ I turned back to the doctor. ‘He is determined to destroy everything that I have worked for, to ruin my reputation and claim what’s mine!’ I spoke so fast that there was spittle at the corner of my mouth. I had to make this man understand who Lyndon truly was.
The two men merely exchanged knowing looks.
‘Wait a moment, who are you and what is this place?’
‘I am Dr Lynch and this is the Connacht District Lunatic Asylum.’
I was sure I had misheard.
‘I don’t understand … Lyndon?’
My brother stared straight ahead of him. Doctor Lynch leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk, making a steeple of his fingers and resting his chin on the tip.
‘Your brother has brought you here because he is concerned for your welfare, Opaline. You seem to be suffering from what we term puerperal insanity – a type of psychosis that can develop in pregnant women causing them to become violent to themselves and others.’
‘She tried to attack me in the car on the way here,’ Lyndon said, looking every inch the victim.
‘You lying bastard!’ I screamed. I stood up to go, but the nurse had returned and, displaying extraordinary strength, restrained me in her arms and forced me back into the chair.
‘Please, try not to upset yourself, Opaline.’
I tried to free myself but it was pointless. The woman had me in a vice-like grip. My breath was short and ragged, like a trapped animal. It was then that I realised Lyndon had set the entire thing up. He knew how I would react and that my anger would only serve his purpose – to make me look unhinged. An angry man was dominant. An angry woman, on the other hand, must have lost her grip on sanity. I vowed to keep quiet after that and focus on regaining my breath.
‘Your sister does seem to be suffering from some type of persecution complex, as you stated in your letter.’
This was it; they had already begun talking as if I wasn’t there. Any argument on my part would be seen as further evidence of a fraying mental state. My head lolled on to my chest as my body seemed to collapse in on itself. With one fell swoop, all of the energy left me.
‘I’m sure you understand, Dr Lynch, my family can’t risk this kind of scandal getting into the papers. Opaline’s lifestyle has long been a source of embarrassment to our mother, but this’—Lyndon said, gesturing to my pregnant belly—‘well, it really is too much to bear.’
‘Indeed. It is this century’s loss of morality that has led to so many ills,’ the doctor agreed, in deference to my brother, the war hero. He assured Lyndon that a stay in their asylum would cure me of whatever it was they both found so distasteful in my character. ‘Now, if you’ll just sign this committal form and release the agreed-upon funds, we will give your sister the appropriate care.’
With a great will of effort, my breathing had slowed and I was able to connect with some deep, primal part of my being. There would be no escape today, that was certain. But I could use my wit and intellect to convince this doctor over the coming days that I did not belong in this place. I did not know then that half the women already incarcerated had attempted the same futile exercise. I should have realised, they did not listen to women. The female sex was a curio for them; something to be studied but not understood. A nuisance to be controlled.
The nurse led me away from the doctor’s office and down the hall, a firm grip on my arm. Away from the public areas of the building, the aesthetics changed. What struck me immediately was the bareness of the place. Nothing on the walls, which were painted a sickly green, and the smell of bleach made me want to retch. I was taken to my room, although they might as well have called it what it was – a cell. Two iron-framed beds （it appeared I would not be alone for my incarceration, and I could not decide if this was a good or a bad thing） were the only things in the room. There was a high window that I would have to stand on the bed to see out, although I noted that there were bars on it, should any notion of escape cross my mind.
‘I need the bathroom.’
‘There’s a basin under the bed,’ the nurse said, still with a tight grip of my arm.
I didn’t fight her off – in truth, I could not have stood without her aid. I felt nauseous and asked for some water.