We all pushed back our chairs and stood. Boney moved to lead the doctors from the room; Matron rose to assemble the men; the rest of us prepared to clear the dishes and go about our afternoon work.
“Nurse Weekes,” said Dr. Thornton.
I put down my dishes and turned.
He smiled at me. “I would like you to accompany today’s sessions. I believe it will be instructive for an experienced nurse such as yourself. She does have clearance, of course, Matron?”
There was a beat of strained silence.
“Yes,” said Matron from the doorway, her sharp eyes staring at me like chips of stone. “Of course.”
“Very good,” said Dr. Thornton. And he and Dr. Oliver left the kitchen, Matron hurrying behind.
I glanced around at the others. Nina was amazed; Martha shooed me toward the door with one hand. But it was Boney who drew me. She stood aside from the door and stared down at her feet, her gaze furiously fixed, her bright yellow hair garish under its cap. Her lips had lost their prim, important line. Dark red spots flushed high on her cheekbones, as angry as a fever. Hurt crossed her face, but she fought it off. She was so damned easy to read.
Then she blinked hard, and her expression shuttered over again.
I dropped my napkin on the table. It was more important to her than to me; it was everything to her, and it was nothing to me. She had experience and I had none. I didn’t even like these men. And yet, when the doctors told me to go, I went. Because when someone offers me a meal, I eat it.
And I tell myself I am no fool.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
So that the doctors could come and go in an afternoon, the patients were seen in small groups. “We really must be away by supper,” Dr. Oliver explained to me as we climbed the stairs.
“And what do I do?” I said.
“Be ready,” he replied. “Sometimes the patients get upset, and sometimes they need assistance. We don’t allow orderlies in the room—what is said is far too confidential. But there should be one posted outside the door. If things go smoothly, you simply sit. And observe.”
His tone told me I was lucky to have the opportunity. I said nothing.
We used the common room, where the chairs had been set in a rough circle. I was directed to an extra chair off to the side by the wall, where I would not intrude on the conversation. I sat, crossed my ankles under my chair, and smoothed my long skirts over my legs.
Jack Yates arrived with the first group.
There was silence as the men filed in: Archie, Creeton, Captain Mabry, and Mr. MacInnes. Jack had shaved, combed his hair, and put on shoes. He looked at me as he entered, his dark-lashed blue eyes registering quiet surprise, and then he turned to the others and sat in the chair with his back to me.
Dr. Thornton cleared his throat. “Ah. We do have someone new with us today. I hope no one will find this too disruptive.”
The men shuffled their feet and glanced at one another. They said nothing.
“This is, ah, Mr. Yates,” Thornton tried again.
They knew. All of them. I looked at their faces and understood that the doctor wasn’t telling them anything they hadn’t already known, probably from the first. It was Archie, after all, who had warned me about the clearance to see Patient Sixteen. I’d been right; there was no hope of privacy in the close conditions these men lived in, not after being here six months. The happy little fiction that no one knew Jack Yates was here was just that: a fiction.
But the men said nothing, and Dr. Thornton and Dr. Oliver continued to look pained at this supposed breach in the rules.
The tension stretched unbearably. Creeton opened his mouth, a smirk on his face; then his gaze traveled over the other faces and he closed his mouth again. Finally Mr. MacInnes nodded. “How d’ye do,” he said.
“Yes, hello,” said Archie.
Thornton looked relieved. “Let’s begin.” He pulled a leather-bound notebook and pen from his briefcase, crossed his legs, and prepared to write. “Dr. Oliver, which patient is first?”
Oliver consulted his own list. “Mabry, sir.”
“Mabry.” Dr. Thornton made an obvious note of the name. “Please proceed, Mr. Mabry.”
Captain Mabry—Matron and the doctors called him “Mister,” but the rest of us couldn’t help but call him “Captain,” he was so obviously a captain—swallowed and nervously pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “I’ve been doing much better,” he said.
“Is that so?” Dr. Thornton regarded him. “I seem to recall, Mr. Mabry, that you were having hallucinations, though we had seen improvement in recent weeks.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I see. And what are you requesting?”
“I would like to see my children.” Mabry sat stiff and brittle, as if a single tap would shatter him.
“I’m sorry?” said Dr. Thornton. “Would you repeat that, please?”
“My children,” said the captain, a little louder. “I would like to see them—please, sir.”
“Your children.” Dr. Thornton wrote in his notebook. “Yes, you’ve made this request before.” He turned in his chair. “Dr. Oliver?”
As Dr. Oliver riffled through his papers for something, I watched Captain Mabry’s face, so plainly stamped with contained emotion, and I understood what Archie had told me the day before. We have to be well for the doctors.
Dr. Oliver handed Dr. Thornton a piece of paper, and Dr. Thornton looked it over. “I have here,” he said, “an incident report written by Matron. It states that you had one of your delusional attacks only a few days ago.”
That day at supper, Mabry lying in my lap with a nosebleed. The room was painfully quiet.
“Sir,” said Mabry.
“Well? Was it an attack? Or is Matron lying?”
“I had a nosebleed, sir. That was all.”
“A nosebleed.”
Captain Mabry’s gaze flicked to me for the merest second; then it flicked in front of me, to Jack Yates. Jack leaned forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, looking down at the floor as if tuning out the scene around him. He raised his head, looked at Mabry long enough to catch his eye for a second, and dropped his gaze again.
“I have a request here,” said Dr. Thornton, “from your wife, Mr. Mabry. She has applied to visit you, along with your children. If you are still having attacks, you must understand that for the safety and well-being of your family, as well as of yourself, I would not be able to allow this visit. Do you understand?”
Mabry did, with agonized clarity. “Yes, sir.”
“Do you still maintain you had a nosebleed and not a delusional attack?”
I was shocked. Thornton had no superior powers, no higher insight. This wasn’t medical treatment; it bore no resemblance to medical treatment. It was bartering, pure and simple. I wanted to scream.
“Yes, sir,” said Mabry.
“Nurse Weekes.” Thornton turned in his chair and suddenly all eyes were on me. “The incident report lists you as witness. What is your assessment?”
My face grew numb, and for a second my voice wouldn’t work. “I’m not familiar with Captain Mabry’s attacks, sir.”
Thornton closed his eyes briefly, as if greatly tried. “First of all, he is not a captain here. We have no ranks at Portis House.”