One night he came drunk into my bedroom. He crawled on top of me, a big, painfully heavy man, pressed his knees onto my thighs beneath the covers, and pinned my hands over my head. He savored the way I froze, my breath in my throat. Then he laughed, his breath hot and painful on my cheek, his body shaking. He got up and stumbled from the room.
I lay awake for hours after that, trembling. Tears leaked down my temples and into my pillow. The heavy coil came back into my stomach. I am going to die this way. I am going to die.
Nothing had changed. I still had no money, no friends, no family, and nowhere to go. I had just turned sixteen. I was utterly alone and helpless.
It didn’t matter. Three days later, I ran.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I woke to Nina’s face as she shook me in bed. The sun was high in the windows, glaring through the thin curtains.
“Matron wants to see you,” Nina said.
I blinked at her. “What time is it?”
“Three o’clock.”
“What?” I sat up. “I’m not on duty yet.”
Nina frowned. “Matron’s off duty at night. She wants to see you now.”
I dressed and braided my hair, anger rising within me. Of course I would be expected to attend to Matron’s convenience; how else would it be? That I had been dragged out of bed after working a twenty-four-hour shift, given only a few hours’ rest, would be nothing to her.
The men were being served tea in the common room. A few of them passed me in the corridor and nodded. Somersham stopped me and apologized for the night before.
“It’s all right,” I said to him. “Are you feeling better?”
He moved his gaze from his feet to the window behind my shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. I’m well, thank you. I didn’t mean to bother you last night.”
In the afternoon light he looked haggard, as if he hadn’t slept the sleep of the drugged for some twelve hours. Somersham and I were about the same age, but like most of the men here, he looked much older. I didn’t have the heart to keep him there, asking him questions. Instead I said, “Are you certain? I can fetch you an aspirin.”
“It’s kind of you, ma’am, but if it’s all the same to you, my stomach won’t quite handle it.”
“Of course. Go have tea. I’m on night shift again tonight. I’ll see you later.”
Boney appeared at my shoulder as he left. “There you are,” she said. “Matron has been waiting.”
Boney’s face had its usual expression, but there was a distinct smugness about it. And so I wasn’t surprised when Matron turned thunderously on me when I entered her office.
“Nurse Weekes,” she said curtly. “Sit down.”
I sat in the hard chair opposite her desk, the same chair I’d used for our first interview.
Matron thrust a paper at me. “What is the meaning, exactly, of this?”
I took the paper and looked at it. “It’s my report from last night’s shift. I was told I was supposed to write one.”
“Read it, if you would.”
I cleared my throat. “‘Patient Twelve, Somersham, vomited twelve thirty a.m. Patient Six, Childress, nightmare two a.m. Both now resting quietly. Nothing else to report.’”
I raised my eyes. Matron was glaring at me.
“Well?” she said.
“Did I do it wrong?” I asked.
“Do it wrong?” There was high outrage in her tone, and I realized she was truly angry. “Nurse Weekes, I have been told on good authority that this is far from a complete report. I have been told that you spent a good deal of time alone with Patient Sixteen in his room, which is against regulations about fraternizing with the men. I’ve also been told that Mr. Mabry had another nosebleed, a fact you were apprised of, and yet you utterly failed to note it here.” She took the paper from my hand and raised it. “This is an incomplete report.”
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.”