Page 13 of Lady for a Season
He stood at once, but he was more pale than usual, and his hands were shaking.
“Are you well? I could ask him to… delay?” Almost asking for herself rather than him, for she had a mounting dread in her stomach.
He shook his head and clenched his hands into fists, as though to make the shaking stop, walked past her and into the corridor. He hesitated for a moment outside the third room, before he swallowed and entered.
Maggie followed.
“Good morning, Edward.”
“Good morning, sir.”
“Take your usual seat and we shall get started.”
Edward lowered himself into the chair, making the chains rattle.
“Your shirt.”
Edward removed his jacket and waistcoat, handing both to Maggie without looking at her.
“Very good.” The doctor was busy mixing up powders in a small cup, adding a few drops of liquid from one of the bottles to create a paste.
Slowly, Edward peeled off his shirt and Maggie took it. His skin was very white.
“We begin with blistering, Maggie. I shall apply this paste to Edward’s back and chest. Blistering draws out noxioushumours, which often abound in patients who are afflicted with melancholic thoughts.”
“What is that, sir?” Maggie dared to ask, indicating the paste.
“Ground blister-beetles, combined with pepper and mustard. We apply it to the skin, and by midday or so it will have raised blisters on his skin.”
Maggie stared as the doctor applied the paste in little mounds over Edward’s back and chest, then wrapped him in a strip of linen to hold the paste in place against the skin.
“Now, we shall proceed to bleeding him, which of course has long been efficacious in such cases and many other ailments. Pass me the scarificator from the table.”
“The?”
“Scarificator. The small brass box.”
She passed it and he removed the bottom half, revealing twelve tiny rotating blades. He pulled back a small lever on the box, then held it over Edward’s arm. Maggie wanted to stop him, but Edward seemed in a daze, making no attempt at refusal.
“The bleeding bowl, Maggie, if you would be so good. And a clean strip of linen.”
She fetched them and stood helpless as Doctor Morrison pushed down on Edward’s arm with the brass instrument, which made a click.
“It arms the blades, you see,” explained the doctor, as though Maggie had eagerly asked for details. With his thumb, he pressed a knob and Edward flinched. Blood began to flow, the doctor lifting the instrument away to show the twelve tiny cuts made in Edward’s skin, now bleeding rivulets into the bowl.
“Hold that there for a few moments, Maggie. Then we will do the other arm.”
She held it, staring into Edward’s face, but his eyes were on the floor as the blood flowed out of him. After a few moments,the doctor wiped and applied a dressing, before repeating the operation on the other side.
“There, we are making splendid progress,” he said with satisfaction. “Let us move on to the enema.”
“Sir –”
“Yes, Maggie?”
“Surely – all these treatments on one day, sir, is it not too much for Edward to bear all at once?”
The doctor frowned at her. “Thomas Willis has observed that lunatics are less susceptible to such pain as you or I might feel, Maggie. They can bear heat or cold, fasting, wounds and so on, far better than a sane person. Indeed, such treatment often has a beneficial effect on them. When Edward was first brought here, he had regular cold baths in winter and, even now, I only allow him to wash in cold water.”
