Page 48 of Passion Painted in a Lady's Heart
“It’s all right, Sebastian. You don’t have to. You’ve got us to remember for you,” she said, kneeling at his side and taking her hand in his, still with that same reassuring look on her face.
Chapter 20
Sebastian was asleep when the doctor arrived, and he awoke to the sound of hushed voices in the far corner of the drawing room. It was getting dark now, the evening drawing in, and he could see three figures outlined against the flickering light of the fire, now lit in the hearth.
Candles, too, had been set around the room, the curtains closed, and the atmosphere of a sick room pervading. Sebastian felt powerless, like an invalid now at the wills and whims of others. As he sat up, still with a slight pain in his stomach, his stepmother came hurrying over.
“Oh, thankgoodness, you’re awake. You drank a little coffee and went straight to sleep,” she said, as the doctor, too, now approached.
To his surprise, Sebastian did not recognize him. He thought he knew every notable doctor in London, after having consulted so many of the city’s physicians on his future state of health. The doctor was an elderly man, short, and with a few wisps of gray hair remaining on his otherwise balding head.
He had not even bothered to cover it with a wig. He looked down at Sebastian, narrowing his eyes, as though in a concentrated examination.
“How are you feeling, my Lord?” he asked, and Sebastian sat up properly, feeling tired and still in pain.
“I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel. I don’t know anything,” he replied, and the doctor nodded.
“Yes, a common symptom,” he said, turning to Sebastian’s stepmother, who shook her head sadly.
Sebastian did not understand what the doctor was diagnosing, or what he meant by a “common symptom.” He felt confused and tried to think back again to the portrait and its changes. Sebastian was certain he had not altered it, and yet the evidence was clear to see.
“I don’t understand,” Sebastian replied.
“Your stepmother’s told me some of your symptoms, my Lord such as the forgetfulness, memory loss, and emotional outbursts. You’re experiencing pains in your stomach and restlessness, is that right? May I?” he said, leaning over to examine Sebastian, who lay back on the chaise lounge with a sigh, allowing the doctor to conduct his examination.
He had not even introduced himself, and now Sebastian’s stepmother leaned over the doctor’s shoulder with a worried look on her face.
“We only want what’s best for you, Sebastian,” she said.
His uncle was standing by the fireside, a shadowy figure in the flickering light. Sebastian still did not understand why he had come, or what he wanted. His behavior was hawkish and veiled in sympathy. Like a bird of prey, he had waited for Sebastian’s weakness to show, and now he hovered, waiting to strike.
“What’s wrong with me?” Sebastian asked, and the doctor sighed, glancing at Sebastian’s stepmother, who shook her head.
“We’ll take care of him, doctor, whatever he needs. We’ll take care of him,” she said, as the doctor straightened up.
“His symptoms suggest madness. The disease itself is a mystery, as we don’t fully understand the workings of the mind. One only has to think of His Majesty’s condition to realize the varied effects of such conditions. But I’m fairly certain his symptoms show a progressive disease.
There may be long periods of lucidity, but a sudden outburst could lead to the possibility of a complete breakdown at any moment,” he said, glancing down at Sebastian, who felt powerless to suggest otherwise.
Forgetfulness, passionate outbursts, and now the pain. It all pointed to what the doctor was saying. He had seen it in his father, as had his stepmother, and if anyone knew the pain of seeing a loved one succumb to such a dreadful fate, it was her. But in his mind, in himself, Sebastian was not yet ready to admit defeat. He was not mad.
A madman was one without control, without reason, without autonomy. Sebastian had all of those things. He was entirely within his faculties, save for the strange notion of there being things he could not remember doing or being part of.
It was as though periods of time had passed without his having been aware of them, and to recall them was an impossibility, even as the evidence of them having occurred existed all around him.
“What can I do?” Sebastian asked.
The doctor pondered for a moment.
“The greatest specialists in the land haven’t found a cure for the king’s madness. There’ve been attempts, of course. Francis Willis had some success. His sanitorium in Lincolnshire was famous for treating those of a wrongheaded disposition. But as for definite results, I can only wonder what might be done. A herbal remedy or a calming tonic might slow the advance,” the doctor said, and Sebastian’s stepmother nodded.
“Yes. Certainly, doctor. Whatever you think might help. We’ll do what we can, but I won’t send Sebastian away,” she said.
Sebastian looked at her in astonishment. They were talking about him as though he was not there, even as he himself had no intention of being confined to a sanitorium.
“I’m not mad,” he exclaimed, and the doctor looked at him sympathetically.
“Unfortunately, my Lord, that’s what others in your place had said, too. Afflictions of the mind can manifest themselves in so many ways. We simply don’t understand their full effects. I’m going to recommend the herbal remedy. It’s just a tea, of sorts, something to calm you. And plenty of rest,” he said.
