The Merry Devils

It was his axe. Sharp and glittering, it had seen him through many a year and was the symbol of his craft. He slammed the door behind him then turned back to view the place which had been their home throughout their marriage. The cottage was his no more. It belonged to the new master of Parkbrook House. Hatred and revenge welled up in Harsnett and he saw the building as a version of Francis Jordan himself, as a cold, bitter, cruel, unwelcoming place. He swung the axe with sudden violence and sank the blade deep into the front door.

After this last gesture of defiance, he pulled the axe clear of i he timber and hurried across to throw it in the back of the cart. When he climbed up beside his wife, she collapsed against him. He took the reins in one hand and put the other arm around his ailing spouse. In response to a curt command, the horse struggled into life.

'God go with you!' said Glanville.

But they had no time to hear him.

*

Kirk said nothing to his colleagues about the progress he had made. They would not understand it. The other keepers at Bedlam took the simple view that lunatics should he treated in only two ways. They should either he amused with toys or beaten with whips. Play or punishment. It never occurred to them that their charges might respond to individual care of another kind. Rooksley typified the attitude that was prevalent. The head keeper believed that lunatics could not be cured by anything that he and his staff might do. The salvation of the mentally deranged lay entirely with the Almighty. In support of this credo, Rooksley could recite, word for word, from a document which dated from the first year of Queen Elizabeth's reign and which confirmed the institution's status as an asylum for the insane.

'Be it known to all devout and faithful people that there have been erected in the city of London four hospitals for the people that be stricken by the hand of God. Some be distraught from their wits and these be kept and maintained in the Hospital of our Lady of Bedlam, until God call them to his mercy, or to their wits again.'

For the vast majority of inmates, therefore, there was no respite and no hope. Stricken by the hand of God, they were repeatedly stricken by the hand of man as well. It was a savage Christianity.

Kirk sought to keep at least one person clear of it.

'I've brought your meal, David.'

'Ah.'

'You have to do better than that, sir,' coaxed the other. 'I will nor feed you else. Come, sir, what is that word we learned this morning?'

David's brow knotted with concentration for a moment.

Kirk prompted. 'If I give you something, what is my reward?'

'Th...ank...'

'Try again, David.'

'Th...ank...you...'

'Well done, sir! That deserves a meal.'

David was sitting on the bed in his featureless cell. The keeper sat down beside him and put the plate into the patient's lap. Taking hold of David's right hand, he Pitted the spoon into it then guided him down to his meal. The first mouthful was soon being chewed with slow deliberation. David was being helped to feed himself. He smiled at his minor triumph. It was another small sign of advance.

Kirk knew that nothing could be rushed. David could now say his name and mouth a few words bur that was all. He had to be taught again from the beginning and that would require time and patience. When the meal was over, Kirk waited expectantly. David was at first puzzled, then he grinned as he realised what was wanted.

Th...ank...'

'Speak up, sir.'

'Thank you!'

'Excellent!'

Kirk patted him on the back by the way of congratulation. There was still the vacant look in David's eye but he was not so completely beyond reach as the others believed. It was merely a question of opening up a line of communication with him.

'What's your name, sir?' asked Kirk.

'Da...vid.'

'Again.'

'David.'

'Again!'

'David. David. David.'

'And where do you live, David?'

The patient's face clouded over and his lips quivered.

'Where is your home?' said the keeper.

David glanced around and gestured with both hands.

'No, not here. Not Bedlam. This is where you live now, David. But where did you live before?'

The question completely baffled the patient. He looked lost and hurt. Kirk tried to jog his memory with a gentle enquiry.

'Was it in London?'

Unsure at first, David gave a hesitant shake of his head.

'Was it in a city?'

A longer wait then another uncertain shake of the head.

'Then you must have lived in the country, David.'

Bewilderment contorted the other's face. He was lost again.

'Did you live in the country?' prodded Kirk. 'Fields and woods around you? Can you not recall animals and birds?'

A radiant smile lit David's face. He nodded enthusiastically.

'You lived in the country. Was it in a village?'

David was more confident now. He shook his head at once.

'On a farm? In a cottage somewhere?'

The patient was clearly grappling with his past in order to wrest some details out of it. A jumble of memories made his expression change with each second. Kirk nudged his mind again.

'Did you live in a small house, David?'

'N...n...n...'

'No. Good. Was it a large house, then?'

David produced the beaming smile again. He laughed aloud.

'A large house in the country. Is that where you lived?'

'Y...y...ye...ye...' The word finally spurted out. 'Yes!'

*

Parkbrook was a hive of activity. The presence of its new master had put everyone on their mettle. Francis Jordan was a man who liked to exert his authority and the dismissal of Harsnett was a grim warning to other employees in the house and on the estate. The old order had changed with a vengeance. Those who laboured in the Great Hall hardly dared to look up from their work. Even ;he serene Joseph Glanville was forced to glance over his shoulder. Unease spread everywhere.

Francis Jordan spent the morning on a tour of inspection around the house, cracking the whip of his bad temper whenever he felt inclined. Having coveted Parkbrook for so long, he knew exactly how he wished to run it. He was particularly interested in the wine cellar and checked the stock which his predecessor had laid in. Several bottles were sent up. Over a leisurely meal that was taken alone in the spacious dining room, Jordan worked his way through some of the premier vintages. It left him in a more expansive mood. He hauled himself up the oak staircase and swayed towards the master bedroom. Intending to flop down and sleep off his over-indulgence, he paused when he saw that the room was occupied.