Amelia nodded. With a huge effort, she lifted herself up from her seat, clutching at the sides of the cab to lend her support. Dr. Fabian stepped up onto the footplate and offered her his hand. She took it gratefully, noting that his fingers were fat and soft and well kept. Hesitantly, leaning on the doctor for support, Amelia stepped down from the cab onto the driveway below. She glanced up at the building as she dusted herself down. The Grayling Institute was an enormous country house, probably two or three hundred years old, once the domain of princes and kings, but now given over to science and more practical pursuits. This was Dr. Fabian's private establishment, managed on behalf of Her Majesty the Queen. This is where he did his great work, where members of the Royal Family themselves were brought for treatment, whether it be a dose of syphilis or a case of the
"family sickness". She'd learned all this from Veronica, and consequently, she found herself in awe of the place, of the doctor and of her wondrous surroundings. To live in a palace! Already she felt her spirits lifting. How could she not recover here? Just the look of the place was enough to imbue her with energy.
Dr. Fabian adjusted his glasses. Amelia wondered if it was a nervous tic – it was the third time she'd noticed him do it in as many minutes. He glanced at the open doorway of the institute, which sat behind four Corinthian pillars at the top of a long slope. Amelia suspected that there had once been a set of stone steps, but these had now been replaced by a ramp to improve access for the infirm. Dr. Fabian's reedy voice echoed out in the empty courtyard. "We're ready now, Mr.
Calverton."
Amelia sensed movement in the shadow of the doorway. She watched intently. Sure enough, a moment later, a figure appeared, brandishing a small wicker wheelchair, which she assumed would be used to escort her into the premises. But as the figure emerged from the shadows of the doorway, Amelia felt her breath catch in her throat. The man with no face! The figure she had seen in her visions. She felt suddenly gripped with panic. The man pushing the wheelchair barely had the look of a man about him at all. His face was entirely hidden behind a featureless, porcelain mask, designed to give the impression of a blank human face. Two slits allowed his startling blue eyes to peer out from behind the mask, and his head was closely shaved, covered in a fuzz of auburn stubble. His upper torso was still human, and he was wearing a smart black jacket and a cravat.
Beneath the waist, however, Mr. Calverton was more machine than man. His legs had been replaced by gleaming brass contraptions that parodied their biological counterparts, pistons spitting furiously in the thighs, servos grinding in the knees.
Mr. Calverton cocked his head as if to acknowledge Amelia, but otherwise remained mute.
There was a long, silent pause, before he edged forward with the wheelchair, his pointed metal feet scraping on the flagstones. The servos squealed and whined as he slowly descended the ramp. When he reached the gravel path, he rolled the wheelchair forward, as if gesturing for Amelia to take a seat. She noticed he was wearing white gloves.
Amelia felt a shiver run along her spine. There was something about the man, something she'd seen in her visions, but was not yet able to place. He had a story. A story that had not yet come to an end. She wasn't sure if she wanted to know what that end might be.
Dr. Fabian seemed to notice Amelia's alarm, and put a steadying arm around her shoulders.
"Come now, Miss Hobbes. There is no need to be afraid. Mr. Calverton will see to your every need."
Trying not to grimace, Amelia allowed herself to be led forward towards the entrance. Mr.
Calverton came forward to greet her. She studied his blank expression, realising that it was this, more than anything, which had inspired her sense of unease. She was unable to read his face. She had no idea if, behind that plain, porcelain visage, the man was smiling or frowning at her. His eyes seemed vacant. Dead. Suddenly, she felt a longing for her old room, back at the sanatorium. She closed her eyes and tried to suppress her fears.
Dr. Fabian gently placed his hands on her arms and lowered her into the wheelchair. Amelia gave him a brisk nod of acknowledgement, and then together, the small party wound its way slowly inside the stark edifice of the Grayling Institute.
Inside, the reception hall retained many of its original features: the bold, galleried staircase, the glassy marble floor and the high, decorative ceiling. Rooms and passageways branched off from the hallway all manner of illogical directions, like arteries winding away from a heart. It was quite different from the sanatorium, and briefly, Amelia allowed herself a smile. Perhaps she had been hasty. Perhaps her earlier hopes had been right. This was a place to heal.
Dr. Fabian led them away down a small passageway to the left of the staircase. The space had obviously been converted from old servants' quarters, and now, Amelia realised, the rooms that stemmed off from the main corridor had been remodelled as apartments for the patients. The wheelchair creaked as they rolled on along the corridor, the sound of Mr. Calverton's clicking feet a constant distraction.
Presently, Dr. Fabian came to a stop. He gestured through an open doorway on the right-hand side of the corridor. Mr. Calverton brought the wheelchair to a stop. Dr. Fabian coughed into his fist.
"These shal be your rooms, Miss Hobbes, for the duration of your stay. I hope you find them to your liking." He stepped to one side, allowing her a clearer view. Amelia gasped. The apartment consisted of two rooms, linked by an internal door, with tall sash windows that looked out upon the perfectly manicured gardens at the rear of the old mansion. Topiary sculptures described creatures from ancient mythology, and birds wheeled in the sky above a glittering lake. The rooms themselves were panelled in dark oak and well furnished. A four-poster bed filled the antechamber, and in the large drawing room an ornate marble fire surround dominated one wall, a low fire crackling in the grate.
Two armchairs, a chaise longue and a sideboard completed the arrangements, and an ancient portrait hung on the far wall, showing a regal-looking fellow in plate armour, standing beside an immense globe.
Amelia began to climb out of her wheelchair, but Dr. Fabian waved her to remain seated, instead ushering Mr. Calverton to wheel her forward into the room. "Really? This is really where I shall stay?"
Dr. Fabian's lips curled. "Indeed it is, Miss Hobbes. I am sure you will be comfortable. Now," he stepped back, as if suddenly galvanised into action, "we shal take our leave. No doubt you're tired after your long journey. Perhaps this evening we could dine together, and I could tel you a little more of our work here at the Institute?"
Amelia nodded. "I'd like that very much."
"Excellent! I shal return to escort you to dinner at seven o'clock. In the meantime, your belongings wil be delivered shortly. Good day to you, Miss Hobbes."
"Good day to you, Dr. Fabian." She glanced, warily, at the other man, who stood to one side, regarding her, unblinking. "And to you, Mr. Calverton." The masked man remained silent, turning to stomp unceremoniously from the room. Dr. Fabian gave a curt bow, and then also took his leave, pul ing the door shut behind him.
Amelia gazed longingly out of the window. Then, surprised, she turned back to regard the door as she heard a key pushed into the lock and bolts slide shut in the doorframe. The doctor had locked the door behind him. Why should he do that? She wheeled herself over to the door and tested the handle. It was locked firm. She was trapped.
Frustrated, Amelia considered her situation. The lavishly furnished room, then, was nothing but a lavishly furnished cell. What was this place? It certainly didn't seem like a hospital. And what of Mr.
Calverton? What affliction had he endured to wind up in such a way? Amelia gave an involuntary shudder. Perhaps, with him wandering the premises, it was better that the door to her room was locked after all.