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Synopsis
A fantastic collection of stories of love and intrigue that focus on the trappings of the popular Victorian era, enlivened with fantastical elements and incorporating some noir and detective pieces, by O. M. Grey, Leanna Renee Hieber, N. K. Jemisin, Eliza Knight, Sarah Prineas, Delia Sherman, Genevieve Valentine and many more. Full list of contributors: Vivian Caethe; Leanna Renee Hieber; Seth Cadin; Tiffany Trent; Eliza Knight; Sara Harvey; Rick Bowes; Genevieve Valentine; Nisi Shawl; Maurice Broaddus; Ella D?Arcy; E. Catherine Tobler; Sarah Prineas; Barbara Roden; Mary Braddon; Mae Empson; Caroline Stevermer; Delia Sherman; Tansy Roberts; N. K. Jemisin; O.M. Grey.
Release date: September 18, 2014
Publisher: Robinson
Print pages: 512
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The Mammoth Book Of Gaslit Romance
Ekaterina Sedia
Born in England, Mary Elizabeth Braddon was a prolific writer, producing more than eighty novels with very inventive plots. The most famous one is Lady Audley’s Secret (1862), which won her recognition as well as fortune. The novel has been in print ever since its publication, and has been dramatized and filmed several times. Braddon also founded Belgravia magazine (1866), which presented readers with serialized sensation novels, poems, travel narratives and biographies, as well as essays on fashion, history and science. In addition to this she edited Temple Bar magazine.
Richard Bowes has won two World Fantasy Awards, an International Horror Guild and a Million Writer Award. He has published six novels, four short story collections and seventy short stories, and 2013 saw the republication of his Lambda Award-winning 1999 novel Minions of the Moon and his new novel Dust Devil on a Quiet Street, both from Lethe Press. Also in 2013, his collection The Queen, the Cambion and Seven Others was published by Aqueduct Press and his If Angels Fight by Fairwood Press.
Maurice Broaddus has written hundreds of short stories, essays, novellas and articles. His dark fiction has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Asimov’s Science Fiction, Cemetery Dance, Apex Magazine, and Weird Tales Magazine. He is the co-editor of the Dark Faith anthology series (Apex Books) and the author of the urban fantasy trilogy, Knights of Breton Court (Angry Robot Books). He has been a teaching artist for over five years, teaching creative writing to students of all ages. Visit his website at www.mauricebroaddus.com.
Vivian Caethe’s short stories and novellas have appeared in a variety of magazines and anthologies. Her most recent novella, The Diamond City, is published by Bold Strokes Books. While writing, thinking and breathing in general, she drinks tea in the constant search for the perfect cup. She lives in Colorado with her husband, his dog who think he’s a human with hyper-trichosis, and a supervillan cat.
Seth Cadin is a mammal who lives on Earth. He has one daughter and many pet mice. His favourite colour word is ‘periwinkle’.
Mae Empson has a Master’s degree in English literature from Indiana University at Bloomington, and graduated with honours in English and in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She lives in Seattle, Washington. Recent publications appear in print in anthologies from Prime Books, Innsmouth Free Press, Chaosium and Dagan Books, and online in The Pedestal Magazine and Cabinet des Fées. Recently, two of her stories were nominated for Ellen Datlow’s long list of Honorable Mentions for Best Horror of the Year, Volume 5. Follow Mae on twitter at www.twitter.com/ maeempson and read her blog at www.maeempson.wordpress.com.
Nestled in the mountains of northern California, Olivia M. Grey lives in the cobwebbed corners of her mind writing paranormal romance with a steampunk twist. She dreams of the dark streets of London and the decadent deeds that occur after sunset. As an author of steamy steampunk, as well as a poet, blogger, podcaster and speaker, Olivia focuses both her poetry and prose on alternative relationship lifestyles, and deliciously dark matters of the heart and soul. Her work has been published in various anthologies and magazines like Stories in the Ether, Steampunk Adventures, SNM Horror Magazine and How the West Was Wicked.
Ella D’Arcy (Constance Eleanor Mary Byrne D’Arcy) (c.1857–1937) was a short fiction writer in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. D’Arcy is mostly known for her short stories in the Yellow Book. D’Arcy also published in Argosy, Blackwood’s Magazine and Temple Bar. Her work on the Yellow Book bought her into contact with the publisher John Lane, who initially published her collection of short stories, Monochromes (1895), and went on to publish her further works, Modern Instances (1898) and The Bishop’s Dilemma (1898). As well as writing fiction, D’Arcy also translated into English André Maurois’s biography of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ariel (1924).
Sara M. Harvey hails from the San Francisco Bay Area and really wants them to name the Bay Bridge after Emperor Norton. Her Blood of Angels trilogy (The Convent of the Pure, The Labyrinth of the Dead and The Tower of the Forgotten) from Apex Publications blends fantasy, horror and steampunk with lesbian protagonists. She has an amazing husband, an awesome daughter and too many terrible dogs. She can be found on Facebook, Twitter (@saraphina_marie) and at www.saramharvey.com.
Actress, playwright and author Leanna Renee Hieber is the award-winning, bestselling author of Gothic Victorian fantasy novels for adults and teens. Her Strangely Beautiful saga won three Prism awards for excellence in the genre of Fantasy Romance, hit Barnes & Noble’s and Borders’ bestseller lists and garnered numerous regional genre awards. The Strangely Beautiful saga is also being adapted into a musical theatre production. Leanna’s Magic Most Foul saga began with Darker Still, an Indie Next List pick and a Scholastic Book Club ‘Highly Recommended’ title. The trilogy is now complete. Her new gaslamp fantasy saga, The Eternal Files begins early 2015. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies, including Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells, and Willful Impropriety. A proud member of performers’ unions Actors Equity and SAG-AFTRA, she works often in film and television on shows such as Boardwalk Empire. A perky Goth girl with more corsets than is reasonable, Leanna enjoys ghost stories, long walks through graveyards in full Victorian regalia, playing Malfoy and visiting family in Salem. She lives in New York City with her husband and their beloved rescued lab rabbit. More at leannareneehieber.com, twitter.com/leannarenee and facebook.com/lrhieber.
N(ora). K. Jemisin is an author of speculative fiction short stories and novels who lives and writes in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has been nominated for the Hugo (three times), the Nebula (four times), and the World Fantasy Award (twice); shortlisted for the Crawford, the Gemmell Morningstar, and the Tiptree; and she has won a Locus Award for Best First Novel as well as the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award (three times). Her short fiction has been published in Clarkesworld, Postscripts, Strange Horizons, and Baen’s Universe, as well as podcast markets and print anthologies. Her first five novels, The Inheritance Trilogy and The Dreamblood (duology), are out now from Orbit Books. Her novels are represented by Lucienne Diver of the Knight Agency.
Eliza Knight is the multi-published, award-winning, bestselling author of sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time – if there is such a thing – she likes daydreaming, wine tasting, travelling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping, and visiting family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain, and enjoys cold winter nights when she can curl up in front of a roaring fire with her own knight in shining armour. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com.
Sarah Prineas has published a bunch of SF/fantasy stories for adults, but now writes mostly fantasy novels for kids. The Magic Thief series and Winterling trilogy were published by HarperCollins in the U.S.; The Magic Thief books were published in nineteen other languages around the world. Sarah lives in rural Iowa with her husband and kids, two dogs, a cat and three adorable goats.
Tansy Rayner Roberts is the author of the Mocklore Chronicles, The Creature Court trilogy, and the short-story collection Love and Romanpunk. She is the co-host of two all-women pop-culture podcasts, Galactic Suburbia and Verity. Tansy writes about Doctor Who, superheroes and feminism on her blog, for which she received the Hugo for Best Fan Writer in 2013.
Barbara Roden was born in Vancouver, British Columbia, and is the author of the World Fantasy Award-nominated collection Northwest Passages. Although she grew up a long way from the expansive prairies of ‘The Wide Wide Sea’, that region of the country, and the toll it took on early settlers, has always fascinated her. Of the story she writes, ‘Several years ago, an article in the Canadian news magazine Maclean’s talked about the women who made the trek across the Atlantic to start a new life in Canada, and mentioned that some of them were so overwhelmed by the vastness and emptiness of the prairies that they literally ran mad with terror. I was fascinated with this idea, especially when I combined it with a young woman marrying for what seemed to her like the right reasons – or at least good ones – and then realizing, too late, that she might have made a terrible mistake. How can you share someone else’s dream when everything about it terrifies you?’
Nisi Shawl’s collection Filter House was a 2009 Tiptree winner; her stories have been published in Strange Horizons, Asimov’s Science Fiction, and in several anthologies, including Mojo: Conjure Stories and both volumes of Dark Matter. Shawl was WisCon 35’s Guest of Honor. She co-edited Strange Matings: Science Fiction, Feminism, African American Voices and Octavia E. Butler. She edited The WisCon Chronicles, Volume 5: Writing and Racial Identity and Bloodchildren: Stories by the Octavia E. Butler Scholars, and currently edits reviews for The Cascadia Subduction Zone. Shawl co-authored Writing the Other: A Practical Approach. She co-founded the Carl Brandon Society and serves on the board of directors for Clarion West. Her website is www.nisishawl.com.
Delia Sherman’s most recent short stories have appeared in the young-adult anthologies Steampunk! and Teeth, and in Ellen Datlow’s urban-fantasy anthology Naked City. Her adult novels are Through a Brazen Mirror, The Porcelain Dove and (with Ellen Kushner) The Fall of the Kings. Novels for younger readers include Changeling and The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen. Her most recent novel, The Freedom Maze, a time-travel historical about antebellum Louisiana, received the Andre Norton Award, the Mythopoeic Award, and the Prometheus Award. When Delia is not writing, she’s teaching, editing, knitting and travelling. She lives in New York City with Ellen Kushner, piles of books, some nice Arts and Crafts wallpaper, and a very Victorian rock collection.
Caroline Stevermer, originally from a dairy farm in southeastern Minnesota, lives in Minneapolis. She has written A College of Magics and River Rats, among other novels, and in collaboration with Patricia C. Wrede, Sorcery & Cecelia and its two sequels. She likes baseball, steamboats, trains and bookstores.
E. Catherine Tobler is a Sturgeon Award finalist and the senior editor at Shimmer magazine. Her first novel, Gold & Glass, is now available.
Tiffany Trent is the award-winning author of The Unnaturalists and The Tinker King (Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers). She has published in several anthologies and magazines, including Willful Impropriety, Magic in the Mirrorstone, Corsets & Clockwork, Subterranean and many others. When not writing, she’s out playing with bees or chickens.
Genevieve Valentine’s first novel, Mechanique, won the 2012 Crawford Award and was nominated for the Nebula. Her second novel, The Girls at the Kingfisher Club, is forthcoming from Atria. Her short fiction has appeared in Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Journal of Mythic Arts and others, and anthologies Federations, After, Teeth and more. Her non-fiction has appeared at NPR.org, io9, The A.V. Club and Weird Tales. Her appetite for bad movies is insatiable, a tragedy she tracks on her blog, www.genevievevalentine.com.
‘Seeking Asylum’ by Vivian Caethe © 2013. Printed by permission of the author.
‘A Christmas Carroll’ by Leanna Renee Hieber © 2010. Originally published in A Midwinter Fantasy, Dorchester Publishing, 2010. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Outside the Absolute’ by Seth Cadin © 2012. Originally published in Willful Impropriety, 2012. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Emperor’s Man’ by Tiffany Trent © 2010. Originally published in Corsets & Clockwork: 13 Steampunk Romances, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author. (This story has been significantly expanded for this anthology.)
‘Lady in Red’ by Eliza Knight © 2013. Printed by permission of the author.
‘Where the Ocean Meets the Sky’ by Sara M. Harvey © 2011. Originally published in Steam-Powered: Lesbian Steampunk Stories, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Queen and the Cambion’ by Richard Bowes © 2012. Originally published in The magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, March/April 2012.
‘The Dancing Master’ by Genevieve Valentine © 2012. Originally published in Willful Impropriety, 2012.
‘The Tawny Bitch’ by Nisi Shawl © 2002. Originally published in Mojo: Conjure Stories, 2003. Reprinted by permission of the author. ‘The Problem of Trystan’ by Maurice Broaddus © 2011. Originally published in Hot & Steamy: Tales of Steampunk Romance, 2011.
‘Irremediable’ by Ella D’Arcy. Originally published in Yellow Book, Vol 1.
‘Item 317: Horn Fragment w/Illus’ by Elise C. Tobler © 2013. Originally published in Daughters of Icarus, 2013. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Jane’ by Sarah Prineas © 2006. Originally published in Realms of Fantasy, April 2006. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Wide Wide Sea’ by Barbara Roden © 2007. Originally published in Exotic Gothic, 2007. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Her last Appearance’ by Mary Braddon. Originally published in Weavers and Weft and Other Tales, 1877. John Maxwell.
‘The Cordwainer’s Daintiest Lasts’ by Mae Empson © 2012. Originally published in Cucurbital 3, edited by Lawrence M. Schoen © 2012 by Paper Golem LLC. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Waiting for Harry’ by Caroline Stevermer © 1992. Originally published in All Hallows’ Eve, 1992. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells’ by Delia Sherman © 2013. Originally published in Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells, 2013. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Lamia Victoriana’ by Tansy Rayner Roberts © 2011. Originally published in Love and Romanpunk, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Effluent Engine’ by N. K. Jemisin © 2011. Originally published in Steam Powered: Lesbian Steampunk Stories, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘A Kiss in the Rain’ by O. M. Grey © 2011. Originally published in Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
As the wheels of Mr Fowler’s carriage rattled down the macadam driveway of the Minerva House Asylum, Astrid Fowler stared out the window, clutching her arms against her stomach. Mr Fowler sat next to her in stony silence. She had inadvertently embarrassed him in front of the servants by near-fainting on the front steps of his house, and he had yet to forgive her.
Even the slightest motion of the wheels over the rough surface jarred her, and she bit back a moan. The pain had lessened over the months since her husband had taken her from Colney Hatch Asylum, but it had grown again with her increasing dread at being returned to such an inimical environment. Mr Fowler’s silence deepened.
The March rain had not ceased for two days, and it obscured her view of the approaching buildings, increasing her sense of unease. They had called it a disease, her condition, a mental disease. She had not felt at ease for years.
She risked a glance at her husband and saw his expression furrowed with anger. It was always furrowed, but she had learned over the duration of their marriage to decipher the signs of his displeasure. It had become a means of survival when she had been in his house. When she had been at Colney Hatch, she had been given greater concerns than her husband’s shifting moods.
The carriage rolled to a stop and Mr Fowler got out. She heard the crunch of his footsteps as he rounded the carriage. As the driver descended to open her door, the motion jostled the carriage, nauseating her further. The driver opened the door and she tried to smile as he handed her down, the scars on her abdomen throbbing with her pounding heartbeat. He thought she was too pretty to be here. She shuddered.
Three women waited at the top of the stairs leading to the asylum’s main entrance. Astrid squinted up into the rain to see the three-storey building loom above her. The brick walls and arched windows did nothing to reassure her. Colney Hatch had been cast from the same mould.
Mr Fowler took her elbow and led her towards the stairs. Resigned, she looked down at the macadam under her feet, watching as it led to red sandstone stairs. Her shoes made dull thudding sounds on the rain-soaked stone.
‘Mr Fowler, I presume.’ The tall woman at the centre spoke first. The other two women arranged on either side of her were dressed as nurses, so she presumed the woman in the middle must be Dr Amherst.
‘Of course,’ replied Mr Fowler. ‘My wife, Astrid.’
He pushed Astrid forward. All his resignation, determination and drive rushed through her, bringing with it a wave of nausea.
After a brief glance up at the women, Astrid looked down, watching the concentric circles in the small puddles that filled the dents in the stone. Raindrops dripped from the brim of her hat on to the steps, shaking the puddles with their impact.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Fowler.’ Dr Amherst spoke in the tone of someone repeating herself. Astrid glanced up to see if she was angry. The doctor smiled at her kindly. ‘Would you care to come in?’
‘Please.’ Astrid remembered her manners and smiled around the lie. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘If you would get her bags?’ Dr Amherst asked the nurses bracketing her. One of them, the taller one, frowned as the shorter, thinner one nodded.
‘I will take my leave then,’ Mr Fowler said. ‘I trust that she is in good hands.’
‘Only the best, Mr Fowler,’ the doctor replied. ‘I don’t suppose I could invite you in for some tea before your journey home?’
‘I would rather not tarry.’ The disgust in his voice leaked into his expression. Astrid swallowed nervously. He would not tarry at the asylum, but he would condemn her to its custody?
She watched dismally as her husband abandoned her without a word at the steps of an asylum for the second time. Jostling past her with her luggage, the nurses ignored her. The doctor reached for her arm and gently guided her to the door. ‘Let’s get you out of the rain.’
The rain pelted the expansive grounds outside, transforming the carefully manicured lawns and extensive foliage into muted shades of blue and grey. With an effort, Astrid pulled her attention back to Dr Amherst. The doctor waited patiently for her to come back. That was new. Mostly they shouted at her, dragging, roughly yanking her to the here and now.
‘I know your experience with such places in has been . . .’ the doctor paused, compassion imbuing her expression, ‘less than peaceful. But our goal here is not to force you into a state of socially approved sanity, but rather to assist you in finding your own means to find peace in your condition.’
Astrid’s attention wandered again. She tried to focus back on this room, light and airy, comfortably feminine, with gaslights burning cheerily in the wall sconces. Pastels, whites and fresh flowers decorated the room, instead of dark wood and menacing masculinity. ‘Peace?’
‘Function, if nothing else. Control to the degree you feel you need. Hopefully more, but that is entirely up to you. Healing comes from the inside, not imposed through machines and treatments meant to console men who are, at best, guessing and, at worst, experimenting.’ The doctor’s expression grew dark for a moment before returning to placid calm. ‘We employ different methods here from the ones you may be used to.’
Astrid folded her arms across her belly, the scars rough under the comforting weight of her dress and stays. It was the first real dress she had been allowed in years, a costume of normalcy and dignity. The doctor’s demeanour gave her more comfort than she would have dreamed possible. The wounds on her soul, still raw through the rough sutures of uncaring cures, throbbed once, twice. The loss as strong as the betrayal. If this woman could . . . Astrid nodded slightly, unused to even the implication of consent.
‘Let’s get you settled in then.’ Dr Amherst smiled and gestured towards the door.
Astrid turned to see a woman there, the taller of the two nurses who had greeted her. She held open the door, her face neutral. ‘Whenever you are ready.’
Standing, Astrid glanced at the doctor, then at the nurse again. Dr Amherst smiled kindly, patiently. The smile reached her eyes.
She allowed herself to be escorted from the doctor’s office. The nurse led the way down the hall and into the parlour. The nurse’s shoes thudded while Astrid’s made quiet whispers on the deep rugs that lined the wood-floored hallway. The nurse glanced at her, frowning for a moment.
‘Wait here.’
Astrid sat on one of the davenports tastefully arranged in the parlour and watched the rain stream down the windows. She blinked rapidly, afraid to lose herself in the patterns of water on the glass. Despite the doctor’s words, she doubted she was safe enough to lose herself. She would, despite herself, but she always tried to delay it for as long as possible. Instead, she glanced at the other woman in the room.
The other woman sat on the couch across the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows, her gaze on her feet. Astrid glanced away, not wanting to be caught staring. The carpet whorled beneath her, a cascade of brilliant blues and reds winding around green and gold. It reminded her of water, streams and rivers, churning the colour of the rocks beneath into a white, milky foam. Foam like water and blood—
A woman’s scream tore her back to reality. She flinched and gripped the arm of the couch. The woman across the room from her writhed in pain. As Astrid watched in horror, she stood and walked toward Astrid, her gaze down on the floor.
‘I see you two have met.’ The nurse returned, wiping her hands on her apron. Astrid stood and stepped around the back of the couch.
‘I’m afraid . . .’ The woman spoke without raising her head. Her wide-brimmed hat obscured her features as she addressed her shoes. ‘We haven’t . . . I mean . . .’
‘Oh, of course not.’ The nurse smiled sourly. ‘Miss Inga Ryan, please let me introduce to you Mrs Astrid Fowler.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ Miss Ryan told her shoes.
‘Indeed.’ Astrid addressed her shoes as well. It seemed the thing to do. Her black shoes melted into the shadows under her dress.
‘Well.’ The nurse clapped her hands, making Astrid jump. ‘If you ladies would come with me, supper is not for several hours yet and Dr Amherst has requested that all inmates be sent to their rooms.’
Astrid glanced at Miss Ryan and caught a glimpse of her profile. The woman’s features glowed with beauty. In fact . . . Astrid shook her head. No. It was her mother’s curse, not hers. Never hers. They had cured her of that. She put her hand to her abdomen.
But she was not safe. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Not here.
The nurse showed her to her room. ‘Supper is at eight.’
Turning, the nurse slammed the door and Astrid heard the click of the lock in its place. The sound of the door’s closing resonated through her like a slap, and it took Astrid several moments to catch her breath.
Her three suitcases lay opened on the small bed, taking up the entire space. From their appearance, her dresses and belongings had been rifled through, searched, she presumed, for dangerous items. She had hoped, no matter how point-lessly, that Minerva House would be different from Colney Hatch.
Astrid supposed she should unpack her belongings and place them in the small wardrobe which, along with a small armchair, comprised the room’s other sole furnishings. But the door . . . the nurse had locked the door, trapping her inside.
Seating herself in the small armchair by the high window, she tried to breathe, tried to control the shaking in her hands. Closing her eyes, she could hear the patter of rain on the roof tiles. The sound reassured her, reminding her of her parents’ manor on the moors, of a time before asylums and doctors. She leaned her head back and listened to the rain.
‘Your husband tells me that you often succumb to hysteria.’ Dr Amherst steepled her fingers and tapped them together as she thought. Astrid waited patiently. This was the part she had dreaded: the questions. She had believed Dr Amherst yesterday, but a sleepless night locked in a small room while the rain continued had only exacerbated her doubts. Certainly if her husband approved of this place, it could not be trusted. The doctor’s statement confirmed her fears. If Dr Amherst believed him, then what was this but yet another prison?
‘My husband makes many diagnoses.’ Her attention wandered to the window. Outside, the damp grass sparkled in the morning sunlight, cheerful points of light that drew her eye. If she could hide in one of those drops of light, then no one would come for her, no one would hurt her and tell her she was mad.
‘I personally don’t believe in hysteria.’ Dr Amherst’s voice gently drew her back.
Astrid blinked. Hysteria was real. That was why they had cut her open, they told her. It had to be real. Why else would they do such a thing? ‘But they said . . .’
‘I know what they say,’ the doctor said gently. ‘They always say that. But I have never seen a case of hysteria that could not be explained by another condition or cause, or simply by the female condition in our world. For example, if I was married to your husband, I would take refuge in the symptoms of hysteria.’
Inhaling, Astrid felt a defence come to her lips. She swallowed it down. She had defended Mr Fowler for too long. He was the reason she was here, after all. The reason she had been sent to Colney Hatch. She exhaled.
After a moment, Dr Amherst spoke again: ‘Why do you think you are still alive?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Astrid had drifted off again, this time caught up in the patterns in the light-wood desk in front of her. She gripped the arms of her chair to keep from touching her scars, a habit she had grown all too aware of in the past two days.
‘Why do you think you are still alive?’ Dr Amherst asked patiently. ‘Many women who have suffered as you do die from the shock. You fade, yet you remain. Why do you think that is?’
Astrid glanced out the window again, blinking against the brilliance of the morning. The windows faced north, but still the summer sun glimmered through the trees as it rose, weaving patterns of light and dark to capture her eyes. ‘My mother would have said that it was because God still had a purpose for me.’
‘Do you believe in God, Astrid?’ Dr Amherst leaned in, her expression intent.
Memories of prayers screamed throughout the past years echoed through her mind. She blinked and shook her head. She had thought once that God was cruel, but now she wondered if He had merely gone deaf from all the cries for mercy.
‘I didn’t expect so.’ Dr Amherst sighed. ‘Faith can often buoy the downtrodden spirit.’
‘Do I require faith to be healed?’ Surprised at her own temerity, Astrid clamped her lips shut. Perhaps it was not the sort of question one asked.
‘No.’ The doctor shook her head. ‘And in some cases I have found it to be actively detrimental to my treatments.’
‘Is that why . . .’ Despite her husband’s coddling, she had still heard the rumours in the week he had tolerated her presence in his home. The servants whispered about Minerva House, whispers she had heard while lying awake in bed, unable to move beyond the occasional blink. But it was the only solely women’s asylum in the country, the only place where he was sure no man would touch her again. Perhaps he thought that he was protecting her. It had come too late.
‘Among many reasons.’ Dr Amherst nodded, reading her intent. ‘Any time that a woman seeks a place in professions held only by men, her intentions will always be suspect and labelled deviant and mad, as it were.’
Astrid nodded, thinking of her mother and of her own aspirations before her father married her off to ‘settle her down’. She looked at the carpet, seeing how the pile crushed under her shoe, like tiny blades of grass beneath the feet of a giant.
‘So tell me, why do you think you are still alive?’
Looking up, Astrid’s gaze caught on the rows of books on the doctor’s shelves. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
Miss Ryan was painfully beautiful. Astrid had never thought that phrase to be particularly apt, but with Inga . . . She dared to use the woman’s first name in the quietness of her mind, in the space before she faded, as Dr Amherst had taken to calling it.
Her initial session with Dr Amherst had occupied most of the morning. Afterwards, she had found her way to the garden, where one of the servants offered to bring her some tea. She had discovered Miss Ryan there, tea already served. It would have been rude to turn and leave. Instead she swallowed and asked, ‘May I join you, Miss Ryan?’
?
Richard Bowes has won two World Fantasy Awards, an International Horror Guild and a Million Writer Award. He has published six novels, four short story collections and seventy short stories, and 2013 saw the republication of his Lambda Award-winning 1999 novel Minions of the Moon and his new novel Dust Devil on a Quiet Street, both from Lethe Press. Also in 2013, his collection The Queen, the Cambion and Seven Others was published by Aqueduct Press and his If Angels Fight by Fairwood Press.
Maurice Broaddus has written hundreds of short stories, essays, novellas and articles. His dark fiction has been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Asimov’s Science Fiction, Cemetery Dance, Apex Magazine, and Weird Tales Magazine. He is the co-editor of the Dark Faith anthology series (Apex Books) and the author of the urban fantasy trilogy, Knights of Breton Court (Angry Robot Books). He has been a teaching artist for over five years, teaching creative writing to students of all ages. Visit his website at www.mauricebroaddus.com.
Vivian Caethe’s short stories and novellas have appeared in a variety of magazines and anthologies. Her most recent novella, The Diamond City, is published by Bold Strokes Books. While writing, thinking and breathing in general, she drinks tea in the constant search for the perfect cup. She lives in Colorado with her husband, his dog who think he’s a human with hyper-trichosis, and a supervillan cat.
Seth Cadin is a mammal who lives on Earth. He has one daughter and many pet mice. His favourite colour word is ‘periwinkle’.
Mae Empson has a Master’s degree in English literature from Indiana University at Bloomington, and graduated with honours in English and in Creative Writing from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. She lives in Seattle, Washington. Recent publications appear in print in anthologies from Prime Books, Innsmouth Free Press, Chaosium and Dagan Books, and online in The Pedestal Magazine and Cabinet des Fées. Recently, two of her stories were nominated for Ellen Datlow’s long list of Honorable Mentions for Best Horror of the Year, Volume 5. Follow Mae on twitter at www.twitter.com/ maeempson and read her blog at www.maeempson.wordpress.com.
Nestled in the mountains of northern California, Olivia M. Grey lives in the cobwebbed corners of her mind writing paranormal romance with a steampunk twist. She dreams of the dark streets of London and the decadent deeds that occur after sunset. As an author of steamy steampunk, as well as a poet, blogger, podcaster and speaker, Olivia focuses both her poetry and prose on alternative relationship lifestyles, and deliciously dark matters of the heart and soul. Her work has been published in various anthologies and magazines like Stories in the Ether, Steampunk Adventures, SNM Horror Magazine and How the West Was Wicked.
Ella D’Arcy (Constance Eleanor Mary Byrne D’Arcy) (c.1857–1937) was a short fiction writer in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. D’Arcy is mostly known for her short stories in the Yellow Book. D’Arcy also published in Argosy, Blackwood’s Magazine and Temple Bar. Her work on the Yellow Book bought her into contact with the publisher John Lane, who initially published her collection of short stories, Monochromes (1895), and went on to publish her further works, Modern Instances (1898) and The Bishop’s Dilemma (1898). As well as writing fiction, D’Arcy also translated into English André Maurois’s biography of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Ariel (1924).
Sara M. Harvey hails from the San Francisco Bay Area and really wants them to name the Bay Bridge after Emperor Norton. Her Blood of Angels trilogy (The Convent of the Pure, The Labyrinth of the Dead and The Tower of the Forgotten) from Apex Publications blends fantasy, horror and steampunk with lesbian protagonists. She has an amazing husband, an awesome daughter and too many terrible dogs. She can be found on Facebook, Twitter (@saraphina_marie) and at www.saramharvey.com.
Actress, playwright and author Leanna Renee Hieber is the award-winning, bestselling author of Gothic Victorian fantasy novels for adults and teens. Her Strangely Beautiful saga won three Prism awards for excellence in the genre of Fantasy Romance, hit Barnes & Noble’s and Borders’ bestseller lists and garnered numerous regional genre awards. The Strangely Beautiful saga is also being adapted into a musical theatre production. Leanna’s Magic Most Foul saga began with Darker Still, an Indie Next List pick and a Scholastic Book Club ‘Highly Recommended’ title. The trilogy is now complete. Her new gaslamp fantasy saga, The Eternal Files begins early 2015. Her short fiction has appeared in numerous anthologies, including Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells, and Willful Impropriety. A proud member of performers’ unions Actors Equity and SAG-AFTRA, she works often in film and television on shows such as Boardwalk Empire. A perky Goth girl with more corsets than is reasonable, Leanna enjoys ghost stories, long walks through graveyards in full Victorian regalia, playing Malfoy and visiting family in Salem. She lives in New York City with her husband and their beloved rescued lab rabbit. More at leannareneehieber.com, twitter.com/leannarenee and facebook.com/lrhieber.
N(ora). K. Jemisin is an author of speculative fiction short stories and novels who lives and writes in Brooklyn, NY. Her work has been nominated for the Hugo (three times), the Nebula (four times), and the World Fantasy Award (twice); shortlisted for the Crawford, the Gemmell Morningstar, and the Tiptree; and she has won a Locus Award for Best First Novel as well as the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award (three times). Her short fiction has been published in Clarkesworld, Postscripts, Strange Horizons, and Baen’s Universe, as well as podcast markets and print anthologies. Her first five novels, The Inheritance Trilogy and The Dreamblood (duology), are out now from Orbit Books. Her novels are represented by Lucienne Diver of the Knight Agency.
Eliza Knight is the multi-published, award-winning, bestselling author of sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time – if there is such a thing – she likes daydreaming, wine tasting, travelling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping, and visiting family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain, and enjoys cold winter nights when she can curl up in front of a roaring fire with her own knight in shining armour. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com.
Sarah Prineas has published a bunch of SF/fantasy stories for adults, but now writes mostly fantasy novels for kids. The Magic Thief series and Winterling trilogy were published by HarperCollins in the U.S.; The Magic Thief books were published in nineteen other languages around the world. Sarah lives in rural Iowa with her husband and kids, two dogs, a cat and three adorable goats.
Tansy Rayner Roberts is the author of the Mocklore Chronicles, The Creature Court trilogy, and the short-story collection Love and Romanpunk. She is the co-host of two all-women pop-culture podcasts, Galactic Suburbia and Verity. Tansy writes about Doctor Who, superheroes and feminism on her blog, for which she received the Hugo for Best Fan Writer in 2013.
Barbara Roden was born in Vancouver, British Columbia, and is the author of the World Fantasy Award-nominated collection Northwest Passages. Although she grew up a long way from the expansive prairies of ‘The Wide Wide Sea’, that region of the country, and the toll it took on early settlers, has always fascinated her. Of the story she writes, ‘Several years ago, an article in the Canadian news magazine Maclean’s talked about the women who made the trek across the Atlantic to start a new life in Canada, and mentioned that some of them were so overwhelmed by the vastness and emptiness of the prairies that they literally ran mad with terror. I was fascinated with this idea, especially when I combined it with a young woman marrying for what seemed to her like the right reasons – or at least good ones – and then realizing, too late, that she might have made a terrible mistake. How can you share someone else’s dream when everything about it terrifies you?’
Nisi Shawl’s collection Filter House was a 2009 Tiptree winner; her stories have been published in Strange Horizons, Asimov’s Science Fiction, and in several anthologies, including Mojo: Conjure Stories and both volumes of Dark Matter. Shawl was WisCon 35’s Guest of Honor. She co-edited Strange Matings: Science Fiction, Feminism, African American Voices and Octavia E. Butler. She edited The WisCon Chronicles, Volume 5: Writing and Racial Identity and Bloodchildren: Stories by the Octavia E. Butler Scholars, and currently edits reviews for The Cascadia Subduction Zone. Shawl co-authored Writing the Other: A Practical Approach. She co-founded the Carl Brandon Society and serves on the board of directors for Clarion West. Her website is www.nisishawl.com.
Delia Sherman’s most recent short stories have appeared in the young-adult anthologies Steampunk! and Teeth, and in Ellen Datlow’s urban-fantasy anthology Naked City. Her adult novels are Through a Brazen Mirror, The Porcelain Dove and (with Ellen Kushner) The Fall of the Kings. Novels for younger readers include Changeling and The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen. Her most recent novel, The Freedom Maze, a time-travel historical about antebellum Louisiana, received the Andre Norton Award, the Mythopoeic Award, and the Prometheus Award. When Delia is not writing, she’s teaching, editing, knitting and travelling. She lives in New York City with Ellen Kushner, piles of books, some nice Arts and Crafts wallpaper, and a very Victorian rock collection.
Caroline Stevermer, originally from a dairy farm in southeastern Minnesota, lives in Minneapolis. She has written A College of Magics and River Rats, among other novels, and in collaboration with Patricia C. Wrede, Sorcery & Cecelia and its two sequels. She likes baseball, steamboats, trains and bookstores.
E. Catherine Tobler is a Sturgeon Award finalist and the senior editor at Shimmer magazine. Her first novel, Gold & Glass, is now available.
Tiffany Trent is the award-winning author of The Unnaturalists and The Tinker King (Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers). She has published in several anthologies and magazines, including Willful Impropriety, Magic in the Mirrorstone, Corsets & Clockwork, Subterranean and many others. When not writing, she’s out playing with bees or chickens.
Genevieve Valentine’s first novel, Mechanique, won the 2012 Crawford Award and was nominated for the Nebula. Her second novel, The Girls at the Kingfisher Club, is forthcoming from Atria. Her short fiction has appeared in Clarkesworld, Strange Horizons, Journal of Mythic Arts and others, and anthologies Federations, After, Teeth and more. Her non-fiction has appeared at NPR.org, io9, The A.V. Club and Weird Tales. Her appetite for bad movies is insatiable, a tragedy she tracks on her blog, www.genevievevalentine.com.
‘Seeking Asylum’ by Vivian Caethe © 2013. Printed by permission of the author.
‘A Christmas Carroll’ by Leanna Renee Hieber © 2010. Originally published in A Midwinter Fantasy, Dorchester Publishing, 2010. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Outside the Absolute’ by Seth Cadin © 2012. Originally published in Willful Impropriety, 2012. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Emperor’s Man’ by Tiffany Trent © 2010. Originally published in Corsets & Clockwork: 13 Steampunk Romances, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author. (This story has been significantly expanded for this anthology.)
‘Lady in Red’ by Eliza Knight © 2013. Printed by permission of the author.
‘Where the Ocean Meets the Sky’ by Sara M. Harvey © 2011. Originally published in Steam-Powered: Lesbian Steampunk Stories, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Queen and the Cambion’ by Richard Bowes © 2012. Originally published in The magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, March/April 2012.
‘The Dancing Master’ by Genevieve Valentine © 2012. Originally published in Willful Impropriety, 2012.
‘The Tawny Bitch’ by Nisi Shawl © 2002. Originally published in Mojo: Conjure Stories, 2003. Reprinted by permission of the author. ‘The Problem of Trystan’ by Maurice Broaddus © 2011. Originally published in Hot & Steamy: Tales of Steampunk Romance, 2011.
‘Irremediable’ by Ella D’Arcy. Originally published in Yellow Book, Vol 1.
‘Item 317: Horn Fragment w/Illus’ by Elise C. Tobler © 2013. Originally published in Daughters of Icarus, 2013. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Jane’ by Sarah Prineas © 2006. Originally published in Realms of Fantasy, April 2006. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Wide Wide Sea’ by Barbara Roden © 2007. Originally published in Exotic Gothic, 2007. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Her last Appearance’ by Mary Braddon. Originally published in Weavers and Weft and Other Tales, 1877. John Maxwell.
‘The Cordwainer’s Daintiest Lasts’ by Mae Empson © 2012. Originally published in Cucurbital 3, edited by Lawrence M. Schoen © 2012 by Paper Golem LLC. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Waiting for Harry’ by Caroline Stevermer © 1992. Originally published in All Hallows’ Eve, 1992. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells’ by Delia Sherman © 2013. Originally published in Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells, 2013. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘Lamia Victoriana’ by Tansy Rayner Roberts © 2011. Originally published in Love and Romanpunk, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘The Effluent Engine’ by N. K. Jemisin © 2011. Originally published in Steam Powered: Lesbian Steampunk Stories, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
‘A Kiss in the Rain’ by O. M. Grey © 2011. Originally published in Caught in the Cogs: An Eclectic Collection, 2011. Reprinted by permission of the author.
As the wheels of Mr Fowler’s carriage rattled down the macadam driveway of the Minerva House Asylum, Astrid Fowler stared out the window, clutching her arms against her stomach. Mr Fowler sat next to her in stony silence. She had inadvertently embarrassed him in front of the servants by near-fainting on the front steps of his house, and he had yet to forgive her.
Even the slightest motion of the wheels over the rough surface jarred her, and she bit back a moan. The pain had lessened over the months since her husband had taken her from Colney Hatch Asylum, but it had grown again with her increasing dread at being returned to such an inimical environment. Mr Fowler’s silence deepened.
The March rain had not ceased for two days, and it obscured her view of the approaching buildings, increasing her sense of unease. They had called it a disease, her condition, a mental disease. She had not felt at ease for years.
She risked a glance at her husband and saw his expression furrowed with anger. It was always furrowed, but she had learned over the duration of their marriage to decipher the signs of his displeasure. It had become a means of survival when she had been in his house. When she had been at Colney Hatch, she had been given greater concerns than her husband’s shifting moods.
The carriage rolled to a stop and Mr Fowler got out. She heard the crunch of his footsteps as he rounded the carriage. As the driver descended to open her door, the motion jostled the carriage, nauseating her further. The driver opened the door and she tried to smile as he handed her down, the scars on her abdomen throbbing with her pounding heartbeat. He thought she was too pretty to be here. She shuddered.
Three women waited at the top of the stairs leading to the asylum’s main entrance. Astrid squinted up into the rain to see the three-storey building loom above her. The brick walls and arched windows did nothing to reassure her. Colney Hatch had been cast from the same mould.
Mr Fowler took her elbow and led her towards the stairs. Resigned, she looked down at the macadam under her feet, watching as it led to red sandstone stairs. Her shoes made dull thudding sounds on the rain-soaked stone.
‘Mr Fowler, I presume.’ The tall woman at the centre spoke first. The other two women arranged on either side of her were dressed as nurses, so she presumed the woman in the middle must be Dr Amherst.
‘Of course,’ replied Mr Fowler. ‘My wife, Astrid.’
He pushed Astrid forward. All his resignation, determination and drive rushed through her, bringing with it a wave of nausea.
After a brief glance up at the women, Astrid looked down, watching the concentric circles in the small puddles that filled the dents in the stone. Raindrops dripped from the brim of her hat on to the steps, shaking the puddles with their impact.
‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Fowler.’ Dr Amherst spoke in the tone of someone repeating herself. Astrid glanced up to see if she was angry. The doctor smiled at her kindly. ‘Would you care to come in?’
‘Please.’ Astrid remembered her manners and smiled around the lie. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
‘If you would get her bags?’ Dr Amherst asked the nurses bracketing her. One of them, the taller one, frowned as the shorter, thinner one nodded.
‘I will take my leave then,’ Mr Fowler said. ‘I trust that she is in good hands.’
‘Only the best, Mr Fowler,’ the doctor replied. ‘I don’t suppose I could invite you in for some tea before your journey home?’
‘I would rather not tarry.’ The disgust in his voice leaked into his expression. Astrid swallowed nervously. He would not tarry at the asylum, but he would condemn her to its custody?
She watched dismally as her husband abandoned her without a word at the steps of an asylum for the second time. Jostling past her with her luggage, the nurses ignored her. The doctor reached for her arm and gently guided her to the door. ‘Let’s get you out of the rain.’
The rain pelted the expansive grounds outside, transforming the carefully manicured lawns and extensive foliage into muted shades of blue and grey. With an effort, Astrid pulled her attention back to Dr Amherst. The doctor waited patiently for her to come back. That was new. Mostly they shouted at her, dragging, roughly yanking her to the here and now.
‘I know your experience with such places in has been . . .’ the doctor paused, compassion imbuing her expression, ‘less than peaceful. But our goal here is not to force you into a state of socially approved sanity, but rather to assist you in finding your own means to find peace in your condition.’
Astrid’s attention wandered again. She tried to focus back on this room, light and airy, comfortably feminine, with gaslights burning cheerily in the wall sconces. Pastels, whites and fresh flowers decorated the room, instead of dark wood and menacing masculinity. ‘Peace?’
‘Function, if nothing else. Control to the degree you feel you need. Hopefully more, but that is entirely up to you. Healing comes from the inside, not imposed through machines and treatments meant to console men who are, at best, guessing and, at worst, experimenting.’ The doctor’s expression grew dark for a moment before returning to placid calm. ‘We employ different methods here from the ones you may be used to.’
Astrid folded her arms across her belly, the scars rough under the comforting weight of her dress and stays. It was the first real dress she had been allowed in years, a costume of normalcy and dignity. The doctor’s demeanour gave her more comfort than she would have dreamed possible. The wounds on her soul, still raw through the rough sutures of uncaring cures, throbbed once, twice. The loss as strong as the betrayal. If this woman could . . . Astrid nodded slightly, unused to even the implication of consent.
‘Let’s get you settled in then.’ Dr Amherst smiled and gestured towards the door.
Astrid turned to see a woman there, the taller of the two nurses who had greeted her. She held open the door, her face neutral. ‘Whenever you are ready.’
Standing, Astrid glanced at the doctor, then at the nurse again. Dr Amherst smiled kindly, patiently. The smile reached her eyes.
She allowed herself to be escorted from the doctor’s office. The nurse led the way down the hall and into the parlour. The nurse’s shoes thudded while Astrid’s made quiet whispers on the deep rugs that lined the wood-floored hallway. The nurse glanced at her, frowning for a moment.
‘Wait here.’
Astrid sat on one of the davenports tastefully arranged in the parlour and watched the rain stream down the windows. She blinked rapidly, afraid to lose herself in the patterns of water on the glass. Despite the doctor’s words, she doubted she was safe enough to lose herself. She would, despite herself, but she always tried to delay it for as long as possible. Instead, she glanced at the other woman in the room.
The other woman sat on the couch across the room from the floor-to-ceiling windows, her gaze on her feet. Astrid glanced away, not wanting to be caught staring. The carpet whorled beneath her, a cascade of brilliant blues and reds winding around green and gold. It reminded her of water, streams and rivers, churning the colour of the rocks beneath into a white, milky foam. Foam like water and blood—
A woman’s scream tore her back to reality. She flinched and gripped the arm of the couch. The woman across the room from her writhed in pain. As Astrid watched in horror, she stood and walked toward Astrid, her gaze down on the floor.
‘I see you two have met.’ The nurse returned, wiping her hands on her apron. Astrid stood and stepped around the back of the couch.
‘I’m afraid . . .’ The woman spoke without raising her head. Her wide-brimmed hat obscured her features as she addressed her shoes. ‘We haven’t . . . I mean . . .’
‘Oh, of course not.’ The nurse smiled sourly. ‘Miss Inga Ryan, please let me introduce to you Mrs Astrid Fowler.’
‘It’s a pleasure,’ Miss Ryan told her shoes.
‘Indeed.’ Astrid addressed her shoes as well. It seemed the thing to do. Her black shoes melted into the shadows under her dress.
‘Well.’ The nurse clapped her hands, making Astrid jump. ‘If you ladies would come with me, supper is not for several hours yet and Dr Amherst has requested that all inmates be sent to their rooms.’
Astrid glanced at Miss Ryan and caught a glimpse of her profile. The woman’s features glowed with beauty. In fact . . . Astrid shook her head. No. It was her mother’s curse, not hers. Never hers. They had cured her of that. She put her hand to her abdomen.
But she was not safe. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Not here.
The nurse showed her to her room. ‘Supper is at eight.’
Turning, the nurse slammed the door and Astrid heard the click of the lock in its place. The sound of the door’s closing resonated through her like a slap, and it took Astrid several moments to catch her breath.
Her three suitcases lay opened on the small bed, taking up the entire space. From their appearance, her dresses and belongings had been rifled through, searched, she presumed, for dangerous items. She had hoped, no matter how point-lessly, that Minerva House would be different from Colney Hatch.
Astrid supposed she should unpack her belongings and place them in the small wardrobe which, along with a small armchair, comprised the room’s other sole furnishings. But the door . . . the nurse had locked the door, trapping her inside.
Seating herself in the small armchair by the high window, she tried to breathe, tried to control the shaking in her hands. Closing her eyes, she could hear the patter of rain on the roof tiles. The sound reassured her, reminding her of her parents’ manor on the moors, of a time before asylums and doctors. She leaned her head back and listened to the rain.
‘Your husband tells me that you often succumb to hysteria.’ Dr Amherst steepled her fingers and tapped them together as she thought. Astrid waited patiently. This was the part she had dreaded: the questions. She had believed Dr Amherst yesterday, but a sleepless night locked in a small room while the rain continued had only exacerbated her doubts. Certainly if her husband approved of this place, it could not be trusted. The doctor’s statement confirmed her fears. If Dr Amherst believed him, then what was this but yet another prison?
‘My husband makes many diagnoses.’ Her attention wandered to the window. Outside, the damp grass sparkled in the morning sunlight, cheerful points of light that drew her eye. If she could hide in one of those drops of light, then no one would come for her, no one would hurt her and tell her she was mad.
‘I personally don’t believe in hysteria.’ Dr Amherst’s voice gently drew her back.
Astrid blinked. Hysteria was real. That was why they had cut her open, they told her. It had to be real. Why else would they do such a thing? ‘But they said . . .’
‘I know what they say,’ the doctor said gently. ‘They always say that. But I have never seen a case of hysteria that could not be explained by another condition or cause, or simply by the female condition in our world. For example, if I was married to your husband, I would take refuge in the symptoms of hysteria.’
Inhaling, Astrid felt a defence come to her lips. She swallowed it down. She had defended Mr Fowler for too long. He was the reason she was here, after all. The reason she had been sent to Colney Hatch. She exhaled.
After a moment, Dr Amherst spoke again: ‘Why do you think you are still alive?’
‘I’m sorry?’ Astrid had drifted off again, this time caught up in the patterns in the light-wood desk in front of her. She gripped the arms of her chair to keep from touching her scars, a habit she had grown all too aware of in the past two days.
‘Why do you think you are still alive?’ Dr Amherst asked patiently. ‘Many women who have suffered as you do die from the shock. You fade, yet you remain. Why do you think that is?’
Astrid glanced out the window again, blinking against the brilliance of the morning. The windows faced north, but still the summer sun glimmered through the trees as it rose, weaving patterns of light and dark to capture her eyes. ‘My mother would have said that it was because God still had a purpose for me.’
‘Do you believe in God, Astrid?’ Dr Amherst leaned in, her expression intent.
Memories of prayers screamed throughout the past years echoed through her mind. She blinked and shook her head. She had thought once that God was cruel, but now she wondered if He had merely gone deaf from all the cries for mercy.
‘I didn’t expect so.’ Dr Amherst sighed. ‘Faith can often buoy the downtrodden spirit.’
‘Do I require faith to be healed?’ Surprised at her own temerity, Astrid clamped her lips shut. Perhaps it was not the sort of question one asked.
‘No.’ The doctor shook her head. ‘And in some cases I have found it to be actively detrimental to my treatments.’
‘Is that why . . .’ Despite her husband’s coddling, she had still heard the rumours in the week he had tolerated her presence in his home. The servants whispered about Minerva House, whispers she had heard while lying awake in bed, unable to move beyond the occasional blink. But it was the only solely women’s asylum in the country, the only place where he was sure no man would touch her again. Perhaps he thought that he was protecting her. It had come too late.
‘Among many reasons.’ Dr Amherst nodded, reading her intent. ‘Any time that a woman seeks a place in professions held only by men, her intentions will always be suspect and labelled deviant and mad, as it were.’
Astrid nodded, thinking of her mother and of her own aspirations before her father married her off to ‘settle her down’. She looked at the carpet, seeing how the pile crushed under her shoe, like tiny blades of grass beneath the feet of a giant.
‘So tell me, why do you think you are still alive?’
Looking up, Astrid’s gaze caught on the rows of books on the doctor’s shelves. ‘I honestly don’t know.’
Miss Ryan was painfully beautiful. Astrid had never thought that phrase to be particularly apt, but with Inga . . . She dared to use the woman’s first name in the quietness of her mind, in the space before she faded, as Dr Amherst had taken to calling it.
Her initial session with Dr Amherst had occupied most of the morning. Afterwards, she had found her way to the garden, where one of the servants offered to bring her some tea. She had discovered Miss Ryan there, tea already served. It would have been rude to turn and leave. Instead she swallowed and asked, ‘May I join you, Miss Ryan?’
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