He frowned. “But it’s the long-term effects that can be so worrying, and those are the symptoms I witnessed in Lord Dalmay. Difficulty sleeping, nightmares when he did, startled responses to lights and sounds, loss of concentration or, alternatively, a sort of extreme vigilance, especially when it came to his men. But mostly I noticed he had trouble forgetting. It was like he couldn’t stop reliving the horrible things that had happened to him and those around him.” He nodded to indicate Michael. “From talking to Lord Dalmay himself, and his brother, I now know that’s the case.”
I turned to stare out the windows at the lengthening shadows, seeing William as he had been ten years before when he first took over as my drawing instructor. The perpetual dark circles under his eyes, the sometimes restless pacing. His refusal to receive me if there was even a hint of a thunderstorm threatening, as if I wasn’t already aware that the thunder and lightning bothered him. The despair he dragged behind him like a ball and chain.
I never pointed out the things I observed, but he knew I saw them anyway. It was a polite illusion we played, even if both of us recognized it for the fiction it was. To speak of it now felt wrong, even if it was necessary. We’d danced around the edges the previous night, hinting and insinuating, but now thoughts and suppositions were laid bare.
“What about his time spent in the Larkspur Retreat?” Gage was asking. “Are the effects of his being locked up there similar to this battle fatigue?”
“Yes and no.” Dr. Winslow settled back to consider his answer. He rubbed his thumb and index finger over his temple and forehead. “He certainly encountered some upsetting circumstances, as evidenced by his sketches, but some of his other symptoms are far more extreme than I’ve ever seen in conjunction with battle fatigue. He absolutely abhors the dark, and I’ve witnessed for myself the absolute panic it evokes when the window in his chamber is not left open at least a crack, even on the coldest of winter days. I can only speculate he was kept in some room where he was denied light and fresh air, and the thought of being without either is no longer tolerable.”
I set my tea down on the table, unable to stomach any more of it. Poor William. I had contemplated such a thing briefly, but the idea of being locked in that sort of room, for possibly years on end, was too horrible to imagine.
I could feel Gage’s eyes on me, his concern, but he continued to ask Dr. Winslow the questions I seemed incapable of phrasing. “And these episodes, like the one last evening? Do you know what is happening then? Or what is causing them?”
Dr. Winslow looked to Michael, as if asking permission to divulge something, and Michael nodded.
His brow lowered as he thought back. “When I first examined Lord Dalmay after his release from the asylum, I was worried there was nothing that could be done for him. Beyond his troubling physical condition, his mind seemed incapable of grappling with anything he saw or heard. And worse, he would lapse into these half-conscious states, like you witnessed last night. Frankly, I was convinced he wouldn’t survive for more than a week. There was little that could be done for him except to take care of his physical needs and try to reassure him that he was now safe.” He shook his head as if in amazement. “But when I returned a fortnight later, Lord Dalmay was still living, even if barely.
“We deduced that part of the problem was that he wasn’t sleeping. He paced the floor of his room night after night, as if trying to outrace slumber. We tried several medications, even some home remedies, like valerian root tea and warm milk. It took some doing, but we were finally able to convince him to take a mild sedative that would help him sleep so deeply there would be no dreams, for it seemed that was what he was afraid of.”
“They drugged him,” Gage guessed. “At the asylum. That’s why he didn’t want to take the medicine you offered him.”
Dr. Winslow nodded. “Unfortunately, it’s quite common in those types of establishments. The patients are dosed with laudanum, or some other tincture of opium, to keep them quiet and complacent.”
I frowned at the delicate white china tea set on the table. The question had to be asked. “Can’t people grow to rely on those medications?”
“Yes. And I believe Lord Dalmay may have been forced to take it so often that he did so in some capacity. But he also feared it as much as he craved it, and that helped him to overcome his need for it. He still takes small doses of laudanum from time to time, particularly after having one of these episodes, but they’ve grown less frequent in the last few months. His last one was—what? Over five weeks ago?” He looked to Michael for confirmation.
“Yes. Almost six.”
“When I received your note this morning, I was quite saddened. I thought perhaps your brother had finally beaten them.” He sighed. “Ah, but I suppose we should be happy with whatever progress can be made.”
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Michael told him.
He waved it aside. “I was on the way out the door to visit your neighbor Lady Gaston anyway.”