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Monroe unlocked the final door in the gloomy passage leadingfrom the south wing to the west. He turned to face his threevisitors and, raising his voice above the clamour from beyond theportal, said, for the umpteenth time: “Quite honestly, gentlemen, Idon't comprehend why this inspection is- ugh! -necessary. The lastwas less than a year ago and it found everything to be above boardand thoroughly shipshape. In fact, significant improvements in theestablishment were noted.”
Burton, who was wearing a brown wig and long false beard,answered: “As I said before, it's simply a formality. Paperwork waslost in a small fire and we are obliged to replace it. To do so wehave to repeat the inspection. I grant you it's inconvenient, butit's also unavoidable.”
“Don't misunderstand-I'm not trying to avoid it,” Monroeobjected. “There's nothing to hide. As a matter of fact, I'm veryproud of the work we do here and am happy to show it off. It'ssimply that you seem to be rather more needlessly thorough thanyour predecessors and anything that disturbs the normal routine ofthe hospital is, well, rather- ugh! -unsettling for theinmates.”
“We're just following governmental regulations, Doctor.”
“Be that as it may, I'd like you to put it on record that I'mscrupulous in my duties, that the hospital offers its patients avery high standard of care, and that such interruptions arepotentially damaging.”
“I shall be sure to do so.”
Somewhat mollified, Monroe smiled, grimaced, jerked his headdown to the right, and said: “ Ugh! You'll find fewer patients inthis part of the establishment. However, I should warn you thatthose unfortunates who reside in these wards are the most seriouslydisturbed and can be exceedingly violent, so please refrain frommaking eye contact with them. It's also the reason why we don'thave a communal hall here, just individual rooms.”
He led his visitors into a filthy cell-lined corridor, where thesection's head nurse greeted them with a bob. Monroe's twoassistants moved along the passage, sliding open viewing hatches.Burton, Burke, and Hare walked from door to door, peering throughinto the bare square cubicles, trying hard to ignore theabominations that blasted their eyes and assaulted their ears fromwithin.
This went on for corridor after corridor, each one presentingthem with more nurses, more cells, more degradation, and morehorrors.
Burton walked with his arms folded tightly across his chest,clamping his hands against his ribs to hide the fact that they wereshaking.
They came to corridor nine on floor four.
Doctor Monroe introduced another nurse to Burton: “This isSister Camberwick. She oversees this section. Sister, thesegentlemen are from the Department. Inspectors Cribbins, Faithfull,and- ugh! -Skylark.”
Sister Camberwick bobbed and said, “Good afternoon, sirs. Ithink you'll find everything to your satisfaction.”
The examination of corridor nine followed the same pattern asthose before until, at its end, Burton turned to Monroe and said,“Doctor, I'm aware that we're imposing upon your time. May Isuggest that we hasten matters?”
“Certainly. That would be most welcome. How so?”
“In addition to completing this tour of inspection, we need toconduct private interviews with selected members of yourstaff-”
“That wasn't required last time!” Monroe objected. “I can assureyou that working conditions here are absolutely- ugh! -”
Burton held up a hand to stop him. “Quite so! Quite so! It'snothing more than a formality, I assure you, but one that must beobserved in order to complete the paperwork and leave you inpeace.”
Bismillah! Peace! Here? In this Jaha
Monroe ran his tongue across his lips, shrugged, and gave a curtnod. “Oh, very well, very well. Whatever you say. How should weproceed?”
“I suggest you continue the inspection with Mr. Faithfull andMr. Skylark. In the meantime, I'll remain here to interview SisterCamberwick and her nurses. It should be enough to fulfill the termsof the inspection. Once done, a sister can escort me to youroffice. My colleagues and I will then take our leave and, I assureyou, we'll draft a most favourable report. I think it fair topredict that you'll not be bothered by us again.”
The doctor heaved a sigh, gave a smile, and suffered a facialspasm.
A few minutes later, Burton was seated in a small office, alonewith Sister Camberwick. The door was closed, muffling the screamsand curses from the cells.
“Would you care for a cup of tea, Mr. Cribbins?”
“No thank you, Sister. Please sit and relax. This is merely aroutine procedure, there's nothing to be nervous about.”
“I'm not nervous,” she said. She sat down and adjusted herbo
“I should think that's a great advantage.”
“It is.”
“When did you start here?”
“At the begi
She glanced into his eyes then looked down at her skirts andstraightened them.
“And before that?”
She blinked rapidly. “I served in the Crimea, and, when the warwas over, in workhouses.”
“The Crimea. You must have seen great suffering.”
He moved his chair closer to hers and in a low, melodious, andrhythmic tone, recited: “Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
Pass through the glimmering gloom,
And flit from room to room.
And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
Her shadow, as it falls
Upon the darkening walls.
As if a door in heaven should be
Opened, and then closed suddenly,
The vision came and went,
The light shone was spent.
On England's a
Hereafter of her speech and song,
That light its rays shall cast
From portals of the past.
A lady with a lamp shall stand
In the great history of the land,
A noble type of good,
Heroic womanhood.”
Sister Camberwick's lower lip trembled.
“‘Santa Filomena’ by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,” Burtonmurmured. “Look at me, Sister.”
She looked. Her eyes slid away, returned, held.
Burton began to rock back and forth very slightly, almostimperceptibly.
“It is fine work you have done.”
She leaned forward to better hear him.
“And it is fine work you continue to do.”
She seemed transfixed by the deep, soothing quality of hisvoice, and, unaware that she was doing it, she began to sway,keeping in time with his own movement.
“For the purposes of this interview,” he said, in almost awhisper, “it is important that you relax. This exercise will help.I want you to breathe with me. Feel the air entering your rightlung. In. Out. Now breathe into your left. In. Out. Slowly,slowly.”
Gently and patiently he guided her through a Sufi meditationtechnique, watching as her attention centred on him to theexclusion of all else. He softly issued instructions, taking herfrom a cycle of two breaths to a cycle of four, subduing her mindthrough the complexity of the exercise until she was entirely underhis control.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Patricia Camberwick,” she answered.
“And behind that? The other name? The one that you've beenforbidden to use?”
“Florence Nightingale.”
“Tell me about the circumstances that led to your presence here,Miss Nightingale.”
“I-I can't-I can't remember.”
“I know. The memory has been blocked. What occurred to youhappened while you were enslaved by a mesmeric influence. Can youfeel that blockage, like a wall in your mind?”
“Yes.”
“It is only a wall because you've been made to think so. Thetruth is, it's a door. Just walk through it, Florence. Open it andpass straight through.”
Silently, Burton thanked Herbert Spencer for inspiring thismesmeric technique.
“Yes. I'm through.”
“You see how easy that was? The barriers planted in your mindhave no power now.”