27 September 

How lax have I been in my writing! How horridly, unforgivably despicable I am a writer, a scribe to my own life. Not even the excuse of all these recent stresses, nor displacements in so many lives, are worthy reasons for my neglect of the pen and paper. Oh, to think on the sorry state my poor story has been in, as well, and considering Evie's desire that I should continue it in hopes of finally finishing, it is as highly important as keeping detailed entries in this book! I suppose I shall calm myself before continuing; I shake the pen enough to scatter my precious ink, and I fear I will ruin the chapters previous this in my nervousness. Off for a cup of tea, then, and perhaps a biscuit or two. 

Very well! My hand has steadied somewhat, and my heart a tamed little critter. I wish I were a vegetable in my garden, cared for by the sure hands of Evelyn and surrounded by healthy, dirty flowers that required no tenderness of situation to merely thrive. This may, I see, prove a curious statement, but I have the benefit of the last few weeks' experience, of which I shall promptly share, if only after another sorrowful message or two. It has been a truly exhausting series of events, and will require far more energy than I have previously devoted to the task of journaling my day. Ah, I suppose writing over and moaning about it all will prove actually useful, so here's to that, at least. 

The eighth day of the month was marked by my fervoured anticipation of Evie's return, and the night saw her restored to her household in safe, if only damp, condition. The doctor so eagerly sought made my uneasy acquaintance, and it was here that we see he forgoes the immediate inspection of the sickly Genevieve Thomas for the set up of his medical offices in a spare bedroom. Retiring for the night, it was only natural that I would be plagued with uneasiness into my frightful sleep. My story continues only in the morning! One would be blessed to hope for at least a day of reprieve from these stressful environments, but not even had I awoken until there was more to fret about. 

The fretting in particular began with the doctor. 

My uneasy rest had been abruptly cut short when I felt a large, strong hand made of something totally devoid of human warmth rest upon my brow and exclaim, "You must be in possession of illness yourself, Ms. Peterson! Why did you not say anything the night before of your own discomforts?" I lurched forward and stifled a yelp, for Dr. Radcliffe was indeed bent over my person and touching my skin with his own. All whilst I was in my nightclothes! It was a dizzying quickness that I leapt to my feet and pulled my blankets to my chin as speedily as I had stood. 

"Doctor, I must beg you to leave at once! I am in no condition to greet... a guest!" The term stranger passed my mind, but seeing the same heartless, black eyes as the night before, I felt angering the doctor was unwise, somehow. He did not even blink at my reaction, instead pressing a hand to my shoulder and pushing me as easily as a kitten onto the bed. 

"Do not shout; you will only worsen your condition. I came to inquire into the rooms of the Lady Thomas, but here you are, concealing the need for care elsewhere!" He tutted and looked around the room, eyes settling on the windows. "The window is opened! Save me, what manner of ignorance passes through these villages, that one cannot comprehend the closing of a window in this weather." He slammed the window shut and my heart jumped with it. The window reminded me that I had not seen Evie since my rude awakening; had she made her escape through it? I could not recall if there was some outward extension of the house that protruded from its glass face, but then, why would Evie have wanted to go out of there, anyway? I hoped with a morbid fear that she had not plunged herself out as I slept, but this only served to increase my heart rate, which this most invasive of men noticed upon his turning back around. 

Despite all of my protestations to the opposite, I was bundled in place of where Evie had been only hours before, my arms trapped under the sheets and a cooling cloth placed over my head. With my hair fanned out in its unruly state, I must have looked a homeless child, wandering the villages before anyone had taken pity to invite me in. Mummified and humiliated, I could only wait until the doctor quit the room for another soul to bother before I pried myself free and tossed the cloth across the room. "How dare he!" I fumed, shedding my nightclothes in favour of my usual dress and stockings. "No right! He had... no right!" Each limb was clothed with each word I heaved out. If only this vehemence was applied in the actual presence of the offending party, but as it is, not all acts of bravery or wisdom are displayed in public, but only uselessly when one finds themselves well past the point of putting it in practise. 

Now ready to warn my friend that this doctor possessed none of the manners of a gentleman and must be watched with more than a wary eye, I pushed my way downstairs, where, in my haste to be of use, caught my shoe in the hem of my dress and tumbled down the stairs into the arms of the very person I sought. 

"I... Nevermind," laughed Evie, who had been fortunate enough to make her way to the foot of the stairs as I began my ill-timed descent. 

"How very glad I am to see you!" I breathed out, throwing my arms around her and squeezing as hard as I could. "Where in all of England were you?" This produced another laugh, as well as a sudden frown on that handsome face of my friend. She helped me to my feet and squinted suspiciously up the stairs. 

"I apologise for leaving you," she said, "but I needed to breathe clean air. I am not at all pleased with the way things have found themselves." Pulling my hand, she led me through the house and out of the front door. Once safe from the possibility of another person, she faced me with a  most serious expression. Usually, this would hardly serve to worry me, but all I needed was to remember the look she wore upon her return home last night to feel this was no ordinary look of somberness. 

Explaining as quickly as she could, Evie instructed me to return home and lock myself up quickly within the walls of my small house. "You are safe there, away from the detestable hands of that... that man! He is no ordinary doctor, Winnifred!" The use of my full name struck fear into my heart. 

"Why do you say so?" I recounted my morning experience and rather poorly explained presence of Dr. Radcliffe, which only increased Evie's insistence that I escape her family's home. Leading me down the path to the cliffside, she told me of her initial search and meeting of the odious man now locked up within her house, and I must say here, not a thing has worried me so greatly as hearing this peculiar tale. I shall attempt to transcribe it as best as I can, but where memory fails, a gentle embellishment of phrasing, perhaps, could do no harm!

"As you saw, I took to town on foot as soon as I had learned of the importance of finding for Mother a better doctor than we had available. Wet though it was, my insistence and urgency made the rain irrelevant, and I arrived by evening in Whitecombe, which while usually being a walk of only a few hours, nearly tripled in the rain. I asked after the town's doctor and found an apothecary where the attendant inside was kind enough to provide me a warm drink and directions. Upon hearing my need of a capable medical hand, he told me of a man living in the St. Peter's Church, caring for the dying rector whom you might be interested to know is a poet of some renown!

"When the rain had settled somewhat, I, despite the protestations of the poor apothecary, walked through the town until I found myself at the little church. There was a very strange air about the place, perhaps to the mild ill-repair of the place, or the presence of several nervous attendants and groundskeepers that dotted the area when I arrived. All of them were in possession of the sorts of looks lepers might give - not a one of them brought their eyes to mine, and all walked hurriedly past me, as though I were not there. It was very odd, I tell you. 

"Upon gaining entrance, I saw a dimly lit greeting hall, complete with incense burning and candles shaking in the wind allowed by the state of the walls. Making my way further in, I finally seized one of the white-clad and wide-eyed peoples of the place and begged to be told where this caretaker of the rector was. Shakingly pointed to the back of the church, I found myself where no unmarried woman has ever been before - the bedchambers of a priest! Perhaps that is not the right term, but all men of holy standing seem rather similar to me, so a priest he shall be called. I could hardly see the overseer of this holy building, so bundled was he in white sheets and swathed with steaming clothes to keep the cold out. Indeed, when I first entered the thickly-aired room, I missed the old man entirely! The one I did lay eyes on as soon as I entered was the doctor you are now familiar with - dressed from head to toe in black, like an angel of death he was. He was perched on a desk, half-standing, half-leaning, and held to his face a book that could have been a bible or something more scandalous. I didn't take him for a religious man, not on that first devilish appearance. My footsteps betrayed me, laden with water, and his head turned very much the way a gull's does when it sees one who has disturbed its meal. You are not yet acquainted with the violence of a disturbed gull, but let this be your warning! They are spiteful creatures, and will not hesitate to maim you for the mere crime of approaching. 

"This particular gull, fingers coated in the ash of lighting so many candles, stood to greet me. I thought of my mother and pressed forward into the room. Without her as my motivation, I am sure I never would have stepped alone into that miserable chamber of death! Imagine, if you will, your attic. The lonely collection of dust we found in that letter room, the sense of isolation and loneliness felt from only the presence of the bed and the dresser? Increase that feeling tenfold, and you have the room of the rector. 

"I was beckoned closer and stared up and down far longer than I would have liked. When he had had his fill of my figure, I suppose - I know not what he looked for, and was struck with the sense that he had never looked upon anyone with lust in his eyes before - he closed the little book he held and inquired as to my most unlikely presence in the private rooms of a church. Upon my relating of my mother's troubles, he turned and gazed at the rector, who had snorted in his sleep and rolled slightly to face the window. In the daylight, it would have been a no-doubt peaceful sight for one struck with old age and a weariness of the world. Declining to immediately answer my pleas, the doctor approached his victim of care and rolled him back to his original position, adjusted the cloths around the old man's neck and face, and looked back to me. The only words he said were Very well, and then he bade me leave the room with a wave of the hand. 

"All this way had I gone, and in such conditions as the elements had rained down on us all, only to be banished with a word and a wave of the hand! I was incensed, but for the sake of the dying, I left without a word and waited in the main prayer room, where the pews stank of mould and rats. Whether fortunately or not, the doctor eventually did emerge, and carried with him a black bag of what I assumed were his tools. The horrified expressions of the church mice that passed for humans gave me enough of a story here - it would appear as though the doctor rarely left the side of their precious rector, and when he did, it was with nary a pleased moment for the church. We left, then, as soon as he had given some instructions to those paralysed enough to be spoken to. He said hardly a word to me as we made our way back. It was a long and cold walk, and without a drop of sleep did he insist we march all the way to our home. 

'The night had fallen thick, and it was with my utmost confusion that we arrived home, for you had spoken of my being gone two days, and yet, I can only recall being gone the very long morning and night. Perhaps the darkness muddled my brain, but Winn, I tell you this in all severity and seriousness - there is something dark at play! Whispers followed us through the town about the rector's sudden decrease in help, which should have been impossible! We were only gone a day! The stealing of another morning and evening at the hands of the doctor is no coincidence. I fear for what I have brought into our house, and I should never forgive myself if you were to find yourself in a similar danger because of my haste in securing aid!"

Evie finished her tale, and looked nervously at my house, which we had come to a slowed stop in front of as her narrative slowed. Grasping my hands in hers, her soft brown eyes filled with tears and her lips quivered. 

"Stay here, then," I begged, fearing for something of which I knew nothing of. How curious a fear this was - to understand only that something is amiss, but having no such tangible evidence to prove to someone else. We held each other close, but as she pulled back and sniffed, drawing herself up, Evie shook her head. 

"I cannot, my dear friend, but know this - you need only call, and I shall come back for you! Take this vow from the depths of my heart and know that Evelyn Thomas shall never abandon you to the plots of this despicable man!" 

We heard footsteps then, and when we turned to see who it could have been, so uninvited to my out-of-the-way house, found much to our dismay the tall, looming shape of Dr. Radcliffe. Somehow completely silent behind us, he must have followed our path straight to my home, and he sported a most unsettling grin despite the circumstances. 

"There my patient has gone! A cold can hardly be cured by wandering through this chilled and damp weather!" Evie and I shared a defeated look before turning to be guided back to the sickened Thomas home by the victorious doctor. 

I shall pause my narrative here to rest my poor hands. Untested by weeks of inactivity, they are proving to be weaker than is fitting for a writer, and I must wrap them in an effort to reduce their swelling before I continue. 

Winn