6 October

Watching my fate rush away in the window of the carriage filled me with a sense of sadness quite unlike any I'd experienced before. How differently the situation I was in from my leaving America, to the departure from the Thomas house. Though my own home was a great deal smaller and more shabby than the family home of my friend, I still longed to be wrapped in its halls and cozy rooms. That I could curl up on the window seat of my observatory room and write without fear of isolation. I could almost have pictured Evie, covered in dirt and her trousers rolled up at the ankles, bringing in some new plant that had grown.

Alas, the real Evie sat beside me and possessed such a look of overwhelming misery that my own lamentations seemed quite paltry by comparison. The curious lustre of her golden eyes was gone, replaced with a dark colour that suited her black hair. Of course, I still missed her original expressions of endless enthusiasm, but if Evelyn Thomas was to be imprisoned in a life she did not want, at least she would look the part of a respected man's wife. Of course, the nature of her husband-to-bed was entirely debatable, but we wouldn't actually know for certain until our ride was over. Seeing as how Evie had only met Dr. Radcliffe at a run-down church where he'd been mysteriously stationed (forgive me for thinking it a mystery, but when in doubt and fear, everything becomes a mystery of desperate dimensions that must be picked at and solved to retain my sanity), it was an extremely unknown fact of what this doctor was like in person. The clinicians of Dorset only knew the man was good at what he did, seemingly curing people of that which they believed permanent fixtures on their lives, and nothing more. Surley, a man who kpet hard at work and held no negative reviews on his person was acceptable? Still, the worm of intuition and doubt were ceaseless in Evie's mind, and she confessed before we'd stepped foot in the carriage of our imminent doom her misgivings.

It was the doctor himself who drove us towards our ill-fated futures. He'd sent for the carriage a handful of days prior and appeared quite determined to see us personally into his home. As he snapped a whip on the unfortunate back of the horse who pulled us along, Evie and I clung to each other and winced at every lurch the carriage made. As though fleeing some violent crime, or perhaps rushing towards one, our driver pulled us out of Dorset as quickly as he could without killing the horse, thought I doubted he would care much if he had succeeded in ending the beast's life. So quickly did we rush past the town that it became useless to leave the window open, and we shut the curtains before long.

Eventually, the uncertain misery of now knowing where we were headed came to a close when the sky was dark enough to suffocate the carriage. Evie had lifted the curtain some odd hour into our journey and was dismayed to see that the sun was as far away as her home now was. Turning to me with a face full of knit brows and forehead wrinkles, she clutched my arm tightly and pleaded with me not to let her die here. 

"You must ensure we escape wherever we are going. Do not let me perish in this horrible place!" Her eyes were frantic and wide, darting from my face back to the window. I wished I could have consoled her, but I was just as frightened as her. 

"What if I can't," I whispered, desperate not to let the doctor hear me. "If I should fail, what will we do?"

"You cannot fail, Winnifred, you cannot." She muttered these words over and over, until her breath came out like cold bursts of snow and she could only stutter. I'd forgotten the weather (as ridiculous as that may be), and only for the first time considered the effects it would have on my friend and I. If this new destination was homely and small, perhaps the violence of the weather could be forgotten, or even a factor in improving the coziness of life. Would fire and hot drinks not be more appreciated in this climate? My optimism was dashed before I could fool myself into believing it; we had pulled up to the house, and from the vague shapes we could make out through the dirty glass, there was something decidedly un-warming about what we saw. 

This vagueness was expelled after a moment. Thumping down from his seat, shoes smacking against the ground, Dr. Radcliffe appeared at the door, his chest looming out of the window. He needn't rap on the glass - we opened it at once, fearful of whatever wrath he most assuredly possessed. He removed his hat and held out a hand. Despite the firm belief Evie and I shared in his vile nature, he appeared only a gentleman then, cheeks ruddy from the nip of frost he'd put himself through by driving us along. His hair, while usually swept firmly against his scalp, was now loose and waving in the glimmer of twilight. A very strange feeling arose in me at seeing him like this, a feeling which I will never share with Evie. It was not a romantic sentiment, though I suppose I wouldn't really know anyway, being so devoid of those experiences which pull on the strings of the heart, but neither was it an opposite feeling. Perhaps it was merely hope - could a man who at least had blood in him to blush in the cold really be the miserable, demanding creature we'd known for the past month? Even as he helped us down from our seats (Evie wobbling the whole while from nerves and the shoes she wore, far more delicate then she was prepared for), his manner was calm, collected, and somewhat absent. 

I clung to this hope and prayed that this change wasn't just the weather having beaten him into submission for a while. 

Upon stepping down, I hugged my dress tightly to my body, the wind whipping it up into inappropriate shapes. All the while that I suffered under the elements, the doctor gave me a strange look, almost as though he was incapable of tearing his gaze from me, or perhaps in disgust for the immodesty I was helpless against performing. It is no fault of mine, I longed to say. If you were a man of manners, you would avert your eyes!

Once I had gotten my appearance in order, I looked up and surveyed the monstrous building we were to live in. It was a tall thing, seemingly stretching into the skies from the perspective of my shortened stature. Windows by the hundreds covered the walls, an imposing vision of glass glinting menacingly in the lowering sunlight. It did not appear that there were any lights in the windows, which I was exceedingly grateful for. Hardly would any creatures like Charlotte Brontë's Bertha Mason of Jane Eyre be appreciated, hiding in the house for me to discover upon a wandering whim. Indeed, this image of a madwoman lurking in the building possessed me for several hours, and as Dr. Radcliffe led us inside, all I could think on was the terror of finding a stranger in the house behind every corner. Now freed of the constraints of the carriage, Evie looked around herself with an almost palpable breath of panic. Eventually scolded for leaving her to do this, I was bidden by the doctor to take her inside, where someone would attend to our cold figures and our hunger. Quite positive I would be incapable of eating, I nevertheless collected Evie's arm in my own and walked with her to the front steps. 

Once we were far enough from the doctor, who had entered the carriage for our belongings, Evie gripped my arm with sharp fingers. "Don't eat anything until you see him do the same."

"Of course, but... are you certain he would want to kill us so quickly?" I looked back at him, watching the doctor's back as he leaned into the vehicle. "Why go through the trouble of all that just to snuff us out?"

"I never said a thing about killing. Keep your wits about you - is a resistant woman not made more pliable with a drug to keep her still?"

"Evie!" Shocked at what she implied, I nevertheless shuddered and vowed to find some manner of book about the smells and tastes of various poisons and drugs during our stay. It would not do at all to make an already vulnerable creature such as myself inhibited by some foreign chemicals! As for Evie, I was confident she would allow nothing malicious to come near her body, were she under the strong influence of substances or not. 

"Don't you Evie me. We don't know where we are, and we have no say in our fates." She gave me a stern look that appeared quite reminiscent of one my mother would have given me. "It is more important than ever that you think!"

"Are you suggesting that I don't usually?" Though I knew this to be true, I was still stung by her words, and stepped into the main hall of the house with a sulk. I would hardly be caught thrusting myself into danger, whether I focused on thoughts or not! My feelings were put on an abrupt pause when the doctor walked in and stared at us. "Are you so determined to catch cold and prematurely expire?" It was the first time the doctor had raised his voice or expressed any harshness towards us since ushering us into the carriage, and we jumped at the timber of his voice. Hurried along, we moved inward and found ourselves looking up at our new home. The hall split off to the right, where a massive staircase spun out of sight. A true lover of his craft, Dr. Radcliffe had hung paintings, diagrams, and various medical instruments of everything related to the human body across the house. The stairwell was decorated in what I prayed were fake skulls, though I knew to not be so hopeful. Draped over the multitude of windows, so strange from this side of the house, were curtains made of black lace. They looked the sort of things a woman in mourning would wear, and being not the only person to think this, I soon felt Evie's tug of concern on my sleeve. Eventually turning our gazes to the floor, we saw a great many rugs covering the ground, some curled up like bears, some snarling wolves. The sight sent prickles running right down my spine. 

After our hesitant viewing of the room, Dr. Radcliffe approached and encouraged us to enter the kitchens. He had an odd way about him, both in frightening demeanour and slightly awkward stance, as though he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to be a villain or not. Any sympathy I had was at once reduced when I remembered how he'd forced patient hood on me and demanded I remain bedridden even as Evie's mother lay wasting away. 

"Eat, and then your rooms will be shown to you. I have business to attend to, but I shall be back before dawn." Delivering this message in the same curt, direct way, as though he were explaining some diagnosis, the doctor paused after his speech, struggled visibly with something weighing on his mind, and then approached Evie. "I will personally show you our room," he added, and with as much clumsiness and lack of experience as he had, he leaned forward to plant a kiss on the forehead of Evelyn Thomas. 

Even when he'd left, Evie remained still, staring vacantly in shock, the moisture left behind sparkling in the light of her husband's house. 

Continued tomorrow, 

Winn