"... I understand the necessity," Walter said at last, speaking to the sky beyond the windowpane. "Believe me, sir, I understand that something must be done. My wife has shot someone while in my care. It is clear that I cannot ... that my house cannot contain her madness. I do understand that. And yet ... I don't know if you know, Mr Childermass, what happens in such places. I don't know if you have heard ..."
"I have," the man interrupted. Gently, really. Calmly, and gently, and when Walter glanced at him there was ... something in his expression. Something genuine, though he could not quite tell what it was. Something very grim, anyway. "I do know, sir. I don't know if Mr Lascelles did when he suggested it. It was said in the heat of the moment. But I have heard stories of Bedlam, as most people have. I understand your reluctance to place her ladyship in any such circumstance. It is not a fate I would wish on anyone."
Walter stared at him. "Not even a woman who had almost killed you?" he heard himself ask, at such a remove that he could not keep the raw disbelief from it. He did not dare hope, not just yet. He could not. Childermass blinked at him, and nodded carefully.
"Not even then," he answered quietly. "In truth, sir, I do not know if there is anyone I would willingly send to such a fate. I know I would rather be shot myself than face it, and more fatally so than her ladyship managed. For my part, I would not ask it of anyone."
Walter felt himself slump. It was a fatal move, in any real debate, especially when the outcome was still uncertain. A man who showed such weakness on the floor of parliament would not survive in his job for very long. There was still no lie in what Childermass said, however. He would swear to it. There was no shade of doubt or falsehood in his expression. It was hard, and uncompromising, but for the first time in this meeting Walter dared to hope that that surety of purpose might, in fact, fall to Emma's benefit. Childermass was a reasonable man. He had always seemed so. Maybe ... Maybe there might be cause for hope.
"Then ..." he started, moving back towards the man and resting his weight against the back of his chair. He needed the support, just now. He needed something to hold him up. "Then you might see fit to ... to make some other arrangement? I cannot think of her in such a place, Mr Childermass. I know under the circumstances that it is not my right to demand such a thing, and of you of all people, but I cannot bear to imagine her being treated that way."
Childermass looked away. He looked down at his hands, his lips pressed tightly together, and Walter felt his heart plummet once again. That was not an encouraging expression.
"My master believes a madhouse would be best," Childermass said, after a moment. He looked back up at Walter, wearing that impenetrable expression once again. "Perhaps he is not entirely wrong. Her ladyship has been troubled since her ... her return. Perhaps he is not wrong to think that she should be somewhere where they know how to care for her."
"She will not find such a thing at an asylum," Walter whispered. Vehemently, though he could not regret it. He stared fiercely at Childermass. "You must know that, sir. Bethlem is coming to the point where the government itself may have to intervene, and I doubt many other institutions are much better. She is my wife. You cannot think that I--"
"There are more sorts of madhouse than the kind you find at Bethlem," Childermass cut in. He leaned forward, wincing a little as it disturbed his injury, and met Walter's eyes calmly and intently. "I do not know if they can be found in London, my lord, but I do know that they can be found elsewhere. In Yorkshire, for example."
Walter blinked. He had a vague memory ... "The York Retreat?" he asked cautiously. He had heard something about it. People who decried Bethlem sometimes mentioned it. Run by Quakers, if he remembered correctly, and in a wholly different manner to other madhouses. Indeed, if he was thinking of the right thing, it had been established in protest against such institutions. It had been founded by someone whose wife or daughter or ... or some such relation had suffered in another asylum. He had a very strong sympathy for that person, suddenly. He could not remember their name, but he felt some kinship for them now.
Childermass looked briefly startled, but nodded. "I had not thought the Retreat itself," he said, waving his uninjured hand vaguely. "I thought that your lordship might prefer something more private. I think my master would as well, though I understand that that is far from your primary concern. I know of a man, sir. His name is John Segundus. He runs a house in Yorkshire called Starecross Hall. It is a recent establishment, but it is quiet, remote. Her ladyship would not be troubled there, nor would she draw unwanted attention in her illness. I know this man, sir. He is as respectable and kind a caretaker as anyone could wish. If I fell ill myself tomorrow, I would trust myself to his care without a thought. I have no doubt that, if her ladyship were placed with him, he would treat her with the utmost care and gentility. He was the first person I thought of, when my master explained the situation to me."
Walter blinked some more. He eased himself back down into his chair, and reached blindly for his teacup while he thought about it. The tea had cooled somewhat. He didn't mind, though. He barely tasted it.
"This man is a doctor?" he asked, after a moment. "You think he can help her?"
Childermass shook his head. "He is not a doctor," he said. "He is a gentleman, though, and he has a talent for ... such troubles as beset her ladyship. I truly think, sir, that if anyone can begin to understand what is happening to your wife, it is Mr Segundus. Her ladyship cannot stay in London. I think we are all agreed on that. If you would have my opinion, my lord, I think that Starecross would be the best place for her. I trust Mr Segundus, sir. It is not his nature to mistreat anyone or anything. Her ladyship would be safe in his hands. I do not doubt it."
Walter could see that. The lack of doubt, at least. There was absolute certainty in Childermass' face as he said it. And it was ... He did not doubt that the wish for privacy was Norrell's doing, but he also could not fault it. He could not imagine Emma being stared at as she would be at Bedlam, like some sort of ... of travelling show attraction, laughed at and mocked in her illness. The thought was a horror to him. A private place, a good house, where she might be safe ... He did not think Childermass would lie to him, either. Not about someone's safety. If Childermass said this Mr Segundus was a good man, that he would not mistreat Emma ...
"... Would he be willing to take her?" he asked wearily, and thought he saw something close to relief in Childermass' eyes. "If you say to me that my wife will be safe and well-cared for in this place, Mr Childermass, I will believe you. I must, since I have very little choice. Do you think that your Mr Segundus will accept care of Lady Pole?"
"I have written to him, sir," Childermass answered. "Only to ask if he might take her, not to say that he must. I would not have presumed without your permission. I think he will, though. As I said, the establishment is recent. It could use support. Aside from that, I have never known Mr Segundus to refuse to help anyone. It is not his nature."
Walter blinked slowly. "You think very highly of him, don't you?" he noted quietly, with maybe half a smile. "You respect this man very much, Mr Childermass?"
Childermass looked slightly startled. Apparently that was not an observation he had expected. He nodded, though, after a moment. Thoughtfully, as if he had not quite noticed his own respect before.
"I do not meet so many men of such a compassionate nature that I should forget one," the man answered softly. "It is a rare enough thing to find a man without malice. Mr Segundus is one such. I would stake my life on it. It is not in him to cause willful harm to anyone."
Walter did not say anything, for a moment. For some reason, that statement brought him close to tears. He had never ... He had never had to consider, before, that anyone might cause willful harm to someone close to him. He had never had to weigh his acquaintances based on who he might trust, in extremity, not to hurt those he loved. Emma was ... She was so fragile. She was so beset by horror and by madness, and anyone might hurt her for it. That Mr Norrell had not outright had her hanged for her actions, that Childermass himself had ... He shook his head. He swallowed carefully, and shook his head.
"You have behaved somewhat without malice yourself, Mr Childermass," he said, very quietly indeed. The man blinked at him, a fleeting expression of confusion, denial, flickering across his pale features, and Walter leaned forward abruptly. He met the man's eyes, with a desperate sort of gratitude in his own. "She almost killed you, sir. She did not mean to, or Norrell either. It was the madness. I believe that with all my heart. Yet she almost killed you nonetheless. I do not know that there are many men who would take time to reassure her husband that she would be well cared for, after such a thing was done to them."
Now Childermass looked uneasy. Extraordinarily so. "I am not ..." he said, stammering slightly. "That is. You misrepresent me, sir. It is only my duty. The lady has suffered for some time, and was not in control of her actions. It harms no one to ensure that she is in good hands."
Walter ducked his head, smiling painfully. "Do you know how many would have asked that she hang?" he asked softly. "Do you know how many would not have cared what manner of prison she was thrown in? I have been thinking on it a great deal these past few days, Mr Childermass. I have never had to think such things before. I have never been so afraid for anyone in my life as I have been afraid for Emma this last week. And I knew I had no right to be. You were wounded. You might have died. Mr Norrell, had you not saved him, might have died. Emma did that. I had no right to fear for her. Yet I could not help it. Can you understand that? My wife was almost a murderer, and yet I could not bear ..."
"Sir Walter," Childermass said, low and rapid. He had leaned forward across the small table between them, held out his uninjured arm as though to touch Walter on the shoulder. To try and comfort him, or to shake him out of it, Walter wasn't sure. Childermass had checked himself out of propriety, he thought. "You love your wife, sir. No man could fault you for that. No one is dead, my lord. The wound will heal. There was no need for anything drastic to be done."
He looked mildly disturbed, when Walter managed to look up at him. He also looked very pale, and his injured arm was crooked oddly across his chest. Oh, well done Walter. On top of sparing your wife, now the man must injure himself all over again trying to bring you back to your senses. Get a hold of yourself, for god's sake!
"Forgive me," he said, mopping hastily at his face. He had not cried, at least. There were no tears to dash away. "I'm sorry, Childermass. It has been ... Well. Probably a better week than yours, but not a good one, nonetheless. I apologise for my lack of composure."
Childermass waved that off, watching him somewhat warily. "It is no trouble, sir," he said, leaning carefully back in his seat and unable to keep himself from grunting a little in pain in the process. Walter stood, at the sound of it. He twitched nervously to his feet.
"Will you stay a little?" he asked quickly. Childermass stared at him, in what looked like growing alarm. "That is. Now that the matter is dealt with for the moment. We may discuss the details later. Norrell does not expect you back immediately, does he? You should rest a bit. You don't look well, sir. I can send for a doctor, if you need it."
"No," Childermass said immediately, and rather forcefully. He grimaced immediately afterwards. "Forgive me, sir. I mean, that is not necessary. I have not torn anything. And I believe my master will be expecting me shortly enough. Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I will not keep you from your business any further."
Walter nearly laughed. "My business?" he said. "I do not know that I have given a single thought to business in days. Not a coherent one, at any rate. Do you think I could think while I was waiting for ... You have given me relief, Mr Childermass, and more hope than I have had in a week. Come, sir. You are dead on your feet. It does no harm to recover yourself a little. Mr Norrell will not know when we might have finished our business, surely? What if I had been difficult? What if I had ignored all your advice and been determined to argue? Surely he might expect you to be hours yet."
Childermass blinked at him, bemused all over again, and exhausted on top of it. Perhaps it was that his duty was done, for the moment. Perhaps it was that he had allowed himself to feel tired. Or perhaps Walter had, in fact, done him some damage by his little descent into grief and panic.
"... I will stay if it is your wish, sir," the man said at last. "For a little while, if it will reassure you. I do not wish to disturb your household any more than it has already been."
Walter shook his head. "It would be very difficult to disturb us more than we have already been disturbed," he said, more than a little tiredly. "You will do no harm, Mr Childermass. You have done the opposite, in fact. The least I can do is ensure that you have not further injured yourself in the process. You may rest here for a bit, and then I will have Stephen drive you home. Are you sure you do not require a doctor?"
Childermass opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He shook his head. "I'm sure," he said. "I do not think I will need a carriage home, either, not if I have the chance to rest first. Hanover Square is not so far as that. Really, sir, you must not trouble yourself."
Walter looked at him for a moment. He was sure that everything he was feeling, everything he had felt over the course of this absolute hell of a week, must show clearly in his face. Certainly he was not attempting to hide it. Childermass went still, in the face of it. Something very strange and not a little fearful seemed to fill the man's eyes. Walter shook his head carefully, and smiled at him.
"It is no trouble," he said quietly. "Please believe me, Mr Childermass. What you are doing for Emma, after what she has done to you ... No. This is no trouble at all. It is the very least that I can do. Now. Will you stay, sir? Until you have regained your colour, at least. Will you stay?"
And after another brief moment, seemingly speechless, Childermass nodded.
A/N: For quick reference, Bethlem/Bedlam (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethlem_Royal_Hospital) and the York Retreat (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Retreat)
Fill - To Speak of Trouble 2/2
"I have," the man interrupted. Gently, really. Calmly, and gently, and when Walter glanced at him there was ... something in his expression. Something genuine, though he could not quite tell what it was. Something very grim, anyway. "I do know, sir. I don't know if Mr Lascelles did when he suggested it. It was said in the heat of the moment. But I have heard stories of Bedlam, as most people have. I understand your reluctance to place her ladyship in any such circumstance. It is not a fate I would wish on anyone."
Walter stared at him. "Not even a woman who had almost killed you?" he heard himself ask, at such a remove that he could not keep the raw disbelief from it. He did not dare hope, not just yet. He could not. Childermass blinked at him, and nodded carefully.
"Not even then," he answered quietly. "In truth, sir, I do not know if there is anyone I would willingly send to such a fate. I know I would rather be shot myself than face it, and more fatally so than her ladyship managed. For my part, I would not ask it of anyone."
Walter felt himself slump. It was a fatal move, in any real debate, especially when the outcome was still uncertain. A man who showed such weakness on the floor of parliament would not survive in his job for very long. There was still no lie in what Childermass said, however. He would swear to it. There was no shade of doubt or falsehood in his expression. It was hard, and uncompromising, but for the first time in this meeting Walter dared to hope that that surety of purpose might, in fact, fall to Emma's benefit. Childermass was a reasonable man. He had always seemed so. Maybe ... Maybe there might be cause for hope.
"Then ..." he started, moving back towards the man and resting his weight against the back of his chair. He needed the support, just now. He needed something to hold him up. "Then you might see fit to ... to make some other arrangement? I cannot think of her in such a place, Mr Childermass. I know under the circumstances that it is not my right to demand such a thing, and of you of all people, but I cannot bear to imagine her being treated that way."
Childermass looked away. He looked down at his hands, his lips pressed tightly together, and Walter felt his heart plummet once again. That was not an encouraging expression.
"My master believes a madhouse would be best," Childermass said, after a moment. He looked back up at Walter, wearing that impenetrable expression once again. "Perhaps he is not entirely wrong. Her ladyship has been troubled since her ... her return. Perhaps he is not wrong to think that she should be somewhere where they know how to care for her."
"She will not find such a thing at an asylum," Walter whispered. Vehemently, though he could not regret it. He stared fiercely at Childermass. "You must know that, sir. Bethlem is coming to the point where the government itself may have to intervene, and I doubt many other institutions are much better. She is my wife. You cannot think that I--"
"There are more sorts of madhouse than the kind you find at Bethlem," Childermass cut in. He leaned forward, wincing a little as it disturbed his injury, and met Walter's eyes calmly and intently. "I do not know if they can be found in London, my lord, but I do know that they can be found elsewhere. In Yorkshire, for example."
Walter blinked. He had a vague memory ... "The York Retreat?" he asked cautiously. He had heard something about it. People who decried Bethlem sometimes mentioned it. Run by Quakers, if he remembered correctly, and in a wholly different manner to other madhouses. Indeed, if he was thinking of the right thing, it had been established in protest against such institutions. It had been founded by someone whose wife or daughter or ... or some such relation had suffered in another asylum. He had a very strong sympathy for that person, suddenly. He could not remember their name, but he felt some kinship for them now.
Childermass looked briefly startled, but nodded. "I had not thought the Retreat itself," he said, waving his uninjured hand vaguely. "I thought that your lordship might prefer something more private. I think my master would as well, though I understand that that is far from your primary concern. I know of a man, sir. His name is John Segundus. He runs a house in Yorkshire called Starecross Hall. It is a recent establishment, but it is quiet, remote. Her ladyship would not be troubled there, nor would she draw unwanted attention in her illness. I know this man, sir. He is as respectable and kind a caretaker as anyone could wish. If I fell ill myself tomorrow, I would trust myself to his care without a thought. I have no doubt that, if her ladyship were placed with him, he would treat her with the utmost care and gentility. He was the first person I thought of, when my master explained the situation to me."
Walter blinked some more. He eased himself back down into his chair, and reached blindly for his teacup while he thought about it. The tea had cooled somewhat. He didn't mind, though. He barely tasted it.
"This man is a doctor?" he asked, after a moment. "You think he can help her?"
Childermass shook his head. "He is not a doctor," he said. "He is a gentleman, though, and he has a talent for ... such troubles as beset her ladyship. I truly think, sir, that if anyone can begin to understand what is happening to your wife, it is Mr Segundus. Her ladyship cannot stay in London. I think we are all agreed on that. If you would have my opinion, my lord, I think that Starecross would be the best place for her. I trust Mr Segundus, sir. It is not his nature to mistreat anyone or anything. Her ladyship would be safe in his hands. I do not doubt it."
Walter could see that. The lack of doubt, at least. There was absolute certainty in Childermass' face as he said it. And it was ... He did not doubt that the wish for privacy was Norrell's doing, but he also could not fault it. He could not imagine Emma being stared at as she would be at Bedlam, like some sort of ... of travelling show attraction, laughed at and mocked in her illness. The thought was a horror to him. A private place, a good house, where she might be safe ... He did not think Childermass would lie to him, either. Not about someone's safety. If Childermass said this Mr Segundus was a good man, that he would not mistreat Emma ...
"... Would he be willing to take her?" he asked wearily, and thought he saw something close to relief in Childermass' eyes. "If you say to me that my wife will be safe and well-cared for in this place, Mr Childermass, I will believe you. I must, since I have very little choice. Do you think that your Mr Segundus will accept care of Lady Pole?"
"I have written to him, sir," Childermass answered. "Only to ask if he might take her, not to say that he must. I would not have presumed without your permission. I think he will, though. As I said, the establishment is recent. It could use support. Aside from that, I have never known Mr Segundus to refuse to help anyone. It is not his nature."
Walter blinked slowly. "You think very highly of him, don't you?" he noted quietly, with maybe half a smile. "You respect this man very much, Mr Childermass?"
Childermass looked slightly startled. Apparently that was not an observation he had expected. He nodded, though, after a moment. Thoughtfully, as if he had not quite noticed his own respect before.
"I do not meet so many men of such a compassionate nature that I should forget one," the man answered softly. "It is a rare enough thing to find a man without malice. Mr Segundus is one such. I would stake my life on it. It is not in him to cause willful harm to anyone."
Walter did not say anything, for a moment. For some reason, that statement brought him close to tears. He had never ... He had never had to consider, before, that anyone might cause willful harm to someone close to him. He had never had to weigh his acquaintances based on who he might trust, in extremity, not to hurt those he loved. Emma was ... She was so fragile. She was so beset by horror and by madness, and anyone might hurt her for it. That Mr Norrell had not outright had her hanged for her actions, that Childermass himself had ... He shook his head. He swallowed carefully, and shook his head.
"You have behaved somewhat without malice yourself, Mr Childermass," he said, very quietly indeed. The man blinked at him, a fleeting expression of confusion, denial, flickering across his pale features, and Walter leaned forward abruptly. He met the man's eyes, with a desperate sort of gratitude in his own. "She almost killed you, sir. She did not mean to, or Norrell either. It was the madness. I believe that with all my heart. Yet she almost killed you nonetheless. I do not know that there are many men who would take time to reassure her husband that she would be well cared for, after such a thing was done to them."
Now Childermass looked uneasy. Extraordinarily so. "I am not ..." he said, stammering slightly. "That is. You misrepresent me, sir. It is only my duty. The lady has suffered for some time, and was not in control of her actions. It harms no one to ensure that she is in good hands."
Walter ducked his head, smiling painfully. "Do you know how many would have asked that she hang?" he asked softly. "Do you know how many would not have cared what manner of prison she was thrown in? I have been thinking on it a great deal these past few days, Mr Childermass. I have never had to think such things before. I have never been so afraid for anyone in my life as I have been afraid for Emma this last week. And I knew I had no right to be. You were wounded. You might have died. Mr Norrell, had you not saved him, might have died. Emma did that. I had no right to fear for her. Yet I could not help it. Can you understand that? My wife was almost a murderer, and yet I could not bear ..."
"Sir Walter," Childermass said, low and rapid. He had leaned forward across the small table between them, held out his uninjured arm as though to touch Walter on the shoulder. To try and comfort him, or to shake him out of it, Walter wasn't sure. Childermass had checked himself out of propriety, he thought. "You love your wife, sir. No man could fault you for that. No one is dead, my lord. The wound will heal. There was no need for anything drastic to be done."
He looked mildly disturbed, when Walter managed to look up at him. He also looked very pale, and his injured arm was crooked oddly across his chest. Oh, well done Walter. On top of sparing your wife, now the man must injure himself all over again trying to bring you back to your senses. Get a hold of yourself, for god's sake!
"Forgive me," he said, mopping hastily at his face. He had not cried, at least. There were no tears to dash away. "I'm sorry, Childermass. It has been ... Well. Probably a better week than yours, but not a good one, nonetheless. I apologise for my lack of composure."
Childermass waved that off, watching him somewhat warily. "It is no trouble, sir," he said, leaning carefully back in his seat and unable to keep himself from grunting a little in pain in the process. Walter stood, at the sound of it. He twitched nervously to his feet.
"Will you stay a little?" he asked quickly. Childermass stared at him, in what looked like growing alarm. "That is. Now that the matter is dealt with for the moment. We may discuss the details later. Norrell does not expect you back immediately, does he? You should rest a bit. You don't look well, sir. I can send for a doctor, if you need it."
"No," Childermass said immediately, and rather forcefully. He grimaced immediately afterwards. "Forgive me, sir. I mean, that is not necessary. I have not torn anything. And I believe my master will be expecting me shortly enough. Do not trouble yourself, my lord. I will not keep you from your business any further."
Walter nearly laughed. "My business?" he said. "I do not know that I have given a single thought to business in days. Not a coherent one, at any rate. Do you think I could think while I was waiting for ... You have given me relief, Mr Childermass, and more hope than I have had in a week. Come, sir. You are dead on your feet. It does no harm to recover yourself a little. Mr Norrell will not know when we might have finished our business, surely? What if I had been difficult? What if I had ignored all your advice and been determined to argue? Surely he might expect you to be hours yet."
Childermass blinked at him, bemused all over again, and exhausted on top of it. Perhaps it was that his duty was done, for the moment. Perhaps it was that he had allowed himself to feel tired. Or perhaps Walter had, in fact, done him some damage by his little descent into grief and panic.
"... I will stay if it is your wish, sir," the man said at last. "For a little while, if it will reassure you. I do not wish to disturb your household any more than it has already been."
Walter shook his head. "It would be very difficult to disturb us more than we have already been disturbed," he said, more than a little tiredly. "You will do no harm, Mr Childermass. You have done the opposite, in fact. The least I can do is ensure that you have not further injured yourself in the process. You may rest here for a bit, and then I will have Stephen drive you home. Are you sure you do not require a doctor?"
Childermass opened his mouth, and then shut it again. He shook his head. "I'm sure," he said. "I do not think I will need a carriage home, either, not if I have the chance to rest first. Hanover Square is not so far as that. Really, sir, you must not trouble yourself."
Walter looked at him for a moment. He was sure that everything he was feeling, everything he had felt over the course of this absolute hell of a week, must show clearly in his face. Certainly he was not attempting to hide it. Childermass went still, in the face of it. Something very strange and not a little fearful seemed to fill the man's eyes. Walter shook his head carefully, and smiled at him.
"It is no trouble," he said quietly. "Please believe me, Mr Childermass. What you are doing for Emma, after what she has done to you ... No. This is no trouble at all. It is the very least that I can do. Now. Will you stay, sir? Until you have regained your colour, at least. Will you stay?"
And after another brief moment, seemingly speechless, Childermass nodded.
A/N: For quick reference, Bethlem/Bedlam (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bethlem_Royal_Hospital) and the York Retreat (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Retreat)