“Piglet?” he asked, incredulity thick in his tone. He’d known Browning’s little sister by her childhood nickname. All the boys had. As he’d hidden himself away in Derbyshire recently, he had no idea what she was like as an adult woman with a real name.
Miss Browning had been a bit of an ugly child, he remembered - chubby, with skin that turned red easily. He recalled as well that she had been quick to tears, and often whined when the boys got too rough and tumble in play. Once, she’d wailed after a boy threw a rock at a baby pig, earning her the unfortunate nickname of ‘piglet.’
It was cruel and awful, but no more so than the names that they had come up with for anyone else in their group.
“I could not,” Sebastian said, shaking his head. “Browning would kill me if I pursued his sister, especially now that he knows my reasons.”
“Browning would be delighted to see her settled, trust me on that. She is twenty and four and has had no luck thus far with suitors.”
“But Bancroft…this is Piglet we’re speaking of. She was always so…” Ugly. Fat. Quick to cry. Ill-humored. “Serious.”
“Yes, and you areseriouslyin danger of poverty. So, you may findthat the two of you have much in common at this time.”
Bancroft’s twisted attempt at a joke only served to make Sebastian more anxious. He could scarcely imagine what sort of young woman such a child had turned out to be.
Browning appeared once again at the door to the room, cigars in hand, and the conversation died in both men’s throats. Sebastian folded up the list and hid it away in his pocket before Browning could seat himself once more.
Together, the trio talked well into the night of women and marriage. Browning and Bancroft were both more than happy to tease their friend regarding his future bride, whomever she may be. Sebastian laughed when he was supposed to, but felt little mirth in the topic. The list in his pocket burned against his skin all night.
Chapter Three
“A new patient?”
Augusta sat across from one Mr. Bennet Pinkton in a small, dark cafe far from London’s busy streets, with cigar smoke so thick that one could hardly see the person sitting next to them. It was the perfect place to not be seen at all, in fact, which was why it was her and Pinkton’s favorite meeting spot.
The man, who was in his mid-thirties but had the kind eyes of an elderly gentleman, had only become known to her two years prior, when she had practically accosted him at the University of London after a speech he gave regarding melancholia and sloth. He’d been the first real-life alienist that she had met, aside from the ones her parents had hired to fix her, and she had refused to let the opportunity go to waste.
Currently, he looked at her with an amused expression as he sipped his coffee.
“Yes. It appears our dry spell is over. Thank God for affliction, lest we grow bored.”
Augusta ignored his cynicism, for her own elation had so run ahead of her senses that she was unable to allow for it. “And you say this is for Lady Wallingford?”
“Yes. Evidently she heard of our successful work with Lord Barrington. Her husband stated that she has suffered from melancholia for most of her life, and has never receivedtreatment at any other time.”
“That is so strange,” Augusta said, thinking of the dinner she had attended at the Wallingford estate only last evening. “I saw her recently and she seemed so…composed. Like nothing was wrong at all.”
“Yes, Lord Wallingford did mention that she is quite good at hiding her symptoms. I have had patients like that in the past. This will be good training for you, as well. You’ll need to be able to assess the subtler hints of the disorder.”
That made Augusta sit up just a bit straighter.
It had been roughly a year since Dr. Pinkton had approached her with a proposition; to attend visits with him for members of thetonwho were afraid to seek treatment for their nervous afflictions, essentially acting as his apprentice and protege. Since then, they had worked with five separate patients under the guise of social visits from Augusta.
With each of them, Augusta had learned more and more about the cases that, once upon a time, she had only been allowed to read about in textbooks.
There had always been whisperings of members of society with these problems, but no one wanted to come forth and name themselves. Some of them, the ladies especially, were so obsessed with their secret that they did not even want the knowledge of a doctor having visited getting out, for fear of what else might leak. Knowing that Augusta would also have to keep her identity a secret was enough to convince them that they would not be made the fool if they admitted her and the doctor. It was an agreed-upon contract of mutual destruction, which ensured that no one spoke a word of it.
It made sense to Augusta, in the perverse way that things in thetonmade sense. After all, if one needed to stay hidden, then the best possible solution was to find others who also had to remainin the shadows. Therefore, the process was easy: the patient reached out to Dr. Pinkton in their time of need, Dr. Pinkton reached out to Augusta, and everyone had great cause to say absolutely nothing on the matter.
“And they know of my presence alongside you?”
Dr. Pinkton looked down at his coffee when he said, “Yes. Lord Wallingford was surprised by your involvement, but he stated that his wife has always liked you. Besides, they trust my judgment in bringing my apprentice.”
This much Augusta believed. Dr. Pinkton was in great demand across the city - beyond teaching and working in various asylums, he also assisted Scotland Yard at times regarding the minds of those who committed grave crimes. Whatever he said carried great weight and respect alongside it.
She wondered what that felt like.
Augusta set her coffee down. “I…want to thank you, Dr. Pinkton. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I know that I am a nobody in your world. I have no degree, no job prospects. I truly appreciate you giving me all that you have.”
