Turning her attention towards the patients, Simone waited for Caleb to join her before they slowly walked down thecentral aisle surrounded by the cells where the patients were confined. Some of the unkempt women turned their heads to glance at them, their sunken eyes and thin shoulders visible through tattered clothing.
Most of the patients gave them little heed, as if their presence was merely an imposition to them. The smell of unwashed bodies permeated the air, leaving Caleb to wonder how Simone managed to endure such a pungent odor.
They continued down the hall and Simone would occasionally step closer to the bars to examine a patient. Once they arrived at the end of the long hall, her eyes held disappointment. “I do not see my mother,” she admitted, her voice resigned.
“There are still more patients,” Caleb said in an attempt to encourage her.
Mr. Radcliffe spoke up from behind them. “I assure you that is a waste of your time. Those patients are not the type of people you want to trifle with. There is a reason they are not with the general population.”
“Be that as it may, I would like to see them,” Caleb said.
“Mr. Bolingbroke, you are wasting my time and?—”
Caleb spoke over him. “I will match Miss Delacourt’s donation, assuming you will take us to the other patients.”
In a hushed voice, Mr. Radcliffe said, “I think you are making a grave mistake. You are only going to disappoint your fiancée even more.”
“She can handle it,” Caleb admonished.
Mr. Radcliffe’s eyes shifted towards Simone and they held compassion. “Are you sure, Miss?” he asked. “I only ask for the sake of your delicate constitution.”
Simone nodded. “Mr. Bolingbroke is right. I can handle whatever, come what may.”
Mr. Radcliffe’s lips formed a thin line before he grumbled, “Follow me, then.” He proceeded out the door and down another long corridor.
As they followed behind Mr. Radcliffe, Caleb asked, “How are you faring?”
“Those poor people,” Simone said in a hushed voice. No other words were needed. He knew precisely what she was saying, and not saying. The patients were suffering and no one seemed to care about their plights.
Mr. Radcliffe approached a door and removed a key from his jacket pocket. “I will have to lock the door behind us for everyone’s sake.”
Once they stepped into the darkened hall, Mr. Radcliffe made good on his promise and locked the door, remaining by it. The only light came from the small, dirtied windows along one of the side walls.
Simone proceeded down the dimly lit corridor with an air of unyielding determination. Alongside her, men and women were confined in adjacent cells, their hands bound and shackled to the cold walls. The straw strewn on the aged, misshapen floor provided little comfort, and the rats scurried around the floor, as if the patients were the unwanted intruders.
The horrific stench that lingered in the air failed to deter Simone, who scrutinized each suffering soul with a somber countenance. Her expression remained stoic, yet Caleb could see the anguish in her eyes. How these people were able to survive such horrific conditions was beyond him. This was a place that people came to die, and he suspected they knew it, too.
As Simone came to the last cell, she stopped and cocked her head. A woman sat in the shadows of the cell, her back against the wall. Her long, dark hair covered her face as her eyes were downcast.
“Mother?” Simone asked.
Chapter Eighteen
Simone stared at the woman in the cell, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this was her mother. But she couldn’t quite tell. The woman kept her gaze fixated on the ground, her long hair partially covering her face.
Simone wondered why she wouldn’t look up. The woman was dressed in a tattered gown that did little to hide her frail state. Her skin had layers of grime on it, and her dark hair was terribly disheveled. If this was her mother, it was a far cry from how Simone remembered her.
As she took a step closer to the cell, Mr. Radcliffe spoke up. “Don’t get too close, Miss,” he warned. “That patient is particularly dangerous.”
“She doesn’t look dangerous to me,” Simone said.
“Looks can be deceiving,” Mr. Radcliffe responded from his position by the door. “Jane arrived nearly two years ago.”
Simone’s eyes darted towards Caleb, who stood a few paces back from her. Surely, that could not be a coincidence that this woman arrived around the same time her mother supposedly died.
Caleb gave her the briefest nod, as if to acknowledge what she was feeling. She hoped she wasn’t wrong on this.
Turning back towards the cell, Simone asked, “Mother, is that you?”
