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  A rapid footfall from behind the rows of file cabinets alerted us to the return of the clerk, watchman, or whoever the hell he was. He had more papers with him and he looked at us over his glasses with some concern. "It appears Mr. Glacenbie is in temporary seclusion."

  "What?" I'd hardly realized I was out of my chair until I felt Derry's grip on my arm, not so much restraining as just holding on in commiseration. "Why the hell is he in seclusion?"

  "Ah." We were making him nervous. Papers were shuffled, a stalling tactic as he retreated a step. "It appears Mr. Glacenbie became violent and delusional--"

  Derry's soft oath cut him off. I couldn't process such a ridiculous idea, either. "No way,” I said. “We're not talking about the same guy. Look, do you have the authority to discharge anyone from this hellhole? If not, I want you to go get someone who does, okay?"

  He blinked and, handing back the papers, scuttled sideways to the door. "I'll just fetch the house steward, sir," he said and was gone.

  That was all the opportunity I needed. "Come on, Derry. We'll find him ourselves."

  "That we will. But how? If they've locked him away--"

  "I'll get him out."

  He stuck by me as I abandoned the office for the main hallway, which led to a broad flight of steps to the next floor. The gaslight was so low, my eyes had to adjust before I could venture down any of the side passages. The first passage opened up into a room of iron-railed beds with crisp white linens, most of them occupied by sleeping patients.

  A woman in a black dress and white apron motioned us to be silent, then beckoned us behind a screen at the end of a row of beds. Jowly and implacable as a bulldog, white-haired, and radiating disapproval, she asked in a sharp whisper what we thought we were doing, skulking about well in advance of visiting hours. I gave her the discharge papers and a long minute to look them over. When she'd finished, she looked even jowlier, her white brows drawn together in annoyance.

  "I cannot think what possessed you gentlemen to imagine the night staff might discharge anyone at your convenience. There is no doctor here as yet and the patients are all asleep--"

  "Have you checked on Ezra since you locked him in isolation? Go do it now and you'll find him wide awake and more than ready to get out of here."

  "It is not to be done without the doctor's say. You may wait in the sitting room if you like, but it may be a few hours yet. I'd advise you to return to town."

  "Pardon me, ma'am. Are you a nurse here?"

  "I'm matron. Mrs. Lougheed. Are you Mr. Glacenbie's family?"

  Weren't matrons the ones who spent all their time carving up birch switches to use on naughty orphans? "Yeah, we're his family. Look, we'll hang around here as long as it takes. Just let us wait wherever you've got Ezra locked up."

  "That will only stir the patient up unnecessarily. Mr. Glacenbie has been difficult since his arrival and I should be very much surprised if the doctors will discharge him in his current condition."

  "He's been difficult because he shouldn't be here to begin with," I said, trying to keep an iron grip on my patience. "Once he sees us and knows he's going home, he'll be the perfect gentleman he always is."

  "You seem very sure of that, sir."

  "It's God's own truth," Derry said quietly.

  She fingered a slender silver whistle pinned to her apron as she weighed the productiveness of arguing over a patient who would be leaving in a matter of hours, one way or another. Finally she led us out of the ward and down another dim hallway to a locked and bolted door. The station attendant turned up his lamp and gave the matron a questioning glance.

  "Ring up some help, Samuel," she ordered. "We're in to see the patient brought in last night."

  "That poor miserable bloke? He's only just got off to sleep."

  "I've said as much to these gentlemen, but they have discharge papers and they will have him now."

  "Suit yourself," Samuel said with a shrug and got up to pull on a long tasseled cord near the desk. A distant bell sounded and he unhooked a key ring from his belt. "He's been a lively one. Up and down the room all night, pounding on the door, shouting and calling. Shouldn't give you no trouble now, though," he added as if he thought he was planting second thoughts in our minds about taking Ezra away. Unlocking the door, he slid back the bolt. "I'm to go at six, matron, you know."

  "I know, but you'll have to see him out, all the same." She followed him into the dark corridor and I stayed hot on her heels, Derry close behind me. With a long metal pole, the attendant turned up the gas by a valve on the ceiling, illuminating two doors on either side and a door at the hallway's end. The quiet was disturbing--but not as much as hearing Ezra shouting for help would have been. I felt Derry's hand on my arm and looked into his troubled face. He was thinking the same thing. Two more attendants, one carrying a lantern, entered the hall behind us to join us at the last door. The door was unlocked matter-of-factly and swung wide to reveal more darkness. He couldn't be asleep; more likely passed out from sheer terror.

  Not waiting for the attendants, I pushed past the matron and went inside. Enough light penetrated the gloom to show me painted wood walls and a padded floor with a mattress in one corner. Ezra wasn't on the mattress but in the corner opposite the door, knees drawn up as if he'd huddled there for some time before unconsciousness had claimed him. They'd taken his clothes and dressed him a long sack-like gown that covered his hands and fell over his feet. His face was strained, hands clenched even in sleep. Kneeling in front of him, I pressed a hand against his cheek.

  "Ez?" Talk about strained. I cleared my throat and tried again. "Ezra, it's me. And Derry," I said as Derry dropped heavily to his knees and set a hand on the back of Ezra's neck, murmuring his name in a choked voice. We prompted not the flicker of an eyelash nor the softest exhalation. It seeped into my own tired brain that this sleep wasn't one born of exhaustion. Cupping his face in my hands, I tilted his head back and gave his cheek a light pat. "Ezra?" He was out cold. I swallowed hard and reminded myself that blowing up was only going to get me a forced escort to the road. "What did you give him?"

  Mrs. Lougheed frowned. "There's no need to take that tone, sir. If the gentleman could not be induced to rest, the last doctor on shift likely gave him morphia to prevent him from working himself into a state of collapse..."

  She continued on with the explanation but I'd already heard all I needed to. Morphine. And I thought the knot in my gut couldn't get any tighter. "Bring that lantern over here."

  Samuel leaned over us with the light and I checked Ezra for signs of overdose. Apart from the drowsiness, his pulse was strong, his breathing good. Still it made me sick to think they'd pumped him full of drugs without a second thought. If it had taken us any longer to get him out, he'd have ended up addicted to the stuff.

  "He's all right?" Derry whispered, watching me worriedly.

  "I think so." It was the best assessment I could make in this dark little cage in this goddamned backward century. One thing I knew for certain. He wasn't staying here a minute longer than it took me to get him dressed and out the door. "Where are his clothes?"

  Her lips formed a thin resolute line. "I did explain to you, sir."

  I was on my feet and staring her down, my last vestige of good manners gone with my temper. "Where the hell are his clothes?"

  "Morgan," Derry cut in with dismay, but I ignored him, anger I didn't even know I was feeling coming up like a scourge, insuppressible.

  "You lock him up in here on the word of two doctors who never even examined him and then without even talking to him, you label him violent and delusional and stick him in a dark closet to fend for himself all night. What the hell kind of care do you call that?" I looked down at Derry. "This is the best? Really? Jesus Christ. Just because they haven't chained him to a wall doesn't mean what they're doing to him now is all that much better."

  Derry groaned softly, bowing his head over Ezra's. Though it was directed at me, I wasn't about to apologize for losing my cool.
Mrs. Lougheed was staring at me, stony-faced, just a glint of uneasiness far back in her eyes. The attendants were ready to intervene if I lashed out at her again. But I had no intention of dropping the matter.

  "Bring me his clothes. We're getting him dressed and out of here, doctor or no. If you won't give me his clothes, I'll take him out of here in that goddamned burlap bag you've got him dressed in and I'll carry him back to London if I have to. And then I'll go to every newspaper in the country and let them know exactly how St. Andrews cares for its patients. It's all up to you, Mrs. Lougheed."

  "Now look here," Samuel began indignantly but Mrs. Lougheed raised her hand and he fell silent. She waved the other two attendants out and, taking charge of the lantern, instructed Samuel to bring Ezra's clothes. When he was gone, she looked at me without speaking for a long moment much in the same way, I suspected, she assessed her more volatile patients.

  "I assure you that if the doctor on shift felt Mr. Glacenbie would be best served by being shut in seclusion, then I for one have no cause to question that decision. No harm has been done in his spending some time alone."

  "He's never alone." I brushed a hand over my face and exhaled, wondering if collapsing in tears would have them locking me in another room. Derry's hand, strong and warm, squeezed mine and I felt not any more embarrassed by the tears in my eyes than he seemed by the tears in his. It'd been one hell of a long night but Ezra was still with us and we were taking him home.

  I made another attempt to rouse him; maybe not enough to walk out on his own, but to at least let him know the cavalry had arrived. "Come on, Ez. No time for napping. Let's see those baby blues."

  His mouth turned down in annoyance and my heart leapt. He was in there, trying to respond past the haze of medication, even if it was just to tell me to leave him the hell alone. That was a good start. "Ezra, if you don't wake up, Derry and I are going to have to dress you. You don't want to go out in public like that, do you?"

  Derry gave a watery snort and hugged Ezra to him. "Poor love. And we've got to get you aboard the train, no less."

  Ezra opened his eyes, giving me a fleeting glimpse of confusion before he shut them again. Then he muttered my name, flooding me with a relief all out of proportion to his response. I doubted we'd get him walking, but he'd at least leave this place with some dignity, wearing his own clothes.

  The process of getting him dressed roused him to semi-wakefulness. While I held him so that Derry could drag his coat sleeves onto his arms, he squinted at me, then repeated my name as if it were a lifeline keeping him conscious. He touched my cheek, fingers trailing along my jaw. "You're real."

  Putting his watch in my pocket for safekeeping, I buttoned the top button of his coat. "Yeah, I'm real. Here to get you. I'm sorry it took us so damned long."

  He didn't seem to hear. His gaze shifted suddenly past me and even more abruptly his arms surged over my shoulders to pull me against his chest with surprising strength. "Leave him alone!" His voice was weak, hoarse from the hours he'd spent calling for help, but his shielding grip was like iron. I don't know what made me look over my shoulder, half-expecting to see some slavering monster ready to take a bite out of me. There was of course only what Ezra could see, which didn't help matters as far as convincing Mrs. Lougheed and her staff that he was ready to go home.

  "He ain't right," Samuel said in a low voice.

  "No," the matron agreed. "Samuel, please find a doctor, if you can. I am not at all easy about discharging him."

  I extricated myself gently from Ezra's hold and looked into his frightened face. "Ez, listen. Whoever it is, they're not going to hurt me. I'm fine." Tired, anxious blue eyes darted around with such raw fear that I shivered. What the hell was he seeing? There was no way I could ask him. No way I could put him through that right now. "Ezra, look at me." The firm tone worked, breaking through his fright, and his gaze clung desperately to mine. "Okay, listen. Derry and I are going to get you onto your feet. Think you can walk? We'll do most of the work. You just move your legs back and forth."

  He swallowed, catching his breath, and his head drooped forward in the semblance of a nod. Good enough. We got him up, his arms over our shoulders, and stood for a minute to let him adjust. But at the first step forward, his legs nearly buckled. He groaned, sagging against me, and I cupped his chin, resting my head against his. "Still with us?"

  Every word took effort. "I don't feel well."

  The morphine. "If you're going to barf, warn me," I whispered. Maybe he'd hit Attila the Matron who stood blocking the door. "Mrs. Lougheed, I'm really not interested in getting into a long explanation but the fact of the matter is, Ezra's in direct communication with the spirit world and your damned asylum's full of trapped ghosts who probably aren't much saner than the day they died. That's the reason he didn't sleep until you pumped him full of drugs and that's the reason he's shaking like a goddamned leaf right now. So unless you want to be vomited on in the next couple of seconds, I suggest you get the hell out of our way and let us take him home."

  "Home," Ezra muttered, lifting his head. He frowned at Mrs. Lougheed. "Alexander wants a game."

  Derry shot me a bemused look and I shook my head. Then I realized Mrs. Lougheed looked a little spooked. "You know what he's talking about?"

  She started to shake her head. Then Ezra muttered something about backgammon and Mrs. Lougheed abandoned her post altogether, lantern rattling at her side as she hurried from the room. She'd left us in near darkness, but Derry's eyes shone bright as stars as he grinned at me and clapped Ezra on the back. "Bravo, Ezra. It's still a fair run to the porch and they'll have the steward after us, but we've a fighting chance now."

  "We'd better move it." I had no idea if there were wheelchairs around. I wasn't sure if they even existed. "Ez, you're doing fine. Stay on your feet and we'll get you out."

  "And a blessing on you, Alexander," Derry called as we hauled ass out of the room. The maze of gloomy corridors might work in our favor, I thought, as we backtracked to the stairs. Unfortunately, Ezra didn't make it far before his legs gave out again. Derry took most of his weight with the expectation that I would try to rouse him back to wakefulness. But it was just slowing us down and it was too hard on Ezra.

  "It's no good. He can't walk out of here."

  Ezra clutched at my coat and held on, fighting for all he was worth to appear awake and alert, though he could barely stand. "Don't leave me. I can walk."

  The desperation in his voice cut me with a cleaner stroke than the Ripper could have managed on his best day. "Ezra, we're not leaving you. We came here expressly to get you out of this place and that's what we're doing, even if I have to carry you." And it looked like I'd have to. Bending, I wrapped an arm around Ezra's legs and as he settled unresisting over my shoulder, I sucked in a breath and straightened up. He wasn't any heavier than I expected, but I was so damned achy and tired, I didn't know how I'd get him all the way down to the cab.

  Humor warred with sympathy in Derry's gaze. "Can you manage it?" he asked, clearly willing to do the carrying if I couldn't.

  "I've got him. Let's go."

  I must not have looked too good myself, because Derry hovered close as he hurried along beside us. When voices somewhere ahead made themselves heard, we froze, until a herd of attendants led by one very pissed off guy in a suit, tie, and white coat stormed in our direction.

  "Bloody hell," Derry wheezed and pushed me through the first unlocked door he could find. We waited until all was quiet again before making another run for the front. Or more like an awkward lope in my case. My headache had reasserted itself and I was starting to feel Ezra's weight. Just ahead, I saw the light pouring out from the open door of the front office and I rejoiced that we were almost home free.

  Then my gaze swept ahead to the entrance way and Mrs. Lougheed waiting at the door.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Mrs. Lougheed considered us with a reproachful gravity as she fingered the shiny silver whistle. The last thing I w
anted to do was threaten the woman with my gun, but I wasn't leaving Ezra. Then it dawned that the matron hadn't blown her whistle and apparently did not intend to. She motioned for us to wait and went into the office, returning with a wicker wheelchair.

  "You cannot carry him back to town," she said calmly. "Take this."

  "Truly?"

  Derry Neilan, suspicious of another soul; now that was unnatural. Me, on the other hand... "You're just going to let us walk out of here?"

  Mrs. Lougheed's grim mouth turned up ever so slightly, but the emotion that softened her eyes was pure sorrow. "Alexander was one of the first patients under my care. An immigrant. No friends nor family, no one to care for him." Her gaze went distant. "Those were the days we still took in paupers. Alexander was brilliant, a mathematician, but he hadn't a penny to his name. He loved games and I played backgammon with him because I'd never learnt chess. He was always a gentleman."

  She pressed fingertips to her mouth until she had regained firm control over her emotions. "He was a gentleman, but he flew into ravings like nothing I had seen before. Haunted, he was." Her gaze strayed to Ezra, propped between us, nearly asleep but mumbling to himself. "He took his own life. Before you were even born. You could not have known it. Could not have guessed it." She'd made her decision, on our side this time. "Go on, take him out. If you're quick, you'll catch the six-fifteen back to London."

  We didn't need any more encouragement. We got Ezra into the chair and as Derry opened the door, I wheeled through it. Mrs. Lougheed stood in the doorway and as I turned to thank her, she waved impatiently. "Go on. And keep him out of trouble, so they will never find cause to bring him back."