Eliza Graves Page #2

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And make a miserable man out

of a perfectly happy horse.

Madame.

Your Eminence.

Is it always

this lively?

Here we do not believe

in sedating our patients

into a stupor with

bromides and the like.

We prefer to celebrate them in

their natural unadulterated state.

Check.

Mm.

Good afternoon, my lovely.

Nurse.

Nurse?

Has she eaten today?

She refuses to eat until her

son returns from the war.

He was killed in action

in Peshawar, '85.

Have you tried

a feeding tube?

We do not use such

medieval methods here.

I'd hardly

call it "medieval".

What would you

call it then?

Well, a necessary means

of preventing death.

Death cannot be

prevented, Doctor,

any more

than madness cured.

There's no cure

for the human condition.

And it's a foolish

physician who tries.

Suppose I were to present

you with the following case.

A woman who suffers

from violent fits

triggered by physical

or emotional contact

that she perceives to be

of too intimate a nature.

Ah, sounds

like hysteria.

What treatment

would you prescribe?

Ah, mustard packs,

I should think.

Is she a patient

or a pickled herring?

Pelvic massage?

Potassium bromide?

I'm interested in your opinion,

Doctor, not some textbook's.

Forget bromides.

Open your eyes.

Look at her.

So, I ask you again,

presented with a woman of

utmost grace and refinement

within whose breast

roils passion so great

she fears

they will destroy her,

what treatment

would you prescribe?

Music.

Three times

a day, no less.

Bravo, Doctor.

I concur.

There are few therapies better at

restoring the soul than music.

Her name is Lady Charles Graves.

Eliza. Mrs. Graves to us.

I presume you know

her husband?

No.

Repugnant chap.

Possesses

a tremendous fortune.

Not to mention many

unnatural appetites.

As one would expect,

her hysterical episodes worsened

following the engagement,

until one night she bit off his ear

and gouged out

his eye with a comb.

So her husband

had her committed.

No, her father.

If it had been up

to the Baronet,

she'd still be at home

in his loving embrace.

In fact, not a week goes by that

I don't receive a letter from him

threatening me and demanding

I declare her cured

so she might be remanded

into his custody.

So, you refuse?

For her own safety.

Come, Doctor.

Yes, of course.

We have much to see

before dinner.

May I just say that your

playing is sublime.

Oh. Oh,

your playing is sublime.

It's quite sublime.

I'm Newgate.

Dr. Edward Newgate.

My name is Edward Newgate. Doc...

Nurse.

May I have

a glass of water?

Yes, ma'am.

Your playing

is sublime.

What was that,

Mozart, Beethoven?

No, I wrote it.

Of course.

Let me introduce myself.

My name is... Dr. Newgate.

I know.

We don't receive many visitors here.

We're rather

like a leper colony.

Well, I doubt lepers

are so charming.

I wish you would stop

complimenting me.

It makes me uncomfortable.

Forgive me, Mrs. Graves.

The last thing I wish

to do is offend you.

Are you quite certain

you're a doctor?

Yeah, well,

of course I am.

Because I've never known

one to apologize.

Or, for that matter,

give a damn who he offended.

Well, I-I'm not like

other doctors.

I mean, to be honest,

I still haven't gotten used to being one.

Whenever someone

calls "doctor",

I still turn to see if they're

talking to the chap behind me.

Here you go, ma'am.

Thank you, nurse.

Right.

Remarkable, isn't she?

She should be

on a stage,

not languishing

in some asylum.

Forgive me,

I'm Dr. Newgate.

Edward Newgate.

And you are?

Let Jael rejoice

with the Plover.

Pardon me?

And Hobab rejoice with Heraclitus.

That is Greek

for the grub.

Ah, Newgate.

Tuxedo fits, I see.

Yes, thank you.

Thank you. Thank you.

I'm sorry,

but what's he doing here?

Oh, Jeremiah.

He killed his wife with a hammer.

Not without

provocation, mind you.

But what's he doing here

in the staff parlor?

When I was a medical

officer in the war,

we would on occasion invite the

enlisted men to dine with us.

It strengthened the bond between

the men and... kept morale high.

And I believe the same

principal applies here.

It's therapeutic for the patients

to mix with polite society,

and, I might add,

for polite society to mix with them.

Dinner is served.

Good boy.

Good boy.

Good boy.

Good boy.

Tell me, doctor,

what do you think of our little asylum?

Why, it's quite... unlike

anything I've ever known.

Newgate recently took his

medical degree at Oxford.

But why come

all the way here

when there are other asylums

far closer to London?

Well, I've always longed to return

to the countryside, I suppose.

You know, I-I grew up

in a farm in Yorkshire,

and, uh, some

of my fondest memories

are of the cows and chickens

that were my playmates.

You don't have

the Yorkshire man's accent.

Why's that, Ted?

Well, my, my,

my parents died when I was six

so I was sent to an

orphanage in London.

Appalling place.

But, I mean, you know, fascinating if one

was curious about human nature as I was.

In a funny way,

I was quite grateful to them.

How so?

Well, misery has a way of

clarifying one's convictions.

See, it was in the orphanage that I

realized what my life's work would be.

To labor amongst the

wretched and the friendless.

And to give these poor

souls some small measure

of hope and kindness

in a world

that knows too little.

Forgive me, I-I seem to have turned

dinner into a Dickens' novel.

Bon appetite.

What is this tonight, Finn?

Squirrel?

At present we find ourselves

somewhat modestly provisioned.

A toast to Mr. Finn

for providing such fine victuals

for our Christmas repast.

Mickey Finn.

I'm-I'm sorry.

Is that really your name?

'Tis. Why?

Well, you know,

to slip someone a Mickey Finn,

you know,

with knock-out drops.

It's quite,

quite, uh...

Well, quite.

That never occurred to me.

"Slip someone a Mickey."

That must be how me

da got me dear old ma

to lie still while he ah,

ah, ah, ah, ah, ah.

You'll forgive me if I don't

find that at all amusing.

No?

What would bring a smile to that

puckered-ass of a mouth of yours?

That will be

enough, Finn.

My apologies.

I meant no offense.

Yeah, well, none taken.

That's the Christmas spirit.

Come now.

Let me offer you a little

drink of friendship.

No, no, no.

I've had quite enough.

Come on,

we're celebrating.

Honestly, Finn.

I'm sure he doesn't mind raising

a glass to our Lord and Savior.

Do you now, Doctor?

I-I'd be delighted.

Oh, dear.

I'm afraid that will stain.

Soda water

will save it.

Follow me.

You must leave here

immediately.

But I've only

just arrived.

You do not belong here.

Why, I was going to say

the same thing about you.

There's time before

they get suspicious.

They'll assume you went to your room

to change your shirt, but don't.

Leave your things.

Go straight to the stable.

The roan is the most

sure-footed on the moor.

She'll see you

safely back to town.

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