“Yes, I have been under considerable strain lately and I fear my nerves have not borne up well. I do hope you will be able to relieve me of some of my tension and anxiety.”

“I will be happy to do what I can.” Darfield picked up the single taper and carried it across the room to where she sat. “May I ask how you learned of my practice?”

“I saw your advertisement in a newspaper,” she said, not wanting to mention Mrs. Rushton’s name.

“I see.” He sat down in a wooden chair across from her, his knees very close to her own. He looked at her across the flame of the candle. In the shadows his eyes were even more penetrating. “You were not referred by one of my other clients, then?”

“No.”

“Very well. In that case perhaps I should explain a bit about my therapy. It is necessary that you relax and gaze directly at the flame.”

She had no intention of allowing him to hypnotize her. In point of fact, she was not a good subject, according to her parents, who had run some experiments. But she had been an expert practitioner at one time and she certainly knew what a trance looked like in others.

A feigned trance would provide her with an opportunity to observe Dr. Darfield at work. Even if it transpired that it provided no particular insight into her investigation, it was always interesting to observe another professional in the field.

“A lady’s nerves are delicate, in keeping with the gentle, refined sensibilities that nature has bestowed upon her.” Dr. Darfield’s voice was low and deep, with a melodious quality that could have taken him far in the theater. “This is especially true in widows such as yourself, who are deprived of the normal attentions of a husband.”

She nodded politely and tried to conceal her impatience. The assumption that nervous disorders in women, together with myriad other vague symptoms classified under the label of female hysteria, were due to a lack of regular, energetic sexual congress was common among members of the medical profession. It was, she knew, a very ancient and well-documented tenet.

“The symptoms of anxiety, agitation, melancholia, and other nervous conditions in ladies are expelled from the body when the patient undergoes a crisis in the course of a treatment,” Darfield explained.

“Crisis?”

“Yes. In medical terms it is known as an hysterical paroxysm.”

“I have heard the term,” she said.

That much was true, but for the first time she wondered if her scheme to feign an entranced state might have some drawbacks. She had never actually witnessed a subject in the throes of an hysterical paroxysm and therefore was uncertain how to simulate a realistic crisis.

The problem was that there were vast differences among practitioners of mesmerism when it came to styles and methods. She had learned her techniques from her parents, who had not put much stock in the business of inducing paroxysms. Her father had often said that the response, while dramatic, was generally a short-lived cure at best.

“The hysterical paroxysm relieves the congestion in the flow of the waves of the body’s natural magnetic fluids,” Dr. Darfield continued in his deep voice. “There is no cause for concern. It produces what my patients assure me is a very pleasant convulsion followed by an extremely tranquil effect on the senses. Mesmer and many learned doctors believe the crisis to be highly efficacious.”

“I see.”

“Now, then, to obtain the full effect of the process, you must be as comfortable as possible.”

He leaned toward her and grasped a small lever she had not noticed in the side of the chair. When he pulled it forward, the footrest promptly elevated. She was marveling at that clever result when she noticed that Darfield had risen and moved to stand behind her.

She heard another lever shift and simultaneously the rear section of the chair went back by several degrees.

She suddenly found herself in a partially reclining position. It was somewhat disconcerting, she decided, but on the whole, quite comfortable. It also altered the angle of her gaze to show her the ceiling. For the first time she noticed that it had been decorated with a scene depicting a twilight sky complete with wispy pink clouds and a scattering of stars.

“A most unusual chair,” she said.

“I designed it myself.”

Dr. Darfield came back around to the side of the chair. He droned on pleasantly in her ear as he continued to discuss the delicate nature of the female constitution and how unnatural it was for an adult lady to be unable to experience healthy, invigorating marital relations on a regular basis. He explained that many married women also suffered from similar symptoms due to a lack of proper attention from their husbands. She recognized the quiet, authoritative tone that was used to induce a light trance and tried to compose her expression appropriately.

“Please watch the flame now,” he said in a soft but very firm voice.

He held the candle so that she could see it and began to inscribe a slow circle in the air with it.

“Think of that most delicate and tender region of the female form,” Darfield murmured. “That is where the congestion that causes nervous disorders occurs in ladies. I must relieve that tight, full feeling in order for you to find relief.”

She knew that the little blaze was meant to concentrate her attention. Politely, she followed it with her eyes.

Darfield moved the taper in a slow, steady pattern. Behind the glow of the flame he watched her with riveting intensity.

“You will abandon yourself to my healing touch, Mrs. Lake.” His voice, still mellifluous, grew more authoritative. He leaned over the chair, the folds of his robes sweeping lightly against her arm.

“I am going to put down the candle now.” He did not take his eyes off her as he set the taper on a nearby stand. “You will close your eyes and be guided by my voice and my touch.”

Obediently, she lowered her lashes. But she could not resist peeking.

“Do not think about anything else except the unrelieved congestion in that delicate, exquisitely sensitive portion of your body.” Darfield reached out and drew the cart on which the mechanical apparatus stood toward Lavinia’s chair. “Feel the blockage and the resulting tension that has gathered there. Do not repress it. Allow it to swell and build. Soon I will release you from the tight, hot sensation that is enfeebling your nerves.”

Through her lashes she watched him pick up a small unguent jar and remove the stopper. A delightful fragrance wafted through the air. Some sort of flower-scented oil, she decided.

“I have invented an ingenious device that has allowed me to improve greatly upon the traditional techniques of mesmeric therapy for the treatment of female hysteria,” Darfield said. “It is a highly effective and extremely efficient aid for relieving the congestion in the lower body, as you will discover.”

I’m getting a bad feeling about this, Lavinia thought.

Darfield reached down and tugged on yet another chair lever. The footrest promptly divided into two sections and drew apart. She froze when she realized that the device had separated her legs by a space of several inches. It was almost as if she was astride a horse.

Alarm shot through her. She knew that her limbs were still modestly covered to her ankles by the skirts of her gown, but the position left her feeling decidedly awkward.

He’s a trained practitioner, she reminded herself. A professional who gives these treatments to ladies on a regular basis. His clients think very highly of him.

For the first time she wondered just how far she wanted to take her role of patient.

Dr. Darfield rolled the narrow cart forward and positioned it between her feet. Through the veil of her lashes she saw that there was a soft-looking little brush attached to the end of a long metal arm that extended from the mechanical device. Darfield turned the hand crank a few times, apparently testing to ensure that it moved smoothly.