Chapter 23
The rest of that Sunday passed quietly. Barbara bathed herself without Kristina’s assistance, dressed herself all in black to suit her mood, and went out to the sitting room around mid-afternoon. Father was gone, but soon reappeared.
She looked at him questioningly. He responded by simply saying he had gone down to the desk to send a telegram.
“Business?” she inquired.
He nodded.
Around 7:30 that evening they went down to the Plaza dining room together for dinner, and dined in silence.
When they returned to their suite, she picked up the half-finished novel by Jane Austen she had been reading and deposited herself on the divan. Father had gone to the outer sitting room to have a glass of port and enjoy his usual after-dinner cigar.
Later, when he returned, he excused himself to go down to the front desk to check on whether a telegram he was expecting had come in. He returned with one in hand.
She eyed him over the top of her book as he poured himself another drink, and as he sat and read the telegram over several times, drumming his fingers the whole time on the polished wooden arm of his chair.
Barbara had taken solace that evening over the fact that the subject of what had happened in Saratoga Springs had not come up, and that father appeared to be doing what he normally did on a Sunday evening … checking for telegrams and planning the next day’s business activities.
Perhaps he is getting over Saratoga Springs already, she thought to herself.
Stretching and rising, she laid her book aside, bade him goodnight and headed for her bedroom.
“Barbara?” he said suddenly.
“Yes, father?”
“We’re getting up early tomorrow morning. I have important business to attend to outside the city, and I want you to accompany me. Be ready to go at 9:30.”
“Yes, father. Is that what that telegram was about?”
“Uh-huh.”
************
She rose early on Monday, as requested, dressed in a matching tweed shirt and jacket … it being a gray and relatively cool day for that time of year … over a white shirtwaist. She went down for breakfast by 8. Father was already there, finishing his coffee.
“Good morning, father,” she ventured, hoping to start the day well.
“Morning,” he replied, folding his paper and pushing back his chair to get up. “Eat your breakfast and be ready at 9:30. We’ve a train to catch.”
“Where are we going, father?”
“Rhinecliff.”
“Rhinecliff? Where is that?”
“It’s on the Hudson, up north of the city.
“I’ve never heard of it. Can’t be a very big place.”
“It’s not … it’s quite small, in fact, and rather isolated too.”
“And we have business there?”
“We do, Barbara, now eat and be ready to go by 9:30.” he said curtly, taking his leave.
She ate her breakfast mechanically, completely lost in thought, trying to decipher what might be going on. A business trip to a small isolated place was not actually that unusual, she reasoned. Father had been known, after all, to personally pursue his timber and mining interests in dozens of small out-of-the-way places back in Minnesota, and had often taken her along to keep him company, not to mention out of trouble. This was probably no different.
**************
At precisely 12:37 that afternoon they alighted from the train in Rhinecliff, which turned out to be nothing more than a hamlet, hugging the east shore of the Hudson and hemmed in on all sides by low forested hills. The train pulled out immediately after they stepped on the platform, as though the stop there, although scheduled, had been.nothing more than an annoyance on its daily run to Albany.
Barbara and her father were the only passengers to get off.
She couldn’t help but wonder again, as she watched the tail end of the train recede in the distance, what this might be all about? On that she was still in the dark.
They had passed their time on the train that morning in silence. Father had focused his attention on the sheaf of business contracts he extracted from his briefcase as soon as they had been seated, while she finished her reading of “Pride and Prejudice”. The sandwiches and drink they had purchased on the train had passed for a simple lunch.
“So, now what?” she muttered. The small clapboard-sided station seemed deserted. The sky had turned overcast and gray, threatening rain. Why were they here?
“Patience,” replied her father, busying himself with lighting one of his cigars. “Our ride should be here any minute.”
And, as though on command, a horse and buggy pulled up before the station. The driver, a round-faced man, with a big friendly grin, reined in the horse, tipped his battered bowler hat, and cried, “I reckon you must be Mr. Moore?”
“Right,” replied father.
“Thought so. I’m Jack. Dr. Darwin is expecting you over at the Institute. Hop in and old Dobbin and I’ll have you and your right pretty young daughter there in a jiffy.”
“Thank you. Get in Barbara.”
“Where are we going, father. What institute?And exactly who is this Dr. Darwin?”
“Patience, my dear.”
They climbed into the buggy and were driven out of Rhinecliff, traveling at speed along a road for some distance, before turning onto a narrow rutted lane that wound its way tortuously, and at length, through heavily wooded back-country before eventually pulling up before a looming gray-stone, towered and turreted, structure embellished with ornamental brickwork and round-arched Romanesque windows that no doubt reflected what its builder imagined a grand medieval manor should look like.
“Here we be,” chuckled Jack. “Quite the place, ain’t she?”
“Indeed,” agreed Father.
“Mmmm,” said Barbara, thinking the iron bars that could be seen on the windows to be somewhat peculiar.
“Well, hop down now and I’ll see you to the door.” sang Jack, bowing and tipping his hat. Father pressed a silver dollar into his hand.
Grinning amiably, he led them to the entry with its heavy wooden door, and rang the bell. Footsteps could be faintly heard within, followed by the much louder metallic clicks and clunks of locks being released. And then the door swung open. A tall grey-haired man with mutton chop sideburns and mustache appeared.
“Ah, Mr Moore, I presume?” he said in a deep voice.
“Yes, with my daughter, Barbara.”
“Do come in. Dr. Darwin is, of course, expecting you. Follow me, please. I will take you to his office.”
They followed him through the vestibule and then along a corridor. Barbara thought the place to be quite gloomy. The woodwork was oppressively dark, and the walls gray, with stag heads mounted along the corridor walls at regular intervals.
But then they were ushered into a spacious, well-lit room with surrounding bookshelves, and a magnificently elegant fireplace. Dominating the room was a massive wooden desk, and seated behind it was a rather distinguished-looking middle-aged gentleman. Several framed ribboned diplomas were displayed on the wall directly behind him.
“Mr. Moore and Barbara! I am Dr. James Darwin. Welcome to my Institute! Do have a seat here at the desk,” he purred, standing and waving his arm toward the two leather upholstered chairs facing his desk. His accent was distinctly British.
Her father nodded, strode over to the desk, reached across it to shake Darwin’s hand, and seated himself. Turning to Barbara, who had held back, he motioned for her to join him.
She did, but not without flashing him a questioning look.
“Thank you, Dr. Darwin for agreeing to see us on such short notice,” said father.
“My pleasure, Mr. Moore. No problem at all.”
“Father!” murmured Barbara softly with a look of alarm in her eyes. “This isn’t business, is it? This man is a doctor of some kind. Why are we here? Are you ailing in some way? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“No, Barbara, this is about you,” said Darwin from across the desk. “Let’s be straight about this. You’re here today because your father contacted me via telegram yesterday afternoon about a certain problem you are having that he hopes I can help put to right.”
For emphasis he tapped with a forefinger on a Western Union telegram lying on the desktop.
Noting a copy of the Sunday edition of the Herald opened to the “society page” lying alongside it, Barbara abruptly stood up, and began to leave, crying “Oh no! Father, how could you?”
But she quickly discovered that her way was blocked at the doorway by a pair of matrons, large and broad shouldered with legs like tree trunks, wearing crisp white uniforms.
She started at the sight of them. and pulled up short, staring at the words embroidered with blue thread across their uniform chests, which read, “Darwin Institute for Wayward Young Women”.
Spinning about, hands thrown in the air, she screamed again, “Father! How could you?”
“This is for your own good, dear child,” intervened Darwin, affecting a soothing tone. “Please now. Come and sit back down, and hear me out. I can assure you that your father has your best interests at heart. I believe I can really help.”
She bit her lip, glanced over her shoulder at the forbidding twosome blocking any quick escape, and reluctantly returned to her chair.
“Now,” began Darwin, tenting his hands on the desktop, “let me begin by saying that lust … what we think of as “libido” in professional parlance … is a human trait. We all have lustful desires and urges. But what I see, Barbara … judging from the lengthy history, going all the way back to certain carnally-oriented behaviors back in Duluth, provided to me in your father’s telegram, and reinforced here in the Herald’s reporting of your recent sordid escapade at the Saratoga Springs Race Course … I would say that your problem is that you have the misfortune of possessing an overactive libido.”
“That’s insane. Come father! Time to leave!”
“Hold on, Barbara. I want to hear how Dr. Darwin proposes to treat your problem.”
“I don’t have a problem, father! Let’s go!”
“Let me continue, please,” pleaded Darwin, holding up both hands in an appeal to be heard.
“Let him talk, Barbara. We owe him that.”
“Alright, alright.” she allowed, sitting down again. “But I’m not going to buy it, and neither should you, father.”
“First, let me assure you both that we here at the Darwin Institute for Wayward Young Women …”
“I am not wayward!” she snapped.
“… have a remarkably successful record in curing exactly the ailment that afflicts your daughter, Mr. Moore. Our services are without equal anywhere in the State of New York, where I am licensed to practice. Here in fact, for your perusal is a sampling of parental testimonials attesting to our success.”
He pushed a sheaf of typed papers across his desk.
“Go ahead and look through them, Mr. Moore. I’m sure you will recognize many familiar names. There are many, like yourself, in high society that have made use of our services.”
“Indeed!” declared father as he shuffled through the pages. “I am impressed, but I must ask you, Dr. Darwin, to tell me something of the treatments you employ. What exactly do your methods entail?”
“Ahhh, surely as a businessman, Mr. Moore, you’ll understand the need to keep trade secrets exactly that … secret. I dare not allow my methods to fall into the hands of less capable competitors. Indeed, every family that benefits from the extraordinary services of the Darwin Institute is required, in writing, to hold anything they may learn of my methods in strictest confidence. What I can do, though … is assure you … that my methods are scientific, safe, tailored to the individual patient, and highly successful.”
“Thank you, Dr. Darwin. I can appreciate and accept that. Your analogy to my business dealings is, indeed, most apt. But one more question, that I as a businessman must ask. What of your fees?”
“Ah, yes. My fees, of course, depend on the level of treatment and it’s duration. In the case of your daughter, I can only guess at this point, having yet to examine her, physically or mentally. That said, I am prepared to offer a rough estimate with the understanding that it’s only that … an estimate. Given what I know of Barbara’s behaviors at this point in time, I would venture that her treatment would commence at what we refer to here at the Institute as level 3. As for the duration, I would imagine a minimum of three weeks and possibly as long as several months in residence here at the Institute. It all depends, as you might imagine, on how well she responds to her prescribed level of treatments.”
He jotted some figures on a piece of paper and pushed it across the desk to her father, who picked it up, looked at the figures written on it, and raised his eyebrows.
“My services are not cheap,” declared Darwin unnecessarily.
“And not needed!” declared Barbara defiantly, rising to her feet again to leave.
“Hold on, Barbara. I think we should give Dr. Darwin an opportunity to see what he can do.”
“No, father! We should not!”
“Yes, we should and we shall. Barbara. Let’s give it at least a couple weeks.”
“I didn’t pack a bag or anything. I can’t stay here. I have no clothes to wear. Let’s go back to the city father and give this some thought. You can let Dr. Darwin know later.”
“No need to have packed a bag,” intervened Darwin.
Barbara stared at him warily.
“Our girls all wear … uh … let’s call them uniforms … supplied by the Institute. That’s mandatory here, as are many things, Miss Moore,” continued Darwin, rising to his feet and beckoning to the two matrons. “Jones and Marston! Kindly come and take Miss Moore in hand. I believe she will be staying with us. See that she is cleaned up after her morning’s journey, and … uh … uniformed.”
“Father! Don’t do this!” wailed Barbara as she was taken firmly in hand and propelled from the room. “Think! What are people going to say?”
“Most of my clients simply let it be known that their daughters have gone off to an exclusive finishing school in some out of the way place, like Liechtenstein,” offered Darwin helpfully.
“That might actually work,” mused father.
“Mr. Moore, you have made the right decision in placing Barbara in our care here at the Institute. I guarantee that you will be most pleased with the results. Now, I have some papers for you to sign, and then we will send for Jack to take you back to the train station. Can I offer you a brandy and a cigar while I have a secretary type up the contracts?”
************
Sandwiched between the two matrons, who had hooked their arms through hers, Barbara was propelled forcibly from Darwin’s office and down a long corridor. She protested loudly, but to little avail.
Taken to a white-tiled room in the rear of the building, she was told to undress. When she refused, a towering brute of a man, whom they called Max, appeared to lend a hand by holding a kicking, squirming, protesting Barbara relatively still while Jones and Marston proceeded to strip her naked.
Freed at last from Max’s iron grip, she was handed a bar of soap. Max then dumped a large bucket of cold water over her head.
“Wash up!” commanded Jones.
“This is insane!” shouted Barbara, but after Max cuffed her sharply on the back of the head, she grudgingly complied … soaping herself over … then stood still while a second bucket of cold water descended over her.
She stood sullenly before them, shivering and attempting to cover her crotch and breasts with her arms and hands.
They handed her a rough towel, which she accepted and used to dry herself off.
“Alright! Where’s my uniform?” she demanded fiercely when she had finished. “And stop staring at me like that! It’s creepy!”
“You’re wearing it, sweetie,” laughed Marston. Get used to being naked. Nothing is hidden from sight here at the Institute.”
“I hate this! I hate you all!” she shouted, stomping her feet for emphasis.
Paying no attention to such outbursts, they calmly proceeded to attach metal cuffs to her wrists and her ankles, and to thread a length of chain through them … linking them all together loosely enough to allow some freedom of movement yet imposing a level of restraint as well. Satisfied, they placed a dark oilcloth hood over her head and led her, at a shuffling pace, out into a corridor and then, rather awkwardly, down a stairway to the cellar, where they placed her in a small cell and removed the hood.
She shook her head and sputtered, “Where am I? What is this? This can be right!”
“Make yourself at home and comfy, sweetie,” purred Marston, pointing at the small cot against the back wall. “Dr. Darwin will be down after dinner to see personally to your initial physical examination. And someone will bring you something to eat shortly.”
With that, they locked her cell door and left her alone. She shuffled dejectedly and awkwardly over to the cot, her chains rustling in the eerie silence, sat down, pulled her knees up to her chin, wrapped her legs in her arms, and began to cry.
