Letter from Lady Cordelia Soames to Miss Beatrix Chalmers

Posted from Hearthorne Manor, Lancashire

September 28th, 1870

Miss Beatrix Chalmers
c/o The General Post Office
St. Martin's-le-Grand
London

Dear Miss Chalmers,

It is with considerable urgency that I write to you regarding a position that has recently become available at Hearthorne Manor. Your name was brought to my attention by Dr. Marcus Rimbaud of Harley Street, who speaks most highly of your training under the late Miss Florence Nightingale and your exemplary conduct during the recent cholera epidemic.

I find myself in need of a nurse—no, let me be candid—a companion of medical expertise to attend to my husband, Professor Avery Soames. His condition is one that has confounded the physicians of London and Manchester alike. They speak of apoplexy, of nervous exhaustion, of the vapors that afflict men of excessive intellectual rigor. Yet I suspect his affliction is of both body and spirit, and requires a mind unclouded by the prejudices of male physicians who see only what their limited science permits them to see.

You, Miss Chalmers, possess qualities that recommend you beyond your medical training. Your circumstances, which I understand have become somewhat reduced following the untimely deaths of your parents (please accept my condolences), suggest a woman of resilience and independent character. You have known loss. You have witnessed suffering. You have, I am told, maintained your composure in situations that would render lesser women insensible.

These are precisely the qualities required at Hearthorne.

The position offers thirty pounds per annum—a sum considerably more generous than is customary for nursing positions, but then, Hearthorne is not a customary establishment. You would have your own chambers, take meals with the household, and enjoy considerable autonomy in the treatment of my husband. I do not presume to dictate medical protocols to those educated in such matters.

Your duties would be simple: attend to Professor Soames' physical and mental comfort, document his condition in clinical detail, and pursue whatever course of treatment you deem appropriate. Previous nurses have proven... unsuitable. They lacked either the intellectual capacity to understand my husband's condition or the fortitude to remain in service once they did.

I trust you shall prove different.

Discretion is paramount. My husband's reputation as a scholar and naturalist must not be tarnished by whispers of madness or incapacity. Whatever you observe at Hearthorne must remain within these walls. I require your solemn word on this matter before extending formal engagement.

Should you accept, please present yourself at Liverpool Station no later than October 12th. A ticket for second-class travel is enclosed, along with a postal order for two pounds to cover your conveyance from the station to the manor. The journey is not inconsiderable, but I trust a woman of your demonstrated fortitude will find it manageable.

I shall require your answer by return post.

Yours in anticipation,

Lady Cordelia Soames
Hearthorne Manor
Lancashire Coast

PS - The previous nurses proved unsuitable for reasons I prefer to discuss in person. It would be unwise to place too much credence in village gossip should you make inquiries. The locals are a superstitious lot, prone to hysteria and wild invention.

Postscript added in different hand, heavily crossed out but still partially legible:

DO NOT COME. STAY AWAY. A.S

P.P.S. - The above postscript was written by my husband during a particularly disturbed episode last spring. I include it so you may see the extent of his deterioration and understand the severity of his condition.

Letter from Miss Beatrix Chalmers to Lady Cordelia Soames

Posted from London

October 1st, 1870

Lady Cordelia Soames
Hearthorne Manor
Lancashire Coast

Dear Lady Soames,

I am writing to accept your generous offer of employment. Your candor regarding the challenges of the position is refreshing, and I assure you that I am not a woman easily discouraged by difficult circumstances.

My training under Miss Nightingale instilled in me not merely the practical skills of nursing, but a philosophy of care that recognizes the profound connection between mental and physical health. If, as you suggest, your husband's condition has a psychological component, I may be of particular service. During my studies, I had the privilege of attending lectures by Dr. Edmund Braid on the subject of neurohypnotism—what the French call mesmerism. His techniques for accessing the unconscious mind proved remarkably effective in treating cases of hysteria and nervous prostration.

I must confess that my current circumstances do make your offer especially welcome. The loss of my parents has indeed reduced my situation, though I trust this will not be interpreted as desperation that might compromise my professional judgment. I accept this position because I believe I am suited to it, not merely because I require employment.

Regarding discretion: you have my solemn word that any observations I make will be held in the strictest confidence. I understand well that a gentleman's reputation is a fragile thing, and I have no desire to contribute to idle gossip or speculation.

I note the crossed-out postscript in your letter. I assume this was an error in transcription, though I confess the handwriting appeared different from your own elegant script. If there is something I should know before accepting this position, I would appreciate your candor. I am not a woman who frightens easily, but I do prefer to enter situations with clear understanding of what is expected.

Nevertheless, I shall present myself at Liverpool Station on October 12th as requested. I look forward to meeting you and beginning my service to Professor Soames.

I remain, with sincere regards,

Miss Beatrix Chalmers

PS - I noted your mention that previous nurses proved "unsuitable." Might I inquire as to the specific nature of their unsuitability? Were they lacking in medical expertise, or did they find the isolation of your location too severe? I ask only to better prepare myself for the challenges ahead.

Lady Soames' Reply

Posted October 4th, 1870

Miss Chalmers,

How delightful that you accept! Your reference to Dr. Braid is most intriguing. Professor Soames himself corresponded with Dr. Braid some years ago on matters of consciousness and the liminal states between waking and dreaming. I believe you will find this shared interest most relevant to your work here.

Regarding the postscript you noted: pay it no mind. My husband occasionally suffers episodes of agitation during which he will attempt to interfere with household correspondence. The warnings are symptomatic of his condition, a paranoia that has no basis in reality. He imagines threats where none exist, sees darkness where there is only the ordinary business of a country household.

This is precisely why we require your services.

As to the previous nurses: the first, Mrs. Alderson, was a woman of adequate skill but insufficient imagination. She could dress wounds and administer medication but proved incapable of addressing the more subtle aspects of my husband's condition. The second, Miss Pemberton, was younger and showed more promise, but ultimately lacked the fortitude required. She left rather abruptly, claiming the isolation affected her nerves. The third... well, the less said of her the better. She made certain accusations that were entirely unfounded and had to be dismissed.

You will find, I think, that Hearthorne rewards those who approach it with an open mind and a willing heart.

The household awaits your arrival with great anticipation.

Lady C. Soames

Entry from Beatrix Chalmers' Private Journal

October 10th, 1870 - London

I have spent the evening re-reading Lady Soames' correspondence and find myself troubled by elements I cannot quite articulate. There is something in her phrasing, "unsuitable," "fortitude," "open mind and willing heart"—that suggests more than simple medical care is expected of me.

The crossed-out warning haunts me. "A.S.”. Professor Avery Soames. If a man in the grip of paranoid delusion can manage coherent script and coordinate his interference with the post, how severe can his condition truly be?

And yet, I must go.

Not merely because I require the employment, though God knows that is true enough. The landlady gave me notice this morning. Another week and I should be on the street, my belongings sold to pay for the rooms I can no longer afford. Father's debts, Mother's medical expenses, the bank's thievery of our home—all of it has culminated in this moment where I must choose between a suspicious position in Lancashire or destitution in London.

But there is more than desperation driving me northward.

I am curious. Dangerously so, perhaps. What condition has confounded London's physicians? What drove three previous nurses to leave? What secrets does Hearthorne hold that require such extraordinary discretion?

Father always said my inquisitive nature would lead me into trouble. Mother worried I had too much of the investigator in me, not enough of the gentle feminine spirit expected of young ladies. They were both correct, of course. I have always been drawn to puzzles, to mysteries, to the strange and unexplained.

Miss Nightingale recognized this quality in me. During the cholera epidemic, while other nurses recoiled from the worst cases, I found myself drawn to them—not from any morbid fascination, but from a genuine desire to understand the disease's progression, to document its effects, to find patterns in the suffering.

Perhaps Hearthorne will provide similar opportunity for study.

I have packed my few remaining possessions: two dresses, undergarments, my nursing supplies, Father's medical texts, and the bottle of elderberry perfume Mother gave me on my sixteenth birthday. The bottle is nearly empty now, but I cannot bear to leave it behind.

Tomorrow I shall settle my debts and collect my ticket. The day after, I depart for Liverpool.

Whatever awaits me at Hearthorne Manor, I go willingly, with eyes open.

Though I confess, some part of me whispers that I should heed Professor Soames' warning. That crossed-out postscript feels like a message in a bottle, cast desperately into the sea by a drowning man.

But I have always been drawn to dark water.

Once upon a time...