Available now
From Warner Books
A
rich blend of suspense, social history and passion…
 An Inconvenient Wife
In Victorian New York City, Knickerbocker wife Lucy Carelton has surrendered
to hysteria and depression. In desperation, her husband takes her to a doctor
who specializes in revolutionary and
experimental treatments of female nervous disorders. Dr. Victor Seth is a
neurologist in an era when psychology is in its infancy. It is a science
distrusted and feared by the laity, and Seth is more controversial than most.
His use of hypnosis and other radical new treatments is questioned even by
his peers. Determined to prove himself, Seth takes Lucy Carelton into the
erotic and dangerous underworld of the unconscious, until it is left for a
jury of her peers to discover whether he manipulated her to commit murder …
or whether he saved her life.
“This is the novel Edith Wharton might have
written if she had lived in the 21st Century.” –The Seattle
Times
“Wholly absorbing … [A] diabolically
clever, thoroughly entertaining take on women’s liberation.”--Booklist
Foreign rights sold to France and Germany
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An Inconvenient Wife
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Excerpt from An Inconvenient
Wife:
Our footsteps echoed up through the stairwell. We rounded
the landing, and went up another set of stairs that opened onto long and
narrow hallway with doors lining either side. The stairs continued on, but my
husband took me down the hallway, to a door at the very end. On it was
painted in restrained black and gilt letters: Dr. Victor Seth, Doctor of
Neurology.
I
hung back and whispered, "Do let's go, William. We could be home in time
for tea."
He
grasped my hand hard, and opened the door. We stepped into another dingy room, where there was a small desk next to another door,
and an old rosewood settee against the opposite wall, its red-striped floral
upholstery frayed at the corners. There was no one there.
William
cleared his throat, and stepped forward to knock on the other door, when it
suddenly opened, and out came a flustered young woman with pale hair and
eyes. "I'm so sorry, sir. I didn't mean to be in there, I only--"
She saw us, and stopped mid-motion, blushing and obviously confused. "Oh
... You're not the doctor!"
"No,"
William told her. "We have an appointment with Dr. Seth."
"Oh,
well ... yes." The girl went behind the desk, and fumbled with a thin
book that lay open on the blotter. It seemed to compose her. She smoothed her
dark wool skirt. "Of course. I--I see it right here." She looked up
with an expectant smile.
William
reached inside his coat and pulled out his pocket watch. "I believe
we're right on time."
She
glanced down at the book. "Oh yes, you are. But ... um, well, the doctor
... he's not here yet."
"He's
not here?"
"Well
then," I said, backing toward the door, "perhaps another
time--"
William
held me firm. "We have an appointment."
"He--he
had an unexpected visitor," the girl said. "I expect him back
shortly."
"This
is unconscionable," William said. "I am a very busy man--"
"Yes,
of course you are."
The
voice came from behind us. Startled, I jerked around to see a man wearing a
heavy coat and hat that shone wetly in the light. The doctor. He had opened
the door without making a sound. It was impossible that we had not heard him.
He
smiled smoothly as he pulled at his gloves. "Forgive me for making you
wait. I was unavoidably detained." He glanced at the girl behind the
desk, who shrank visibly at the sight of him. "Irene, perhaps you could
make yourself useful and find some tea for our visitors."
"Yes,
Doctor," she murmured.
He
went to the other door and opened it, and then stood back to usher us inside.
I had expected William to continue to be angry, but he was
uncharacteristically quiet, caught--no doubt as I was--by the presence of
this man. I remembered the other night, the dinner, my sense that I should
have felt him the moment I stepped into Ella's dining room, and that feeling
was more intense here, in this little office. It was unsettling, the way he
took up space, as if something had entered the room with him, something large
and intangible.
Wordlessly,
William and I preceded him through the doorway.
The
room was darkened. Though the opposite wall was windows, all but one were covered
by lowered blinds; the single open one looked out onto the brick wall of the
building next door, at Coxley's Cigars, Pipes and Tobacco painted
there in large black and white letters.
There
was a click, and the room went suddenly bright, electric lamps blazing into
sudden brilliance. I blinked, and gasped, used as I was to gaslight.
"You
see, we have the most modern conveniences," said the doctor.
William
murmured something, but I could not take my eyes from the room. The falsely
bright light illuminated it to its worst advantage. It brought into relief
the large table near the window scattered with papers and open books. Behind
it were shelves full of messily arranged books--shoved side by side, laying
erratically one on top the other. The only neat shelf was tightly packed with
thin black leather-bound volumes bookended with a large white phrenology
head.
There
was a settee that matched the one in the hallway, two chairs upholstered in a
bright red brocade, and a ladderback chair that sat next to a large, wooden
cabinet with several drawers. Near this was a long examination table.
It
was these--the cabinet and the table--which made me most nervous: the
cabinet, because I had no idea what it was, and the table because I did. I
glanced at William, who was frowning.
He
turned to the doctor and said, "You are a phrenologist."
Dr.
Seth was taking off his coat and hat. Though he spoke to William, his gaze
went to me. "No more than any other self-respecting physician. The head
is merely a personal reminder. Nothing to worry about."
He
smiled, and I found myself transfixed, uncertain whether to be charmed or
afraid.
"May
I take your coats?" Dr. Seth asked.
William
took his off, but I shook my head and grasped the front of mine, suddenly
wanting the protection of it. Dr. Seth only nodded mildly and gestured to the
settee with an instruction for us to sit down. I did not want to do that,
either, but these choices were not mine to make, so I went with William to
the settee while Dr. Seth took one of the red brocade chairs across.
Just
then, there was a timid knock on the door, and the girl—Irene--came in
bearing a tea tray with service for three. She set it silently on the table
beside the doctor's chair, and then left.
When
the door closed, the doctor looked at me again. "You seem nervous, Mrs.
Carelton. Perhaps some tea will reassure you."
William
laughed shortly. "Lucy's nerves are the reason we're here to see you,
Dr. Seth."
The
doctor poured the tea with careful precision, added milk and sugar, and
handed us each a gaily painted china cup. The rims were thick; the edges
uneven, but the tea was hot and sweet and soothing--he had made it as I liked
it, though I had not said a word.
"I
have the feeling we've met before, Mrs. Carelton," he said.
"The
other night, at the Baldwins' supper," William told him. "We had
not been introduced then, but you
must have seen Lucy's fit."
Seth
straightened. His glance sharpened as it had that night. "Ah, yes, of
course," he said, and I heard a brief impatience in his tone that
surprised me. "I assume that is why you're here, but why don't you tell
me the whole of it?"
William
said, "First, Dr. Seth, we need some reassurances. You've been highly
recommended to us, but ... well, you must see our situation."
"Of
course." Dr. Seth nodded. "I can assure you of the strictest
discretion, Mr. and Mrs. Carelton. As you saw, this office is deliberately
situated to afford you the greatest privacy. I can promise that, should you
decide to undergo treatment, my notes will be destroyed at the conclusion.
Though Irene seems an idiot, she is highly motivated not to speak of your
visit. I guarantee that no one will know you were ever here unless you tell
them yourself."
The
doctor sat back in his chair, his long fingers wrapped delicately around that
thick cup as if he were afraid he might crush it. He looked directly at me.
"Now ... Why have you come to me?"
William
said, "We've been to ten doctors in the last three years. No one's been
able to help. You're our last hope."
I
felt the doctor's dark eyes on me. There was something improper or ...
dangerous ... in the way he stared. My fingers shook as I brought my cup to
my lips; I dared not look up.
William
went on. "It's become unbearable living with her. We haven't been able
to keep a maid longer than two months. Lucy's fits terrorize the household.
She has temper tantrums, screaming hysteria--the smallest things turn her
into a mad creature. When she's not having a fit, she's sad and inconsolable.
She's barely able to rise from bed. I've despaired of her--having anyone over
for dinner is impossible, and in my business, it's necessary."
"I
see," Dr. Seth said, finally looking at William. "What is your
business?"
My
husband looked surprised. "You don't know?"
"I
confess not."
"Yes.
Well." William looked discomfited. "Brokering. I'm a stock
broker."
Seth
nodded. "Go on."
"Well,
I ... last night, Lucy took too much laudanum. It's really become--"
"Laudanum?
Who prescribed laudanum?"
"Dr.
Moore. About a year ago."
The
doctor looked at me. "How much do you take?"
"J--just
a bit," I managed. "A few spoonfuls at bedtime. It ... it helps me
sleep."
"Tell
him when else, Lucy," William said.
"There
is no other time."
William
gave the doctor a look as if to say: Do you see what I must contend with?
and I looked down at my tea, humiliated at my small lie.
Thankfully,
Dr. Seth did not pursue it. "What have the other doctors said?"
William
sighed. "Well.... We've been--" he cleared his throat--"I'm
sorry, this is indelicate--"
"I'm
a doctor, Mr. Carelton."
"Yes,
of course. It's just that ... well, Lucy has been ... unable to
conceive."
"And
other doctors have attributed her moods to Uterine Monomania?"
"Why,
yes, that's just what they've said--some of them, anyway. We've tried
everything. She took the water-cure a year ago, and then there was some kind
of belt contraption that she had to wear. The one doctor thought an
ovariotomy. Recently, one suggested she was incurable. He said I should send
her to an asylum. An asylum!"
"Has
anyone suggested a clitoridectomy?"
I
went hot. I could not look at either of them.
"One.
But Lucy ... she's not ... not in that way ... it's just ... well, except for
this hysteria, she's the perfect wife." William finished lamely.
There
was silence. I glanced up, into the eyes of the doctor, which so agitated me
that I looked down again into my tea, which was sloshing in my cup, so badly
were my hands shaking.
Dr.
Seth said, "I think I understand, Mr. Carelton. Now, if you will excuse
us, I'd like to examine your wife. Irene will find you a newspaper to read,
if you like."
"Of
course." William rose abruptly. He set aside his cup and patted my
shoulder and left. The door latched shut behind him.
Dr.
Seth leaned forward; I pressed back into the cushioned settee when he reached
out. "Your teacup, Mrs. Carelton," he said. When I gave it to him,
careful not to touch him, he set the cup gently onto the tea tray, much as a
woman might. I had never seen a man move so gracefully.
"The
examination is simple enough," he said reassuringly. "I trust
you've experienced one before?"
I
could only nod.
"I will try
not to embarrass you unduly. But you understand, I do need to know
these things to treat you effectively."
His
gaze did not waver. I felt oddly imprisoned by it.
"I
understand," I managed.
"Good."
He went to the door and called out for the girl, who came hurrying in, and
then he said, "Irene will assist you. Please undress to your chemise.
There's a screen just over there--" he pointed to a place beyond the
wooden cabinet and chairs, where I now saw a red and black lacquered Japanese
screen.
He rose and went to the table that served as his desk,
turning his back to me, and I slowly went behind the screen and let Irene
help me. When I was ready, she gave me a small smile and left again. I
crossed my arms protectively over my chest when I came out from behind the
screen, clad only in my chemise. He was waiting by the table, his suitcoat
off, his shirtsleeves rolled up to reveal his bare forearms. The sight of
that, along with the tangle of shining instruments gleaming beside him, made
me hesitate, but he gave me a reassuring nod and gestured to the examination
table. "Please," he said, and as I stepped onto a small stool and
sat gingerly on the edge of the table, he took up the first of his
instruments.
An
Inconvenient Wife
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