The Medea Complex Read Online Free PDF Page A

aforementioned gentlemen enter.
    I glance at the paper. If I am unable to read it, it can
still be put to use.
    I throw it over the ink stain.
    “My Lord, Mr Stanbury. Good morning to you both.”
    “And to you, Doctor,” says Lord Damsbridge, shaking off his
umbrella. His eyes search my office.
    “In the corner-”
    He deposits it in the stand before I can finish.
    The recently bereaved husband stands back and off to one
side with his hands in his pockets. His face is as grief stricken and apt to
the occasion as his stance as he glares at the certificates upon my wall.
    “Mr Stanbury, I don't believe we have met.”
    “Indeed not. And I must say, I would rather have preferred
it stayed that way.” His gaze moves toward me as he answers, but his body
remains still.
    Generally, people dislike meeting me. The policemen because
they believe I 'save' guilty men and women from the gallows.  The patients,
because they are terrified I'm going to throw them in a cell and let them
starve. The relatives, because they don't understand why their loved ones are locked
away from society. Other doctors, who sneer in disdain at alienists.
    It would affect a lesser man than I, of that I have no
doubt.
    “I agree. It is most unfortunate that this has occurred, and
I offer you my most sincere condolences.”
    He grunts in acknowledgment, nodding.
    “Excuse my son-in-laws' rudeness, Doctor,” says Lord
Damsbridge, helping himself to a chair. “Stanbury, sit.”
    “Oh, I'm not at all offended, My Lord-”
    The Earl interrupts me.
    “Well, you should be. A true gentleman should know how to
act despite, or perhaps, because of his grief.” He stops, and peers around the
chair. “Stanbury, I'm not going to tell you again.” He turns back to me, and
offers a small, secret smile. “I keep telling him Doctor, an attitude like that
doesn't exactly inspire endearment from others.”
    Mr Stanbury shoots a look of hatred towards the back of his
father-in-laws head, but acquiesces.
    “My apologies. I fear I am not myself. My wife did murder my
baby less than two weeks ago, so you'll have to excuse me.” His anger is
palpable.
    “Completely understandable, Mr Stanbury. Now, could I offer
you gentlemen a coffee?”
    “Yes-”
    Lord Damsbridge interrupts his son-in-law.
    “Something stronger would be more appropriate at this time.
Whiskey, perchance?”
    I glance at the large grandfather clock, left here by my
predecessor. I assume he's referring to the meetings impending subject matter,
as opposed to the hour, as the hands show only nine and twenty.
    “Well, of course. I'm sure Nurse Ruth can fetch some, that
woman can find anything given half a chance. She should be back momentarily, as
I spilled-”
    I stop.
    It's best I keep my inherent clumsiness to myself.
    “You were saying, Doctor?”
    Opportunity presents itself in the personification of my
attendant, as she knocks on the door and peers questioningly at me through the
gap.
    “Yes, come in, Nurse Ruth. I was saying, gentlemen, that
when you let women into a man’s domain, they tend to get carried away with
their curiosity. Take this one here, for example: liked the look of my pen, and
decided to write a note to her husband with it. And look at what she did!” I
remove the newspaper with a flourish. “This is solid oak, gentlemen. Ruined, by
romantic sentimentality in a flash.” I press my finger into the ink pointedly.
    Her mouth drops open, but she quickly recovers.
    “Yes, I am such a stupid woman,” she says, the sarcasm lost
on the two men. She shakes the tissues in her hand, and advances. “Here, let me
clean that.”
    I wave her away.
    “No, Nurse Ruth. I shall buy a new desk. You can repay me by
finding our gentlemen here a bottle of our finest whiskey.”
    “Certainly. Nice to meet you, My Lord. Mr Stanbury.” She
curtseys, and leaves the room quietly, shutting the door with a small click.
    “Women,” I say, laughing.
    “Quite,” says Lord Damsbridge.
    I