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Authors: Frank Tallis
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affection. She then spoke of her father, Samuel Lydgate, a science master and a gentleman with distinctly progressive sympathies. He believed that modern women should have the same opportunities and rights as men, and had treated his daughter accordingly. Miss Lydgate was an only child, and Liebermann wondered whether her upbringing would have been different had Greta Lydgate provided her husband with more than one child on whom to practise his pedagogic theories. Liebermann could see that Miss Lydgate was the beneficiary – or victim – of a singularly taxing education.
The Lydgates lived a few miles north of the capital. Liebermann had visited London many times but had never heard of Highgate. Miss Lydgate's description called to mind a kind of English Grinzing: a village built on a natural eminence, from which at night an observer could enjoy the glittering spectacle of the city lights below.
After Liebermann had gained enough background information he drew a line under his notes and looked up. He was again surprised by the intensity of his patient's expression: the way her pewter eyes glowed beneath her troubled forehead, the tightness with which her hair had been pulled back. Liebermann smiled, inviting her to reciprocate – but Miss Lydgate simply tilted her head to one side (almost as though she was puzzled by his behaviour). Then, unexpectedly, she said: 'Is that a battery, Doctor Liebermann?'
Liebermann turned and looked across the room. In the corner a large wooden box sat on the top shelf of a hospital trolley.
'Yes, it is.'
'Will my course of electrotherapy begin today?'
She spoke these words evenly, without emotion.
'No,' replied Liebermann.
'Tomorrow, then?' She stifled a nervous cough.
'Perhaps.'
'I was told by Professor Gruner that—'
'Miss Lydgate,' Liebermann interrupted. 'For the moment, I think we should just talk.'
'What about?'
Liebermann formed a steeple with his fingers.
'About you. And your symptoms, of course.'
'But what good will that do?'
Before he could answer there was a knock on the door.
Stefan Kanner entered. He glanced briefly at Miss Lydgate and then spoke quietly to Liebermann.
'I'm sorry, Max, but I think you walked off with the keys to the storeroom.'
Liebermann stood up and pulled three bunches of keys from his pocket: his apartment keys, the hospital keys and, finally, the keys to the storeroom.
'Ah yes, how foolish of me.'
Before Kanner could take them, both men were distracted by Miss Lydgate. She had begun to cough with considerable violence – an ugly, rasping bark. Without warning she bent forward and started to retch. The vertebrae of her spine and the sharp edges of her shoulder blades showed clearly through the hospital gown. It looked as if some strange marine creature, with massive gills and a long segmented tail had attached itself to her body – and was in the process of shaking her to death.
Kanner was nearest to the sink, under which stood an old tin pail. He acted swiftly, picking it up and placing it on the floor in front of the woman's chair. As he did so, he laid a comforting hand on her back.
What happened next also happened very quickly but it left a lasting impression on Liebermann.
The young woman's body twisted – as though Kanner had pressed a white-hot branding iron between her shoulder blades. She squirmed at his touch, her spine warping sinuously to escape his fingers.
Miss Lydgate had undergone an extraordinary transformation. The softly spoken Englishwoman had been possessed by something demonic, and her expression had become hateful and venomous. Her bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets and a thick blue vein had risen on her forehead – a livid weal against the paleness of her skin. She was sneering, scowling, animated by an inhuman anger. Kanner could not move – he stood, watching, in a state of utter shock. But it was not Miss Lydgate's fiendish expression that had caught Liebermann's attention. Something far more significant was happening:
The Lydgates lived a few miles north of the capital. Liebermann had visited London many times but had never heard of Highgate. Miss Lydgate's description called to mind a kind of English Grinzing: a village built on a natural eminence, from which at night an observer could enjoy the glittering spectacle of the city lights below.
After Liebermann had gained enough background information he drew a line under his notes and looked up. He was again surprised by the intensity of his patient's expression: the way her pewter eyes glowed beneath her troubled forehead, the tightness with which her hair had been pulled back. Liebermann smiled, inviting her to reciprocate – but Miss Lydgate simply tilted her head to one side (almost as though she was puzzled by his behaviour). Then, unexpectedly, she said: 'Is that a battery, Doctor Liebermann?'
Liebermann turned and looked across the room. In the corner a large wooden box sat on the top shelf of a hospital trolley.
'Yes, it is.'
'Will my course of electrotherapy begin today?'
She spoke these words evenly, without emotion.
'No,' replied Liebermann.
'Tomorrow, then?' She stifled a nervous cough.
'Perhaps.'
'I was told by Professor Gruner that—'
'Miss Lydgate,' Liebermann interrupted. 'For the moment, I think we should just talk.'
'What about?'
Liebermann formed a steeple with his fingers.
'About you. And your symptoms, of course.'
'But what good will that do?'
Before he could answer there was a knock on the door.
Stefan Kanner entered. He glanced briefly at Miss Lydgate and then spoke quietly to Liebermann.
'I'm sorry, Max, but I think you walked off with the keys to the storeroom.'
Liebermann stood up and pulled three bunches of keys from his pocket: his apartment keys, the hospital keys and, finally, the keys to the storeroom.
'Ah yes, how foolish of me.'
Before Kanner could take them, both men were distracted by Miss Lydgate. She had begun to cough with considerable violence – an ugly, rasping bark. Without warning she bent forward and started to retch. The vertebrae of her spine and the sharp edges of her shoulder blades showed clearly through the hospital gown. It looked as if some strange marine creature, with massive gills and a long segmented tail had attached itself to her body – and was in the process of shaking her to death.
Kanner was nearest to the sink, under which stood an old tin pail. He acted swiftly, picking it up and placing it on the floor in front of the woman's chair. As he did so, he laid a comforting hand on her back.
What happened next also happened very quickly but it left a lasting impression on Liebermann.
The young woman's body twisted – as though Kanner had pressed a white-hot branding iron between her shoulder blades. She squirmed at his touch, her spine warping sinuously to escape his fingers.
Miss Lydgate had undergone an extraordinary transformation. The softly spoken Englishwoman had been possessed by something demonic, and her expression had become hateful and venomous. Her bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets and a thick blue vein had risen on her forehead – a livid weal against the paleness of her skin. She was sneering, scowling, animated by an inhuman anger. Kanner could not move – he stood, watching, in a state of utter shock. But it was not Miss Lydgate's fiendish expression that had caught Liebermann's attention. Something far more significant was happening:
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