In walking through the courtyard to the entrance to the manor, I'm struck by how plain it is. The grass is well-trimmed, the foliage in simple geometric shapes, the roses and tulips all the same shade of red. A positively stunning display of wealth, even if it isn't visually appealing a priori. To maintain the hedges so even and uniform must require at least daily trimming. Marchioness d'Alembert is perhaps not my wealthiest client to date, but her husband's manor may be the most striking I've yet seen. Even the door is plain, no ornate decoration, simply a large indentation in the middle, and a knocker that I divine to be white gold. When I knock though, the echoing, vibrant ringing tells me that the door must be constructed of rosewood, further demonstrating the monstrous wealth of the marquis.
A young woman, perhaps 25, opens the door, wearing the dress and headpiece of a maidservant. I introduce myself
"Doctor Thomas Maxwell, I've been summoned by the Marchioness."
She nods. "Just a moment, sir," and retreats into the house, closing the door behind her. I wait patiently for an extended moment. It's incredibly quiet, I don't hear even a bird. I suppose there are no trees around to house them, but this understanding makes the silence no less oppressing.
The maid returns presently. "Come in sir, and follow me please." She opens the door and I follow her in. She brings me down a long, open hallway, and I'm again taken by the sparseness of the decoration. All of the material is exquisite, much of exotic origin, but there is almost no artwork to speak of, and even that which I do see is itself pure and simplistic in nature. I note as well an excessive number of candleholders, not a single lightbulb, making the whole manor feel almost outdated. But then we turn a corner, and I see a truly ornate door. Carved into it appears to be a Baroque artwork, fascinatingly detailed, separated into panels as though to tell a story. The doorframe, I note, is ebony, and the handle rose gold. The maid opens the door and introduces me "Doctor Thomas Maxwell, my lady." She then steps aside, gestures for me to enter, and walks away. I enter the room and see a woman whom I can only assume is the Marchioness d'Alembert, seated on an ornate, red velvet chair, with thick, felted arms. If I am to treat her hysteria in the usual way, these arms will get in the way, but will deal with this matter as it becomes relevant.
For however off-putting I found the spartan nature of her manor, I feel it matches the Marchioness's beauty to a T. Her dress is plain, red with black highlights, but the red is a deep scarlet, more saturated with dye than anything I've yet seen. Her lips are dyed a similar color, and her hair jet-black as the trim of her dress. Her face, as her decoration, is plain but exquisite in the fine details. Oval in shape, with a slight olive complexion. Her lips pursed gently, she truly projects nobility.
I bow slightly and introduce myself. "Good afternoon my lady, Doctor Thomas Maxwell at your service."
The Marchioness sits up slightly and then speaks. "Doctor Maxwell, I've summoned you on recommendation of the other noblewomen of this area. I understand you are able to treat hysteria without use of the new electric devices, is that correct?" The word electric carries a venom I've not heard anyone use but when speaking the name of a murderer.
"That is correct, my lady. Is it for this that you've summoned me?" I had assumed this was the case, my other patients often told me that the Marchioness was desperately hysterical and in dire need of this treatment.
"That is correct, yes. What would this treatment entail?" I notice her shift her weight in her chair slightly, though her hands remain stationary, folded on her lap.
"Well, my lady, as you are likely aware, the accepted treatment for hysteria is extended stimulation of the genitals, in order to induce a release of your excess feminine energy. Does this please my lady?"
"If it will indeed treat my hysteria, then yes, I will allow it."
"Very good my lady." I briefly scan the room, looking for an alternate seat without such obstructing arms. My attention is drawn to a sofa, opposite a large bay window. "If I may make such a request, might you move to the sofa over there? The arms of your current seat would impede my access."
"Of course, whatever you need, doctor." She stands up and moves to the chair, and I note that her attention is drawn outside. I walk up and kneel down before her, note that she's breathing a bit more heavily than I would expect.
"My lady, if I may lift your dress?" I ask
