“You told me the other night you doubted madness existed, that no case was truly hopeless. Well, this one’s what I call an impossible patient—nothing will reach him and he’s just short of savagery.”

“And what do you intend for me to do with him?” Clang, clang. I couldn’t tell if it was the pipes surging to life or a man’s head against the bars of his cage.

“Do what you do. What you did with Anna. Work your magic.”

“I’m a musician, not a magician.”

He paused on the landing, hand on the rail as he turned to me in the semidarkness. “Just give it a go, will you?”

A roar sounded above us. A primal growl, then a dull thud.

“What am I to do, drag the pianoforte up here? Because I certainly hope you’re not suggesting you will release this man into the music room alone with me.”

“I was hoping you could, well, sing to him or something.”

“Dr. Turner, I play the pianoforte. I cannot hold a tune to save my life.”

He put a warm hand on my shoulder as we approached the top. “You’re more than a pianist. You’re an intelligent being who sees below the surface, and that is a far cry beyond most of the people employed at this asylum. Now please, won’t you see what can be done?”

I huffed, knowing I’d say yes. I could not refuse with the sound of cellos in the background of his demeanor, the look of a calm sea staring out at me. “Very well, but he must be restrained, and you must stay close by. What do you know about him?”

“He was found wandering on the moors many months ago and brought here when he displayed some rather savage behavior, yelling nonsense like an animal. He seems to have simply appeared from the wild moors themselves. No one knows who he is. He attacked Dr. Thornhill upon arrival, and few have dared go near him all this time.”

We climbed the final steps in silence, and I knew coming had been the right decision when the most horrible smell assaulted us. Suggesting a clean room was one thing I could do for the poor bloke, easy enough. I stood on my toes to peer through the high barred window at the lump of humanity within. Streams of light fell on a hunched figure, greasy dark hair falling over his face, sausage arms propped on his knees. Straw hemmed the cold room, mixed with all manner of dirt and excrement. No one, it seemed, dared go within those walls to tidy it.