The psychiatrist, Dr. Aris, sat in the drawing room of Croft Manor. He had been recommended by Cynthia Sharpe, and his bank account was significantly heavier today than it had been yesterday.
“I have reviewed the incidents,” Dr. Aris said, adjusting his glasses. “The auditory hallucinations. The visual delusions of fire. The paranoia regarding the staff. It fits the profile of severe prenatal psychosis.”
Lady Beatrice nodded gravely. “Is she a danger to the child?”
“Potentially,” Dr. Aris lied smoothly. “In a delusional state, she could harm the fetus unintentionally. I recommend immediate, 24-hour sedation and monitoring until the birth.”
“No,” William stood up, slamming his hand on the desk. “You are not drugging my wife.”
“William,” Beatrice said, her voice sharp. “We cannot risk the heir. If she has another episode and falls…”
“She isn’t crazy!” William shouted. “Someone is doing this to her!”
“Who, William?” Beatrice challenged. “The maid? The walls? You are sounding as paranoid as she is. Look at the facts.” She pointed to the “incident report” Elena had fabricated. “If you refuse medical advice, I will have the court appoint a guardian for the unborn child. I will take custody *now*.”
William looked at the doctor, then at his grandmother. He was trapped. If he fought them, they would use the legal system to strip Victoria of her rights immediately. If he agreed, at least she stayed in the house where he could watch her.
“Fine,” William whispered, defeated. “Monitor her. But no heavy sedation. Mild sedatives only. And I hold the key to her room.”
Beatrice smiled thinly. “A wise choice.”