The Hollow Altar of Lady Eleanor
Dr. Eleanor Ashworth kept her patients in the cellar of her Hampstead townhouse, where the gas lamps flickered in a rhythm she had learned to interpret as breathing. It was 1888, and the Royal College of Physicians would have had her committed had they known what she did with those crude galvanic apparatuses—tin electrodes wired to a modified Leyden jar, connected to men and women who had lost their memories to nervous shock, to grief, to the peculiar ma
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