Wildthorn Page 24

  I hastened down the driveway and out into the road, like a murderer escaping from the scene of the crime.

  My voice falters into silence. I can't look at Eliza.

  "I see." Her tone isn't at all what I expected. I look at her now and her face, if anything, is—sad?

  "You don't seem—shocked."

  "Why should I be shocked?"

  "But—" I feel wrong-footed, as if I expected a step that wasn't there. "But what I did was wrong." And in case she misunderstands me and thinks I'm talking about shouting at my uncle, I add, "I mean, kissing Grace like that." I feel myself blush.

  "No it weren't. You were just showing your feelings. That's not a crime."

  Again I have that extraordinary floating feeling. I stare at Eliza. I can't believe how calm she is ... as if she hasn't just said the most unexpected thing in the world. She's just sitting there, looking at me, as if she understands.

  I clear my throat. "So you don't think that's why my aunt had me admitted to Wildthorn? That Grace told her?"

  She shrugs. "I don't know." She stands up and starts gathering up the dirty rags. "I know one thing, though."

  "What?"

  You can't go there, to your aunt's, can you?

  ***

  For the rest of the day, I find it hard to focus because I keep coming back to the one impossible thing. Not Tom, but Aunt Phyllis.

  Although Tom signed that letter and presumably asked the doctors to sign the certificates. Tom and Aunt Phyllis. Does Mamma know? Is she in on it, too? And Grace?

  After the numbness of the first shock wears off, I feel utterly wretched. I keep asking myself, Why? I keep picturing Grace telling her mother what I did.

  It isn't a crime. Eliza. If only I could believe her. And she was just as direct about Beatrice. I thought you were sweet on her.

  I look up from darning Lily's stocking to find Eliza's eyes on me, as she wields the flatiron. She smiles, but not with her usual sunniness. Again I have the feeling that she's sad about something. Perhaps she's sorry on my account.

  The reality of my predicament is dawning on me. Sure that Grace wouldn't break her promise, I've been counting on Aunt Phyllis...

  What on earth am I going to do now?

  ***

  Luckily in the morning Mrs. Shaw goes off to visit her neighbour again.

  As soon as Eliza comes in from feeding the hens, I say, "I've been thinking and I know what I must do. I must find work of some kind, perhaps in a shop or a clerk in an office..."

  Saying it, I feel sick. The last thing I want to do is leave here. It's the only place in the world where I feel safe. But I can't go on taking from the Shaws. From now on, I'll have to support myself. I'll have to learn to survive alone.

  I've only the haziest notion of what such work might involve, but I can't think of anything else. On my own, penniless, with my family against me, what choice do I have?

  "A shop or an office? There's nothing like that round here. I reckon you'd have to go to London for work like that." Her tone is doleful.

  "Yes, that's what I thought." I pause and then feeling very awkward, I go on, "I hate to ask, when already you've all done so much for me but—"

  "You'll need some money, for the fare..." She's still speaking in that same flat voice and I feel dreadful. I've asked too much.

  "No, I don't want any money. I'm sure I'll be able to beg a lift from some farmer, going to market..."

  At that she smiles, at last. "You're so fond of those hogs, you want to ride with them, do you? Don't be daft. I'll ask Mother—she'll have a bit of egg money set by."

  I can't help giving her a hug. "Oh, Eliza, I'll pay her back as soon as I can, I promise."

  Letting go, I notice she's gone red, but before I can ask if she's all right, Eliza puts her finger to her mouth in a hushing gesture. Then I hear it too—the sound of wheels in the lane. We look at one another with wide eyes.

  "Quick," she says. "Upstairs."

  I scramble up the steep wooden stairs and, opening a door, I find myself in a small bedroom tucked into the roof space. There's no cupboard to hide in or drawers to crouch behind—the whole space is filled with an iron bedstead pushed under the slope of the ceiling. Crawling under it, I press myself against the wall, trying not to cough as I breathe in dust. I strain to catch what's happening downstairs.

  I can hear Eliza's voice but can't tell who she is speaking to. Is it the lodge-keeper? Or Mr. Sneed himself come in a carriage to carry me back?

  I grip the leg of the bed with both hands. If they've come for me, I won't make it easy for them.

  Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I freeze. The door opens and Eliza's boots stop near my head, then her face appears, upside down. "It's someone for you." I can hear the strangeness in her voice.

  Struggling out from my hiding place, I whisper, "Who is it?" but she's already on her way downstairs.

  I follow her slowly, my thoughts in turmoil. Has Eliza betrayed me? Is that why she's been so awkward?

  I step into the kitchen, my eyes following Eliza as she slips out of the door. Then I hear a small sound, a sigh or an exhalation. A figure rises from a chair.

  "Lou?"

  The last voice I expected to hear.

  Grace, here in the Shaw's kitchen! A vision in pale blue-grey silk that shimmers like opals, her flounced skirts draped in elegant curves.

  I instantly feel self-conscious: I'm wearing a dress borrowed from Eliza, its hem a good six inches above the floor, and an old pair of Charlie's boots.

  Remembering the last time I saw her, I blush, but I also feel wary. Why is she here? Has she come to take me back to Wildthorn?

  "Lou!"

  She steps forward as if to embrace me, but I back away.

  Her face falls. "What's the matter?"

  I can't speak. There's too much to say, too much to ask.

  Alarmed, she says, "Lou? Are you all right? You know who I am, don't you?"

  She thinks I'm mad. Swallowing hard, I manage to say, "Hello, Grace," and her face relaxes a little.

  I glance through the doorway. Down the garden, Eliza is cutting rhubarb. The sight of her steadies me. "Are you by yourself?"

  "Yes. I left Mamma at Wildthorn Hall, sorting things out."

  At the mention of my aunt, a tremor goes through me, but Grace doesn't seem to notice.

  At least on her own she can't make me go back there.

  "We were hoping to get some information about you here. I didn't count on actually finding you!" She gazes at me. "You look well. From what they told us at the hospital, I was afraid—" She breaks off, pressing her lips together.

  "How did you find me?"

  "I'll tell you." She takes the chair and I perch on a stool.

  Grace keeps looking at me, shaking her head, as if she can't get over seeing me. "I had no idea, you know? I thought you were with that family..."

  "The Woodvilles?"

  "Yes. I wrote to you from Europe, but of course I didn't expect a reply, because we were never in one place for long. And when we got back, there was such a lot to do—sorting the house out ... Lou, I'm so sorry I didn't realise sooner ... that I didn't start asking questions..."

  "But you didn't know." It makes me feel better that she didn't.

  "No! Not until I saw your photograph!"

  "My photograph?"

  "Yes, in an exhibition. Charles is always being invited to charity events—you know, people wanting donations. Such a lucky chance I went to this one! It was organised by the superintendent of Wildthorn Hall."

  "Mr. Sneed!"

  "That's right. He was giving lectures on phrenology and to illustrate them there was a display of photographs of patients."

  The photographs. So that was what Mr. Sneed was up to. Roberts was right.

  "At first I wasn't sure ... but there was something about it that drew me ... and the more I looked, the more I was certain it was you. Charles—"

  She breaks off, and for a second her mouth presses
into a thin line. "Charles said it was nonsense. But I insisted that he find out the name. Of course when Mr. Sneed said 'Lucy Childs,' Charles said, 'There, what did I tell you?' But I wasn't convinced. It preyed on my mind. Later, without telling Charles, I went back and persuaded Mr. Sneed to sell me the photograph. The next time we visited Carr Head, I showed Mamma and—"

  I put out my hand to stop her. "I know."

  "You know?"

  "That your mother signed the papers to put me in Wildthorn."

  "Oh." There's a pause. "Lou, I—" She falls silent, watching me anxiously.

  I burst out, "Why, Grace? Why did she do it? Why did you tell her about me? You promised you wouldn't."

  She frowns, clearly puzzled.

  I can feel myself going red again. "You know, when I broke the candlestick..."

  Her face clears. "Oh, that! No, of course I haven't said anything to anyone. I just thought you were upset about your papa."

  "Then why did your mother do it?"

  "I think she'd better tell you herself. I'm sorry, Lou. I was hoping you didn't know—"

  "So you could keep it from me?"

  "No. No! I only meant—if you knew—it's complicated..." She takes a deep breath. "You must be terribly hurt, and I wanted to spare you that ... and until you know everything..." She trails off, looking stricken.

  I feel torn. I want to believe her, to trust her, but what if, really, she is on her mother's side?

  I try to sound cooler than I feel. "You were telling me about the photograph?"

  "Oh, yes. When I showed it to Mamma, I could tell she knew something. I pestered her until I found out what had happened, where you were, then I insisted we come and get you..." She looks at me, her eyes wide. "It was a terrible shock when you weren't at the hospital and no one knew what had happened to you."

  "How did you find out I was here?"

  "The superintendent, Mr. Sneed, said he believed Eliza Shaw knew something about it." Grace pauses, crinkling her forehead. "What I don't understand is why he hadn't followed it up himself."

  "Someone did come, but—well, he didn't try very hard. I expect eventually he was going to write to your mother and tell her I'd died."

  Grace's eyes widen. "No, really? Would he do such a dreadful thing?"

  I shrug. "Eliza says it's happened before. They go on taking the money as long as they can."

  "That's awful." Grace shakes her head. "He was certainly very flustered when Mamma and I turned up. I think he's frightened Mamma will make a fuss and ruin him."

  "I don't expect she will." I smile sourly.

  "Oh, Lou—I can imagine how you must be feeling, but why don't you come with me now and speak to Mamma?"

  "I'm not going to set foot in that place again."

  "No, of course not. We've booked a room at the village inn. Mamma will be there now, waiting for me."

  "She'll want me to go back to Wildthorn Hall."

  "Of course she won't. She signed your release papers. I saw her do it. She was taking your box to the inn."

  Her look is imploring. But I don't know what to believe.

  "You don't think I'm mad, then?"

  "No. No! Please, Lou, I promise you'll be quite safe." She stands up. "So, will you come?"

  I won't find out the truth unless I speak to my aunt, so I suppose I have no choice. But everything's happening too fast. Am I really going now?

  "I must see Eliza before I go."

  "Of course. I'll wait in the carriage."

  I look out into the garden, into the sunshine. "I can go outside now?"

  "Yes." She smiles. "You're free to do as you like."

  ***

  On the threshold, I hesitate. I take a step forward and light strikes me in the face, like a blow, making my eyes water.

  Lily and Arthur look up from their play, curious, and I try to smile, but I feel lightheaded, strange.

  I make my way unsteadily down the cinder path between beds of sprouting seedlings. Eliza is coming towards me, carrying a bundle of rhubarb. She stops in the middle of the path, her face expressionless, watching me, waiting.

  "I'm going with my cousin, to see my aunt. She's at the inn in the village."

  When she doesn't say anything, I go on, "Grace won't tell me why her mother signed those papers. She wants me to speak to her myself."

  Her eyes never leave my face.

  There's so much I want to say. That I've no idea what will happen now ... that I feel afraid ... that I wish—I wish she could come with me...

  "Eliza, I've got to go, but I won't be long."

  Her head lifts a fraction. "You'll come back, then?"

  Her look is one of disbelief—that and something else, some hidden feeling.

  "Yes, of course." Whatever's going to happen, I want Eliza to know. I want to share it with her.

  While I've been shut inside, the world has turned green, that fresh lovely green that comes at the very beginning of summer. All along the hedgerow, the may trees are clothed in a froth of white blossom.

  For a moment my heart lifts, but then apprehension about what lies ahead closes in on me again. Grace and I are silent, as if, by unspoken agreement, everything is held in suspense until I have found out what Aunt Phyllis has to say.

  We turn out of the lane into the road and suddenly, up ahead, I see the familiar wall of the asylum. My stomach lurches. This is a trick! Grace is taking me back!

  "Stop! Stop the carriage!"

  Alarmed, Grace cries, "Driver, will you stop, please."

  As soon as we come to a standstill, I scramble down.

  "Lou, what it is? What's the matter?"

  Trembling, feeling as though all the blood has drained from my face, I shout, "I won't! I won't go back in there!"

  The driver stares at me over his shoulder and I know what he's thinking. I must look and sound just like a lunatic. But I don't care. I fix my eyes on Grace, who looks hurt.

  "Lou! How could you think I would do that to you? This is the way to the village. Please get back in."

  Mutinous, I stay where I am.

  I can see Grace doesn't know what to do. Then she asks, "Is there another way back, driver?"

  He frowns. "There is ... but 'twill be a fair old ride round through the forest. Three mile more, I reckon."

  "It doesn't matter. Please take us that way."

  I stay where I am while he turns the carriage with difficulty in the narrow roadway. Only then do I climb back in.

  "Thank you," I say to Grace.

  ***

  Another carriage is drawn up outside the inn and as we enter we pass a couple going out. The woman stares at me before hurrying after her husband, but I ignore her, just as I ignore the whispers of the porters, carrying out bags and boxes. I cross the lobby and follow Grace up the stairs to the first floor front room, steeling myself for the encounter with Aunt Phyllis.

  Grace opens the door, saying, "Look who's here, Mamma."

  At our sudden entrance, my aunt drops her hairbrush with a clatter and turns pale.

  Perhaps she's shocked at my appearance. I must look exactly like the mad niece she wants locked up.

  I have an impression of beams, faded rose-chintz, a smell of dust overlaid with beeswax polish, but my attention is fixed on my aunt.

  For a moment no one says anything. There's a painful knot in my chest, but I am determined not to be the first to speak, not to show any weakness.

  After a second, she seems to recover herself. "Lou, so Grace found you!" She takes a step forward.

  I don't say a word.

  "Will you not speak to me?"

  I keep watching her. She's smiling but it's an anxious smile and her eyes are wary. In my head Eliza's voice says Folk do things for all sorts of reasons ...but she did sign the papers.

  As if she can read my thought, Grace says quietly, "Mamma, Louisa knows that you had her committed to Wildthorn Hall."

  "Oh!" My aunt sinks on to a low chair, one hand at her throat.

&nb
sp; At the word "committed" something breaks in my chest. "Why? Why did you send me to that terrible place?"

  For a moment she seems unable to speak and then she says in a low voice, "Was it really so terrible?"

  "Yes, it was. They—" I break off. I can't begin to tell her what it was like. But of course, she knows—she chose it. I'm almost crying now, a hot pain burning my chest. "Why did you do it?"

  She lets her hand drop. "I meant it for the best."

  Her eyes slide towards Grace, who has sat down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and I catch my breath.

  She does know! And that's why she had me locked up.

  I glance at my cousin.

  Her expression is grave, but there's no sign of guilt for betraying me. In fact, she pats the ottoman, inviting me to sit down, but I won't, not yet. Standing, I feel less trapped. I have the vague notion that, if necessary, I could run away and hide somewhere until I could get back to Smalcote.

  I wait, watching my aunt, who speaks, at last. "It was after your last visit to us—"

  I knew it. I keep my face smooth, but something starts to flutter in my chest.

  "Charles came to me and—"

  "Charles!" Not Grace then, but Charles. But how would he have known unless Grace told him? My eyes flick towards her, but she is staring down at her lap.

  "He said—" My aunt appears to be labouring under some distress. "He said he believed you were suffering from moral insanity."

  "I thought he was a lawyer, not a doctor!" I look at Grace accusingly. "You didn't tell me about this."

  Grace looks shamefaced. "No, I'm sorry. I—" She breaks off, looking away. It strikes me for the first time that she looks different—as if somehow the light has gone from her. With a sigh, she says, "Charles has a great interest in the subject and has read widely—especially some German papers, I think."

  Rather than defend him, she sounds almost apologetic.

  "Of course, at first I thought it was nonsense," says Aunt Phyllis. "But when he explained more, I began to be persuaded."

  My mouth has gone dry but I manage to say, "May I know what he said?"

  Her hand flits nervously to her mouth. "Oh, I don't think you want to hear all that, do you?"