Wildthorn Read online

  "I think I have a right to know."

  She presses her mouth into a line. She's not going to tell me. But then Grace says, "I think you should tell her, Mamma."

  My aunt sighs, "Very well. But Lou, please won't you sit down?"

  Reluctantly I pull out the chair by the writing desk and perch on its hard seat. At least I'm still near the door.

  Aunt Phyllis hesitates and then begins, "You have to admit that you're not like most girls—"

  "And that makes me insane?"

  My aunt presses her hands together. I have the feeling that she's choosing her words carefully. "Charles felt that your extraordinary desire to be a doctor was a clear indication of your condition."

  "Because it showed a want of proper feminine delicacy, I suppose!" I can feel myself beginning to tremble with anger.

  "That was part of it, yes."

  "What else?"

  "Lou, dear—" My aunt's expression is pleading, but I won't relent.

  "Tell me!"

  "Well ... not wanting to be married—I never could understand that myself, Lou. And your determination ... being set on a course that your brother was so against ... your attitude to authority ... Charles was shocked by your outburst at dinner. I must say, I was too, Lou. Such a loss of control! But I was prepared to excuse you on the grounds that you were still grieving for your papa ... But then the way you left us, without a word to anyone..."

  Those so-called symptoms in my admission papers, that I thought originated with Tom ... as much as she is trying to blame it on Charles, some of it was her! And still she hasn't admitted what I am sure lies at the bottom of it all.

  I brace myself. "Was there more?"

  Grace shakes her head at me almost imperceptibly at the same moment as her mother says, "No, that was all."

  I look down at my hands and find that I'm clenching them so tightly, my knuckles have turned white.

  I uncurl my fingers, make myself breathe.

  All this time I've carried this guilty secret. Now it seems, if my aunt is telling the truth, it wasn't my behaviour towards Grace that condemned me...

  Knowing this doesn't make me feel any better. That, I could have understood, but this?

  I raise my eyes and look her in the face.

  "Let me get this clear. Because I refuse to conform to the role expected of me, because I long to lead an independent life and be of service to others ... that makes me mad? I know that many doctors, many people in the world would think so, but how could you?"

  My aunt ducks her head. "I—I didn't know what to think. But Charles was so sure. He said that, left untreated, your malady could only get worse. That there was a good chance that your behaviour would bring disgrace to the family. He thought you should be admitted to an institution where you would receive appropriate medical help..."

  "And Tom? I suppose he fell in very readily with your plan?" I say bitterly.

  "No, Lou, he didn't."

  I'm taken aback. I'd imagined Tom and my aunt concocting the scheme together.

  "So the false name, that wasn't his idea?"

  "No. It was Charles's idea. He persuaded Bertram that it would safeguard the family's reputation. At first Tom was unwilling to agree to it. He wanted you to be helped, but he didn't like not being open with you."

  "How did you change his mind?"

  "Oh, Lou. What's to be gained from raking over all this?"

  "Tell me."

  "Your uncle was giving Tom an allowance."

  It takes me about a second to work it out. "I suppose the allowance would have stopped, if Tom hadn't agreed?"

  My aunt nods, shamefaced.

  Lost for words, I stare at her. I can't believe it ... that Tom had me shut up, for money ...that they would have stooped so low...

  Eventually I say quietly, "I thought you loved me. Whatever Charles said, how could you do it?"

  My aunt shifts uncomfortably.

  "Tell her, Mamma."

  Something in Grace's tone causes a shiver to run down my back.

  "Tell me what?"

  My aunt looks as if she would rather be anywhere else but here.

  "Charles said—" She stops and seems to gather herself for a moment. "He said that, if we didn't commit you to an asylum, he would break off his engagement to Grace."

  The silence is absolute.

  My aunt and my cousin are looking at me, but I can't move or speak. A hand is squeezing my heart.

  It's Grace who speaks first. "Lou, I'm sorry ... so, so sorry." She looks ashen-faced.

  "You knew?"

  "No."

  Aunt Phyllis, then, on her own, her decision.

  I can hardly bear to look at her, but I make myself do it.

  "You sacrificed me for Grace's sake."

  My aunt lifts her chin in the gesture I know so well, that I have seen Papa make, that I make myself when I am convinced I am right. "Any mother would have done the same!"

  A bitter thought flashes through my mind: Not my mother, for me. But I dismiss it. It's irrelevant. What matters now is my aunt, the cold anger I feel.

  Perhaps she senses it. At any rate, she says in a softer tone, as if to explain herself, "I did think you were ill. And I couldn't bear to see my darling unhappy."

  I can't sit still any longer.

  As I stand up, my aunt starts in her chair as if she thinks I'm going to attack her.

  I'm not. I never want to touch her again. But she has to see what she has done to me.

  Pacing up and down, I fling out, "You didn't care that I was wretched."

  "I didn't know."

  "You never came to see me to find out." I spit the words at her.

  She puts out her hands in a helpless gesture. "We were told it was best not to. John Sneed said that visits from family upset the patients and interfered with their recovery."

  "And you believed him?" I swing round to face her. I'm aware of Grace watching me tensely.

  "Why would I not? He seemed an experienced doctor—he came with the highest recommendations."

  "From whom?"

  "An associate of Bertram. Mr. Sneed is his brother-in-law."

  I might have known.

  "I worried about you, of course I did. I sent money so you could go out for carriage rides or have nice treats, like fruit or flowers in your room."

  With a cry, I strike the mantelpiece. "Aunt, none of that happened. Someone must have kept your money."

  "But—"

  "That was the kind of place it was. Your respected Mr. Sneed probably had no idea what was going on because he didn't trouble himself to find out. Just as you didn't."

  My aunt is on her feet now. "But I didn't just take it all on trust. Before I made up my mind, I went to look at Wildthorn Hall and was shown round. It seemed a decent sort of place."

  "That's because they only show you what they want you to see. What galleries did you visit?"

  "I don't know. It was a ward upstairs, very spacious, with a library and a pleasant sitting room. I spoke to some of the ladies there and they seemed quite content."

  A great wave of anguish floods over me. "Aunt, that was the First Gallery, the best ward, the only ward like it! You should have asked to see the cell where I was tied down on a filthy mattress for weeks and fed nothing but bread and water, or the ward where there was nothing to do but sit on my bed day after day and watch the other patients being hit or smearing the walls with their own excrement!"

  I'm shaking now and can't stop crying.

  There is a long silence.

  When I finally raise my head, I see that Grace's face is wet, too. She murmurs, "I had no idea ... Oh, Lou, I'm so, so sorry..."

  Then she says, "Mamma?" in a quite different tone.

  Aunt Phyllis bridles. "I'm sorry, too of course. Especially as it was all for nothing—"

  I wonder what she means, but before I can ask Grace leaps in, "We're all upset. Perhaps we've said enough for now." She looks at her mother meaningfully.

  My
aunt hesitates. "Yes, of course, you're right." She turns to me. "Really, Lou, I never meant for you to suffer."

  I don't know whether I believe her. I don't know what I think or feel.

  Sighing, she goes across to the looking glass and makes some small adjustments to her hair. Then she turns and says, "Lou, I'm forgetting myself. Will you take some refreshment?"

  The perfect hostess! As if I'd just come for a nice visit!

  "That's a good idea," Grace says hurriedly. "Why don't you go and ask for some tea, Mamma. And would you like something to eat, Lou?"

  I shake my head. Eating is the last thing I want to do.

  As soon as my aunt has gone, I collapse on to the low chair and shut my eyes.

  There is still so much I don't know. For instance, was Mamma involved?

  But right now, I don't care.

  I want to go back to Smallcote. I want Eliza to help me think about what it all means and what I should do.

  But Aunt Phyllis isn't just going to go away and leave me. She will have plans for me. And I feel so worn out, I don't know whether I have the strength to fight her.

  After a while I open my eyes to find Grace watching me. We exchange rueful smiles.

  "How are you now, Lou?"

  "I'm not sure..." I pause. "Charles hasn't managed to persuade you that I'm mad. Do you think he really believes it himself?"

  She looks thoughtful. "I don't know. I think he does, or at least he's convinced himself that he does. He quoted all sorts of learned references ... But, since I've found out about it all, I've wondered whether he overheard what you said in the conservatory that night at Carr Head."

  "Mmm, I wondered that, too."

  "When I wanted you to come and live with us, he wouldn't hear of it. He said he wanted me all to himself, but of course, now, I wonder ... What if he was afraid you'd influence me, somehow turn me against him, and that's at the bottom of it? I don't know."

  Sighing, she looks down at her lap. "It was our first quarrel."

  Guiltily I realise I haven't thought about what all this means for her. She seems to be on my side ... How does she feel about Charles now? What has he said about her coming to rescue me?

  She raises her head and says quietly. "I should have listened to you."

  I've never heard her sound so—so old, so world-weary. "Grace—"

  But at that moment the door opens and Aunt Phyllis appears with a serving maid carrying a tray. After the girl has gone, my aunt busies herself, pouring and stirring, offering me a biscuit, which I refuse.

  A strained silence follows, during which we occupy ourselves with our tea. Eventually, with a feigned bright look, Aunt Phyllis says, "Lou, you'll be happy to set off early tomorrow morning?"

  I put down my cup. This is it. Probably she's planning to take me to some other institution where she'll make sure I'm well treated...

  At the thought of it, a kind of horror rises in my throat, but I try to keep my voice steady. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  She flinches as if I've hit her. "But—"

  "I won't go to another asylum. I won't be shut up again."

  "But I'm not taking you to another asylum! We're going home."

  "Home?"

  "Yes. To Carr Head."

  "No!" I don't trust her.

  My aunt sighs, and my cousin gives me a pleading look, but I won't give in, not even for Grace.

  We drink some more tea in silence.

  Finally I say, "When did you decide I wasn't mad?"

  Aunt Phyllis sighs. "When Grace saw your photograph, she spoke so fiercely on your behalf..."

  Grace nods. "I pointed out to Mamma that what you wanted was quite natural. You were following in Uncle Edward's footsteps and he'd encouraged you..."

  "Dear Edward..." My aunt shakes her head. "You're so like him, Lou. He never would do what anyone thought he should."

  For a moment I almost soften, but then she says, "But bringing you up in an unconventional way was perhaps not altogether to your benefit."

  I bridle immediately. How dare she criticise Papa? And what would he say if he knew what she'd done? "I'd be quite happy, if only other people would let me do as I want!"

  "But, my dear—"

  Grace intervenes. "Remember, Mamma, I told you lots of girls nowadays are looking for a new sort of life. In London, I've come across several independent young women, making their own way in the world..."

  I'm sure Charles doesn't like that. But I hold my tongue.

  "Yes, you did." My aunt frowns, as if the idea is distasteful to her too. "Anyway, Lou, you see, Grace wants—we both want—you to stay with us. You will come, won't you? A little holiday at Carr Head first and then your mother will be glad to see you."

  Mamma...

  "Does Mamma know where I've been?"

  My aunt is clearly startled by this abrupt question. "No ... no, she doesn't."

  "Why not?"

  She reddens. "Tom and I thought it best not to worry her. She thinks you're still at the Woodvilles'."

  I stare at her, astonished, thinking rapidly. I'm glad about Mamma, but—"Surely, after a while, she would have wondered why she hadn't heard from me—why I wasn't visiting her? What were you going to say then?"

  Her flush deepens and she looks down at her lap.

  There's a long silence.

  My mouth has gone dry. What could she say? Apart from telling the truth. Surely she wouldn't have told Mamma I was dead, would she?

  Grace is the first to break the silence. "Let's be thankful it hasn't come to that. Let's not think about it anymore."

  But I can't shake it off so easily. "You lied to Mamma, and would have gone on telling lies."

  My aunt shifts uneasily in her chair. "Remember, I did think you were ill and needed help ... I should have told your mamma, of course. She had every right to know. But..." She gives me a pleading look. "Amelia has never really liked me and since Edward died ... I thought that if I came to her and said that you needed treatment, she would have resented my interference. It seemed best to involve Tom, rather than try to persuade her."

  Grace slips from her seat and kneeling beside me, she takes my hand. "Lou, dear, I'm sorry. All this must be very painful for you. Why don't we stop talking about it for now? If you come home with us, we can say more then, if you wish."

  My aunt stands up. "Yes, that's a good idea. Don't you think so?"

  I look from one to the other. I have only one clear thought in my mind.

  "I want to go back to Eliza now, please."

  Feeling numb, I gaze at the trees sliding past.

  My locket—the one with Papa's hair in it—is hanging safely round my neck, but my mourning ring's too big now. It's strange to be wearing my black silk frock. That, too, is looser on me, but that's not the reason it feels unfamiliar. It's as if the frock belongs to another girl, a girl who isn't me any more.

  But who am I now? I don't know.

  I can feel Aunt Phyllis watching me. I can't shake off the feeling that my rescue is all my cousin's doing, that really my aunt's opposed to it.

  I wish Grace had come with us—I'd feel safer—but she said she needed to rest...

  "Is Grace quite well, Aunt?"

  "Yes." She looks puzzled. "Why do you ask?"

  "She seems—different—and needing to rest..."

  Her face clears and, with a glance at the driver, she lowers her voice. "She's expecting a child."

  "Oh!" I have to struggle a moment to frame an appropriate response. "That's ... lovely. You must all be delighted."

  My aunt doesn't look very delighted. "Yes, of course, but in the circumstances..."

  "What circumstances?"

  "Grace didn't say?"

  She whispers that Grace has separated from Charles "temporarily" and is living at Carr Head.

  "Because of me?"

  She sighs. "All this has obviously had a great effect on her feelings for Charles, but sadly, even before this, things were not ... not as they shou
ld be."

  Nodding at the driver's back, Aunt Phyllis conveys that she doesn't want to discuss this now and we lapse into silence.

  This news sets my thoughts whirling. I was right, then. It has not been the happy marriage Grace anticipated. Surely she must be better off without that awful man. But it must be so difficult for her. Poor Grace. And with a child to think about now...

  A thought occurs to me. If Grace's marriage were still perfectly happy, would Aunt Phyllis have released me from Wildthorn?

  I give her a hard look, wondering.

  Perhaps she senses my gaze. "What is it, Lou?"

  "Nothing."

  ***

  Mrs. Shaw must have seen us arrive because she's waiting in the doorway, Lily and Arthur clinging to her skirts and staring at my aunt.

  For a moment there's an awkward silence. Then Aunt Phyllis looks at me and I remember how these things are done.

  "Mrs. Shaw, this is my aunt, Mrs. Illingworth."

  Eliza's mother gives a kind of half-curtsey, her face red and flustered. "You're welcome, Ma'am, I'm sure. Won't you come in and have some tea?"

  Inviting us to sit down, Mrs. Shaw bustles about, setting out her best blue-and-white china. More tea ... but clearly Mrs. Shaw would be hurt if we refused.

  Aunt Phyllis draws Lily into conversation and the little girl soon forgets her shyness. From his stool in the farthest corner of the room, Arthur fixes the visitor with a solemn gaze.

  "Where's Eliza?" I ask.

  "She's feeding the pig." Mrs. Shaw looks up from the range. "Shall Lily fetch her for you?"

  "No, I'll go myself."

  ***

  She's down by the ramshackle pigsty. Hearing my step on the path, she looks up.

  At the sight of her, something slides in my chest.

  With her hair awry, a smudge on her cheek, clutching the old pail in one hand, she looks simply ... herself. And I am so glad to see her.

  Setting the pail down, she raises her eyes to me, her face a troubled question mark.

  Quickly I tell her the gist of what I've learned. "...and now my aunt is waiting in your house, and she wants me to go back with her."

  Glancing at the cottage, Eliza touches my elbow and signals that we should walk down to the end of the garden. Here, hidden from view by the pigsty, we stand, side by side, gazing over a field of barley. It's still green, but the ears are showing.