Wildthorn (25 page)

I don't know how long I continued, but walking had a calming effect and after a while I was able to think. I would have to leave Carr Head. I couldn't face Grace again. Or Aunt Phyllis. But surely Grace wouldn't tell her? She promised she wouldn't. But they were close, like sisters. And even if she didn't, my face might betray me. Aunt Phyllis would know what I had done. I imagined going down to breakfast, the family gathered there. They would look at me and they would all know.

I would have to leave early in the morning before anyone was up. But how would I get home? I would have to walk. Then there was my bag. Should I leave it behind?

I stopped pacing. This wild rush of thought was achieving nothing. Taking a deep breath, I tried to pull myself together.

First I must dress. Then pack. My bag wasn't heavy; I could manage it if I stopped for rests and perhaps, when I reached the main road, a wagon might come along and I could beg a lift.

My decision made, I felt somewhat steadier. I went about my tasks methodically and when I was ready, I sat down to wait for dawn.

Then I had another thought. My disappearance would cause alarm. Possibly search parties would be sent out to look for me. I'd have to leave a note. But what could I say?

After a false start or two I wrote:

I am sorry to have left so suddenly without saying goodbye. It was kind of you to invite me but on reflection I realise Mamma
needs me at home. I am making my own way there as I do not want to put you to any trouble.

Louisa

I addressed the note to Aunt Phyllis and left it propped up on the writing table.

By now the sky had turned from black to grey. It was time to be off.

I turned the doorknob slowly, in case it clicked. There was no one about in the hallway. Closing the door quietly behind me, I made for the stairs. I descended cautiously afraid of creaking steps, but I reached the lobby undetected. I'd decided to leave by the garden door rather than attempt the bolts at the front. Before I could reach it, the door of Uncle's study opened, and I came face to face with a maid.

She gasped and dropped her ash bucket with a loud clatter. "Oh, Miss, you gave me such a fright!"

"Sorry—I'm sorry." I tried to move past her but the passage was narrow.

She looked at me with open curiosity. "Are you not well, Miss?"

"Yes—t hat is, no—" I hardly knew what I was saying. Surely that noise would have roused someone. At any moment they might appear. "Please, let me pass."

She moved aside then but her eye fell on my bag. "You're leaving?"

"Yes. I've been called away suddenly." An absurd thing to say. Why was I explaining myself at all?

I moved on, but she hurried after me. "Please, Miss, let me call the master and he'll get John to bring the carriage for you."

"No!"

She recoiled as if I'd slapped her.

I softened my tone. "There's no need to disturb the master."

Fumbling in my purse, I drew out a sixpence, and pushed it into her hand. "Here, take this. Please don't call anyone. I'm sorry I frightened you. But everything's all right, really it is."

I moved away from her then, found the garden door, turned the key and I was out in the fresh morning air. My footsteps on the gravel sounded thunderous to my ears but no face appeared at the windows.

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."