Wildthorn (28 page)

I put my arms round her. "Eliza, don't ... don't..."

As she leans against me, crying, letting me hold her, I close my eyes, breathing in her warmth, her familiar almond scent and my thoughts fly like birds.

Eliza cares for me, very much ... I never thought, never expected, that anyone would ... and I ... with a rushing sense of wonder, I discover ... I care for her very much, too, and this, standing here together, holding her close, this feels...
right.

After a moment she lifts her face and it's as if I'm seeing it for the first time—her fair eyelashes, the cluster of freckles over her nose, her mouth...

Without my quite knowing how it's happened, we're kissing. Her lips are dry and warm and I feel shy at first, tentative ... and then I can't help myself ... I melt into her soft, moist mouth, taste honey. My bones are turning to liquid, I feel breathless, dizzy with longing ... and, floating into my head, with absolute certainty, comes the knowledge—this, this is who I am, this is what I want.

After what seems hours, but can really only be a minute or two, Eliza pulls away.

Her face is flushed, her breathing as rapid as mine, but her eyes are wide, anxious, and she says, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't 'a done that."

"Why not?"

"Because ... your cousin..."

"Grace?"

"Yes. You said her marriage might be over and—"

I seize her hand, as if I'm drowning, and she is the only person who can save me. "Eliza, listen, what I felt for Grace, it was ... it was like a dream..."

As I say it I know it's true. My feelings for Grace—I realise now they weren't about Grace herself, but about an image of her I had in my head ... When I think about it, really I didn't know her all that well. I've never felt I could share my innermost thoughts and feelings with her, not as I can with Eliza. And as for those feelings I had for her ... they've gone. It's as if, while I was in Wildthorn, they just leaked away...

"It's over now. But this"—I shake her hand fiercely—"this is real." I kiss her hand, press it against my cheek. "I don't want to leave you, ever."

Her eyes fill with tears again. "I never thought—" she stops, swallows. "I never thought you'd care for me as I care for you. I thought, if it weren't your cousin, you'd find someone else, someone like you..."

"Liza!" Lily's shrill voice is suddenly close and we hastily break apart.

The little girl comes skipping round the pigsty, announcing in a high singsong voice, "Mother-says-your-tea's-stone-cold-and-that-lady-wants-to-go."

She comes to a halt and eyes us curiously.

"Tell them we're coming now." As Lily still lingers, Eliza gives her a little push. "Go on."

As soon as we're alone, I say urgently, "What shall I do? I'll have to go, won't I?"

She nods, looking as wretched as I feel.

I'm thinking rapidly, desperately ... hopelessly. "I don't know what will happen. I don't know what we can do, but I'll come back, and we'll think of something."

She stares at me, mute, and the look in her eyes makes me feel as if my heart is being torn from my chest.

"I'll think of you. Every minute of every day. And I'll come back, I promise."

Then I turn my back on her and walk up the path to the cottage and it's the hardest thing I've ever done.

Miss Louisa!" Mary positively beams, as she opens the door to me.

Her cry brings Mamma into the hall. At the sight of her tremulous smile, I feel happy and sad all at the same time. After a moment's hesitation, she hugs me and I hug her back. I'm overwhelmed. I can't remember her ever showing me such affection.

I sent a telegram to warn them of my arrival, but of course Mamma thinks I've come from the Woodvilles. She asks anxiously, "Is anything wrong that you've come away so suddenly?"

"No, Mamma, not at all." I don't want to blurt everything out at once. I want to find out how she is, first.

In the parlour, I'm introduced to her companion, Mrs. Grey, a pleasant-faced woman—a widow, I guess, as she's wearing the slate-grey silk of half-mourning. Tactfully she withdraws after a while, leaving us alone.

I try to fend Mamma off but it's no good. She asks so many questions, in the end I have to tell her where I've been for the last eight months, trying to keep my account brief and sparing her the worst details. When it comes to Eliza, I just refer to her "kindness" and hope my face isn't giving too much away.

I can't avoid telling Mamma that Aunt Phyllis was responsible. Mamma's shocked, of course, but not as much as I was. As if it just confirms the low opinion she has of her sister-in-law...

The worst thing is telling her about Tom.

She turns pale and stares at me. "Are you sure? Tom did that?"

I feel very sorry for her. It must be so hard for her to accept the truth about her "darling boy."

When I tell her about Uncle Bertram's allowance, she just shakes her head.

"You don't seem very surprised, Mamma."

"Oh, my dear, your brother and money..." She sighs. "Ever since he went away to London ... he doesn't often write, as you know, but he always asks for more. I don't know what he does with it all."

I know, but of course I don't tell her.

"It's not as if we didn't give him a generous allowance, and then of course, when Edward died..." She trails off.

"Yes?" I prompt her.

"Why, he left Tom all that money."

A stab of jealousy takes my breath away. Papa left Tom money? I'm desperate to know more about this. How much money? Why didn't Tom tell me? But Mamma is obviously lost in her thoughts. It doesn't seem the best moment to press her.

She sighs again. "But to think that he would do that to you. And all that business with the Woodvilles. What an elaborate pretence. I wrote to you there, you know."

"Tom must have made some arrangement with them. Didn't you wonder when you didn't receive a reply?"

"I was saddened, but I thought ... we parted on such bad terms..."

Remembering how I refused to speak to her, I feel ashamed. "I'm sorry for that, Mamma, but what you said hurt me."

"What I said?"

I frown. "Yes, you complained to Tom that I'd been neglecting you. I thought it was—unfair."

Putting her hand to her forehead, she says, "My dear, I never said that. I was grateful to you for looking after me so well when I was afraid I was a burden to you."

I stare at her. Another of Tom's lies! How could he let me misjudge Mamma and think so badly of her? And all along she was grateful...

Looking at her worn face, I'm moved to a new, unexpected tenderness. Perhaps I've always misjudged her. Perhaps she knew how hard it can be if you're not as others expect you to be. Maybe, what I took as criticism was her doing her best for me...

She regards me sadly. "I wasn't surprised when Tom said you were weary of it and wanted to go away."

I feel even more ashamed. That, at least, was true. But when I was desperate, I turned to her. I want her to know that.

"I did write to you from Wildthorn Hall. I wanted you to come and rescue me. I wanted to come home."

"Did you?" A fleeting smile lights up her face, but then the shadow returns. "I never received it."

"Tom must have intercepted it."

"No doubt." She lapses into silence, looking drawn, and right now I can't think of anything to distract her from her sorrowful thoughts.

***

After the Shaws' cottage, our house seems stuffy, too full of
things.
I've tried to take up my old activities again, but I can't seem to get interested in them. I prefer to go out, finding it incredible still that I'm free to open the door and leave, that no one tries to stop me. I take long walks, thinking of Eliza and wondering what she's doing. When I'm in, I wander round the house or spend hours gazing out of the window, and all the time there's a pain round my heart that won't go away.

I keep having nightmares, one in particular. I'm back in the Fifth, unable to move, or cry out, knowing that I'll never see Eliza again ... and I wake, trembling, with Scratton's laughter ringing in my ears.

At least Mamma seems better than she used to, less anxious, though not a day goes by without her saying, "I still can't believe it of Tom."

As we go about our chores or sit in the parlour together with Mrs. Grey, I often catch her gazing at me. Once or twice, completely unexpectedly, she's put her hand to my face in a loving gesture. Perhaps in my absence, she's come to miss me. Whatever the reason, I'm touched by her affection, and I think how glad Papa would be to know that we are closer.

But gratifying as this is, as the days slip by, I keep wondering what will happen now.

Will Mrs. Grey go, now I'm back? Will I just take up my life again and not see Eliza?

The thought is unbearable.

My mood is not helped by a letter that comes after I've been home a while.

It's from Grace, from an address in London. After the initial pleasantries she writes:

After much, much thought, I have gone hack to Charles, as you see from the address. As far as is possible, we live separate lives, hut in the eyes of the world, we are together as man and wife. I know you have every reason to feel hostility towards Charles, hut I hope you will understand that I felt I had to do this for the sake of my unborn child

Overcome, I stop reading. My first reaction is protest—she mustn't do this, she mustn't bind herself to a loveless marriage—but then, as I think about it, I can see that it is just what she would do—put her child first, before her own happiness ... Oh, Grace ... I feel so sorry for her...

I resume reading.

I am resolved not to communicate with Mamma, now or in the future. You may imagine that I did not come to this decision, without much heart-searching. But when I saw you and heard the truth about Wildthorn Hall, when I realised what Mamma had done to you—it was so wrong of her and, even though she did it for my sake, it changed the way I feel about her. I can't find it in my heart to forgive her

I put the letter down, shocked. I didn't expect this. It will break Aunt Phyllis's heart to be estranged from Grace. Well, good, she deserves to suffer ... but it will break Grace's heart too ... poor, poor Grace! She
doesn't
deserve all this...

I go about my tasks in sombre mood. When I was locked up in Wildthorn, I thought if only I could escape, I would be happy. How wrong I was.

***

One morning, bracing myself, I go into Papa's study.

It's just the same! His chair by the hearth, his desk with the silver inkstand, his tobacco jar, everything as it was, as if he's just gone out on some calls and will be back soon.

I sit down at the desk, briefly touching the head of the owl on Papa's pipe-rack. "What shall I do?" I ask it. It stares back, mute.

Leaning my elbows on Papa's blotter, I rest my head in my hands.
If only Papa were here now, if only I could talk to him.

The pain of missing him, of missing Eliza, shifts up into my throat and tears slide down my face.

Some time later, the door opens and Mamma looks in.

I turn my face away, brushing it with my hand so she won't see I've been crying.

She hesitates in the doorway and then comes in.

More in control of myself now, I wave at the room. "You haven't changed it."

"No, I couldn't, I..." She falls silent.

I can't say any more either, but I hope she can see that I understand.

With a little gesture as if she's dispelling the memories, she says, "How are you, Louisa?"

Her eyes are full of concern, and I think—I haven't got Papa's support any more, but Mamma is here, and perhaps, now that we seem to be getting on better, I could talk to her...

"Mamma..." I pause, not knowing how to put it, then I decide to tell the truth. "I'm not very happy."

She puts her hand on my arm. "I thought not. Is it Tom?"

"He
has
caused me great pain, and Aunt Phyllis..."

At the mention of that name, Mamma's face tightens.

I go on hastily, "But what's making me most unhappy now is what I shall do with my life."

And Eliza,
my heart cries, but of course I don't say it.

"The thing is, Mamma—" I swallow. "I don't think it's enough for me to stay here at home with you."

Immediately I wish I hadn't said it. I feel terrible. "Oh, Mamma, I'm sorry."

She doesn't say anything, but goes to sit in Papa's armchair and the longer she's silent, the worse I feel. "Mamma, I—"

"Louisa, there's something I have to tell you." Mamma's eyes are dark, intent. "I know that you want to be a doctor."

I gape at her. "You know?"

"Yes. Your father told me, before he died." She looks down at the arm of the chair and strokes it gently once or twice.

"You never said!"

"I've thought about it often, and I'm sorry now that I didn't." She looks up. "I wanted to honour Edward's wish, of course I did, but I thought, if I waited ... I hoped you'd change your mind."

I don't really need to ask her why, I can guess. All the old reasons why women can't be doctors...

"When I thought I would never get married—" She hesitates. "I don't want you to suffer as I did. I had such joy in my relationship with your father. I want you to have the same..."

I'm touched. This isn't what I expected her to say. For a moment I'm tempted to tell her,
Mamma, I think I've found the possibility cf this joy,
but I stop myself. To announce that I've fallen in love with another girl ... I can just imagine her face.

"Mamma, I could have such a relationship
and
a fulfilling career. Other women do."

She nods in acknowledgement of this, but I can see she's not easy with the idea. "But for a woman, the greatest satisfaction she can have in life is to devote herself to her husband and children."

There's nothing I can say to this. Mamma and I will never see eye to eye on this subject.

She gazes at me seriously. "So you haven't changed your mind? About being a doctor?"

I look at the worn couch where Papa used to examine his patients, at his Gladstone bag still sitting by the desk. If I were to open it, I'm sure I should find it packed ready with medicines and pills. The shelves are barer since Tom raided them, but he's left behind Papa's endoscope and head mirror, a box of syringes...