Spider Light (29 page)

‘Of course you did. It’s all right. You’re safe now.’

‘But he did find me. He came right up to the mill, and stood in the doorway for a moment. He was
huge
. He was the hugest man I’ve ever seen, and I was so terrified I couldn’t even scream.’

She broke off again, sobbing.

‘Miss Rosen, do try to be calm. I’m sure we can—’

‘He shut the door,’ said Louisa, as if George had not spoken. ‘So I couldn’t get out. And he saw me at once: he pulled me out from behind the waterwheel, and pushed me down on the floor over there. He was laughing–a horrid throaty sort of laughing
–and then he lay on top of me—His hands felt like iron bars–he was so strong. I can’t tell you how strong he was.’

‘But look here,’ said George, not really wanting to know what had happened next. ‘None of this actually proves it was someone from Latchkill.’

‘He
was
from Latchkill,’ sobbed Louisa. ‘I know he was. He was mad–anyone could have seen that. He had great grinning teeth–like a giant’s teeth in a fairy story–and immense clutching hands. He slobbered over me–all over my neck, I thought I was going to be sick when he did that. And he lay on top of me for what felt like ages–he was so heavy I thought he would crush me to death, and I couldn’t cry out because he put one of his hands over my mouth. But he used his other hand to unfasten…And then he–he kept on hurting me, over and over, only I don’t quite understand what he did—’

‘You don’t have to tell me that part,’ said George hastily, recognizing this for extreme naivety, but nevertheless deeply embarrassed. ‘What did the man do afterwards? When he had stopped–uh–hurting you?’

‘He stood up and laughed again, as if he thought he had done something very good indeed. And then he went out,’ said Louisa. ‘I didn’t see where he went because I was crying and I was trying not to be sick–I didn’t dare go outside in case he was still there, and I thought I might have to stay here for hours and hours. It was awful, because my grandfather wouldn’t know where I was–nobody would know. And then you came in.’

‘Miss Rosen, I’m afraid we’ll have to tell someone about this. Because if you mean you were raped—’

She flinched at the word and began crying again, and this time it ended in what sounded, even to George’s inexperienced ears, dangerously like hysteria. He had a vague idea you smacked people’s faces if they were hysterical, but clearly this was unthinkable in the present situation so he said that Miss Rosen must calm down, and he would take her home. Did she feel well enough to walk along to Toft House if he helped her?

‘You don’t need to tell your grandfather any of this if you think it would make him ill. Perhaps you could say you fell over somewhere? That wouldn’t upset him, would it?’

‘I don’t know. But I feel a bit better now. And I don’t think I was really–what you said–do you?’

‘Raped?’ said George, and her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

‘I can’t possibly have been,’ she said. ‘It’s a very shameful thing, isn’t it? People talk about you in whispers, and you never get a husband. So I really don’t want it to have been that. Only…’

Oh God, what now? ‘Yes?’ said George, warily.

‘I don’t know how to explain it to you.’ Even in the dimness he saw the hot colour come to her cheeks. ‘There’s blood,’ she said in a rush, not looking at him. ‘It’s–I mean it’s where he hurt me.’

George, struggling with his own embarrassment, managed to ask whether a doctor should be fetched.

‘No, please don’t. I’d be too ashamed,’ said Louisa at once. ‘I don’t know, really, why I told you, only you were so kind and I was so upset.’

‘The–the bleeding is part of being raped,’ said George after a moment.

‘Is it his blood or mine? If it’s his, I don’t care, but if it’s mine I don’t know what to do–Will I die from it?’

In as down to earth a tone as he could manage, George said, ‘It will be yours, but I don’t think it will go on for very long.’ He hoped this was right. ‘Could you walk home if I came with you? It’s not very far to Toft House, is it?’ He knew exactly where it was, of course: it was one of the houses that formed part of that absurd private dream. How many times had he walked past it, and stared longingly through its gates, and thought–if only…He glanced at Louisa Rosen, and the speck of an idea dropped into his mind.

As he took her arm, ideas were tumbling through his mind. Once at Toft House, Mr Rosen would surely invite him in–
the nice, well-mannered young man who had been so kind to his granddaughter. He might offer George a glass of sherry, which was what the people in those houses did, George knew all about that. If so, he would accept the sherry and make polite conversation.

Aloud, he said, ‘I think we might tell your grandfather that you tripped and turned your ankle in a rabbit hole. And that you lay stunned and helpless for a little while. I know it’s an outright lie, but—’

‘I’ll have to lie, won’t I?’ said Louisa. ‘I shan’t like it, but if grandfather thinks I was–attacked, he’d probably be ill again. And even if he wasn’t, he’d want the man found and brought to justice, so the truth would come out, and everyone would know what had happened.’

‘Dreadful for you,’ agreed George. ‘Shall we set off?’

At Toft House, he was indeed invited in, and old Mr Rosen, who had the fragile, papery look of ill health, was very grateful indeed to the unknown young man who had brought his granddaughter home after she had taken a fall. It was not sherry that was offered, but Madeira, and sipping it, George looked about him, and felt a surge of what the Bible called covetousness. This is what I want. I want to live in a house like this.

A second glass of wine was offered, but George declined, and said he must be leaving. But perhaps he might call in a few days’ time, to see if Miss Rosen had recovered? What else could Mr Rosen say to that, other than yes?

The news of Latchkill’s escaped patient got out of course, in the way things did in any small community. Apparently the man had been caught almost at once, and taken back to whatever room or dormitory or cell he had inhabited. Latchkill’s new matron, a hard-faced female only a little older than George himself, was believed to have said that escapes from properly run institutions were very rare indeed, and this had been an isolated incident.

George felt matters could be allowed to rest for a brief time. He would watch for his opportunity carefully, but he would allow
Louisa a little time to recover from her ordeal before he made the promised call to Toft House.

But although he did call, and although he was made welcome, Louisa seemed withdrawn. It’s not going to work, thought George, despairingly. But perhaps she just needs a little longer to recover and forget.

Three months later he learned there was to be a consequence of that day which would ensure Louisa Rosen would never forget. Learning the truth had caused old Mr Rosen to suffer one final, fatal, heart attack.

If it had not been for the sudden death of her grandfather, the solution to Louisa’s dilemma might not have been so easy. A marriage between Miss Rosen of Toft House and the virtually penniless George Lincoln would probably not have been permitted. Or, if it had been permitted, it certainly would not have happened with such unseemly haste.

As it was, eyebrows were raised slightly. A burial and a wedding so close together? said people. Not what you would expect. Had anyone actually known of the attachment between Miss Rosen and Mr Lincoln? Ah, no one had. A secret romance, perhaps? Well, whatever it was, it was all very mysterious, although fair was fair, and nobody who knew George Lincoln could possibly suspect him of anything improper. Dear goodness, he was the vicar’s nephew, and one of old Josiah Forrester’s under-managers up at Twygrist. Josiah Forrester did not employ people who were not entirely respectable. But it could not be denied that George had done very well for himself. Louisa Rosen would have inherited Toft House and the Rosen money, which, put in plain terms, meant George Lincoln would be the owner of Toft House.

After she had been in Latchkill for a little while, Maud found all kinds of ways to avoid the things they tried to do to her. They gave her pills and horrid-tasting draughts; some made her sick and others made her crouch over the lidded-bucket-arrangement in a corner of the room, her stomach clenching in agonising spasms. She became skilled at pretending to drink the draughts, and then pouring them away afterwards. She folded the pills in a corner of her handkerchief and hid them, because you never knew what you might need.

But the thing she did not manage to avoid was the stone trough in the bath-house. The first time they took her there, Maud thought she was being taken to bathe in the ordinary way, and she was pleased because she had not washed properly for several days. She hated the smell of her own unwashed body, and of clothes she had worn for too long. Father had said he had left some of her clothes with matron–he had packed some of her nicest gowns himself, he said–but when Maud asked about these, the nurses said they did not know what she was talking about. She must be dreaming, they said.

Most of the nurses did not call Maud by name. Even the ones who brought her food called her ‘girl’; Maud was not even sure if they knew her name. But the two nurses who took her to the
bath-house knew it. They called her Maudie, and they said they knew all about her being one of Thomasina Forrester’s little girls, and she was unnatural and a monster. Maud hated them, but she was quite afraid of them and so when they told her to undress, she did so. They made her put on a canvas robe, which was a bit like a bathing costume. It did not smell very nice but Maud did not say anything because of being frightened of them, and also because of wanting a proper bath.

The bath-house was a dreadful place. The walls and the floor were of rough harsh granite, and when Maud walked across the floor there were little gritty bits on it, which might have been flaking fragments of granite, but which might as easily be nail cuttings from people’s toenails that nobody had swept up.

The baths were like the stone troughs you saw on farms, and Maud was made to sit on the edge of one. The two nurses piled her hair onto the top of her head, and before she understood what was happening, they cut it off–scissoring it away in great ragged clumps that fell down around her shoulders. Maud struggled and tried to get away, but they grabbed her arms and pinned them to her sides.

‘Restraints, I’m afraid,’ said the elder one. She had a hatchet profile and mean little eyes. ‘Matron’s orders. Thought we’d have to use them on this one, didn’t you, Higgins?’

‘Vain,’ said Higgins, nodding. ‘All the same these vain ones. Don’t struggle, girl, you’ll only make it worse for yourself.’

Her arms were twisted behind her back, and then leather straps were put around her wrists. A buckle pulled too tight bit into her flesh. More straps were fastened around her ankles.

‘And you’ll have the gag as well if you don’t shut up,’ said hatchet-face, and they went on shearing her hair.

‘We shan’t mind if we have to gag you,’ said Higgins. ‘Quite enjoy it, in fact.’

‘We quite like punishing unnatural creatures who get into bed with other women,’ said hatchet-face, and they both laughed in a horrid jeering way.

Maud sobbed with despair and frustration, but neither of them took any notice.

‘If we take off the restraints for the bath, will you behave properly?’ said hatchet-face at length.

‘Or have we got to drop you in with the straps still on?’ said Higgins.

‘Take them off, please,’ said Maud, hating herself for pleading but hating the straps even more. ‘I won’t struggle again.’

‘That’s better,’ said hatchet-face. ‘But keep the gown on. We don’t want to see all you’ve got.’

‘We aren’t Thomasina Forrester,’ said Higgins. ‘Nor one of her pretty little sluts from Seven Dials.’ Both women laughed coarsely.

Maud clambered over the high sides of the bath. The granite scraped her skin through the canvas gown, and there was a scummy line where it had not been properly scrubbed out. The nurses brought two tall cans of water and poured it in a quick splashy torrent. Maud gasped because it was much too hot, and her skin had turned bright pink where it touched her. But when she tried to climb out, they held her down.

‘Stay where you are,’ said Higgins, and hatchet-face fetched something that had been lying ready in an enamel bowl. At first Maud thought it was a bathing cap, fashioned from the same scratchy canvas as the gown, and wondered if they were protecting her shorn head from the hot water. They clamped the cap tightly down over her head, and Maud screamed, the sound echoing in the enclosed space. The cap was icily cold, and sent spears of pain slicing through her entire head.

‘Pounded ice,’ said Higgins. ‘You’re having the cold treatment, see. Hot to the body and cold to the head. Very effective.’

‘Only quarter of an hour, though,’ said hatchet-face. ‘Don’t want to…What is it we don’t want to do, Higgins?’

‘Inflame the membranes of the brain,’ said Higgins, reciting this parrot fashion. ‘And we replace the ice every five minutes.’

Maud had no idea whether the two women followed this
regime, because by the time they put the second application of ice on her head, she had already entered a world where there was no room for anything but the spiking pain in her temples. When finally they carried her back to her own room, she was dizzy with the contrast between the fiery heat in her limbs and the icy agony of her head. Thomasina and Simon were there, of course, still hammering their way out of Twygrist as they were on most days, but for once Maud could not pay them any attention.

As the day stretched out and the light began to fade, she had the beginnings of an idea for escaping from this place. There was an irony about this, because it was almost as if the ice-cap had made her brain work again. Ways and means for escaping wreathed in and out of her mind: half-remembered snippets of things that had happened in Quire House; fragments of gossip and conversations and things found and heard. Little by little Maud began to see a way of getting out of Latchkill. And, what was even more important, she began to see a way of ensuring that she stayed out.

As soon as Maud was sure she had the details clear in her mind, she set about putting her plan into action. She waited until the evening spider light lay thickly across Latchkill, and then tidied herself as well as she could without a mirror, combing her hair as neatly as possible. It would eventually grow to a decent length of course, but that might take months or years. In the meantime it felt dreadful. Like an urchin’s hair, or a beggar’s. Or a lunatic’s? But I’m not a lunatic, thought Maud angrily. How dare they treat me as if I am?

She waited until she heard the clatter of the supper trays being brought round, and then sat in her usual corner, apparently staring at the wall. Her heart beat furiously but her hands were perfectly steady.

Here came the footsteps along the passage, together with the rattle of the metal dishes. From the tread it sounded as if Nurse Higgins was on tray-duty tonight, which pleased Maud very much.
She stayed absolutely still, listening as the door was unlocked and opened. It was Higgins. She brought with her the unappetizing smell of mutton stew.

‘Here’s your supper,’ she said, and stepped into the room to put down the tray. That was when Maud moved, springing forward and smashing the tray upwards so it slammed into the woman’s face. Hot glutinous gravy splashed across her eyes, and she cried out, and flung her hands to her face.

Maud laughed triumphantly and snatched up the lidded enamel bucket which she had placed nearby, and brought it crashing down on Higgins’ head. There was the sound of a crunching blow and Higgins slid to the floor. A huge delight swept over Maud: this was the woman who had cut off all her hair and jeered, and who had exulted over those agonizing ice-cap treatments. Was she genuinely unconscious? Maud bent over to make sure. Yes, she was breathing in an unpleasant snorting way and a line of white showed under her eyes.
Good
.

She half-carried, half-dragged the woman onto the bed, and arranged her so she was lying with her back to the door. Anyone looking in would think it was Maud herself, hunched up in one of her silent sulks, staring at the wall. Maud already knew it was quite usual for the nurses to ignore a patient who was withdrawn. ‘In a sulk again,’ they would say if they looked into the room. ‘Leave her alone for a few hours–she’ll soon be hungry enough to behave.’ But she had no idea how long it might be before Higgins was found, so it was important to move as quickly as possible. Once Higgins came round, she would raise the alarm anyway. That might be several hours, but it might be much less than that.

Maud stared down at the woman, and saw she was wearing a cotton petticoat under her uniform. Within minutes she had torn three wide strips from it. One strip tied Higgins’ hands behind her back, a second tied her ankles together and the third formed a gag over the woman’s mouth. With the sheet pulled up, the gag and tied hands and feet could not be seen from the door. Now, even
if Higgins came round quickly from the blow she would not be able to yell for help. Maud was very pleased with the way everything was working out. She looked down at Higgins again, wondering if she should put on the drab gown and apron, but thinking it might take too long. There was the cap, though: she could take that. She unpinned it from the woman’s head, and pulled it over her own short hair. She made sure the stored-away pills she had pretended to take were safely tied in her handkerchief, and tucked the handkerchief in the pocket of her gown.

Then she wrapped her own cloak around her–the cloak she had been wearing the night they brought her here–and holding her head high as if she had nothing to fear, she walked into the dim passage, shutting the door of her room and drawing the bolt across.

As she stole down the passage, she had the feeling that her mother was quite close to her, warning her to be careful. There were things inside spider light that you did not know existed–things that could suddenly pounce out on you.

She found her way to the ground floor by a narrow staircase. Probably it had been a servants stairs in the days when Latchkill had been a privately owned house. It was difficult to imagine a family ever living here–children and parents and ordinary life.

There was no-one around, and Maud thought she had chosen the time well. The nurses would still be serving the suppers or having their own meal–there was a big kitchen at the back where they all ate. But she still could not see any doors leading to the outside world. She hesitated at the foot of a wide, shallow staircase. Beneath the stairs, fixed to the wall, was a big notice and, although she was aware that anyone might come out and catch her at any minute, Maud paused for long enough to read what the notice said.

1. That no person, except the proper officers who tend them, be allowed to see the lunaticks of a Sunday.
   
2. That no person be allowed to give the lunaticks strong drink, wine, tobacco or spirits, or to sell any such thing in the hospital.
   
3. That no servant of the house shall take any money given to any of the lunaticks for their own use; but that it shall be carefully kept for them till they are recovered, or laid out for them in such things as the committee approves.
   
4. That no officer or servant shall beat, abuse or offer any force to any lunatick, save on absolute necessity.
   

It was the most terrible thing Maud had ever read in her life. It was as if whoever had written it thought people would come to Latchkill to view the patients just as they might go on a day-trip to a fairground to view the freaks in the sideshows. And worst of all, it gave sly permission for the nurses to ill-treat any of the patients.

She could hear a faint clattering of crockery nearby, that must mean she was near the kitchens and therefore surely at the back of the house. There was the sound of a door being opened, and a cheerful voice calling out something about only another hour before going off duty, followed by the sound of quick footsteps on the stone floor. Maud glanced frantically about her. Several doors opened off, and one of them looked like a broom cupboard. Dare she risk opening it? Yes.

It was a broom cupboard–there were pails and mops, but better still, two nurses’ cloaks hung on a peg. Maud discarded her own cloak, and donned the Latchkill one. With the cap, she could surely pass as one of the staff.

The sounds of voices had faded, and she stepped out into the passageway again. There, a little further along, was surely the door to the outside world she had sought. A huge heavy door it
was–too heavy and huge to be an ordinary inside door. There were massive hinges and black iron bands across it–was that to keep people out, or to keep them in? No matter. Maud reached for the latch, praying it would not be locked and it was not: the handle turned easily, and the door opened.

It was not the door leading outside! She was in another of the soulless passages and there was a stale, too-warm smell, like rotting vegetation. Maud beat down a wave of panic, because there was something dreadfully familiar about this.

Something remembered or heard, or even dreamed.

Dreamed…her old childhood nightmare of the black iron door that began to swing slowly open, and that you knew must be slammed back into place, because it was there to shut in something terrible.

Maud pushed these thoughts away, and went determinedly on. But it was as if something that crouched at Latchkill’s heart had stirred into life, and the nightmare was closing around her again, like a huge knuckled hand gripping her throat so she could not breathe. I’m inside the nightmare again, she thought. Only this time I’m awake, and I shan’t be able to escape.

She turned a corner of the passageway, and there it was: the black iron door. It was
real
; it was in front of her, massively hinged, and with a thick bolt drawn across.