Wildthorn (24 page)

I tried to adopt the same careless tone. "Yes, please."

He filled my glass again, then turned away to talk to Uncle Bertram.

The wine was red, like rubies ... or blood. I swallowed some, finding it more enjoyable now, liking the warmth that was spreading through my body, the loosening sensation in my shoulders. The more I drank, the more my spirits rose.

A fleeting thought of Tom went through my mind and I smiled wryly to myself. William wasn't in the least bit interested in me, as I knew he wouldn't be. And I had no desire to try and charm him, even if I knew how.

Giving Maud minimal attention, I was able to watch Grace secretly. She was engrossed in conversation with her mother; the words,
tulle, corsage, nosegays, drifted towards me, through the hum of talk.

In the candlelight she glowed, as if her skin shared the luminescence of the flames. I couldn't stop looking at her, though looking made my heart ache.

I gulped some more wine. I was beginning to feel lightheaded, a not unpleasant sensation.

Suddenly my attention was caught by something Uncle Bertram was saying about a law recently passed in Parliament.

"...letting women register for medical training! Pshaw! Whatever next?"

My heart speeded up.

Uncle Bertram carried on, "They'll be wanting to be lawyers, eh, Charles? What do you think of all this nonsense?"

I held my breath. Charles picked up his glass of wine and appeared to consider it carefully, before replying, "I'm with Maudsley on this one. You know what he says—a girl who is educated beyond what is necessary for her role as wife and mother cannot possibly reach the perfect ideal of womanhood."

I turned my eyes towards Grace to see whether she was as shocked as I was. She was obviously listening, but appeared to be unconcerned. A pulse began to beat in my head. It wasn't just what Charles was saying but the way he was talking. What a cold fish he was. How could Grace want to marry him?

Uncle Bertram shook his head. "He's right. These women—they hardly deserve the name! They're a disgrace to their sex! Aping men!"

"I quite agree." Charles smiled, and I think it was that that did it. It was such a smug, self-satisfied smile.

Leaping to my feet, I shouted, "How can you say such stupid things! Elizabeth Garrett Andersen is married, with children! And there are other brave, clever women who have struggled against all the odds to be doctors and proved themselves the equal of any man. They're not a disgrace to their sex but a fine example!"

The silence was absolute. Everyone was looking at me. I found I was trembling and I clutched the edge of the table for support.

Red in the face, Uncle Bertram said, "Hoity-toity, Miss! That's no way to speak to your elders and betters. Show some respect."

"But if the elders don't know better, why should they be respected!"

My heart was beating wildly. I was out of control, I knew, and I felt I might say anything. It was a glorious feeling.

Aunt Phyllis was behind me, her hand on my shoulder. "Louisa, dear, I don't think you're quite yourself. Wouldn't you like to retire?"

I shook off her hand. "But I am myself, can't you see? This is who I am. This is what I believe. And I tell you something—"

I paused and looked round the table—at Maud, who looked shocked but delighted, at William, who looked embarrassed, at Uncle Bertram, who was scarlet with apoplexy, at Charles, whose features—oh, joy!—were bulging as if he'd swallowed a frog. And then I looked at Grace who had turned pale, and I looked at her the longest...

"I want to be a doctor and it doesn't matter what my brother or any of you say, somehow, I don't know how, I will do it."

With my back straight, proceeding in as stately a manner as I could, I left the room.

***

I couldn't go to my bedroom; there was no way I was going to be able to lie still, let alone sleep. Lighting a candle from those standing ready in the hall, I took it into the conservatory and set it down. Then I strode, grateful for the cold air that cooled my hot face, glad to be alone amongst the shadowy silhouettes of fronds and leaves.

My elation didn't last long. All too soon it was replaced by anxiety. What had I done? What would Aunt Phyllis think of me? Surely I'd be sent home in disgrace. But even as these thoughts nagged at me, there was still part of me that wasn't sorry. I had spoken the truth, which we were always being told was the right thing to do.

I heard footsteps and turning, found Grace hovering in the doorway. I was relieved to see her. I dreaded facing anyone else, especially Uncle Bertram.

"Lou? Are you all right?"

"Yes. I think so." I swallowed. "Is your father still angry?"

She came closer. "I'm afraid he is. But Mamma is calming him down. Don't worry. He'll get over it."

I wasn't so sure, but I was comforted by the fact that she, at least, didn't seem upset, even though it was Charles who had provoked me most. But perhaps she didn't realise that.

"Shall we sit down?" She seemed nervous as if she thought I might suddenly erupt again.

When I settled on a chair, she visibly relaxed. "I didn't know—about you wanting to be a doctor. You never said."

"No. I was going to tell you, the last time I was here, but then—I was called home..." I trailed off.

She nodded sympathetically. "So how long have you had this ambition?"

I told her how I so wanted to go to the London School of Medicine for Women. She listened, nodding now and then encouragingly. It felt so good to be talking to someone who seemed to understand, someone who seemed to be on my side.

"Couldn't you? Study, I mean."

I told her about Tom's opposition—how I needed his approval and, more, how getting the money depended on his support.

"I could speak to Mamma, if you like. She might help you."

I smiled bitterly. "I don't think so. She wasn't very happy about the idea before and now I've upset your father..."

"Don't worry about that. Papa has a temper but he'll come round, if Mamma persuades him."

"Why would she?"

"She might, if I speak to her." Grace smiled. "She can't help indulging me."

I look at her, with a dawning sense of hope. "Would you?"

"Yes, of course. And, Lou"—she suddenly clapped her hands together—"I've had such a capital idea! When we come back from our travels, if you come to study in London, you must stay with us."

For a moment I was tempted. It was like a dream come true. But I told myself not to be stupid. I wouldn't just be living with Grace, but with Charles too, and the thought of seeing her with him every day was unbearable. Apart from the small matter of Charles having to agree to the idea...

Seeing my hesitation, she asked, "Wouldn't you like that?"

"I don't think Charles would."

"Oh, he'll agree, I'm sure. Besides, he's already warned me that when we return from Europe, I can't expect to see so much of him. He's an important man, you know, on all sorts of committees ... he'll hardly notice you're there."

I wondered whether Grace anticipated being lonely, and wanted me to stay for some company. I had a sudden vision of her life—long periods alone and then Charles coming home...

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes! It would be lovely to have you."

"I mean your marriage. Are you sure about it?"

She gave a surprised laugh, but was frowning too. "Whatever do you mean?"

In the candlelight she looked so beautiful and suddenly, I couldn't bear it. Flinging myself on my knees in front of her, I grasped both her hands in mine.

"Please, don't do it. Please don't give yourself to that man. He's not worthy of you. He won't make you happy." She stiffened and tried to withdraw her hands but I hung on. "No, listen to me. You heard what he said tonight. I know you're excited about having your own home and everything, but what if, after a while, you want something else, something more. He won't allow it, will he? You know he won't."

Gently she pulled her hands away and this time I let go.

Her look was bemused. "It's sweet of you to worry about me, Lou, but really, you don't know Charles as I do. When you get to know him better—and I do so want you two to be friends—you'll see what a dear he is."

I could have said more, much more, but just then she raised her head and broke into a brilliant smile. I looked over my shoulder and my heart jumped.

Charles was standing in the door of the conservatory. How long had he been there? How much had he heard?

Ignoring me, he said, "Ah there you are, my dear. I've been looking for you. They want you to play." He seemed unperturbed. Perhaps he'd only arrived just that second.

Grace sprang up immediately and went to him. "Are you coming, Lou?"

"No. I have a headache. I think I'll go to bed now."

"Goodnight then." Grace blew me a little kiss.

Charles inclined his head, coolly. He hadn't forgotten.

***

Alone in the bedroom, the rituals of undressing and brushing out my hair didn't calm me; the events of the evening kept coming back to me. I opened the window and leant on the sill, hoping the cool night air would soothe me. The moon was almost full, the sky pricked with stars. Some way off, a shrill shriek was suddenly cut short and I guessed an owl had found its prey.

I could hear the sound of the piano floating up from the drawing room, and then Grace's voice, singing that familiar lovely song: "I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls."

As I listened, I thought, bitterly, how appropriate. "
I dreamt that suitors sought my hand
..."

When she was near the end, I had to close the window. I couldn't bear it. But the words went on in my head:

I also dreamt which charmed me most
that you loved me still the same
that you loved me still the same...

I felt desolate, overcome with weariness. Slipping into bed, I blew out the candle and shut my eyes. I couldn't stop thinking of Grace. I'd tried to save her from what seemed to me a dreadful fate, but I'd failed. I felt a sadness as painful as when Papa died, a sadness that seeped into my very bones.

To distract myself, I stared at the inside of my shut lids, as I'd done as a child, and there they were ... shoals of tiny glittering fish swimming in an ink-dark river. And I found I could still do the trick of slipping out of my body and merging with them, flowing on and on in an endless stream, that carried me away...

Ahead the light grew brighter and brighter until in its heart I saw a figure. I came nearer and it was Grace, wearing a white dress with a circlet of pearls round her red-gold hair. I moved towards her and she held out her arms to me, smiling ... As we embraced, I closed my eyes and held on tight ... tight ... but then with a horrible sense of chill, I felt Grace shrinking, dwindling in my arms, her ribs pressing into my flesh ... I opened my eyes ... She lay in my arms, her eyes shut, her face white. I touched her thin cheek and it was as cold as marble. A voice said, "Let her go, Louisa. Lay her in her grave."

I came to in darkness, my heart pounding, my face wet with tears. I didn't know where I was.

"Mamma?"

No answer.

Trembling, I felt for the candlestick, and knocked something with my arm that fell with a crash. I got out of bed and fumbled around. Where was the candle? I caught my finger on something sharp, the stab of pain bringing tears to my eyes. I gave up my search and sat huddled with my arms wrapped round my knees.

"Lou? What's the matter?"

I lifted my head. Grace stood silhouetted in the doorway.

At the sight of her, I went weak with relief. "You're all right," I croaked.

She shut the door and setting down her own candle beside the bed, she crouched beside me.

"I broke the candlestick."

"It doesn't matter." She put her arm round me and I quivered at her touch.

"You're cold. Get into bed."

She helped me in, pulling up the covers and then sat beside me, a warm weight against my legs.

"I was on my way to bed and I heard the crash." She smoothed my wild hair from my face.

"Is it Uncle Edward? Is that what's making you unhappy?" Her voice was soft and low, full of concern. In the candlelight her hair shone like copper.

She was alive and so beautiful I ached to hold her. But I knew I couldn't, I mustn't. She mustn't know of my feelings that were so wrong. The longing to tell her and the knowledge I couldn't formed a choking lump in my throat, a spreading pain around my heart.

"Poor Lou." Her gaze dropped and her expression changed. "You're bleeding."

I looked down and saw a red stain on the white sheet. I sucked my finger.

"Let me see." She took my hand and bent her head over it, examining it. Her face was very close to mine. I could smell her perfume, see the hollow at her throat, feel her warm breath on my palm.

I didn't mean to ... but I had only to move my face an inch or two and my mouth found hers. Her soft lips were a surprise and my heartbeat quickened. A slow fuse lit inside me, the heat spreading from the pit of my stomach, until my whole body was suffused with it...

But then I realized that Grace wasn't responding but had turned to stone, my hand still gripped in hers.

I drew back and saw in her eyes such a look of shock and embarrassment, I had to look away.

After a long silence, I felt her weight shift.

"I—"

"Don't," she said, in a strange voice. "Don't say anything. And Lou, I won't say anything either, I promise. Not to anyone."

I heard the swish of her dress, the door click open and close again. She had gone.

***

I was overcome with an agony of shame. I screwed up my face and tried to shut out the memory, but still her expression haunted me.

What had I done?

For a moment I pretended that it had been part of my nightmare, that it hadn't happened. But when I opened my eyes, there was her candle burning beside me, and on the floor the broken fragments of mine.

I pinched out the flame, wanting to hide my guilt in darkness. But it wouldn't leave me. Over and over again I relived that moment. Sleep was impossible. Fumbling for the matches I re-lit the candle, then I paced up and down.