Wildthorn (26 page)

"No, of course not. We've booked a room at the village inn. Mamma will be there now, waiting for me."

"She'll want me to go back to Wildthorn Hall."

"Of course she won't. She signed your release papers. I saw her do it. She was taking your box to the inn."

Her look is imploring. But I don't know what to believe.

"You don't think I'm mad, then?"

"No.
No!
Please, Lou, I promise you'll be quite safe." She stands up. "So, will you come?"

I won't find out the truth unless I speak to my aunt, so I suppose I have no choice. But everything's happening too fast. Am I really going
now?

"I must see Eliza before I go."

"Of course. I'll wait in the carriage."

I look out into the garden, into the sunshine. "I can go outside now?"

"Yes." She smiles. "You're free to do as you like."

***

On the threshold, I hesitate. I take a step forward and light strikes me in the face, like a blow, making my eyes water.

Lily and Arthur look up from their play, curious, and I try to smile, but I feel lightheaded, strange.

I make my way unsteadily down the cinder path between beds of sprouting seedlings. Eliza is coming towards me, carrying a bundle of rhubarb. She stops in the middle of the path, her face expressionless, watching me, waiting.

"I'm going with my cousin, to see my aunt. She's at the inn in the village."

When she doesn't say anything, I go on, "Grace won't tell me why her mother signed those papers. She wants me to speak to her myself."

Her eyes never leave my face.

There's so much I want to say. That I've no idea what will happen now ... that I feel afraid ... that I wish—I wish she could come with me...

"Eliza, I've got to go, but I won't be long."

Her head lifts a fraction. "You'll come back, then?"

Her look is one of disbelief—that and something else, some hidden feeling.

"Yes, of course." Whatever's going to happen, I want Eliza to know. I want to share it with her.

While I've been shut inside, the world has turned green, that fresh lovely green that comes at the very beginning of summer. All along the hedgerow, the may trees are clothed in a froth of white blossom.

For a moment my heart lifts, but then apprehension about what lies ahead closes in on me again. Grace and I are silent, as if, by unspoken agreement, everything is held in suspense until I have found out what Aunt Phyllis has to say.

We turn out of the lane into the road and suddenly, up ahead, I see the familiar wall of the asylum. My stomach lurches. This is a trick! Grace is taking me back!

"Stop! Stop the carriage!"

Alarmed, Grace cries, "Driver, will you stop, please."

As soon as we come to a standstill, I scramble down.

"Lou, what it is? What's the matter?"

Trembling, feeling as though all the blood has drained from my face, I shout, "I won't! I won't go back in there!"

The driver stares at me over his shoulder and I know what he's thinking. I must look and sound just like a lunatic. But I don't care. I fix my eyes on Grace, who looks hurt.

"Lou! How could you think I would do that to you? This is the way to the village. Please get back in."

Mutinous, I stay where I am.

I can see Grace doesn't know what to do. Then she asks, "Is there another way back, driver?"

He frowns. "There is ... but 'twill be a fair old ride round through the forest. Three mile more, I reckon."

"It doesn't matter. Please take us that way."

I stay where I am while he turns the carriage with difficulty in the narrow roadway. Only then do I climb back in.

"Thank you," I say to Grace.

***

Another carriage is drawn up outside the inn and as we enter we pass a couple going out. The woman stares at me before hurrying after her husband, but I ignore her, just as I ignore the whispers of the porters, carrying out bags and boxes. I cross the lobby and follow Grace up the stairs to the first floor front room, steeling myself for the encounter with Aunt Phyllis.

Grace opens the door, saying, "Look who's here, Mamma."

At our sudden entrance, my aunt drops her hairbrush with a clatter and turns pale.

Perhaps she's shocked at my appearance. I must look exactly like the mad niece she wants locked up.

I have an impression of beams, faded rose-chintz, a smell of dust overlaid with beeswax polish, but my attention is fixed on my aunt.

For a moment no one says anything. There's a painful knot in my chest, but I am determined not to be the first to speak, not to show any weakness.

After a second, she seems to recover herself. "Lou, so Grace found you!" She takes a step forward.

I don't say a word.

"Will you not speak to me?"

I keep watching her. She's smiling but it's an anxious smile and her eyes are wary. In my head Eliza's voice says
Folk do things for all sorts of reasons
...but she did sign the papers.

As if she can read my thought, Grace says quietly, "Mamma, Louisa knows that you had her committed to Wildthorn Hall."

"Oh!" My aunt sinks on to a low chair, one hand at her throat.

At the word "committed" something breaks in my chest. "Why? Why did you send me to that terrible place?"

For a moment she seems unable to speak and then she says in a low voice, "Was it really so terrible?"

"Yes, it was. They—" I break off. I can't begin to tell her what it was like. But of course, she knows—she
chose
it. I'm almost crying now, a hot pain burning my chest. "Why did you do it?"

She lets her hand drop. "I meant it for the best."

Her eyes slide towards Grace, who has sat down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and I catch my breath.

She
does
know! And that's why she had me locked up.

I glance at my cousin.

Her expression is grave, but there's no sign of guilt for betraying me. In fact, she pats the ottoman, inviting me to sit down, but I won't, not yet. Standing, I feel less trapped. I have the vague notion that, if necessary, I could run away and hide somewhere until I could get back to Smalcote.

I wait, watching my aunt, who speaks, at last. "It was after your last visit to us—"

I knew it. I keep my face smooth, but something starts to flutter in my chest.

"Charles came to me and—"

"Charles!" Not Grace then, but Charles. But how would he have known unless Grace told him? My eyes flick towards her, but she is staring down at her lap.

"He said—" My aunt appears to be labouring under some distress. "He said he believed you were suffering from moral insanity."

"I thought he was a lawyer, not a doctor!" I look at Grace accusingly. "You didn't tell me about this."

Grace looks shamefaced. "No, I'm sorry. I—" She breaks off, looking away. It strikes me for the first time that she looks different—as if somehow the light has gone from her. With a sigh, she says, "Charles has a great interest in the subject and has read widely—especially some German papers, I think."

Rather than defend him, she sounds almost apologetic.

"Of course, at first I thought it was nonsense," says Aunt Phyllis. "But when he explained more, I began to be persuaded."

My mouth has gone dry but I manage to say, "May I know what he said?"

Her hand flits nervously to her mouth. "Oh, I don't think you want to hear all that, do you?"

"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."