Wildthorn (29 page)

All at once I remember it—the acute excitement I used to experience when I set off with Papa on his rounds, my satisfaction when "we"—really Papa—helped patients and I could see that they felt better...

I know what my answer is.

"No, Mamma, I haven't changed my mind."

She nods again as if this doesn't surprise her. "In that case, that's what you'd better do."

My mouth falls open. I manage to splutter, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you'd better do what your father wanted and set about your medical training." Mamma smiles and I guess my stupefied expression must look comical.

"But—how?"

"By applying to the London School of Medicine for Women. Isn't that where you want to go?"

I stare at her. She means it. She really means it. "But how can I pay for it? It's expensive, Mamma."

"Your father left money to both of you, for when you were twenty-one."

I can hardly believe my ears. "Papa left us
all
money? Why didn't you tell us?"

Mamma looks down at the chair arm again. "I was afraid it would have a bad effect on you all, that it might encourage you to be idle..."

I see. It's just like Mamma not to want to spoil us and just like Papa to indulge us..."But Tom has had his?"

"Yes, and I'm afraid it hasn't been good for him."

I don't care about Tom. If he wants to waste Papa's gift, that's up to him. For me, it opens up a world of possibility...

Mamma is watching me. "So what do you think?"

"It's a long time until I'm twenty-one."

She nods her head, unhappily. "I thought that's what you'd say." She sighs then says with a half-smile, "If you're really sure that this is what you want, I think I can support you until then."

"Mamma!" I leap across the room and hug her.

In a tone of mock severity, she says, "You'll have to pay me back, mind."

"Of course!" And I hug her again. Then, too excited to sit still, I walk about the room, thinking aloud. "I wonder if it's too late to apply for this autumn? If not, I shall have to work hard to be ready for the preliminary exams. I've forgotten all I knew! Mamma, do you think I could do it?"

"It is soon. Could you not wait?"

"I'd rather not! It might take me a long time to qualify. The sooner I can start the better!"

Mamma shakes her head. "I wish you didn't have to go so far. You're very young to be living in London."

"After what I've been through, Mamma, I think I'll cope."

Her face darkens and I wish I hadn't reminded her. "You will keep in touch, won't you? And come home sometimes?"

"Of course I will, Mamma." Perching on the foot stool, I take her hand. "Are you worried about Tom?"

She nods. "He hasn't been home for such a long time. And he hasn't answered my letters." Her eyes fill with tears.

Tom! All my anger with him flares up again. How can he do this to Mamma! I expect he's enjoying himself too much to think of her. He's so selfish...

As I think this, it comes to me that I want to see him. For Mamma's sake, yes, but I also need to see him on my own account. He must understand what he did to me—his sister—and all for
money
...

"Listen, Mamma, if I write to the School of Medicine and they want to see me, I could visit Tom..."

Mamma looks uncertain. "Would you? Could you bring yourself to see him?"

I have a sudden joyful realisation. While I'm in the south I can go and see Eliza! I can tell her my news and who knows, maybe ... maybe...

"Oh, yes, Mamma, I could."

On my way to Tom's lodging, I can't help thinking about the last time I was here.

I was nervous then, worrying about what Tom would say, and now I don't care. In fact I'm looking forward to seeing his face when I tell him that this morning I was accepted into the School of Medicine! He won't like it, but what does that matter? He's forfeited the right to have any say in what I do with my life and I don't need his approval now.

I just hope I can keep calm.

When I think about what he did—letting me suffer all that, just so he could go on gambling—I want to hurt him as badly as he hurt me.

Arriving at the door, I see more of the brown paint has flaked off, but otherwise it looks just the same. I press the bell.

"Yis?" It's the same scrawny girl in the grubby mobcap.

"I'm here to see Mr. Cosgrove."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously.

"I'm his sister."

"Oh, yis? You'd better come in."

As I follow her up the staircase, stepping carefully to avoid a broken tread, I brace myself for what I might find.

***

I notice the smell first. I could be back at Wildthorn—that unmistakable smell of unwashed bodies in an airless room. There's another smell that's also familiar, but I can't identify it.

It's hard to make anything out, the window is so caked with grime. When my eyes adjust to the dimness, I find I'm in a cramped room whose walls and sloping ceiling are black with soot and dirt. There's little furniture: a rickety table and a wooden chair; a small cupboard, where candle stubs sit in a pool of hardened wax. Near the window is what I take to be a heap of rags, but then it shifts and sighs.

As I kneel by the makeshift bed, a quiver of shock runs through me.

Tom's eyes are shut, he's breathing heavily. His face is thinner than when I last saw him—almost gaunt. He's unshaven and his skin has an unhealthy yellow tinge. That smell I couldn't place is stronger here, and I now know what it is—opium.

Choking back a cry, I force myself to remain calm.

Oblivious to his squalid surroundings, and the wretched state he's in, Tom smiles, as if he's having a wonderful dream.

I sit back on my heels and watch my brother sleeping, a sick feeling in my throat. How could he have let himself sink so low?

After a while his eyelids flicker and open.

His gaze focuses on me and at once, he starts up from the bed, a look of horror on his face, and cries, "Don't come near me! Stay away!"

Shivering, he presses himself against the wall, hiding his face in his arms.

Alarmed, I say, tentatively, "Tom?"

Keeping his face buried, he exclaims, "I didn't mean to do it! Don't hurt me!"

I lay my hand on his shoulder. "Tom, it's me ... Lou."

As if my touch has woken him properly, he lifts his head, blinking, and a look of astonishment fills his face. "Lou, is it really you? Here?"

"Yes."

"But I thought..." He shakes his head, as if he's trying to clear it. "Just now I thought ... I thought you were a ghost, come to get revenge." He shudders.

"No, Tom, I'm not a ghost," I say dryly.

His face creases with perplexity. "But I don't understand. How is it that you're here and not in the asylum?"

"No thanks to you!" As if the word "asylum" has triggered it, the anger I have buried rises into my throat, its bitter taste threatening to choke me. "Tom, how could you do it? Let me be sent to that dreadful place? You read my letter to Mamma, you knew what it was like ... How could you be so wicked?"

Struggling for control, I glare at him. Then I add quietly, "And just for a measly allowance ... I know about it, Tom. Aunt Phyllis told me."

He hangs his head, says nothing.

"Tom?"

I can hardly hear him. "It wasn't just for the allowance. I wouldn't do that to you, Lou."

"What then?"

"I thought—I thought, if you were certified mad, I'd get your inheritance!"

His face crumples and he cries out, "Oh, Lou, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it, I know I shouldn't. It was a terrible thing to do to you. But I was desperate."

He collapses into sobs, his shoulders heaving.

I'm stunned. The inheritance. Of course. That makes more sense. Opium is expensive. And I wonder if he's still gambling. All that money he had from Grandfather and Papa, just thrown away...

I look at him, my brother.

He's always patronised me. At times in my life, he's infuriated me. And he's just admitted to the cruellest thing a brother could do to his sister.

This is the moment to say,
Yes, it was a terrible thing and I'll never forgive you and I'm glad you're suffering!

When we were children, I wouldn't have hesitated. But I do now. I'm trying to hold on to my anger, but I can feel it slipping away, and something else taking its place, something that feels like pity. I wanted him to be punished for what he did to me, but nothing I could imagine was as bad as this.

Would it make me feel better to hurt him further?

An image of Papa comes into my head. Not saying anything. Just watching. Waiting for my reaction...

And I say, "Never mind that now. I'm here, as you see, safe and sound." He raises his wet face.

"Mamma's really worried about you, did you know?"

He groans, pushing his hands through his hair so it sticks up even more. "I know, I know. I should have written, but..."

"I'm surprised you didn't. Since you could obviously do with some more money." I can't resist that jibe.

At least he has the grace to look ashamed.

What am I going to do? I can't possibly take him home in this state, even if he'd come. It would break Mamma's heart. I will have to think of something.

"Listen, Tom. I'm going now, but I'll look in again in the morning. If I send out for some food, will you try to eat?"

He looks at me despairingly. "I haven't any money."

"I have some." Safe in my waistband again, thanks to Mamma.

His face brightens. "Can you lend me some?"

"No."

He looks crestfallen.

"Tom, you know it's no good. If I give you money, you'll only waste it."

He looks at me imploringly, but I harden my heart. "I'll see you tomorrow."

***

On the way out I speak to the maid, giving her money to fetch some food of a light, nourishing kind. I don't know whether I can trust her, but there's no alternative. I tell her I'll be back in the morning, so she knows I'll be checking up on her. I'll call in on my way to the station, to see how Tom is. But he'll have to manage on his own for one more day.

Nothing is going to stop me seeing Eliza and telling her my plan...

Lily and Arthur are in the lane watching for the carriage.

As I walk down the path, they run ahead, calling out excitedly and Mrs. Shaw comes out to meet me, drying her hands on her apron, Eliza following behind.

At the sight of her, my heart turns over. Her face has more of a tan than when I last saw her—it makes her eyes look bluer than ever, and in the sunshine, they seem to dance. It's hard to drag my eyes away and attend to Mrs. Shaw, and Lily, who tugs at my sleeve, chattering on. Arthur, suddenly shy, puts his finger in his mouth and tries to hide behind his big sister.

I'm touched by Mrs. Shaw welcoming me in and fussing over me, as if I'm part of the family, insisting I have a cup of tea and hear all the news. But as the minutes tick by, I fidget more and more. I asked the coachman to return at five. What if I don't get a chance to speak to Eliza alone!

Just when I'm thinking I can't bear it any longer, Eliza says, "Mother!" and looks pointedly at the clock.

"Bless you." Mrs. Shaw pats my arm. "Here am I letting my tongue run away with me. As it's such a fine day, Eliza thought you might like to take a walk. Is that right?"

I leap up at once. "Oh, yes. That would be lovely."

"I want to come," Lily pipes up.

"Me too! Me too!" shouts Arthur, jumping up and down.

Eliza exchanges a look with her mother and Mrs. Shaw says, "You can go another time. I need you to help me pick the gooseberries."

***

As soon as we're out in the lane, we turn to each other and grin. But I'm surprised at how nervous I am. I've spent so many hours dreaming about this, imagining rushing into Eliza's arms but now I feel shy. I can't help wondering whether Eliza really cares for me as I care for her. Now she's had time to think about it, does she still feel the same?

We walk along, a decorous distance apart, giving each other sideways glances, as if each is waiting for the other to speak.

In the end I ask what she's been doing.

"I've been helping with the hay-making."

"So you've not found yourself a new position yet?"

"No."

"Oh." This is what I'd hoped to hear, but I can't talk about that until I've told her my news and it seems difficult to start.

We walk in silence again. This is silly. We've so little time.

Eliza indicates a path into the forest and we turn on to it. The shade is a relief after the hot lane and the fallen beech leaves are soft underfoot. Soon, the path opens out into a sun-dappled glade. Eliza stops, her finger to her lips. "Can you hear it?"

I listen ... and then I hear it—a clear
tap, tap
somewhere over to our left.

"A woodpecker!"

"Yes, only we call it a woodsprite."

"That's nice."

We smile at each other and I have to go on looking into her eyes and she's looking into mine and there it is again, that spark leaping between us...

"Eliza, I—"

But before I can say any more, her arms are round me and mine are round her, our noses bumping as our mouths come together, and I feel lightheaded and shivery with joy because it's all right, it's still all right.

Breathless, we finally break apart, but we can't stop looking at each other.

"I thought you might not..." Eliza trails off.

"So did I."

We both start laughing. Then she puts out her hand and I take it and we walk on, disturbing blue butterflies and small copper ones who settle farther ahead then flutter up again as we approach.

Now I feel I can tell her all about going to medical school. "...but I don't know if I'll be ready for the exam—it's only five weeks off and I've forgotten everything!"

"You'll do it."

She's pleased for me, I think, but I sense something in her, some shadow, though all she says is, "What about your brother? He won't be pleased."

"Oh, Eliza!" In the excitement of seeing her, I'd forgotten about Tom. I tell her what's happened.

"He sounds in a bad way."