Wildthorn (7 page)

I'm certain this is what has happened; I never liked Mrs. Lunt.

Oh, the joyful relief of finding an explanation.

Weeks is frowning over some poor patient's shoulder, pointing out mistakes in her work. No good telling her—she won't believe me. I'd love to tell Eliza, but I can't as long as Weeks is within earshot.

Now it doesn't matter that the interview with Dr. Bull was a disaster. They probably won't take much notice of
him anyway—he's clearly inexperienced. As long as he tells Mr. Sneed I want to see him—he's the one with the power to release me. And he will, as soon as I tell him about Mrs. Lunt.

By tomorrow I could be free!

I bend to my sewing again and try to concentrate but inside, beating in time with the thumping of my heart, I'm singing:
I'm going to get out, I'm going to get out!

One Year Earlier

I eyed the corset with suspicion; with its stiff whalebone ribs and starched white casing, it looked very uncomfortable.

I was right. When Mary tightened the laces, I couldn't breathe. "You're pulling too tight. It's like a suit of armour."

"Now, Miss Louisa, stop fussing. You know what your mamma said."

I sighed—as well as I could with my rib cage imprisoned.

Mary put on her coaxing expression. "You want to be a lady, don't you?"

I didn't answer.

The dress was Mamma's choice—a green plaid taffeta that made me look washed out. It would have suited Grace, with her red-gold hair and creamy complexion. I remembered I hadn't replied to her last letter. I would do it after tea.

Mamma came in. "Are you ready yet?"

"No. All this takes an age."

"You'll get used to it." She put some hairpins and a small pot on top of the chest.

"I feel like a parcel," I complained.

"Don't be silly." My mother looked at me and sighed. "I'll deal with Louisa's hair, Mary," she said. "You'd better see to breakfast."

"Yes, Ma'am." Mary slipped out.

"You'll have to sit down," Mamma said to me. I did so gingerly, aware of the corset digging into me.

The brush kept snagging on tangles. Mamma tugged, jerking my head back.

"Ow." I pulled my head away.

"Keep still." The firm strokes continued.

When she was satisfied, Mamma lifted the top off the pot. Digging out a blob of greasy cream, she started smoothing it over my hair. Beneath the fragrance of rose petals, I could detect a whiff of castor oil and something else.

"What's that smell? Like something cooking."

"Lard."

"Ugh." I wrinkled up my nose.

My mother took hold of my hair and twisted it into the nape of my neck, fastening it with pins. She pulled something from her pocket.

"What's that?"

"A hairnet."

"I don't need that."

"You certainly do. Otherwise your hair will never stay in place."

My mother fastened the hair net with more pins and patted a last stray hair into place. "Don't slouch, Louisa."

I straightened up and then looked at myself in the mirror.

I recognised my nose of course. Tom's childhood taunts were even truer now: my nose was a huge beak with an ugly bump in it. But otherwise the girl who gazed back at me didn't look like me at all. She was a solemn-faced stranger.

***

I was scanning the headlines of the
Times,
which Papa had left on the table, when Mamma put her cup down and said,
"This afternoon, I want you to come with me, when I pay my calls."

I stared at her. "I can't Mamma. I have to study."

My mother frowned. "You're spending far too much time with your books. It isn't healthy. And now that you're sixteen and a young lady, you have other duties, social duties." She rang the bell for Mary, and left the room.

I scowled at the table, covered with the remains of breakfast. Why couldn't Mamma understand?

When I was twelve and wanted to go to school and Mamma had agreed, I was amazed. But it made sense—she was glad to let someone else teach me and deal with my awkward questions.

I'd been shocked when Papa had said no. But when he'd explained—that what girls did at school was a waste of time—spending hours lying on a backboard improving their posture, copying "Lord Tennyson is a poet" a hundred times, and making wax flowers, it all became clear.

Mamma didn't want me to be educated—she wanted me to acquire what she called "some graces." She wanted me to be out of the way at school in the morning and then come home and be patient, cheerful and obedient and do boring ladylike things, instead of shutting myself in my room with my books.

She had hated it when Papa arranged lessons with Mr. Fielding, the local schoolmaster, for me. She thought it was totally unsuitable that I should study the same subjects as boys. What did she say to Papa? "It will spoil her chances of marriage. Do you want her to become
mannish?
"

Her mouth had twisted then, as if she was eating lemons.

But I'd been excited to have a chance to study seriously—I couldn't wait to know all those things. And I thought it was a
chance to show Tom that I wasn't "just a useless girl." I thought he might even respect me for it. Silly of me. When he was home and deigned to take any notice of me, Tom teased me about my studies, obviously thinking it was a great joke.

The lessons with Mr. Fielding—algebra, geometry, Latin, Greek, and science—were harder than I'd expected, but really interesting. And I hadn't told Mamma or Papa yet, but Mr. Fielding thought I would soon be ready to take some of the Cambridge Local Examinations, and not just the Junior ones but the Senior ones that boys took just before they left school.

The reason I hadn't told them was because I was beginning to form a tentative plan for my future. But I wasn't as clever as Tom, who'd just started his second year at medical school in London. If I was going to pass these exams I'd have to work hard, which was why I couldn't afford to waste any time on pointless things like paying calls with Mamma.

I sighed. For now, I didn't have any choice.

***

I put my gloved hand to my mouth to stifle a yawn and tried not to stare at the clock. Mrs. Piper's drawing room, crammed with oversize chairs, little tables and ugly ornaments, was stuffy. I was warm in my bonnet and cloak, but my mother had warned me not to take them off unless I was invited to. I remembered Charlotte Mitchell. Apparently she had been right.

She would have been at ease in this situation even at the age of ten. She wouldn't have had to search for another pair of gloves because she'd split one cramming hands that were too big into the delicate kid. Her face wouldn't have ached with the effort of smiling.

Mamma and Mrs. Piper were discussing some charity or other. This was our fourth call of the afternoon. Mamma had told me it wasn't polite to stay for more than fifteen minutes, which was a relief, but each visit seemed to last an age. I wondered whether Grace had to put up with this. I couldn't see Aunt Phyllis tolerating such tedious conversation.

My eyes slid to the clock again. Five minutes to go. I suppressed another yawn.

The door opened and the parlour maid appeared. Unlike Mary, she wore a smart apron and cap. She bobbed a curtsey. "Mrs. Winterton and Miss Winterton, Ma'am." She withdrew.

Mamma gave me a significant look. What did she mean?

Two women entered the drawing room. The stout mother was squeezed into a dress in garish shades of green and violet. The daughter was older than me. Her grey gown with scarlet trimmings was a perfect fit; she had a handsome, but haughty face. My feet suddenly seemed enormous. I tucked them under my chair.

My mother rose and coughed. After a second, I stood up too.

To my surprise, Mamma said, "Goodbye, Mrs. Piper." She looked at me.

"Oh, goodbye, Mrs. Piper," I echoed.

I followed my mother to the door. As she passed the Wintertons, she bowed her head, receiving a slight nod in return. The daughter looked down her nose at me, making me conscious of the sooty mud on the hem of my gown. I ignored her and left the room with as much dignity as I could manage. In the chilly hall, I retrieved our umbrella from a cast-iron stand decorated with two pelicans. They looked as if they would like to peck me with their vicious beaks.

It was still wet when we got outside, a cold rain turning to sleet. I hurried after Mamma. "Who was that? What an awful dress the mother was wearing."

"Don't make personal remarks, Louisa, it's not kind. They're Mr. Winterton's wife and daughter. You know, the banker?"

"Oh, that's why they give themselves such airs. And I suppose we had to leave because we aren't good enough for them."

Mamma tutted. "Don't be silly. It's the correct thing to do. One always leaves when the next visitor is announced, whoever they are."

The adult world was certainly mysterious, but I wasn't complaining; at least it had cut our visit short. Now I could go home to my studies with a clear conscience.

***

The next morning at breakfast Mamma said, "We'll have to pay some more calls today."

I gaped at her.

"Close your mouth, Louisa."

I found my voice. "But I came with you yesterday."

My mother sighed. "Yes, but Mrs. Fielding was out and there are some other people I need to see today."

"But why do
I
have to come?"

My mother looked at me reproachfully. "I told you why yesterday. You're not a child any more. You need to learn the way these things are done."

"Why should I learn something I won't ever be doing?"

Mamma stared at me. "What do you mean? Of course, you'll pay calls."

"I won't. It's such a waste of time."

Mamma looked at me helplessly. Before she could say anything else, I said, "And I can't believe you enjoy it either."

I didn't mean to say this. It just slipped out. Mamma looked away and her mouth trembled. After a pause, she said, "You're right, Louisa. I don't enjoy it. But I do it because it's my social duty."

Those familiar words! I couldn't stop myself. "Social duty! What does that mean? Only what other people think you ought to do. Who cares what other people think!"

My mother shook her head. "You don't understand. I don't do it because I care what people think. I do it to help your father."

It was my turn to stare. "How can it possibly help Papa?"

"Now that your father has a position at the Dispensary, he has to try and increase the subscriptions. I do what I can by speaking to the wives of influential men. It helps to create the right impression. It isn't a pleasure, I assure you, but it's for a worthwhile cause."

I hadn't thought of that. A guilty sense of being in the wrong made me blurt out, "Then it's better if I don't come. I'll just create the wrong impression, slouching and looking common."

I'd gone too far.

Mamma said "Oh, Louisa." She sounded weary. "You can behave perfectly well when you choose to. Why won't you?"

I heard the appeal in her voice, but I ignored it. I stood up. "I'm not coming. I've more important things to do." Turning my back on her, I went out, banging the door behind me.

Once inside my room, I took a deep breath. I was trembling. I'd never opposed Mamma so openly before. She'd tell Papa and what would he say? He'd see that I needed to
study, wouldn't he? Picking up the volume of Euclid, I found the page.

***

Though I tried all morning, I couldn't concentrate. I kept thinking about Mamma. At lunchtime I couldn't face her so I stayed in my room, miserable but defiant.

Eventually Mary came with a plate of bread and butter and slices of cold ham on a tray.

"Where's Mamma, Mary?" I was beginning to think I should go with her.

"Your mother has gone out." From her tone I could tell she wasn't pleased with me.

"Oh." I was too late. "Did she say anything?"

"She asked me to give you this." Mary fished a parcel out of her apron pocket. "She meant it for your birthday, but she thought you had enough presents then."

"Oh." Prickly with shame, I took the rectangular package. I looked at Mary, hoping for some comfort, but she pursed her lips and went out without another word.

I undid the brown paper. It was a book. Mamma had never given me a book before. I looked at the spine:
Girlhood
by Marianne Farningham. Not a promising title. I opened it at random.

Hoydenism, frolic, and exuberant mirth will now become unseemly and therefore will be exchanged for a soberness of manner.

So. Presumably Mamma thought I would be more influenced by something I read in a book than by anything she tried to tell me. I flicked through the pages until my eye was caught
by a section headed
The Dangers of Excessive Learning.
The chief danger, according to the writer, was that a girl who studied too much would become "dogmatic and presumptuous, self-willed and arrogant, eccentric in dress, and disagreeable in manner."

As I read these words, the pressure inside me that had been building all day, exploded. I flung the book away from me. It hit the wall and landed face down. Hot angry tears ran down my face. How could Mamma do this to me? Why didn't she understand? I put my head on my arms and sobbed.

After a while I sat up and blew my nose. I picked the book up and smoothed its crumpled pages. What could I do with it? I didn't want to ever see it again. Kneeling down, I thrust it under my bed. It could stay there with the chamber pot.

***

Later that afternoon, when Mary and I returned from my lesson at Mr. Fielding's, I went into Papa's study to wait for him. I wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

I picked up a copy of
The Medical Times and Gazette
and flicked through it, listening for the sound of the front door opening.

After a while I looked at the clock. Papa was late. The committee meeting must have overrun as usual. I turned to the letters. The Dean of Saint Thomas's Medical College was justifying his refusal to admit women on the grounds that the arrangements of the medical school were not suited to the reception of female students.

I threw down the paper in disgust. Then I heard Papa's steps in the hall. He went into the parlour, where Mamma was waiting. I stood up and paced about. Finally, he came in. He
went and sat at his desk and looked at me over the top of his spectacles, his eyes red with tiredness. I'd been telling myself that Mamma didn't deserve any consideration, but now I felt a pang of remorse. I shifted my position, waiting for him to speak first.

"Sit down, Lou."

I sat in the chair where his patients sat.

"Now what's all this about? Your mother tells me you were very rude to her this morning."

This was unfair. I stuck my chin out. "I wasn't rude. I didn't want to go out with Mamma, that's all. I had studying to do. And Mamma said I had to go, she—"

He held up his hand. "Whatever you feel, you should do what your mother asks, shouldn't you?"