Wildthorn (2 page)

He glances at me. "Fanny Weeks is one of our most able attendants. She will look after you."

I look at Weeks, wanting some reassuring sign, some hint of pity. But she says, "Come with me," in a flat voice, and stands by the door, holding it open.

I look at Mr. Sneed. I should say something. "I—" But my voice dies.

Weeks coughs and gestures with her head. Under her neat cap her hair is as dark and shiny as liquorice. I find I have risen from the seat, we are outside the door, and Weeks has turned the corner and set off along the long corridor. I want to ask her what illness she thinks I have, but she's moving too fast.

The corridor ends at a door. Weeks selects a key so large it takes both her hands to turn it. The door swings open, we pass through, and Weeks locks it behind us. Another corridor, this one so gloomy the gas jets are lit. Now we're walking on bare flags; the
tap tap
of the attendant's shoes echoes on the stone but I can't hear my footsteps at all.

I try one more time. "Do stop! This is a mistake. I shouldn't be here."

But the blue back moves ahead of me relentlessly. Powerless to make her turn, I'm forced to follow her until I'm lost, trapped in a maze of passages and locked doors.

Eleven Years Earlier

Evelina had light brown hair, formed into perfect ringlets. Her cream, lace-trimmed dress, her cream bonnet edged with a frill, her white silk stockings and cream kid boots—all were immaculate. She had a red rosebud smile but her complexion was slightly yellow; her staring black eyes, fringed with stiff lashes, never shut.

She arrived on my sixth birthday, in a parcel addressed to me:
Miss Louisa Cosgrove.

When I saw it, I was very excited: I'd never had anything in the post before. Inside the brown paper was a box on which someone had written"
My name is Evelina.
"I opened it and drew out the doll. Everyone was watching me, waiting for a reaction, and all I could do was stare at it.

Papa said, "You're a lucky girl, Lou. How kind of your Aunt Phyllis to send such a lovely present. She says that Grace helped her choose it."

I raised my head in time to catch Mamma giving Papa a look I didn't understand. "Such an extravagance..." She turned to me and said, "It is a lovely doll, but it's too good for every day. I'll put it away safely."

I was about to protest, but I looked at Evelina again. She was so grand. Not like my old rag doll, Annabel. I could hug
her
soft body without worrying about spoiling her dress. Her homely face was nearly worn away where I'd kissed her and cried on her. I could tell her all my secrets. Evelina's smile was perfect ... and lifeless.

Thinking this, I felt guilty. Although I hadn't met her very often, I admired my cousin Grace, who was older than me. For her sake, I should try to like this new doll.

But then Tom said, "Evelina! What a soppy name. Still it suits a soppy useless doll." He rolled his eyes and simpered, in imitation of her expression and Mamma frowned.

But it was Papa who spoke. "That will do, Tom. It's a very nice doll."

Papa might say that, but I had an uncomfortable feeling my big brother was right. For his tenth birthday, Aunt Phyllis had sent a folding penknife with a mother-of-pearl handle, two blades, a corkscrew and a pair of scissors. Compared to that, what use was a doll?

Not for the first time, I wished I was a boy. My brother had toy soldiers and a train set, and when we visited our cousins at Carr Head, he was allowed to climb trees and go fishing and swimming in the river. And Mamma expected me to wait on Tom and fetch things for him. It wasn't fair.

***

It happened one evening a few weeks later. Papa had been called away to a patient, but the rest of us were in the parlour. It was cosy in the light of the oil lamps with the fire flickering: like being in a warm, red cave. It was peaceful too. Mamma was sewing up the hem of one of my frocks. I'd caught my foot in it when I'd been playing at railway train crashes, alone in my room, but Mamma didn't know that. Because she thought I'd been good, she'd brought Evelina down for me, having checked that my hands were clean. But I was itching to join Tom, squatting on the carpet in front of the brass fender, shooting marbles. I knew Mamma wouldn't approve, though.

The doorbell rang and a minute later Mary appeared to summon Mamma. With a sigh, she put down her mending.

As soon as she left the room, I said, "Let me play, Tom. I know what to do." I'd been secretly practising, doing it the right way, with the thumb, just as Tom said.

"Pooh, I doubt it. Girls can't play marbles."

I glared at him. He was always saying things like that. "Well,
I
can. Look, I'll show you." And I joined him on the floor.

When Mamma returned, Tom and I were in the middle of a fierce argument.

"I hit it, so it's mine," I said.

"No you didn't," said Tom.

"I did."

"Caw, caw, Miss Beaky!"

Tom knew that nickname annoyed me. He always said my nose looked just like a crow's beak.

"That will do!" said Mamma. "If you can't play without squabbling, the marbles will be put away." She didn't come back to her seat by the fire, but went over to her writing desk and started sorting through some papers.

She hadn't forbidden me to play marbles so I seized the disputed one, with a triumphant glare at my brother. Tom frowned but, glancing at Mamma, he didn't say anything. I knew he was angry, but I didn't care. At least he wasn't ignoring me.

We played on in silence, until at last Mamma closed the bureau lid. "Time for bed, Louisa. Make sure you pick up all your toys."

We started gathering up the marbles. I'd given up arguing about the unfairness of having to go to bed before Tom—I
knew that Mamma would say: "When you are ten like Tom, you can stay up longer."

"What is your doll doing on the floor, Louisa?" Mamma's tone was sharp.

I started guiltily. I'd forgotten about Evelina. I picked her up. And then I saw it.

"Oh!"

"What's the matter?" Mamma bent to look.

One side of Evelina's face, the side that had been nearest the fire, had melted: from the corner of her eye, her face sagged in folds, her red cheek had slipped and her mouth was distorted into a grimace. Tom pushed in to look and I pressed Evelina to my chest. I didn't want him to see.

There was a horrible silence.

Mamma said, "Oh, Louisa, how could you be so careless! The doll is ruined. And it was so expensive."

She pried the doll out of my arms. Studying its face again, she shook her head. Then she said, more to herself than to me, "What will your aunt say?"

I started to cry. I didn't want Aunt Phyllis to suppose I was ungrateful. And what would Grace think of me?

Through my sobs, I watched Mamma, waiting for her to pronounce sentence.

At last she said to me, "Go to your room and wait for me to come."

As I went past Tom, unseen by Mamma, he stuck his tongue out at me, gloating.

In my bedroom, I waited for Mamma, wondering what my punishment would be. She came in looking grave, but she didn't mention Evelina. I undressed, washed and put my nightgown on, while Mamma watched. I said my prayers and
climbed into bed, then waited to hear what my punishment would be.

"Tomorrow you will stay in your room. You can contemplate what your thoughtlessness has led to and resolve to be more careful in future."

I let out my breath. Not too bad.

Looking at me sadly, Mamma said, "Goodnight, Louisa." She didn't kiss me.

As soon as we were alone, I told Annabel what had happened.

"It's that stupid doll's fault. Fancy being made of wax."

I kissed Annabel's dear cloth face and hugged her until I fell asleep.

***

I stared at Evelina. Her black eyes, unblinking, stared back at me out of her ruined face. I sighed. What would Grace say if she could see her?

To distract myself from my uncomfortable thoughts, I looked about for something to do. Evelina and Annabel lay on the bed, side by side.

"Aren't you glad you've not got a lacy dress on?" I said to Annabel. "It would be so hard to keep clean."

She smiled back at me.

I turned back to Evelina, an idea forming in my mind. Papa had told me about scientists, people who asked questions about the world and investigated it to find out what it was like. I wanted to be a scientist, to find out what Evelina was like.

Picking the doll up, I untied her bonnet and laid it down. Then I started to examine her dress. It was fastened with tiny hooks and eyes. I undid them and pulled off the dress. She was
wearing a pair of cotton drawers. I took those off too. Her body and the tops of her arms and legs were made of cloth, stuffed with something soft.

"She's just like you underneath," I told Annabel.

The bottom half of her arms and legs were made of kid leather, like my best shoes. I studied her face. Where the wax had melted I could see something else underneath. I looked round the room. I needed a knife. Tom's penknife. He wasn't allowed to carry it about with him, so it must be in the nursery.

I opened the door and listened. I couldn't hear anything. As fast as I could, I tiptoed along the landing, into the nursery, and opened the drawer where Tom kept his treasures, all jumbled together. The knife was there, half-hidden under magnifying glass and a lump of sealing wax. I seized it and ran back to my room.

My heart was thudding and I had to wait a moment until my hands felt steady. Then I opened the knife carefully. I picked up Evelina and laid her on top of my chest of drawers. I hesitated: it seemed cruel to plunge the knife into her head but I told myself not to be silly.

"I don't love her like I love you," I said to Annabel. "And Papa said scientists have to be bold sometimes."

I put the tip of the blade against her forehead and pushed. It went in easily. I cut along above the eyebrows and down the right side of her face, making a flap which I pulled open. The wax was just a coating. Inside was a lining of papier-mache.

The eyes were glass balls. I pulled one out. It was like a marble. I extracted the other one, too.

Having gone this far, I thought I might as well continue. I cut the arms and legs off at the elbows and knees, where the kid
leather covering ended. Next, I split open the body from top to bottom. The stuffing started to come out. It was stiff and dark: I thought it was horsehair.

There was no more to see.

"Well," I said to Annabel. "What shall we do now?"

The door opened.

"It's time to wash your hands for—Oh, Miss Louisa! Whatever have you done!" Mary's shocked face peered down at me, and the remains of what had been Evelina scattered across my bedcover. I swallowed. There was going to be trouble.

***

"What did you think you were doing?" Papa looked at me gravely. He was sitting at his desk in his study, which was also his consulting room. The smell of tobacco smoke and medicines tickled my nose.

I wriggled uncomfortably.

Mamma had been speechless when she saw what I'd done. She'd stared at my handiwork, while I waited for her to say something, my heart thumping like a drum. Eventually, she'd looked at me and said very quietly, "I don't understand you, Louisa. I don't understand you at all." Her voice was like a grey shadow and I felt more frightened than if she'd shouted.

She'd left me sitting on my bed all day until Papa came home.

He was still waiting for an answer.

"I—" I faltered. "I wanted to see—" I stopped.

"What?"

"I was being a scientist. I wanted to see how the doll was made."

Papa had an odd expression on his face, as if he'd swallowed something too quickly. After a moment he coughed and said, "But you've ruined a very expensive present."

"It was spoiled anyway!" For a moment I felt almost cheerful. And then I remembered it was my fault the doll was spoilt in the first place. I hung my head. Papa was hardly ever angry, but this was different. This was very bad.

"Louisa." Papa's tone was quite unexpected. I looked up at him. "What are we going to do with you?" He was shaking his head and almost—
smiling?

I was mystified.

Papa coughed again. Now his face was serious. "So—for your punishment..."

I waited, holding my breath.

"I think you should write a letter to your Aunt Phyllis, telling her what you've done."

I swallowed. "All of it?"

Papa nodded. "Yes, every bit of it. You can write it now." He stood up.

I thought of sitting at the big table where we did our lessons and trying to write the letter, with Tom watching me and laughing.

"Papa—"

"Mmm?"

"May I write it at your desk?"

He looked down at me for a moment, then patted my head.

"Yes, you may."

I sat down in his chair with the carved wooden back. My feet didn't reach the ground. He pulled the silver inkpot towards me and put a piece of paper in front of me.

"Be sure to use your best handwriting."

"I will, Papa."

He went out of the study. I heard Mamma speaking to him in the hall and I tiptoed over to the door and put my ear against it. I heard Papa say, "But it was just natural curiosity, Amelia, not naughtiness."

Mamma replied, "You're too indulgent with her, Edward.

It's not good for her to think she can do as she likes."

The parlour door closed and I couldn't hear any more so I went back to the desk. I stared at the three wooden owls on Papa's pipe-rack. They stared back. I dipped the pen in the inkpot and bent over the paper.

"Dear Aunt Phyllis—"

I sighed. This was going to be very hard.

Weeks ushers me into a high-ceilinged, narrow room with a stone floor. It has a row of windows like slits, high up in one wall, and along the opposite wall are shelves stacked with linen. A musty smell pricks my nose, a smell of unwashed clothes and damp.

Weeks gestures towards a wooden bench. "Get undressed."

I stare at her, too astonished to speak.

"You must have a bath."

"But I'm quite clean."