Wildthorn (30 page)

"He is and I don't know what to do. After what he did to me, I thought I'd be glad to see him suffer, but, oh, Eliza, I don't want him to die!"

She squeezes my hand.

"I spent the whole train journey thinking about it—no, that's not true actually—I spent most of it thinking of you, but I did think about him a bit and I had one idea, but I'm not sure..."

I stop and face her. "I feel it's partly Uncle Bertram's fault, and Aunt Phyllis's ... for involving Tom ... for giving him the means to harm himself ... So I thought, what if I write to them and tell them what's happened? Perhaps they could persuade Tom to go and stay at Carr Head and perhaps there, under medical supervision, he could recover. What do you think?"

Eliza puts her head on one side, considering. "Your mother wouldn't like that, would she? "'Specially after what they did to you."

"No, she wouldn't, that's true. But that's another thing, I don't know what to tell her. If I say he's not well, she'll want to rush down to London ... and she mustn't see him like that."

"Do you want to know what I think?"

"Of course."

"I think you should tell your mother the truth."

"I couldn't! She'd never get over it."

"But you said yourself she was better now. And look at how she's coped with finding out about you."

"It's not the same, though. This is her beloved Tom, remember!

"That's the point. Think how she'd feel if she found out about him later ... when it might be too late. I think you should tell her. And then it's for her to decide what's to be done."

I stare at her, turning it over in my mind. Finally I say, "I think you're right. I'll write to her tonight and, until I hear from her, I'll stay in London so I can keep an eye on Tom." I feel relieved at having come to a decision.

We resume our walk, arriving before long at a pond, where white water lilies float amongst the flat green pads.

"I used to call them cups and saucers, when I were little," Eliza observes, stopping to look at them. I notice how the sun has brought out the freckles on her nose even more, how her hair has glints in it of pure gold.

"I wish I'd known you then. What were you like?"

"Pretty much the same as I am now, I reckon. A bit dafter."

"You're the least daft person I know."

I put my arms round her and hold her and it's good, just standing like this, holding, breathing in the smell of her skin. I can feel her breath hot on my neck, my mouth is close to her ear and without knowing that I'm going to say it, I find myself asking, "Have you loved other girls before?" and my heart starts beating quickly.

"Yes," she says simply.

I feel a stab of jealousy, which is not fair of me, because after all I did think I loved Grace. I pull away a little so I can see her face.

She looks up at me, her eyes solemn. "But none that loved me back."

"Really?"

She nods.

My heart leaps. "Oh, Eliza..." I draw her close again.

Eventually Eliza stirs. "We should be getting back now, else you'll miss your train."

"You sound as if you want me to go," I say teasingly.

"Course not!" She sounds hurt and, to my horror, I see tears in her eyes.

"I was only joking!"

"I know." She dashes the tears away with her hand. "Don't take any notice. I told you I were daft."

I suddenly realise all I've been talking about is myself. "Eliza, I'm sorry, I've been rattling on ... how are you, really? How have you been?"

"There isn't time—"

"There is! I'll catch the next train, if necessary ... the carriage can wait. Tell me ... I want to know."

She hesitates.

"Please."

"Well, it's been funny, like, because part of me kept hoping that you and me ... somehow it'd work out ... and that's why I've been putting off getting a place ... but part of me—" She stops shamefaced. "I—I've been trying to forget you, that's the truth of it."

I stare at her, aghast. "Forget me! Why?"

"Because I didn't think you'd come back."

"But I promised I would!"

"I didn't know if you meant it, and I thought ... I thought once you were back home, you'd have second thoughts, like, because after all ... I'm not a lady like you—"

"
I'm
not a lady! I hate all that!"

"You know what I mean. To toffs like your family, I'm a nobody."

"We're not toffs!"

"That's what your aunt and cousin looked like to me."

"Oh, they're much grander than us ... but anyway, none of that's important!" I seize her hand and shake it, I want her to believe me so much. "What matters is us, you and me, and how we feel about each other! I love you, truly I do!"

She looks at our two clasped hands, and then she searches my face.

As if she's satisfied with what she sees there, she puts her other hand on top of mine and squeezes it. "Right."

"Is that all you can say? Right?"

She looks up at me solemnly. "It's enough, I reckon, don't you?" In the sunshine, her eyes are very blue.

I nod. "I reckon it is."

All around us the quiet forest stretches, beech, oak and hornbeam, ancient trees, and I think of other lovers who must have found shelter here, away from the gaze of the world.

"Look, Eliza."

Behind us is a wild rose in full bloom, its delicate pink flowers trembling slightly, as if, another kind of butterfly, they have just alighted. Breathing in the lovely perfume, I go to pick one, and my thumb brushes against a thorn.

I remember my first day at Wildthorn, how I stood looking through the gate, longing to escape...

"Do you realise something? If Aunt Phyllis hadn't sent me to Wildthorn, we'd have never met each other ... Perhaps I should be thanking her, instead of hating her."

Eliza smiles. "That's true enough."

I offer her the rose and she takes it, and then we are kissing again, a long lingering kiss...

With a sigh, I say. "I must go. But, listen, it won't be long before I see you again."

She frowns.

"Eliza! I mean it!"

"But ... what about your studying ... and then you'll be off to London..."

Now is the moment to ask her, and now I feel sure of her answer. "Look, I don't want to leave you, but I must, for now. But when I go to London, will you come with me?"

Her eyes widen. "Come with you?"

"Yes. I'll be sharing a house with other women from the college and you could live with us too."

"You mean, like a servant?"

"No! Not a servant! Don't be silly!"

"What then?"

I don't know what word to use. "My—my companion." I add hastily, "I don't mean like a paid companion, I mean ... as my true companion, my equal."

Eliza's eyes are round, staring at me.

Minutes pass and the trees sigh, as a breeze ruffles their leaves.

Then she says, "I'm sorry."

My heart drops to a place I never knew existed.

She's very earnest, very clear. "That's daft, that is. I can't live with you as your equal. Those other women in your house, they won't like it. And other folk—what will they think?"

I must say something but my throat has closed up and a drumming in my ears almost drowns out what she's saying, but I hear it clearly, and every word is like a dart piercing the most tender part of me.

She says, "I won't come to London with you. I can't live with you like that."

And she's saying more but now I can't hear her because everything at the edge of my vision, the pond, the lilies, the wild rose, the forest, is blurring and all I can see is Eliza getting smaller and smaller and smaller...

The house is unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon.

Pausing in the middle of writing my letter, I leave my chair to look out of the window, down at the street where nothing is happening, except a cat licking something in the gutter. I look at the bedroom windows of the houses opposite, at the cloud-filled sky. Then I return to my table.

Papa's pipe-rack, brought down with me to London, rises above the litter of text books and papers; I like having the three wise owls watch over me as I study.

Patting one on the head, I pick up my pen with a sigh.

I'm struggling to think what to say to Grace. I've told her all the family news, including the fact that Mamma is glad to have Tom home, although I think she's having a hard time with him. I've told her how much I'm enjoying the classes in pharmacy and anatomy, though the chemistry's more difficult than I expected.

I could tell her that I've been wondering about specialising in mental diseases...

For a moment I indulge myself in my favourite daydream, the one where I take charge of a hospital like Wildthorn, only not like Wildthorn, because I see to it that the patients are cared for properly...

I won't tell her that I'm thinking of going back there to visit Beatrice—I want to see for myself how she is, find out whether I can do anything for her. But Grace doesn't know Beatrice.

This isn't getting my letter written. When I think of Grace trapped in that house with Charles and baby Richard, I don't think my hopes for the future are going to cheer her up, though she won't begrudge me my happiness, I'm sure.

She is still estranged from her mother and I can't help feeling sorry for my aunt now. Her efforts to secure Grace's happiness have driven her daughter away ... she is cut off from her grandson ... and what is left to her?

The door opens and the maid's face appears.

"Nearly finished."

She comes in and waits a respectful distance away from the table while I add to my letter, telling my cousin that I hope we can somehow meet soon. I send her all my love and sign the letter.

With a sigh, I put it aside and turn to the maid.

"Where is everyone?"

"Miss Gaskin's out to tea and Miss Lloyd and Miss Summers have gone to the British Museum."

I can't help it—all thought of Grace flies from my mind. "We've over an hour then."

I look at the maid and she looks at me. Her face is solemn but her eyes are laughing.

***

We pull our clothes off as fast as we can. The last thing to come off is her housemaid's cap, releasing a tumble of corn-coloured hair.

When Eliza turns towards me my breath catches in my throat.

I'm always amazed by her beauty: her creamy white skin, with its faint freckles like a dusting of gold. The first time I saw her naked I was dazzled; I didn't want to take my clothes off because I felt so ugly. But she undid my buttons one by one and her eyes and her mouth and her hands said
You are beautiful too,
and now, I almost believe her.

As we climb on to my narrow bed, the springs creak, making us giggle. And we kiss, gently at first, my hands moving over the smooth warm curves of her body, her hands hot on my skin. But then our mouths become fierce, urgent, hungry, and soon we are dancing, my love and I, dancing together in a rhythm that's easy, sweet and easy...

***

Afterwards, we lie quietly, my arm round Eliza, as she rests with her head on my shoulder, her hair spread like a yellow scarf across my chest.

In a minute I know Eliza will stir and yawn like a cat, showing the pink inside of her mouth. She'll put on her demure dress, her white collar and cuffs and quench her hair with her cap. Then she'll go and put the kettle on. And when the others return, she'll bring the tea tray into the parlour and they won't have the least idea of what is between us.

Sometimes I can't bear it. I hate pretending all the time, when the others are around ... the way she stands there, saying,
Yes, Miss, No, Miss.
I want to seize her hand and tell them the truth and never mind the consequences.

But Eliza's so stubborn. She won't hear of it. She says that this is the way things are, the way they have to be. But I'm stubborn too, and I'm determined that one day we'll live together openly, as equals, in a home of our own.

In the meantime, we have this.

She opens her eyes and smiles at me and I smile back. The clouds in the window shift and a stripe of pale wintry sunshine falls across our tangled bodies, linking them with its golden band. And I rest my cheek on her head, knowing that sometimes, this is enough ... more than enough.

Born in Essex, England, Jane Eagland taught English in secondary schools for many years. After receiving her master's in creative writing, she now divides her time between writing and tutoring.
Wildthorn
is her first novel, inspired by true stories of women who were incarcerated in asylums in the nineteenth century. Jane lives in Lancashire, England.

Houghton Mifflin
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OUGHTON
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IFFLIN
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ARCOURT
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