***
The shadow of the bars has crept into my lap when Weeks looks at her watch and says, "It's time for your exercise now."
We can't go till the other attendant, Eliza, has counted the scissors. She frowns, glances at Weeks, who is putting the beads away, and counts again.
"What's the matter?" Weeks's voice is quiet, chilling.
"There's a pair of scissors missing."
Weeks is across the room in a second.
"How could you have let this happen! You're so careless."
A flush creeps up Eliza's neck.
Weeks interrogates each of us in turn. With each denial, her expression hardens.
"Have you taken the scissors, Miss Gorman?"
Miss Gorman's face turns white then pink, her eyes blink rapidly. She seems unable to speak.
Weeks barks, "Don't deny it. I see your guilt. Give them to me at once."
I can't watch this. I look down and there's the glint of the scissors lying half-hidden under a chair.
They could be useful, but dare I?
For a second I hold my breath, then I cover them with my foot. No one has seen me; they're all looking at Weeks.
Miss Gorman's mouth is a frozen "o." Weeks puts out her hand and Miss Gorman shrieks, a tearing sound that jangles my nerves. She starts darting round the room, bumping into furniture, uttering wild cries, like a trapped bird trying to escape.
Eliza goes after her, catches hold of her and then puts her arms right around her. For a moment they struggle, then Miss Gorman sinks to the ground.
"There now, see what your carelessness has led to," Weeks hisses at Eliza as she tugs on the bell-pull.
We stand round watching Miss Gorman, who gibbers and jerks like a puppet whose strings have tangled. Eliza chews her finger, looking miserable.
I can't bear it. "The scissors are here, look. They fell on the floor."
Weeks swings round. Her black eyes narrow suspiciously. "You hid them."
My legs are shaking, but I make myself look her in the eye. "I didn't. I found them."
At that moment the door opens and another attendant comes in, diverting Weeks's attention.
She makes Eliza and the other attendant haul Miss Gorman to her feet and they half-carry her from the room.
After locking the cabinet, Weeks turns back to me, fixing me with her black eyes. "Mind yourself, Miss Childs. You think you're so clever, but I shall be watching you from now on."
Eight Years Earlier
"Keep your hands relaxed. Don't pull on the reins." Papa's instructions floated across the paddock from where he sat on Midnight, Uncle Bertram's black hunter.
We were staying at Carr Head again. About once a year Aunt Phyllis managed to persuade Papa to leave his patients in the care of another doctor, and take a brief holiday. To entertain us, she organised various excursions: this time we had enjoyed a boat trip on the river and a picnic on the moors. But today we were staying at home and it was the best day of all.
When Aunt Phyllis had proposed riding for this morning, Mamma had tightened her lips. But she hadn't said anything.
Later I'd heard her arguing with Papa: she thought it was too dangerous and I certainly mustn't ride, it was unladylike.
But Papa had said, "Lou has as much spirit as her brothers, if not more. Why should she be thwarted?" Then he'd said, "Don't worry, they won't come to any harm."
Mamma never seemed happy when we stayed at Carr Head and briefly I wondered why. But then I forgot all about Mamma as Lady, the dapple-grey pony, moved easily beneath me, and I relaxed into her walk, breathing in the warmth of her coat, the smell of leather, aware of Grace watching from the fence.
I was always a little shy of her, but this holiday, even more so. She was nearly twelve now, only three years older than me, but in her dark green riding habit my cousin seemed elegant, grown-up. She had a new mysterious way of smiling, as if she knew things I didn't. It made her look beautiful, like the princess in Hans Andersen's story about the wild swans.
I sat up straighter, hoping she would notice me and approve of my seat.
Behind her stretched the park, an expanse of grass, dotted with sheep and toffee-coloured cows. It was much nicer than the paddock, churned by hooves, but it didn't belong to Uncle Bertram.
"Sit up straight, Tom. You look like a sack of coal. See how Lou is sitting beautifully upright."
I flushed at Papa's praise but Tom scowled. He glanced across at Grace and I couldn't help sympathising—I'd hate to be shown up in front of my cousin.