I feel a pang of pity for her, but what can I do?
Across the court, a commotion breaks out. A gardener has been digging over a flowerbed, but now one of the patients is tugging at his elbow. Weeks pulls her away. I hear the patient's high voice protesting, "But it's Alfred come to visit me. Let me speak to him."
Weeks says something to the gardener. He scratches his head, shrugs and pulls his fork from the soil. As he goes past me, I smell a whiff of beer and tobacco.
At a barred iron gate in the wall, the gardener takes a key from his pocket and unfastens the padlock. I move closer, but he is already through, locking the gate behind him and walking off into the park. He nods at two attendants hurrying towards the building. They don't come to the gate but pass by, ignoring me.
Without touching it, I examine the padlock. It looks heavy, the clasp as thick as my finger. With a sigh, I stare out through the bars at the khaki-coloured grass, the bare trees. Growing up the wall close by there's an ancient wild briar, its trunk gnarled and twisted. Perhaps it's one of those that gave this house its name. Some of its branches are pressing against the iron bars, as if the thorns themselves are conspiring to hold me in here.
Despite myself, my eyes blur with tears.
A shout makes me look round. A patient with a paper crown on her head is approaching, trailing a shawl from her shoulders. She sweeps me out of her way, waving a piece of paper, and as she passes, she calls out, "A letter from Mamma. Her Majesty is quite well."
I wipe my eyes and give myself a shake. It's no good giving way: I must be strong. I look round the perimeter, examining the walls carefully; there are no other gates, but the mention of a letter has given me an idea.
A voice at my ear makes me jump. "You are not walking, Miss Childs."
It's Weeks, carrying a hand bell by its clapper, so that it makes no noise. She's standing close, too close. Her eyes narrow to splinters. She grasps my wrist. "Be careful, Miss Childs, be very careful. Remember—I'm watching you." Her fingers are like claws of steel. Then as if nothing has happened, she releases me. "It's time to go in now." She moves away from me and starts ringing the bell.
On the threshold, I stop and take a last breath of air. I can still feel the grip of Weeks's fingers and when I turn my wrist over there are red marks on my skin.
***
After supper I'm relieved to see that it's Eliza supervising us in the washroom. After I've waited at the end of the queue a long time, she beckons me to a vacant sink, stained with a brown deposit. When I turn on the tap, black hairs float up from the outlet pipe.
What am I doing in a place like this?
Avoiding the hairs, I cup water in my hands and splash my face. A cold shock.
As I'm drying myself, Eliza says quietly, "Thank you, Miss, for handing over the scissors. Most patients would've kept them. Then I'd have been in trouble all right."
I look round. Everyone else has gone. "What would have happened?"
She shrugs. "Don't know. Weeks would've probably sent me to another gallery."
"Would you mind that?"
Her eyes go big. "Of course, Miss. Despite Her Ladyship, I wouldn't want to be anywhere but here. "'Cept the First of course but there's small chance of that."
"Eliza, do you know what's happened to Miss Gorman?"
She glances towards the door then says in a low voice. "Solitary."
"Solitary?" I don't understand.
"Till she calms down."
"Is she—is she locked in?"
Eliza nods. "Course."
I go cold at the thought of it. "Do you know when she might be back?" I feel uncomfortably responsible for what has happened to her.
Eliza shrugs. "If she comes back."
Her words send a shiver down my spine. "What do you mean?"
She looks round before saying in a low voice, "Weeks might not have her back."
"But where will she go?"
"To another gallery."
Be sure to keep your place.
I've got to get out of here.
"Eliza, I need to see Mr. Sneed urgently. Is there a way? Weeks won't listen."
Eliza snorts. "You're wasting your time, talking to her. The best thing to do is to ask Dr. Bull tomorrow."
"I see. And there's another thing—can you tell me how I can send a letter?"
"Ask Weeks for paper and an envelope tomorrow. You'll have to pay for it."
It's all right. The coins are safe in my pocket.
Eliza leans closer to me and says quietly, "You'd better give me the letter to post."
We both jump as Weeks's face appears at the door. At the sight of us, she scowls. "Hurry up, Eliza. It's time Miss Childs was in the dormitory."
***
I'm just about to get into bed when Weeks comes with a glass containing a colourless liquid. Before I drink it, I smell it. "Chloral!"
Weeks's brows lift in surprise, but her black eyes give nothing away.
It's like recognizing an old friend. Immediately I'm back in Papa's study, hearing his voice: You need to be careful with this one, Louisa, it's a powerful sedative. Four drachms to half a tumbler of water ..." My throat constricts...