"You sent a telegram for a bilious attack!" My voice echoed in the empty space of the hall. I wanted to shake her for dragging me away from Grace, frightening me for nothing.
Mamma sat down on the hall chair as if she was tired. "I'm so worried about him."
"But why? What's the matter?"
Before she could explain Papa appeared on the landing. "Lou? What are you doing home?"
He started down the stairs but I ran up and met him halfway. I hugged him round the waist. Under his jacket, I could hear his heart, a steady, reassuring beat.
He smiled down at me. "I didn't expect you for another week."
"I couldn't stand any more fussing and furbelows." Angry as I was with Mamma, I didn't want to tell Papa about the telegram. That he was at home in the afternoon was unheard of. Perhaps Mamma had good reason to send it.
To change the subject I said, "Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"I'm only feeling a little unwell. And I have been taking things easy."
I shook my head. "You should be lying down. That's what you would tell your patients."
He laughed. "Doctors make the worst patients. It's well known."
"And what are your symptoms?"
He ticked them off on his fingers. "A headache, a touch of diarrhoea, and I don't care for my pipe. Oh, and a disinclination to work. It's probably something I ate." He smiled. "You know how the ladies like to spoil me. It was probably Mrs. Petty's fruit cake. Months old, I expect. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll read the paper."
He passed me and continued down the stairs. He was moving slowly and holding on to the banister but he was steady. He disappeared into his study.
I felt reassured. Mamma had caused unnecessary alarm and I was about to say so when something in her stiff posture silenced me. She hadn't moved from her seat and, in the dim light, her eyes looked like bruises in the pale oval of her face.
Steam is rising from the surface of the water in the bath. I hunch into myself, but I can't cover my nakedness.
"Stand up straight, Miss Childs." Weeks is thin-lipped.
I don't trust her for a moment. But Eliza is here, standing by the taps, and she gives me an encouraging look.
"But I had a bath yesterday when I arrived."
"This is good for you, Miss." Eliza glances at Weeks and adds in an undertone, "You know, for your monthlies." As if she thinks I might find the subject too indelicate, she mouths the last word. But Weeks has heard.
"Eliza's right—this is the recommended treatment for aymenoria." She stumbles over the last word.
I'm puzzled. I've never heard of this before. And then I realise—"Oh, amenorrhoea."
Weeks scowls. "Hold her arms, Eliza."
It's too late—I should have run. But without my clothes, how could I?
Weeks is holding a canvas strap in her hands. What's it for? My skin crawls. I saw what she did to Miss Hill. What's she going to do to me?
Eliza gives me a rueful look as if she's sorry for what she has to do. I cling to this. Weeks can't do anything bad while Eliza's here.
Swiftly Weeks wraps the strap around my chest, pinning my arms to my side.
"What are you doing?" My voice wobbles.
"Now, Miss Childs, don't make things worse for yourself" She is efficient. She has already put another strap round my thighs and is bending to fasten my ankles together, giving the strap a painful tug before standing up.
She reaches towards me. I can't help it—I jerk away, lurch, lose my balance, and fall. My chin cracks on the stone and hot pain shoots up my jaw. Stunned, I lie still for a moment.
"Miss, are you all right?" Eliza is bending over me.
"Of course she is, Eliza. Don't make a fuss." Weeks's tone is acid.
I feel foolish, lying naked on the cold floor, unable to get up. I explore my mouth gingerly with my tongue. All my teeth are in place but I can taste the metallic tang of blood.
"Let's get this done."
The next minute Eliza and Weeks haul me to my feet and before I can say anything, they pick me up and drop me in the bath. Water fills my mouth and nose. I can't breathe. Panicking, spluttering, I scrabble with my feet and manage to push myself up, bring my head into the air. I gasp for breath, inhale hot steam.
Behind my head, I hear a cupboard door opening. Now Eliza is standing beside the bath, her arms clasped round something that is rolled up; in the dim light, it looks like a thick blanket or a rug.
Weeks moves to the other side and between them, they unfold the roll and hang it over the bath. It's a canvas cover, which comes up to my neck and stretches down to the taps.
My spine prickles with apprehension. "What's this?"
Weeks ignores me. Eliza explains, "We can't stay and watch you, Miss." She's busy fastening the cover under the rim of the bath. Rough canvas chafes my neck.
"But I don't need watching. I won't climb out." How can I, strapped up like this?
"It's the rule," Weeks snaps, checking the fastening. The cover's too tight. It's choking me. I press my head against the back of the bath. This is mad. They know I'm sane so they're trying to drive me mad.
"Right, Eliza."