Scratton isn't here this afternoon and none of the other attendants are taking any notice of us, but I still lower my voice. "You heard what happened?"
"Yes." The way she says it makes me think she knows everything. She gives me a wry look. "That were a neat trick with the chloral. Martha were right riled about it. And copping Weeks! That were a good one."
I smile briefly. "But it didn't work, did it?"
She smiles back, rueful and sympathetic.
It dawns on me—she doesn't mind that I tried to escape; she doesn't disapprove! And coming to see how I am. How kind she is. She'll tell me the truth, I'm sure.
But it takes me a minute or two to screw myself up to ask the question. "Is Beatrice—Miss Hill"—I swallow—"Is she dead?" My voice wobbles on the word.
"Dead? Why no, Miss."
I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. "I thought—when I went to her room and it was locked, I thought—"
"She'd been moved—to another gallery."
She's avoiding my eye. There's more to this but I don't know what questions to ask.
"Is she safe?"
"She's safe, right enough." She has a strange expression on her face, as if she's swallowed sour milk. For a moment she seems to be struggling with herself, then she bursts out, "I know she were your friend, Miss, but I can't forgive her for what she's done to you."
I go cold. "What do you mean?"
Eliza shakes her head. Something too awful to tell me.
My thoughts scatter. What did Beatrice do? Then they settle on something so obvious I can't believe I didn't see it before." Beatrice told Weeks about my plan?"
She nods.
The noise in the gallery recedes and I seem to be suspended in a white empty space. This is what it must feel like to have a limb amputated. Feeling nothing at the first cut, because of the shock.
Eliza is peering at me, looking worried. "I'm sorry. I weren't going to say."
I seize hold of a straw. "Perhaps Weeks is lying?"
Eliza shakes her head. "I were there."
"But Beatrice didn't mean to tell? It slipped out by accident or—or Weeks tormented her, until she was forced to confess?"
I can see the truth in her face.
"Weeks didn't lay a finger on her. She just blabbed it all."
I can't believe it. Beatrice. I thought we were friends. I thought you trusted me.
My heart twists as I remember the moment I stood outside, under the stars, when I was so close to freedom.
"Did you know I made it to the door, actually got outside?"
Eliza nods.
"I couldn't believe how easy it was."
She looks at me meaningfully and suddenly I understand this too. "Weeks made it easy for me? The keys where I could get them, my clothes on top of the pile, the door left open?"
"Yes."
It all makes sense now.
Eliza seems distressed. "I wanted to warn you, but I didn't get the chance. Soon as the canary sang, I were out of there, like a shot."
"What do you mean?"
"Weeks got it out of Miss Hill that I'd let you visit her. That were the end of the Second for me. Alice has got my place now."
I stare at her, dismayed. This is my fault. "Oh, Eliza, I'm sorry."
She shrugs. "I knew the rules. It's not so bad in the Fourth."
"You're still here, then? In the asylum? I thought—your dress—"
She smiles. "It's my afternoon off."
She's given up her afternoon off to come and see me. And after I've made things worse for her.
"Is the Fourth like this?"
Eliza surveys the ward. "Oh, no, Miss. Not like this. The patients are quieter than here, much quieter."
I've overheard Scratton talking to another attendant about the different galleries." At least here there's something going on. With the deadheads, you might as well be dead yourself."
Poor Eliza. Stuck in a place like that.
"I'm sorry, Miss." Eliza stands up. "I'd better be going now. They'll be expecting me at home."
I don't want her to go.
"Is there anything I can get you?"
She'll come again, if I can think of something! "I—I don't know."
She looks at my hair and raises her eyebrows comically. "Wouldn't you like a comb?"
"A comb?"
She presses my hand. "Don't give up hope, Miss. I'll bring you a comb, and some soap and stuff. You'll feel better if you wash."
I think it will take more than a wash to make me feel better.
"And Miss, you should try to eat more. I know the food's disgusting, but you should try to build yourself up a bit."
I nod, but her mentioning the food has given me an idea. "Do you still use Fowler's Solution for your hands?"
She looks surprised. "Yes, I do." She holds out her hands for my inspection. "I think they're a mite better, don't you?"
"Yes, they are." I try to look as innocent as I can. "Could you get me some Fowler's? I will try to eat more, but the food here gives me indigestion..." I can feel myself going red at the lie.
But Eliza doesn't seem to notice. "I'll bring you some, soon as I can."
I watch her threading her way down the ward, a patch of sunshine passing through the grey. She turns at the door to give me a wave and then she's gone.