***
It seems much darker in the gallery now. Was she really here or did I dream it? I stare towards the door, willing her to reappear. Of course, nothing happens—only the noisy whirl of the ward carrying on as usual.
I don't want to be shut up in my head again. I don't want to think about Beatrice. If I had the Fowler's Solution now, I'd only have to swallow it all down and the arsenic in it would quickly do its deadly business. That would be the end of this misery.
The thought makes me clench my hand and I find I'm still holding the small square of cambric. I wipe my eyes, breathing in its smell, Eliza's smell. And I think, It's true—she was here!
I've looked out for Eliza every day, even though I've known it's too soon—she won't have another afternoon off yet. As time passes, I've begun to believe she won't come again. Why would she? I'm not anything to her, just as I wasn't anything to Beatrice, I realise that now.
At first I felt bitter, wondering why I gave up my chance of freedom for someone who betrayed me? But now I believe it was my fault. I was too impulsive. It was a reckless plan, I see that now. Me playing the hero, rescuing the princess. But not for love—for pity.
I don't have any idea why Beatrice wouldn't want to run away from here. But then, really I don't know her at all.
And perhaps I pitied her more, because she reminded me of Grace...
Grace. I haven't thought of her for such a long time!
All that emotion ... It seems a long time ago now, like a half-remembered dream—my life then, what I wanted—all a dream...
I feel tired today and despondent.
Scratton is scolding the woman next to me for destroying another pillow; her voice jangles my nerves. I didn't have a good night—my sleep was disturbed by the others' noise: someone screaming, another singing, someone else shouting out obscenities. I would take my chloral now, but no one brings any—perhaps they think it would be wasted on us.
Suddenly Scratton barks, "What are you doing here?"
I look up and here is Eliza in her yellow dress, looking calm and unruffled. My heart lifts as if the sun has come out.
"It's my day off. I can do what I like."
"Hobnobbing with the patients. You'll catch it, if Matron finds out." Scratton's eyes gleam with malice.
Eliza darts back, "How will she find out? Unless you tell her?"
"Sharp, ain't you! Mind you don't cut yourself." Scratton goes off, grumbling to herself.
"These are for you." Eliza hands me a bunch of violets in a jam jar.
I stare at them in wonder. Such a delicate purple ... I believe they signify "faithfulness." And Eliza is being such a faithful friend to me. I smile at her. "They're beautiful."
"I thought they'd be nice to look at while they last. A touch of spring to cheer you up. Not much of a vase, like, but in here..."
"Good idea." I put the flowers on the shelf above my bed. Against the grimy wall, they glow with colour. "What month is it now?"
"March."
"Oh!" My heart contracts.
"Is it the flowers? Was I wrong to bring them?'"
"No. I'm glad to have them. But I hadn't realised I'd been here so long."
"I brought you these." She unwraps the bundle she's carrying; soap, toothpowder, toothbrush, comb and hairpins tumble on to the bed. "And here's a towel. Oh, and the Fowler's solution." She fetches a small bottle out of her bag and passes it to me.
I feel like a traitor. If she knew what I wanted it for...
There's a little awkwardness then, as if neither of us know what to say next. I realise I'm still clutching the bottle of Fowler's and I lay it aside. I don't want to think about that now; I want to think about something cheerful. "Tell me about your family—and your home."
Her eyebrows rise in amused surprise but she settles herself on the bed. "Well ... I don't rightly know where to begin."
"Where do you live?"
"Smalcote. It's about two mile from here."
"Is it nice?"
Eliza lets out a short laugh. "It's just a row of cottages and the farm. And a right muddy lane. There's nine of us altogether, with Mother and Father but we're not all at home. My sister, Florrie, she's in service, and our Charlie, he lives in at the farm. My little sister, Annie, well, she's not so little now—she's quick, quicker than me. She can write beautiful and"—she gives me an embarrassed smile—"she's teaching me how to read, Miss. I'm not right good at it yet, but I'm getting there."
"Good for you!"
She starts to laugh.
"What is it?"
"My brother Joe were in trouble the other week at school. He's a right scallywag."
"What did he do?"
"Oh, Miss, I couldn't say it to you."
"Tell me."
"Well, teacher's reading from the Bible and she comes to the part about Joshua blowing down the walls with trumpets, you know? And Joe, he lets rip with a great raspberry!" She bursts out giggling and it makes me laugh too.