It's so lovely to have a conversation, to talk about ordinary things. Such a relief after being shut up with my own thoughts. I can feel my whole body relaxing.
"Look at you enjoying yerselves! Pair of spoonys, aint you!" Scratton's voice cuts through our merriment.
I instantly move away from Eliza, my cheeks burning.
Scratton is surveying us from the end of the bed, arms akimbo, her face twisted in a sneer. Then she goes off, laughing in an unpleasant way.
"Take no notice," Eliza says in an undertone. "I caught her nicking—stealing stuff from the stores. That's instant dismissal, if they find out. She's just angry I've got something on her." She sounds fierce. Then her expression changes. She looks round as if to see whether anyone's near and then leans towards me, her face so serious, I wonder what's coming.
"I've been thinking—" She stops then goes on in a rush, "I wondered—I wondered if you knew why you're here."
I hesitate and immediately she says, "Sorry. I should keep me snout out. It's none of my business."
"No. I don't have any idea. Mr. Sneed wouldn't tell me what it said about me in my papers. I think my brother Tom's behind it all, but I don't know why." Just saying it makes my lip tremble and I can feel tears pricking my eyes.
"Don't go upsetting yourself." Eliza chews her lip, looking thoughtful. "What's he like, this brother of yours?"
I tell her about Tom and me—what it was like when we were growing up, and more recently.
"Sounds to me like he's jealous 'cos you're cleverer than him."
"But I'm not!"
"Sure?"
I think about it—Tom failing his exams. Papa saying he'd rather have me helping him than Tom. Maybe she's right. And then I remember what Tom said when I saw him in London—how jealous he was of Papa spending time with me.
"But he wouldn't do this just because he was jealous, would he?"
Eliza shrugs. "Folk do things for all sorts of reasons. I've heard some terrible stories since I came to this place. A lady put here because her husband were tired of her and a poor lass jilted..." She shakes her head. "Anyway, tell me about your family. What are the rest of them like?"
Hesitantly at first, but then with increasing confidence, I describe my parents—dearest Papa, poor anxious Mamma...
Eliza doesn't interrupt or comment; she just listens, her head tilted slightly, her blue eyes fixed on mine.
Encouraged by her attention I find myself telling her what happened in the months before I came to the asylum. I tell her everything—nearly everything.
I only falter twice.
When I talk about Papa's illness, I can't go on; the tears block my throat. Eliza sits quietly and waits, and after a while I can continue.
I tell her about the terrible time after Papa died. Everything up to that last visit to Carr Head. That's when I falter again.
I tell her, briefly, about my aunt and uncle, and Grace—I go hot when I mention her, but Eliza doesn't seem to notice—but I skip over what happened and rush on to the plan for me to go to the Woodvilles. And even though I feel stirred up by it all, and some things are very hard to talk about, I feel a kind of relief in sharing it.
I finish with, "What I can't understand is why no one's written. I'm sure Mamma must miss me, whatever she said to Tom. I know I miss her."
"Perhaps she has."
"What do you mean?"
"They keep the letter sometimes—don't let the patients have them."
"No!"
"S'true."
"That's so wicked. How can they treat people like that?"
Eliza shrugs. "Well, they do. But maybe the rest of your family don't know you're here. Have you thought of that?"
"I don't know what to think."
"Maybe they all assume you're still at these Woodvilles and your brother has told them some tale to explain why they haven't heard from you."
I stare at her. Could Tom be capable of that? Why not? If he can put me in here, he's capable of anything...
I'm still thinking these bitter thoughts, when Eliza shifts uneasily. "There's something I didn't tell you before. About Miss Hill."
"Oh?"
"She told Weeks she were frightened that if you took her away, her ma wouldn't know where she were and wouldn't be able to find her."
I suddenly see Beatrice's face, her big violet eyes brimming with tears. I should have done more to reassure her. But perhaps when I burst in with my wild scheme, she thought I was just another mad patient.
"There's something else." She threads her fingers together. Unthreads them.
"What?"
"I didn't want to tell you, but I can't lie to you. That gallery she's been moved to—it's where they put the incurables. The quiet ones."
"But she was getting better, wasn't she?"
Eliza looks down at her lap.
"Eliza?"