"The other certificate was signed by Wood somebody."
Mr. Woodville! Of course. So I was never meant to go to his mother's...
No wonder he kept looking at me—Tom's mad sister... At the thought of how Mamma and I had both misread his interest, I can't help it—I start to laugh, a laugh that quickly turns to tears.
"Miss? Louisa? Are you all right?"
I wipe my eyes. "I still don't understand about the name. This is all about me, so why isn't it my name?"
Eliza shrugs. "Maybe the doctors were in on it. Whoever asked them to certify you, like, got them to write a different name."
Tom! My heart begins to beat like a drum. "It must be my brother then. It can't be anyone else. He was writing to Dr. Kneale about me and Woodville's his friend. There'll be another paper in my file signed 'Thomas Childs.'"
Remembering what Beatrice said, I add bitterly, "And he's the only person who can sign me out of here."
I pass the paper back to her. "You'd better destroy that."
She takes it, then bending her head nearer mine, she whispers, "Maybe I could help you escape."
I scan her face, a wild hope dancing inside me. "Would you? Do you think it's possible?"
A vision flashes into my mind of the two of us running through the park, along the drive, and out of the gates, out, out into the world. But then reality breaks in.
"What if they found out? What about your job?"
"I don't care. I don't want to work here any more—there's too much unhappiness and people not treated right."
My heart lurches, and I swallow hard. "So you're going away?"
She gives me a little smile. "I can't stay here forever."
And neither can I. Especially if she's not here. "You'll need a reference," I remind her. "If they find out you've helped me to escape—"
Her face falls. "They won't find out." But she doesn't sound confident.
"They caught me last time!"
"But that was because Miss Hill—" She stops, chews her lip. Her blue eyes cloud over. "I've something to tell you."
I feel alarmed. She looks so anxious. What could it be? "Yes?"
"I've been to see her ... She's quite comfortable ... but, she's not there any more, like she's gone so far into herself she can't get back." Eliza shakes her head. "Poor girl."
I look at her with surprise. "You feel sorry for her? When she lost you your place?"
"Yes, I do. She's such a poor scrap. And it were my own fault. I knew I were taking a risk."
"Why did you?"
She plays with a frill on her dress. "At first I felt sorry for Miss Hill, being on her own, like. And I felt sorry for you. It seemed like it were helping you to see each other. It seemed to be doing you good."
She becomes intent on her frill, pleating it between her fingers, smoothing it again.
"Eliza? What is it?"
At last, she looks at me. "I thought you were sweet on her."
I stare at her for a moment, not believing I heard right. Then I have to look away, my blood racing. I can't think of a single thing to say.
Eliza chews her lip, her eyes anxious. "I'm sorry. I've spoken out of turn."
I turn back to her. "No. No."
There's an awkward silence and then abruptly, she stands up. "I'd better be off"
She's embarrassed now and probably thinks she's offended me. But I'm not offended at all. I feel as if I'm floating, light and free.
I hasten to assure her, "I felt sorry for Beatrice, too, you know. I wanted to rescue her. That's all."
"Oh." Her eyes clear, become as blue as a summer sky. More silence as I look at her and she looks at me.
Then she says softly, "I'll get you out of here, Louisa. Somehow."
There's something in her tone that makes me look at her hard, and she's looking at me and in that moment something happens, I don't know what, as if a spark leaps between us and my heart falters and then goes on faster than before. I want to say something without having the least idea of what it might be. The silence stretches and we go on looking at each other.
She is the first to break it. "I nearly forgot." Fumbling in her bag, she pulls something out and gives it to me. It's an orange.
I hold it cupped in my hands. The colour is so vivid it hurts my eyes. And the smell ... I close my eyes and breathe it in.
"It's not just for sniffing—you make sure you eat it. There's more where that came from."
I open my eyes. "Thank you."
"Is there anything you want next time?"
Automatically, in a kind of dream I reply, "No. I don't need anything, thank you."
***
Even after she's gone, I go on feeling happy for hours. I sit in a daze, holding my orange, but I'm not thinking of it, I'm thinking of Eliza, her expressions, the things she said. Especially that one thing." I thought you were sweet on her" She said it so simply. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if it was all right.