At last, with a sigh, I turn my attention to the orange and for a long time I just look at it, savouring its colour, enjoying the weight of it in my hand, the anticipation. Finally, I start to peel it, digging into it with my nail, releasing the sharp sweetness, the sticky juice.
I'm just about to put the first segment into my mouth, when I see that my neighbour has suspended her blanket-shredding and is watching me. On an impulse, I offer the piece of orange to her, but she rears back with a squawk of alarm. She utters a word which sounds like "pisspallet" and then she starts on her blanket again. So I eat the segment myself and it's delicious.
Very slowly, bit by bit, I eat the orange, enjoying every mouthful. And all the time, it's as if Eliza is still with me, buoying me up.
I can't believe it! Eliza was here only two days ago and here she is again! I see her coming in at the door and Scratton, who's dealing with a screaming patient, puts out a hand as if to detain her. Eliza ignores them both and comes rapidly down the gallery. I'm grinning like an idiot and then I see her face and I go cold.
"What is it? What's happened?"
"I've been suspended."
"What? What does that mean?"
"I've been taken off the gallery for now. I'm to go to my room and wait there until Mr. Sneed send for me. I had to tell you, in case—" She doesn't finish the sentence.
In case. In case she's forbidden to see me again, in case she's dismissed...
All the possibilities are bleak. And they all mean the same thing—I won't see her again. And there will be no escape.
"Oh, Eliza." I can't say any more. My throat is blocked and something is clawing at my chest. I seize her hand and press it to my face.
"I must go."
"I know." But I can't let go of her hand. I search her face, taking in all the familiar details, committing them to memory.
She puts her face even closer to mine; I can feel her breath hot on my ear. "If you can get to the Infirmary, you might be able to get out."
"Out? How?"
But it's too late. Scratton is at the bedside, with a twisted smile on her face. "I don't think you're supposed to be here, Miss Shaw." She gives the name a mocking emphasis.
Eliza straightens up. She draws in her breath. She gives me one last agonised look then she walks away from me, down the gallery to the door, and she's gone.
Scratton leers down at me, but I turn my back on her and curl myself into a tight ball.
This has all happened so quickly I can hardly take it in.
I can still see Eliza's face, feel the pressure of her fingers on mine. It's as if someone has plunged a knife into my heart and I can't do anything, I just have to endure the pain.
***
After a long while I come back to myself and try to think.
I must somehow get myself taken to the Infirmary, like Eliza said. It's a separate building across the park. Maybe it's easier to escape from. But how do I get to it?
What if I tried to break a limb? But that's no good if I'm going to run away. Could I feign an illness?
My mind goes round in circles until I can't bear it any longer. In frustration I thump my pillow, feel something hard under my fist.
I feel a great leap inside.
I don't know whether I have the courage to do it.
If I misjudge it, I'll kill myself ... and now I don't want to die. But if I don't try, what's the alternative? Without Eliza, I won't survive, I'll end up like Beatrice, in a living death.
This is the only way out I can think of.
I make myself eat as much as I can for supper, draining the bowl of greasy stew, cramming my mouth with bread until my stomach feels tight and uncomfortable.
All night I hardly sleep. If I do doze off, I wake suddenly again, my heart thudding—is it time?
I've decided early in the morning would be best. It's the likeliest time for a doctor to be on the premises. I'm hoping he'll recognise the symptoms and know what to do...
And now grey light filters in through the windows. Soon the attendants will arrive, filling the ward with their noisy chatter. Now there's no more space for thought, for fear—now, it is time.
With trembling fingers, I uncork the bottle of Fowler's Solution, Eliza's gift to me. Wish me luck, I say to her, in my head, and then I swallow down what I hope is about five drachms of the liquid.
At first I feel nothing, just a metallic taste in my mouth.
Perhaps I haven't taken enough. Should I take a few more drops, just to make sure?
I make myself wait, to give it time to work its way into my system. After a while, I feel pins and needles in my hands, a pain in my head and my heart starts beating rapidly. I push the bottle of Fowler's Solution inside my dress, feeling its cold glass against my skin.