I want them to find it, but not yet. I want them to think this is something like gastric influenza, something contagious. I'm relying on their fear, their ignorance.
Now I'm feeling nauseous, my head is starting to spin. I have to lie down ... My hands and face feel clammy, my throat is dry, darkness keeps coming and going at the edge of my vision. Griping pain is building in my stomach—I know I'm going to vomit at any moment and as much as I want this to happen, my body resists it—my teeth clench involuntarily in an effort to prevent it. But then my insides surge and heave, I can't stop it, with spasm after shuddering spasm, the contents of my stomach spew on to my pillow.
I come back to myself to find my cheek is resting in the yellow, bloody stinking mess, but I can't raise my head, I'm too weak and shaken, my eyes swimming with tears.
Come and find me. Please come and find me.
But no one comes. It's all been in vain, I'm going to die...
I've done it. I'm still alive and I'm in the Infirmary!
I was very lucky. They found me just in time, Dr. Bull said.
He's a better doctor than I thought. It didn't take him long to discover the bottle of Fowler's solution and then—the stomach pump...
All I want now is to lie here in this quiet ward, swallowing the prescribed doses of rice milk and egg white. But it won't do. Although I still feel weak and wretched from the effects of the poison, I'm better. Any day now I'll be sent back to the main building and I'll have missed my chance.
The trouble is, I don't know what Eliza meant. I don't know how to escape from here.
The ward is on the ground floor, but the windows are barred. The door isn't locked, perhaps in case of emergencies, and when I first discovered this, I felt a surge of hope. But I heard Dr. Bull tell the nurses that I was to be closely watched and so far they've been vigilant, by day and night.
The other patients lie quietly: one elderly woman has pneumonia and looks to be very near the end, while another has had surgery and is too weak to move. If I were to try to leave the ward, I have little to fear from them. But how am I to do it?
Oh, Eliza, where are you? Have they let you back yet?
No use thinking of it. I must concentrate and be ready to seize the opportunity if it presents itself...
***
I jerk awake, my heart thudding. A commotion out in the corridor—voices, and someone screaming, as if in agony. Blinking to clear my sight, I see them sweep into the ward—two men carrying a stretcher with a body on it—a woman writhing in pain—and a young nurse with a lantern, calling out in agitation.
Sleepily, I watch the ward nurse direct the men to transfer the patient to an empty bed at the end of the ward and then dismiss them. Two other nurses look in at the door but they too are dispatched. The ward nurse seems to have the situation in hand.
After swiftly surveying the patient, whose screams have subsided into a low moaning, she hands the younger one a key. "Fetch dressings and brandy from the dispensary."
The girl scurries off, lantern swinging wildly, while the ward nurse moves her lamp to the patient's bedside. It's hard to see what's going on—the nurse has her back to me, but her shadow looms on the wall and I have the impression she is cutting at something, perhaps the patient's clothing.
The young nurse returns with her arms full, and together they minister to the patient. I overhear snatches of their conversation. It appears that the woman knocked over a lamp and her nightgown caught fire. An attendant extinguished the flames by rolling her in a blanket but she has extensive burns.
Suddenly I am alert. This could be my chance! It could take them some time to dress the burns and they're both fully occupied, their backs towards me.
Moving slowly and quietly, I slide one of my pillows under the bedclothes, to make it look as if the bed is still occupied. Holding my breath, I make for the door, expecting them to call after me, but nothing happens.
Out in the corridor, I pause for a second. Which way should I go?
Off to the left the corridor is in darkness, but to the right there is a light. I speed towards it as quietly as I can, passing what seems to be another ward on the right, with a low light showing, voices murmuring. My heart is in my mouth. At any moment I expect a nurse to appear.
The passage opens out into a vestibule and here is the front door. I seize the knob and turn it, but nothing happens. It's locked.
I blink back tears of disappointment. No time for that. There must be a way out somewhere.
I daren't go back past the ward. Instead, I cross the vestibule into another corridor. I try the nearest door and it opens. But it's a cupboard, with shelves stacked with linen and blankets. I seize one of these and move on. At any moment they will discover my empty bed.
I try every handle as I pass. All locked. But then I come to another door that opens. Peering in, I see that the gas light has been left on low, and I can make out a small room with a single bed in it. My heart jumps when I see that the bed is occupied, and I'm just about to retreat when the patient stirs.