The sky is clouded, but there's enough light for me to see. I seem to be at the back of the Infirmary, near the kitchen; I can smell rotting food, stale odours of cooking. I'm in a walled yard, with the dark humps of sheds around the perimeter. I can feel gritty cinders underfoot. There's a door in the wall and I try it, expecting it to be locked, but the latch lifts and it swings open easily. I see the park stretching in front of me. Which way should I go?
Away to the right I can see the lights of the main building shining. Not in that direction, certainly. Not so far away, probably at the front of the Infirmary, I can hear a lot of noise, shouting, bells ringing. They'll be evacuating the patients and bringing a fire hose cart.
To the left, not far off, a dark line marks the boundary of the park. And then with an intake of breath, I see that the wall round the backyard of the Infirmary joins directly to the perimeter wall. It should be easy to get over.
Retreating into the yard, I look about for something to help me climb the wall. There are some wooden crates piled near the back door. Trying not to make a noise, I carry two of them to what looks like a coal bunker. I stack one on top of the other and scramble on to the sloping roof of the bunker without too much difficulty, then I stop. From here, with a stretch, I should be able to reach the top of the wall and it's a mere four yards or so to the perimeter. But the wall is narrow. Do I dare to try?
Taking a deep breath I climb up, hampered by the blanket. Standing up, I almost lose my balance, my arms flail wildly ... then I regain control. It's a long way down. Don't look. Gingerly I inch my way along, one step at a time, horribly aware that anyone looking from the windows will instantly see me. A voice in my head is saying, Hurry, hurry. But I daren't hurry; instead I concentrate on where I'm putting my feet.
At last my hands clasp the rough bricks of the perimeter wall. For a moment I cling to it, trembling with relief... then I'm over it and with another wrench of my shoulder, I drop down the other side. My right leg buckles under the pain of the impact, but this time at least I land on my feet. I wrap the blanket round me. I feel safer now, a shadow among other shadows.
And here I am, outside the asylum. Free. A voice starts singing in my head, I've done it, Eliza. I'm out.
Luckily it's a fairly mild night, but even so I'm shivering, perhaps more from excitement and fear than the shock of being outside in the fresh air. I take a deep breath, smelling damp earth and leaf-mould.
What now?
I must try to find Eliza's village, I suppose. Small something, wasn't it? But what shall I do when I get there? I don't know where she lives. If I find her cottage, she might not be there. And if she is, will she be pleased to see me? What will she say to her family? They'll hardly welcome an escaped lunatic.
Stop worrying. One step at a time. But I must hurry. How long before they send someone after me?
I set off hobbling down the lane, stumbling in the ruts, wincing as sharp stones dig into my bare feet. I can see more than I expected. But the trees at the side of the lane are looming at me, threatening silhouettes; the ground seems to be rising and falling, causing me to stagger. I've never been out at night before, certainly not by myself in the countryside. It gives me a strange, lonely feeling. I tell myself there's nothing to be afraid of, but I still jump at every rustle in the undergrowth.
A ghostly shape detaches itself from the darkness, glides in front of me and I stop dead, my hand at my throat. Only a barn owl. But it's a long time before the rapid patter of my heart slows down.
It seems so far. My feet are cut and bruised, my legs don't want to do this any more. I come to a crossroads. Which way? A signpost glimmers, half buried in the hedgerow. I have to strain to read it: SMALCOTE, 3 MILES. That's Eliza's village! But the finger points back the way I have come.
I could weep. It's too far. Everything hurts: my feet, my shoulder, my knee. I just want to give up, sink down into sleep. They can discover me by the roadside, take me back. I'm too weary to care.
"Don't give up." I jump. I know the voice is in my head, but it's just as if Eliza has spoken to me. Gritting my teeth, I turn and begin to trudge back the way I have come.
Eventually I reach the asylum wall. At the end of the lane a signpost tells me I have to turn left, past the main gate. I am certain there will be men out in the lane looking for me, dogs rushing snarling from the shadows. Wearily I drag myself on, resigned now to failure.
But, miraculously, none of this happens. By the lodge I shrink into the hedge in case someone is looking out. There are lights at the windows, and I can hear voices in the distance, but nobody shouts after me. When I have gone a good way beyond the wall, I let out my breath.