On and on. I move in a dream, one foot in front of the other, again and again. I feel faint now. I mustn't faint. But I've no strength left. I come to a straggle of cottages. Is this Smalcote? Even if it isn't, I can't go any farther. But I can't sleep here by the roadside. I must find somewhere.
At the back of the first cottage there are dark shapes of outbuildings. Holding my breath, I tiptoe past the cottage and make for them. At every step I expect furious barking, but everything remains silent. The first shed seems to be a henhouse, shut up for the night. Then something that must be the privy. Beside it, a ramshackle construction, from which a strong smell emerges. A pigsty.
Enter the pen. Slip-slide in the mud. Careful, careful. Here's the door. No lock. Take a deep breath, push open the door, stoop under the roof. A shadow detaches itself from the darkness and lumbers forward. Stand still, keep your fingers out of the way. The pig snuffles at my nightgown, pushing me so firmly I nearly fall over. It chews at the material then with an "ouff," it flops on to its bed.
Straw. Too exhausted to think ... I sleep.
I am back in the Fifth Gallery and an attendant is prodding me. I groan. I don't want to get up yet—my whole body aches, my shoulder throbs...
I open my eyes. The pig is nudging me. As soon as I move out of the way, it goes and stands with its snout pressing against the door. Someone may come to feed it soon. I mustn't be found here.
With a painful effort, I rise, wincing as I put my feet down on the floor. Picking up the blanket, I squeeze past the pig and open the door a crack. Nothing stirs in the garden but dawn is already well over the horizon. Slipping out, I shut the door behind me quickly and crouch in the pen. What shall I do? I daren't go past the cottage now. Someone might be up.
I creep through the gate and scramble round the back of the sty. I wait a moment, but no one shouts. From here it's a short step to the boundary—a bank, a sparse hedge of hawthorn trees. But to reach it means crossing open ground and I might be seen from the neighbouring cottages. I haven't any choice though. I can't stay where I am.
I make a dash for it and scramble through the hedge, twigs scratching my face. On the other side I crouch down in a ditch edging the field. What now? From here I have a good view of the backs of the cottages. I can also see the lane. If this is Smallcote and Eliza passes there or comes into the garden, I might see her. But she may still be at Wildthorn...
Don't think about it. Keep hoping.
I huddle in the ditch, wincing with spasms of cramps. I daren't move too much in case I draw attention to myself and I don't want to lose sight of the lane. My mind drifts...
Every now and then a noise rouses me—a woman comes to feed the pig and let the hens out, I hear children's voices, the sounds of the cottagers going about their business ... but none of them is Eliza. Each time I hear a noise, I shrink down, holding my breath...
The sun has come out with a brightness that dazzles me. The sky is too blue, overwhelming. I'm tormented by thirst now. My head aches, my tongue feels swollen in my mouth. I shake myself, stretch my eyes, but my lids keep closing...
The sound of hooves jerks me awake, my heart pounding. Spying out from my hiding place, I watch the lane. Two horses appear. My muscles tense—I know the riders—the lodge-keeper from Wildthorn and one of the servants, a burly man. They must be searching for me.
I flatten myself to the ground, not daring to raise my head to look. The hoofbeats stop, I hear voices. I shut my eyes, expecting at any moment to hear a shout, feel a rough hand on my arm...
I hear a wonderful sound—the clop of the hooves moving off. But then I realise—the cottagers will know about me. They'll come looking for me. I must get away from here now. Now.
I drag myself to my knees and start crawling along the ditch. One yard. Another. My vision blurs, my head swims with dizziness. A few more inches ... but suddenly my arms and legs fold under me, my cheek hits the ground. I can't move.
I will be found, I know it. After all my effort, I will be found.
Tears of frustration trickle down my face.
Somewhere a voice calls. "Joe! It's dinnertime." A pause and then the voice again, nearer now. "Joe, are you there?"
With an effort, I lift my head. My crawling has brought me to the back of a different cottage. Coming down the path is a girl with corn-coloured hair.
Eliza.
I blink, look again. Not Eliza. A younger girl.
I try to call out, croak feebly. Clenching my teeth, I pull myself to my knees. I manage to raise my arm and wave it.
A shocked face in a gap in the hedge. Round blue eyes staring at me. Then the gap is empty and I hear running footsteps, an urgent voice calling, "Mother! Come quick!"
Part Four