I'm lying on something soft, and I half-open my eyes and see a brown curtain hanging beside me. My eye-lids close, I drift ... and then I hear a slight noise, smell a dear, familiar smell. Eliza is here. Everything is all right. I sleep again.
I drift in and out of sleep, and when I open my eyes, Eliza is here again. She brings warm water and a cloth and washes me, avoiding my injuries. Her hands on my bare skin are skilful, soothing, and I don't want her to stop. Once, she lifts her head and catches my eye. I feel a sudden heat in my face and I'm glad when she bows her head again.
Another time she brings me soup and feeds it to me, the savoury taste fanning out over my tongue, like a blessing. All I have to do is lie here, which is just as well, because my body doesn't want to move...
At some point in this floating timeless dream, I have a thought, like a sudden stab of toothache. Eliza is at home all the time, not at Wildthorn. I fumble for the words to ask her why.
"I've been dismissed." She says it lightly, but immediately I'm full of guilt.
"Because of me!"
She doesn't answer, busies herself tidying my covers.
"Tell me."
"They thought I'd helped you to escape."
"But that's not fair! You didn't."
"I would've if I could. Saved you sleeping in a pigsty." She laughs.
But I'm not laughing. "What if they come looking for me? Won't that make more trouble for you?"
"They've been back since you've been here and Mother sent them packing. They won't come again."
She sounds very certain. Perhaps she's right. Perhaps they don't trouble themselves about one lunatic more or less. And there are other things to think about besides being captured. "What will happen now?"
But she won't discuss it. "Wait till you're better."
***
After a few days, I do feel better. Well enough to sit in a chair while Eliza combs through my hair, cutting out the worst tangles, and then washes it and towels it dry. Wonderful to have clean hair at last! Well enough to dress, in clothes borrowed from Eliza, and come out from my alcove and meet some of the family.
I feel very nervous, but as Mrs. Shaw, in a little flutter of fuss, waves floury hands towards the only chair, I realise she's as nervous as I am and I feel less daunted. I'm introduced to Lily, who stares at me with big eyes, and to curly-haired Arthur, who takes no notice of me at all. Then Eliza and her mother continue with their chores. I offer to help, but Mrs. Shaw won't hear of it.
"You sit and rest yourself, Miss."
"Please, call me Louisa."
She smiles uncertainly and turns back to her mixing bowl.
Getting up seems to have exhausted me and I feel shaky. Really, I'm glad just to sit and look around me.
The door is propped open, presumably to let in light and air, as it's warm with the range lit. After the drab uniformity of the Fifth Gallery, the small and sparsely furnished room seems vivid and crowded with things vying for my attention: a rag rug on the clean-swept flagstones; a collection of bright crockery on the mantelpiece; a coloured picture of the Queen cut from a magazine, now somewhat yellowed and curling at the edges; bunches of dried lavender hanging from the beams in the low ceiling.
In the doorway, the children are playing with some pegs, Lily wrapping them in bits of stuff and walking them about to entertain Arthur, while Mrs. Shaw rolls out pastry at the scrubbed deal table. Out in the scullery, Eliza hums to herself as she peels potatoes.
The day passes peacefully. After dinner I take a long nap and evening brings Mr. Shaw home from the fields, with Annie and Joe.
Having washed in the scullery, Eliza's father comes to greet me, his weather-beaten face turning a deeper shade of red, his blue eyes sliding shyly from mine. Annie is hugely excited to see me up—having been the one to find me, she takes a proprietorial interest in me and insists on sitting next to me at the table. After giving me one bold stare, Joe turns his attention to his "taters" and cabbage.
The family talk as they eat, about the state of the ground, how much barley remains to be sown. I'm not part of this, but I don't mind. I feel comfortable, put at ease by their kindness, their acceptance of me. But then I catch Eliza looking gravely at me, and I wonder what she's thinking. I hope she's not finding it awkward to have me here. Catching my eye, her face breaks into a smile. I smile back, but I feel disturbed now, uneasy.
***
I still have bad dreams from which I wake shivering, but every day I grow stronger.
Every day I also feel more uncomfortable.
I'm an extra mouth to feed and it's obvious that there's no money to spare. I don't like treated as a special guest, sitting about while everyone else is busy.