Lily and Arthur look up from their play, curious, and I try to smile, but I feel lightheaded, strange.
I make my way unsteadily down the cinder path between beds of sprouting seedlings. Eliza is coming towards me, carrying a bundle of rhubarb. She stops in the middle of the path, her face expressionless, watching me, waiting.
"I'm going with my cousin, to see my aunt. She's at the inn in the village."
When she doesn't say anything, I go on, "Grace won't tell me why her mother signed those papers. She wants me to speak to her myself."
Her eyes never leave my face.
There's so much I want to say. That I've no idea what will happen now ... that I feel afraid ... that I wish—I wish she could come with me...
"Eliza, I've got to go, but I won't be long."
Her head lifts a fraction. "You'll come back, then?"
Her look is one of disbelief—that and something else, some hidden feeling.
"Yes, of course." Whatever's going to happen, I want Eliza to know. I want to share it with her.
While I've been shut inside, the world has turned green, that fresh lovely green that comes at the very beginning of summer. All along the hedgerow, the may trees are clothed in a froth of white blossom.
For a moment my heart lifts, but then apprehension about what lies ahead closes in on me again. Grace and I are silent, as if, by unspoken agreement, everything is held in suspense until I have found out what Aunt Phyllis has to say.
We turn out of the lane into the road and suddenly, up ahead, I see the familiar wall of the asylum. My stomach lurches. This is a trick! Grace is taking me back!
"Stop! Stop the carriage!"
Alarmed, Grace cries, "Driver, will you stop, please."
As soon as we come to a standstill, I scramble down.
"Lou, what it is? What's the matter?"
Trembling, feeling as though all the blood has drained from my face, I shout, "I won't! I won't go back in there!"
The driver stares at me over his shoulder and I know what he's thinking. I must look and sound just like a lunatic. But I don't care. I fix my eyes on Grace, who looks hurt.
"Lou! How could you think I would do that to you? This is the way to the village. Please get back in."
Mutinous, I stay where I am.
I can see Grace doesn't know what to do. Then she asks, "Is there another way back, driver?"
He frowns. "There is ... but 'twill be a fair old ride round through the forest. Three mile more, I reckon."
"It doesn't matter. Please take us that way."
I stay where I am while he turns the carriage with difficulty in the narrow roadway. Only then do I climb back in.
"Thank you," I say to Grace.
***
Another carriage is drawn up outside the inn and as we enter we pass a couple going out. The woman stares at me before hurrying after her husband, but I ignore her, just as I ignore the whispers of the porters, carrying out bags and boxes. I cross the lobby and follow Grace up the stairs to the first floor front room, steeling myself for the encounter with Aunt Phyllis.
Grace opens the door, saying, "Look who's here, Mamma."
At our sudden entrance, my aunt drops her hairbrush with a clatter and turns pale.
Perhaps she's shocked at my appearance. I must look exactly like the mad niece she wants locked up.
I have an impression of beams, faded rose-chintz, a smell of dust overlaid with beeswax polish, but my attention is fixed on my aunt.
For a moment no one says anything. There's a painful knot in my chest, but I am determined not to be the first to speak, not to show any weakness.
After a second, she seems to recover herself. "Lou, so Grace found you!" She takes a step forward.
I don't say a word.
"Will you not speak to me?"
I keep watching her. She's smiling but it's an anxious smile and her eyes are wary. In my head Eliza's voice says Folk do things for all sorts of reasons ...but she did sign the papers.
As if she can read my thought, Grace says quietly, "Mamma, Louisa knows that you had her committed to Wildthorn Hall."
"Oh!" My aunt sinks on to a low chair, one hand at her throat.
At the word "committed" something breaks in my chest. "Why? Why did you send me to that terrible place?"
For a moment she seems unable to speak and then she says in a low voice, "Was it really so terrible?"
"Yes, it was. They—" I break off. I can't begin to tell her what it was like. But of course, she knows—she chose it. I'm almost crying now, a hot pain burning my chest. "Why did you do it?"
She lets her hand drop. "I meant it for the best."
Her eyes slide towards Grace, who has sat down on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, and I catch my breath.
She does know! And that's why she had me locked up.
I glance at my cousin.
Her expression is grave, but there's no sign of guilt for betraying me. In fact, she pats the ottoman, inviting me to sit down, but I won't, not yet. Standing, I feel less trapped. I have the vague notion that, if necessary, I could run away and hide somewhere until I could get back to Smalcote.