But gratifying as this is, as the days slip by, I keep wondering what will happen now.
Will Mrs. Grey go, now I'm back? Will I just take up my life again and not see Eliza?
The thought is unbearable.
My mood is not helped by a letter that comes after I've been home a while.
It's from Grace, from an address in London. After the initial pleasantries she writes:
After much, much thought, I have gone hack to Charles, as you see from the address. As far as is possible, we live separate lives, hut in the eyes of the world, we are together as man and wife. I know you have every reason to feel hostility towards Charles, hut I hope you will understand that I felt I had to do this for the sake of my unborn child
Overcome, I stop reading. My first reaction is protest—she mustn't do this, she mustn't bind herself to a loveless marriage—but then, as I think about it, I can see that it is just what she would do—put her child first, before her own happiness ... Oh, Grace ... I feel so sorry for her...
I resume reading.
I am resolved not to communicate with Mamma, now or in the future. You may imagine that I did not come to this decision, without much heart-searching. But when I saw you and heard the truth about Wildthorn Hall, when I realised what Mamma had done to you—it was so wrong of her and, even though she did it for my sake, it changed the way I feel about her. I can't find it in my heart to forgive her
I put the letter down, shocked. I didn't expect this. It will break Aunt Phyllis's heart to be estranged from Grace. Well, good, she deserves to suffer ... but it will break Grace's heart too ... poor, poor Grace! She doesn't deserve all this...
I go about my tasks in sombre mood. When I was locked up in Wildthorn, I thought if only I could escape, I would be happy. How wrong I was.
***
One morning, bracing myself, I go into Papa's study.
It's just the same! His chair by the hearth, his desk with the silver inkstand, his tobacco jar, everything as it was, as if he's just gone out on some calls and will be back soon.
I sit down at the desk, briefly touching the head of the owl on Papa's pipe-rack. "What shall I do?" I ask it. It stares back, mute.
Leaning my elbows on Papa's blotter, I rest my head in my hands. If only Papa were here now, if only I could talk to him.
The pain of missing him, of missing Eliza, shifts up into my throat and tears slide down my face.
Some time later, the door opens and Mamma looks in.
I turn my face away, brushing it with my hand so she won't see I've been crying.
She hesitates in the doorway and then comes in.
More in control of myself now, I wave at the room. "You haven't changed it."
"No, I couldn't, I..." She falls silent.
I can't say any more either, but I hope she can see that I understand.
With a little gesture as if she's dispelling the memories, she says, "How are you, Louisa?"
Her eyes are full of concern, and I think—I haven't got Papa's support any more, but Mamma is here, and perhaps, now that we seem to be getting on better, I could talk to her...
"Mamma..." I pause, not knowing how to put it, then I decide to tell the truth. "I'm not very happy."
She puts her hand on my arm. "I thought not. Is it Tom?"
"He has caused me great pain, and Aunt Phyllis..."
At the mention of that name, Mamma's face tightens.
I go on hastily, "But what's making me most unhappy now is what I shall do with my life."
And Eliza, my heart cries, but of course I don't say it.
"The thing is, Mamma—" I swallow. "I don't think it's enough for me to stay here at home with you."
Immediately I wish I hadn't said it. I feel terrible. "Oh, Mamma, I'm sorry."
She doesn't say anything, but goes to sit in Papa's armchair and the longer she's silent, the worse I feel. "Mamma, I—"
"Louisa, there's something I have to tell you." Mamma's eyes are dark, intent. "I know that you want to be a doctor."
I gape at her. "You know?"
"Yes. Your father told me, before he died." She looks down at the arm of the chair and strokes it gently once or twice.
"You never said!"
"I've thought about it often, and I'm sorry now that I didn't." She looks up. "I wanted to honour Edward's wish, of course I did, but I thought, if I waited ... I hoped you'd change your mind."
I don't really need to ask her why, I can guess. All the old reasons why women can't be doctors...
"When I thought I would never get married—" She hesitates. "I don't want you to suffer as I did. I had such joy in my relationship with your father. I want you to have the same..."
I'm touched. This isn't what I expected her to say. For a moment I'm tempted to tell her, Mamma, I think I've found the possibility cf this joy, but I stop myself. To announce that I've fallen in love with another girl ... I can just imagine her face.
"Mamma, I could have such a relationship and a fulfilling career. Other women do."