They had bathed her. Dr Shepherd even persuaded the nurses to change her hospital dress for a newer one, not yet faded by the laundry. A blue kerchief was tied around her neck – respectable-looking, as lunatics went. But Elsie could not contain her cramping anxiety. How would Sarah react when she finally arrived?With its tile floor and aqueous light, the long room reminded Elsie of a mortuary. A metal table had been set in the centre. She and Dr Shepherd sat on one side; a chair stood ready for Sarah on the other. Elsie had a view of the door in the left corner of the room and, opposite it, a round mirror hanging just below the ceiling. It was angled so that a doctor or attendant entering could see the far corners – could see, in short, if a lunatic were about to pounce on them.
The mirror didn’t show a distinct view of Elsie’s face. It only reflected the colour of the skin, like sausage meat. She looked diminished, a wreck of the woman Sarah had known. A white cap covered her head, hiding the frazzled tufts of her hair.
Had they prepared Sarah for the shock of seeing her?
Dr Shepherd laid a hand on hers. ‘Courage, Mrs Bainbridge. She will be here in a moment.’
Her stomach churned with nerves. She half feared Sarah would take one look at her and scream. But this was Sarah, who cared for old women, who even pitied Hetta. She was kind. She would see past the disfigurement. Once the initial upset was over, they would go on as before – only this time, they would be free of fear.
What had Sarah said, once? Fire makes them more powerful. It hadn’t. The Bridge was burnt and gone, and the evil along with it. No companions were found in the debris, Dr Shepherd confirmed that. Only bones and ashes.
The door joints whined. Dr Shepherd jolted to his feet. Elsie could not trust her legs to stand – she simply gripped the edge of the table.
‘Miss Bainbridge for you, doctor,’ said an attendant.
Elsie was so concerned about her own appearance, she had not stopped to think how Sarah would look. She expected the same poorly dressed, drab girl she had waved away. But the lady who walked into the room wore a silk gown of arsenic green buttoned up to her throat. Its fringed bustle rustled behind her. The mousy hair that had always fallen out of its pins was combed back clean from her face and arranged in a pile of cascading sausage curls. Perching on the side of her head was a black hat with a green feather and a net face veil.
An imposter.
But no – the face was the same. A little plumper, perhaps, and improved with cosmetics, yet the cheekbones were still too high and the mouth, which smiled to greet Dr Shepherd, was still too wide.
‘Oh! Mrs Bainbridge!’ She swept forwards to grip Elsie’s hands in her own. They were soft, encased in tight-fitting kid gloves. ‘Good heavens, I had no idea it was so bad. Your poor face! What you must have been through.’
There was a note to her voice Elsie had not caught before – more girlish now and fluting. But perhaps she did not remember it correctly.
She squeezed Sarah’s hands, trying to convey all her emotion through the pressure. She could not look Sarah full in the face, not yet. She did not want to see the pity and revulsion there.
‘I think perhaps I mentioned to you, Miss Bainbridge, that my patient has experienced difficulty with speech since the incident. I will act as her interpreter, if that is agreeable to you.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Sarah withdrew her hands and took the chair Dr Shepherd pulled out for her. The boning of her gown gave her an upright posture. ‘It is hardly surprising after all that has happened.’
Dr Shepherd walked back round to his own seat. Elsie stole a glance at Sarah’s face, but she was watching the doctor.
‘Indeed, it is common when a patient has endured trauma,’ said Dr Shepherd. ‘But in this case it has proven rather inconvenient. Without being able to question Mrs Bainbridge, the police have been on the back foot somewhat in their investigation. Speculation about what occurred at The Bridge has run out of hand.’
‘That is why I am here. To tell what I know.’ Sarah offered him a smile. It was somehow eerie.
‘And not a moment too soon! The inquest is almost upon us. May I ask, Miss Bainbridge – forgive the impertinence – what it was that kept you from coming forward for so long?’
‘I would have thought that was obvious, doctor. I was afraid.’
‘Afraid? Whatever of?’
‘Oh, no doubt it will sound foolish to a clever man like you.’ She flicked a curl over her shoulder. ‘But there was so much death at The Bridge! Then Mr Livingstone decided to put his sister in the asylum, and it seemed to me I must get far away from the place.’
The air rearranged around them. What – what had she said?
Dr Shepherd paused, his mouth slightly ajar. ‘You . . . ran away, then? You did not get lost or hurt going to fetch the police?’
‘I know what you must think of me, doctor. I have been a terrible coward. But I am willing to be brave now. After all these years, I have finally found my voice.’
Elsie stared at her. Her outline swam, wavering beneath the tears that filmed Elsie’s eyes.
Sarah had left her? On purpose? She had lied to her face, taken her purse, and run off to leave her for the companions? Of all people, Sarah?
The sense of betrayal brewed so dark and strong that she could taste it. Her own words came back to her. This is what happens to me, Jo. I trust people and they abuse that trust.
Dr Shepherd was rummaging through his notes, flustered. ‘But, you – er – you did not think it your duty to make yourself known after the fire? When the police appealed for information?’
‘It was unclear at that stage whether Mrs Bainbridge was going to pull through or not. I read of the poor thing’s terrible injuries.’
Another blow. She had known. And even though the newspapers would have told her The Bridge was burnt to the ground, forever rid of companions, she had not bothered to visit. Elsie had been fighting for her life and Sarah had not lifted a finger.
This was the girl that just yesterday Elsie had hoped to live with, live for! How could she have got Sarah so wrong?
‘Well yes, but surely that would not . . . I mean, regardless of Mrs Bainbridge’s survival, you had information. Information about Mr Livingstone’s death.’
‘Yes, God help me.’ Sarah drew out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. Her dress was so bright that it reflected in her irises, lending a green tinge to the brown. ‘I did not want to say it unless I had to. But now it is my duty, I see that. Other people may be in danger.’
‘In danger from—?’
Sarah looked at Elsie. Her face crumpled. ‘Oh, forgive me! You know that I must tell them!’