by Alys Clare
He makes himself stop there.
It will do no good to wind himself up into fury and there is surely no need for despair.
Not yet.
‘I do not know the whole truth myself,’ he mutters to himself, still pacing. An elderly man sitting on a bench gives him an alarmed look, and Felix flashes what he hopes is a reassuring smile.
I know more of the story now, thanks to Angus Leckie, he continues, restraining himself to thinking rather than muttering, but there are still gaps; places where I have guessed, and may well have guessed erroneously.
He sends up a quiet prayer that he is wrong about Lily being in desperate and imminent peril, but he doesn’t think he is. Because she’s there, at Shardlowes School, and she’s not a woman to walk away from a tantalizing secret …
There is a loud whistle and a huge cloud of steam; the scent of sulphur, the rumble of great wheels driven by huge cranks, and then a rattle of carriages as the London train, calling at Berwick, Newcastle, York, Lincoln, Peterborough and, most crucially for Felix, Cambridge, draws up alongside the platform.
Lily is dreaming of India. Images of warmth, of rain in such volume as she had never suspected could exist, of gorgeous silks on beautiful, dark women; of a horror that came out of the shadows straight for her, of a little girl saying, She is not my mother … She gasps, for she is in pain, and tries to turn away from the light, and someone puts a large hand on her shoulder in a gentle touch and whispers very softly, ‘Leonora, wake up, we must go.’
She struggles up through what feel like layers of that same gauzy silk she has just been dreaming of, brushing them away from her face. ‘My head hurts,’ she moans. Perhaps the person waking her up is Matron, and she’s come to give her something to stop the pain. ‘Is that you, Matron?’ she mutters. But no, Matron is in bed and can’t get up until a week after her temperature has returned to normal, she said so herself.
Whoever it is shakes her, not at all roughly but it is enough to send darts of agony through her head.
She tries to remember what happened … yes … it’s coming back …
She had been at the corner of the two corridors where the senior and junior dormitories were. She fell and was terrified because of the lantern in her hand, desperately afraid it would shatter, the oil would spill and the whole wing would go up in a deadly blaze. But there is no smell of smoke, and the pain in her head is not the agony of burned flesh.
So what happened next? She forces herself to think, think.
She remembers coming to, and finding herself lying in a huddle against the corridor wall. There was blood streaming down her forehead; a lot of blood, and straight away she realized she’d hit it hard against the sharp corner where the two walls meet. She was also in pain from some wound on the back of her head, and her left shin was throbbing, although just then as she lay on the ground, the bleeding was the urgent injury.
Then suddenly somebody was there, someone who emanated such a sense of tension and anxiety that it seemed to permeate the air like a tangible thing. This someone was swooping down to crouch beside her, urging her to sit up, to stand, telling her quietly but firmly that she must move away from the dormitory corridors so as not to disturb the girls, ushering her along, hurrying her, making her walk far more quickly than she wanted to … who was it?
Lily screws up her eyes, trying to see the image.
It was Miss Dickie.
And then, very determinedly, Miss Dickie had helped Lily, only half conscious, to the treatment room – Lily remembers that sibilant voice hissing, ‘To the sick bay, Nurse Henry, for you require medical attention’ – and she must have summoned Matron from her bed because suddenly she was there in her nightgown and flowing robe, tending the wound on Lily’s head with quick, skilful hands and tutting as she did so about being woken up at all hours and people not being careful enough as they went wandering around after dark and why they had to do so was a mystery to her.
‘She tripped on that worn patch in the drugget.’
It was Miss Dickie’s voice making the statement, her tone one of utter conviction.
‘She must have caught her toe,’ Miss Dickie went on, ‘and it caused her to fall headlong and hit her head on the corner.’
Lily, in a great deal of pain, confused, feeling more than a little nauseous, allowed herself to be helped into her nightgown and into bed.
Now, as she tries to recall the sequence of events, she clearly remembers thinking – perhaps saying too – that something wasn’t right … But then Matron gave her a soporific which she suspects contained rather a lot of laudanum, and as the pain blessedly began to ease, she fell helplessly and deeply asleep.
But now ‘Wake up, Leonora!’ says that voice again, and this time the hand that shakes her is a little more forceful.
Very slowly and carefully, apprehensive of the pain that will probably follow, she opens her eyes.
The first thing she realizes is that it is morning – well, after sunrise, anyway, for a soft, misty light penetrates the room.
The second thing she realizes is that Felix is bending over her. Seeing that she is looking at him, hastily he puts his mouth right against her ear and says softly and urgently, ‘You must get up as quickly as you can, dress and come with me.’
She lifts her head about an inch from the pillow, feels a stab of pain and lowers it again. ‘But I—’
‘You must,’ he repeats. ‘I’m sorry, but there is no choice.’
He steps away from the bed, still watching her, and very slowly she sits up. She is very dizzy, and feels so sick that instinctively she looks around for a bucket. There is one beside the bed, and she vomits into it, the action sending fresh waves of agony through her head. Is it concussion, her professional self wonders, or the aftereffects of that large dose of laudanum?
Felix is looking at her anxiously.
‘It’s all right,’ she manages. She waves a feeble hand. ‘Wait outside.’
Still drowsy, she sits there on the bed until he’s left the room, then stands up and, holding on to the bedstead, crosses to the washstand, pours cold water into the bowl and washes sketchily, splashing cool water on her face and her sore eyes. Her fingers feel the bandage that Matron must have wound around her forehead, and she is careful not to wet it. Moving very slowly, she dresses, and recent habit, distress and pain make her reach automatically for her SWNS uniform. The black bonnet with its deep brim does quite a good job of concealing her bandage, and she is grateful for the thick cloak, for she can’t stop shivering. She stoops to pick up her small bag – her head throbs violently in protest – and leaves the room.
‘Dear Leonora, there you are!’ Felix exclaims loudly. Miss Long is standing in the passage looking very worried – and also as if she very much wants to speak to Lily – and Matron is just behind her, dressing gown tightly fastened over her nightgown, muttering about concussion requiring the patient to rest quietly in bed, not go gallivanting off into the early morning, even if there are sick relations needing attention. Felix ignores Matron, murmurs, ‘Thank you, but not just now if you please,’ to Miss Long, and hurries forward to help Lily. She leans against him, more grateful than she can say for his strong support. She catches Miss Long’s eye and takes in her agonized expression, and Miss Long mouths something … Frowning, Lily thinks it is Look in your little bag!
But, ‘Come along now, Leonora dear,’ Felix is saying very firmly, ‘I will help you and make absolutely sure you do not fall on the stairs. The pony and trap are waiting, and we shall soon be on our way.’
His arm is around her waist, tightly, urging her along, and Lily has no option but to go with him. Carefully they descend to the hall.
Miss Carmichael stands beside the door, her face very pale and with dark circles around her eyes. Her expression is severe and Lily senses that she is extremely worried about something. She also looks angry, but she is trying to cover these emotions with a not very convincing expression of sympathy.
‘First
Nurse Evans’s mother, and now your little brother, Nurse Henry,’ she says rather tartly. ‘I should perhaps specify in future that the post of assistant matron is only open to a woman with no dependants to whom she feels she must rush when they fall ill.’
So that is the story Felix has told, Lily thinks. I have an imaginary little brother and he is unwell, and being a nurse, the family has sent for me.
She tries to make her brain work. ‘He has been sickly since birth, Miss Carmichael,’ she says with just the right amount of reproof in her voice, ‘and it has always been I who have tended him, for he loves and trusts me and responds best to my care.’
Miss Carmichael mutters something that could well be an expression of hope for a swift recovery, but could equally well be an admonition for her assistant matron to return to her post as soon as she can. She nods a curt farewell, and just as she is closing the heavy front door, Lily thinks she sees Miss Dickie hurrying towards her, as pale as Miss Carmichael and her mouth working with some strong emotion.
Something has happened, and Lily does not think it is merely the matter of the assistant matron taking a tumble and then being fetched to go and care for her sickly little brother. Her head is bursting, she does not begin to understand, and it hurts too much to try to puzzle it all out.
Felix hurries her down the steps to the waiting trap, and Eddy stares at her with fascinated amazement. ‘Coo, Nurse, you don’t half look pale!’ he says. ‘Sure you should be out of bed?’
Quite sure I shouldn’t, she thinks, but all she says is, ‘Thank you, Eddy, drive on, if you please.’
‘Sorry about the imaginary little brother,’ Felix mutters as Eddy flicks his whip over the pony’s rump and they move off. ‘It’s the best I could think of in a hurry.’
‘But I don’t understand—’ she whispers back.
Felix frowns, shaking his head. He indicates Eddy. ‘Later,’ he mouths.
The trap bumps and rattles its way along the track and Lily tries to hold herself as still as she can, for every jolt sends a stab of pain through her head. The wound on her forehead smarts with a sharp sort of pain, but there is something else … She raises a surreptitious hand to the back of her head, sliding her fingers up beneath the back of her bonnet, and finds a lump like the rounded end of an egg. Even this soft, tentative touch hurts like the devil, and she suppresses a cry. Felix must have felt her start – the trap seat is narrow and they sit pressed close together – and looks at her enquiringly.
Just as he did, she mouths, ‘Later.’
Eddy pulls the pony up in front of the station, jumping down to help his passengers, and Felix hurries Lily inside, barely giving her time to thank Eddy and say goodbye. She wants to find a seat, but the benches set along the platform are all occupied. She feels herself sway, and Felix puts an arm round her. The look on his face suggests he’s going to select some hapless man or youth and demand they give up their seat for a lady who is feeling faint, but before he can do so, to her great relief there is the toot of a train whistle. A black-smoke-puffing locomotive appears around the bend and comes clanking into the station.
Felix finds a half-empty carriage and they sit down next to each other. But this is not the time for confidences, for several people crowd in after them and soon every seat is taken. Lily cannot control her need to know, however, and mutters angrily to him as the train pulls away, ‘Why have you come for me? I was—’
‘You were in danger and you’d just been hurt,’ he hisses back, ‘and I had absolutely no choice.’
Danger.
You are in danger.
And she remembers Tamáz’s anxious face, and how his first words to her were: You are safe, cushla? Not harmed?
She recalls how Felix was so concerned for her that he went hunting for Tamáz to ask him to bring that message.
She remembers the alarming, horrible legend that Tamáz recounted. She thinks of missing girls, of secrets, of an atmosphere of fear, of staff who chose to leave a good, secure job rather than stay at Shardlowes.
She recalls the many moments when she has felt afraid. Oh, more than afraid; when she has felt cold dread that seemed to snake right up her spine.
And she thinks perhaps they are right, Felix and Tamáz, and she is indeed in danger.
SIXTEEN
The rattle and the rhythm of the train are soothing. Lily slips into a light doze, the conversations around her floating through her mind and sometimes making her smile. She is very aware of Felix and she can feel his impatience to speak to her like a physical presence beside her. The seat is narrow for the six people who sit along it, and she is tight against Felix’s shoulder and arm, so close that she can feel the heavy muscles moving as he restlessly shifts, the urgency in him making it impossible to sit still. Lily wishes he would, however; he’d be a far more comfortable bolster if he did …
She must have slept, for suddenly the train is pulling into a soaring London station and someone is yelling loudly. ‘Liverpool Street! All change, end of the line, ladies and gents, Liverpool Street!’
Felix takes her arm and they hurry outside, where he shoves his way to the front of the queue for hansom cabs and soon they are being swept away across the city, over the river and into another station. Lily, bemused, half asleep, in truth not feeling at all well, thinks it must be Waterloo, but she has no idea why they are there or where they are going. ‘I thought we were going home,’ she says to Felix as he hurries her up the steps, and he turns to give her a swift glance that seems to say, I’m sorry.
They are at the ticket booth and he is buying tickets, and although she sees him speaking to the clerk she cannot hear what he says. Then another platform, and a long train awaits them, its locomotive already puffing and panting in its haste to be on its way.
This time they have a carriage to themselves. Lily sinks gratefully into a corner seat and closes her eyes, wanting more than anything she has ever wanted to sleep, sleep, until the world rights itself and she understands again, until she stops hurting so much. She glances at Felix, perceives that he is struggling with conflicting desires – she detects he’s desperate to tell her something but can see she’s suffering and badly needs rest – then she closes her eyes and falls deeply asleep.
She wakes and immediately knows she’s better. Not perfect yet, for her head still hurts and she feels a little queasy, but the most important thing is that the awful confusion has gone. She can now recall with complete clarity not only everything that’s happened recently but also her own conclusions, unproven though they are.
The train is standing at a long platform and Felix has gone.
She peers out and spots the station sign: PETERSFIELD. It’s not a lot of help as she isn’t sure where Petersfield is. A few people are still filtering out through the ticket barrier and there is nobody on the platform, by which she deduces that the train has been stationary for long enough that everyone wishing to board has done so.
She spots a small refreshment stall at the end of the platform, and Felix is hurrying away from it. The guard blows his whistle, green flag in his hand, and she opens the carriage door for Felix to jump inside as the train begins to move.
‘And I haven’t spilled a drop,’ he says, handing her a mug of tea.
She takes it and sips greedily, for hot tea is the very thing she wants just now. ‘Don’t you have to give the mug back?’
‘Strictly speaking I do, but I explained to the chap that my companion was unwell, and he said it was all right to hand it in at the stall on the next station.’
She nods and goes on sipping. The tea is delicious.
He is eyeing her intently, and she suppresses a smile. He is so obviously itching to ask if she’s all right, if at long last they can talk, and out of pure devilment she keeps him waiting a few moments longer. Then she says, ‘I was already feeling better, probably from the sleep, but the tea has done the trick. Who goes first?’
He slumps in his seat, relief evident in his whole body. ‘You,’ he sa
ys. ‘I want to know how you got hurt.’
She collects her thoughts, mentally checks through the various hurts and begins. ‘I met Tamáz – and thank you very much for sending him to come and find me – and he told me the Fen around the village is a perilous place and that there are many ancient tales and a dark rumour about a man with a sack who takes children, and he warned me that Miss Dickie – the assistant head, remember?’ He nods. ‘She’s dangerous. Tamáz said he could see it in her because she’s of the same ancestry as him’ – Felix, she notes, looks a little sceptical – ‘but I already knew I had to watch her. That night – last night?’ He nods. ‘I was back in my room and I heard voices, Miss Dickie’s and a man’s, and they were saying something about the Prince, or maybe a prince, being about to accept an invitation and nothing must happen to prevent that, and I had the feeling that she was unhappy, or unwilling, and he was coercing her. Then I heard footsteps going away and the servants’ door closing, and I sensed very strongly that something was badly wrong, that something was about to happen, and I tried to stay awake, sitting in the chair by the window, but I fell asleep and I woke up to hear the bloodhounds baying from the asylum and I decided to see that all was well in the girls’ dormitories. I had checked the seniors and was just turning into the corridor where the three junior dormitories are when I fell and hit the front of my head’ – she indicates the bandage – ‘and I bled a lot. I think I knocked myself out briefly, and then Miss Dickie was helping me up and urging me to come away from the dormitories so as not to disturb the girls. Matron looked after and gave me something to make me sleep, and the next thing I knew was you, waking me up.’
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘Really, truly, I’m so sorry. But I had to. I’ll explain, but finish your tale first. How did they explain your fall?’
