It is early morning. The clock has only just struck six. I am restless, hungry and longing for someone – even if it just Sarah – to come and open my door. My mouth is watering at the thought of toast and a pot of hot tea. Will I be permitted to breakfast downstairs? I could see Eli then, and tell him what I overheard between Mama and Dr Danby. But even as I pretend to myself and imagine that things could go on as before, there is a much bigger part of me that knows with a hard and cold certainty that nothing will ever be the same again.
I climb out of bed and stretch. I look down and realise I have slept in my gown. I have never done that before. This small thing somehow helps. It is as though there are no rules any more; and that from now on, anything is possible.
Time passes slowly. Hunger grinds at my insides and boredom weighs heavy on my shoulders. If I shouted and banged and kicked at the door, surely someone would come. You could wish for someone to come. You could wish for someone to come, a voice in my head tries to persuade me. I shake it away. I dare not wish for anything, not after what happened to Lillie.
I walk to the window. It is going to be another beautiful day. A day when, if I wasn’t me but somebody else altogether, I could sit in the garden at the back of the house with a parasol to shade me from the sun when it grew too hot. There would be a jug of lemonade by my side, with chips of ice inside it, bobbing and sliding between stray lemon pips. Ice – all the way from the mountain lakes of Norway – that Papa paid the ice-man to deliver in a block, every day. There would be cucumber sandwiches too, cool slivers of cucumber, salty butter and wafer-thin bread. Eli would come and sit next to me and we would read to one another or play backgammon. I would beat him, of course, and he would feign disappointment before smiling chivalrously and chasing me across the lawns.
But I am not somebody else. I am only me.
I start from my daydream. There is a cab rumbling down the street. It is a black, plain affair, much like the one Dr Danby uses. My heart catches in my throat as I watch it draw nearer and nearer. I close my eyes, praying that when I open them again, the cab will have passed by, taking its early-morning travellers to a destination that is anywhere but here. But it is not to be. I do not need to open my eyes to hear the cab jangle to a halt outside the house. Who would call at this hour of the day? My heart pounds in the back of my throat. It can only be Dr Danby.
He has come to deliver the news of my fate.
I open my eyes and watch as the driver steadies the horses. Then the cab door opens, but instead of Dr Danby’s thatch of salt and pepper hair, it is the thinning flaxen hair of Papa’s valet, William, that emerges. How can that be? I must be seeing things. Then, as William holds the cab door open, the familiar and solid shape of Papa climbs down the cab steps and alights on the pavement. Before I can stop myself I am banging on the window until the glass rattles in its frame and I am shouting, ‘Papa! Papa!’
He rubs at the back of his neck wearily, then looks up at me and raises his hand in greeting. Papa is home! And I did not even have to wish it. Before I can grasp the full marvel of it all, the bedroom door opens and I turn to see Mama, and Sarah, struggling under the weight of a laden tray, following close on her heels. Mama looks stern, her lips set in a tight line. As she crosses the threshold, her nose wrinkles in disgust. She takes a handkerchief from her sleeve and puts it to her face. Then she gestures to Sarah. ‘Open the window, girl. Air this room and get it cleaned up.’
Sarah begins to bustle around the room. I am glad to see her remove the soiled chamber pot from under my bed. I look back at Mama. She is staring at me as though I am a stranger. ‘And you,’ she says. ‘You are a disgrace. You will wash and change your gown immediately. Illness is no excuse for uncleanliness.’
‘I am not ill, Mama.’ I hate the whine in my voice. ‘Why do you insist on saying that I am?’
Mama raises her eyebrow in a small, triumphant arch. ‘But it is not only me who says you are ill, Alice. If you remember, you were examined by Dr Danby only yesterday. It is his opinion that you are ill. And we cannot argue with a doctor, can we?’
I cannot bear that she looks so pleased with herself. So I walk over to where she is standing and cross my arms over my chest as I look her straight in the face. ‘And you would have me put in a madhouse, wouldn’t you? I say.
Surprise, then annoyance, flash across her face. But only for an instant. She licks a shine of moisture across her bottom lip, and her face settles back into its usual perfect blankness. ‘Sarah!’ she barks. ‘Please leave us now.’
Sarah scuttles out of the door, her face flushed red.
Mama glares at me. ‘Do not talk of such things in front of the servants!’ She crosses her arms over her bosom too. ‘If Dr Danby recommends that you are sent away to be cured, then that is what will happen.’
I want to shake her. I want to take her by the shoulders and rattle her so hard that her teeth knock together and her eyes jump in their sockets and her tightly coiled hair comes loose and hangs in trembling tatters around her face. I want to shake her until her beautiful, hard shell cracks and the pieces smash to the floor and all that is left behind is a soft and ordinary woman who will put her arms around me and love me like a mama should. But I won’t do that. Not because I don’t dare to. But because I am scared that if I do crack her shell, I will find there is nothing inside but a hollow space.
And then what would I do?
‘Papa won’t allow it!’ I scream at her. ‘He will never let you send me away!’
She smiles at me pityingly. ‘But your father is not here, Alice. And therefore the decision falls to me.’
‘But … ’ I quickly glance back to the window. Does she not know he has returned? A smile slides across my face. Now it is my turn to be triumphant. Before she can stop me, I push past Mama and rush out of the door. I hear her gasp as she stumbles against the door frame, but by then I am at the top of the stairs and I am flying down, taking two steps at a time and calling out ‘Papa! Papa!’ As I turn the last curve of the staircase, there he is, standing in the hall, pulling his gloves off, finger by finger.
‘Alice?’ Papa has no time to brace himself, before I fling myself at him and wrap my arms tight around his waist.
‘What a greeting! But do let me take my coat off first.’ The reassuring tone of his voice soothes me like a cooling ointment on a cut. I cling to the firm comfort of him and for a moment I am lost for words.
‘Arthur! You are home unexpectedly. You should have sent word and I would have had the servants prepare for your arrival.’
I turn my head and there is Mama gliding down the staircase towards us. She has her eyes fixed upon me. ‘Papa, Papa,’ I whisper urgently into his shoulder. ‘She wants to send me away. She wants to send me to the madhouse. Please don’t let her. Please!’
Papa pulls my arms from around his waist and studies my face. His brow wrinkles in concern. ‘Calm down, Alice. Why are you so excitable? What do you mean you are being sent away? Temperance, what is the child talking about?’
Mama is beside me now; the cloying scent of her lavender hangs between us. She takes my wrist and squeezes it tight. ‘Alice needs to go back to her room,’ she says. She tries to tug me away. ‘Come on, Alice. I have to talk to your father.’
‘No!’ I slap her hand from me and grab Papa’s arm. ‘Please, Papa. Don’t listen to her. She wants me in the madhouse.’ Papa looks at me, his eyes wide and puzzled. Then he looks back at Mama.
‘Take her to her room, Arthur. You can see she is hysterical. Please take her now, and then I will explain everything to you.’
‘Yes … yes,’ murmurs Papa. ‘I think that is a good idea.’ He puts his arm around my shoulders and takes one of my hands gently in his. ‘Come on, my darling girl,’ he says. ‘Let’s get you upstairs and comfortable, then we will see what the problem is.’
‘I told you!’ I hiss. ‘She wants rid of me.’
He presses his hand into my back and I lean into him, suddenly exhausted, as he leads me up the staircase and back into my room. ‘Now,’ Papa says as he settles me on the bed. ‘I will have some tea sent up to you, and you will stay here and calm yourself, while I go downstairs to talk to Mama.’
‘Don’t leave me, Papa.’
Now he is here, I cannot bear for him to go. I hold tight to his hand. Panic grips at my heart and sets it racing. ‘She will tell you things that are not true. She hates me, Papa, she hates me!’
‘Oh, Alice,’ Papa kisses me gently on the top of my head. ‘You know that is not true.’ He sighs deeply. ‘Let me go now.’ He eases his hand away from mine. ‘And please don’t worry yourself. I will sort out this problem, whatever it is.’
‘Promise me, Papa?’
‘I promise,’ he says. He smiles at me, and because he looks so sincere and because of the way his eyes crease so kindly around the edges, my heart steadies and I allow myself to believe him.