‘I will if you want me to.’
‘And Tilly.’
‘Yes?’
Drake winced at the hopeful lift in her voice. ‘Tell Miss Evelyn that the kittens in the barn miss her.’
‘Oh.’
She sounded disappointed. Drake thought she would be. He rubbed the imprint of her touch off his arm with his hand.
‘Especially Blackie,’ he said firmly. ‘Blackie misses her the most.’
It was several hours later when Drake realised he had left the slice of cake behind. He did not care, as he did not want it, yet oddly he could not recall putting it down. The shock at learning of Evie’s plight had robbed the visit of its finer details. However, every aspect of Evie’s treatment remained clearly etched in his mind and he could not help but torture himself with the belief that her plight was as a direct result of his well-intentioned meddling.
Chapter Thirteen
Evelyn’s lids felt strangely heavy, as if her lashes were laden with beads of lead. She tried to lift them again, but her attempt only succeeded in resembling the feeble fluttering of a caged bird rather than the simple act of opening one’s eyes. The struggle quickly tired her and she felt herself falling back into the familiar darkness of a drug-induced sleep.
Sometime later, for it could have been minutes, hours, days or months for all Evelyn knew, she awakened to fingers pinching at her calves. She instantly recognised the pain. It was the nurse massaging her calves to reduce muscle wasting in her legs. Evelyn was relieved to feel the discomfort, as it rescued her from the darkness and anchored her in the world of the living. This time she was able to open her eyes with ease and bright light streamed in forcing her to squint. She looked up and recognised the familiar bedroom ceiling above her.
As the nurse continued to work on her legs, Evelyn’s eyes searched for the crack in the corner. She always looked for the crack in the corner. Its constant presence was a reassuring sign in a world that had changed so much. She traced the black line with her eyes, which resembled a profile of a face with a bulbous nose and lips, similar to a caricature. Perhaps she should give the face a friendly name, thought Evelyn, before it began to resemble a more sinister entity in her mind.
She looked for, and found, her next anchor, the spider who never ventured lower than the height of the door. It remained motionless, perhaps feeding on something, or taking a rest, Evelyn could not tell. Then there were the curtains, which did not move but for the far bottom right corner, which swayed slightly, like an incoming wave, should the door open. The shadows between the folds provided much needed stimulus to occupy her mind as they changed each day when the curtainswere drawn open. She would spend hours familiarising herself with the twists of the pattern and the folds of the fabric, in a desperate attempt to pass the time.
Yet, each day the four walls of her bedroom appeared to move closer and squeeze her world ever smaller. When she was alone, she would spend her time sitting up in bed and hugging her knees for comfort as she looked about her empty room. Furniture, books, papers, ink, sewing, painting, clothes and company, anything that might enrich her life, had all been taken from her. It was no wonder she devoured each new stimulus she discovered like a hungry animal as she tried not to lift a hand or turn her head, just as Doctor Birch had instructed.
She tried her best, but inside her youthful energy would rise up and scream to be freed, taking over her body so she would sit up and shout out in frustration, or fall weeping at the sight of a tray laden with milk. Her rebellious outbursts made her feel alive, but ultimately they signalled her failure. If Doctor Birch should hear about them, he would come with a tincture that she would have to take. Later, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours, perhaps months later, she did not know, she would open her eyelids, which felt beaded with lead, and see the familiar ceiling above her that now resembled the lid of a coffin. The nightmare that was now her existence had come full circle and was about to begin again and she would desperately search for the crack in the corner in the hope of anchoring herself against the madness that threatened. The crack, which had resembled a face, was beginning to change over time. Any day now it would turn and laugh at her.
* * *
Evelyn could not bear to look at the glass of milk the maid carried. She turned her head away. ‘What time is it?’
‘Midday, Miss Evelyn.’
Midday? Was it only midday! As if to prove the maid right, she heard the distant tower clock sombrely strike the hour.
‘Please, take it away.’
‘I’ve had instructions not to.’
Evelyn opened her eyes and saw the nurse’s vacant chair. The nurse had taken advantage of the maid’s arrival to stretch her legs. Evelyn thought it strange how she was deemed too mad to be left alone during the day, yet sane enough to be left at night. They believed she slept soundly, but they were wrong. With nothing to tire her, her sleep pattern was all over the place and a constant torment. Poor Miss Brown, thought Evelyn. How did her beloved governess remain so cheerful and focused when she lacked sleep, whilst Evelyn’s mind had become a whirling, thick fog, where clear thought was near on impossible.
Evelyn turned to look at the maid. ‘I’ve already drunk a quart of milk today, two quarts yesterday and two the day before. Please, I beg you, take it away.’ Evelyn sunk below the covers.
‘I can’t take it away,’ said the maid. ‘They might see and then they will force you to drink it.’
‘I will fight them,’ came Evelyn’s muffled reply.
‘And they will win.’ Evelyn heard the maid pick up the glass. ‘But I could drink it for you.’
Was she testing her? Weretheywaiting for her answer? Weretheylistening at the door? Evelyn, suddenly alert and wide-eyed, looked over the brim of the sheet. The maid, who was not much older than her, smiled at her. She did not look like she was trying to trick her. Evelyn glanced nervously at the door and back at the maid, who appeared quite calm. Evelyn dared to nod her consent. The movement was so slight and hurried; one could have easily missed it. The maid drank quickly and placed the milk stained glass back on the tray. There was never such a simple act that bared more significance.
‘You do not think I am mad?’
‘No, I do not.’
Evelyn found it hard to breathe, for in recent times she had begun to doubt her own sanity.
