straight back to the kitchens. Got me orders, you see.â
âBut it would only take you a moment. Look, Iâll write the note now.â I fly across to my desk and tear a page out of my journal. I pick up my pen and, too late, I remember it is broken. âSarah  â¦Â â I turn to her. âYou will have to
tell
Eli my message instead.â
But Sarah has already opened the door. She looks close to tears. âIâm sorry, miss,â she says. âI canât do it. The mistress would have me guts for garters if Iâm caught, I have to go.â With that she leaves the room, and once again I hear the key turn in the lock.
A blade of fear slices through my insides.
I swallow hard. Eli wonât allow anything to happen to me. He wonât allow Mama to send me away. He wonât, will he? And besides  â¦Â
I am not mad.
I am not mad.
I am not mad.
I chant the words over and over to myself. And as I do, I see Lady Egerton again, tumbling down the stairs, and I see Lillieâs gaping mouth, empty of words but full of blood. I did those things. I wished for those things to happen. And like a miracle, those wishes came true. For a brief moment, I forget my fear and am filled instead with a wonderful sense of power, as though the sun is caressing my bones from the inside. But the feeling is only fleeting. Soon, the dread is back, and I have to stand and walk again. I follow the same path as earlier: from the window to the bed and back again, from the dressing table to the door to the end wall and back to the window again. Nothing will happen until Papa comes home, I tell myself. Papa would never let Mama send me away. I am not mad. Papa knows that I am not mad.
I see the tray that Sarah left on my bedside table. I lift the white linen cloth and there is the usual cup of beef tea and bowl of watery gruel that Mama sees fit to punish me with. I spoon out a small amount and put it to my lips. It tastes of nothing. It is invalid food. I spit the gruel back into the bowl and throw myself on the bed.
Then the tears come, taking me by surprise. A torrent of them, bubbling up from some place deep inside me that I never knew I had. They keep coming, robbing me of my breath and soaking my pillows. I cannot stop. I cry until my throat hurts and my tongue grows thick in my mouth. I cry until my head pounds and my stomach turns inside out. Then a shaft of sunlight creeps from the window and slides across my legs, covering me like a warm blanket. And gradually, with great shuddering gulps, I fall into an exhausted sleep.
Grey light filters through my eyelids. How long have I been sleeping? I ease one eye open, but it aches so much that I have to close it again. For a brief, blissful moment, my mind is empty of thought. But then I try to open my eyes again and I feel my face tight with salt and suddenly everything comes rushing back and my mouth turns dry.
Where am I?
I look around wildly, staring into the gloom. Strange shapes loom in the shadows. There are bars at the window. I sit up and my breaths turn to gasps.
It is too late. They have taken me while I was sleeping. My heart batters against my ribs as the horror of it all dawns on me. I am locked in a cell. In the
madhouse.
I push back against the headboard, my knees drawn up to my chest.
Oh God!
Mama did it. She finally got rid of me. And she didnât even wait for Papa to come home.
I press harder against the headboard, praying the solid oak will stop me from falling down the dark hole that has opened beneath me. As I struggle to make sense of my surroundings, I suddenly hear a sound in the distance, a familiar sound, a sound I have heard every day of my life. I half laugh, half sob with relief as I count the long-case clock down in the hall strike eleven times. I look around the room again, and the strange shapes rising up from the gloom room reveal themselves to be my wardrobe, my washstand, my desk, my dressing table
âBut it would only take you a moment. Look, Iâll write the note now.â I fly across to my desk and tear a page out of my journal. I pick up my pen and, too late, I remember it is broken. âSarah  â¦Â â I turn to her. âYou will have to
tell
Eli my message instead.â
But Sarah has already opened the door. She looks close to tears. âIâm sorry, miss,â she says. âI canât do it. The mistress would have me guts for garters if Iâm caught, I have to go.â With that she leaves the room, and once again I hear the key turn in the lock.
A blade of fear slices through my insides.
I swallow hard. Eli wonât allow anything to happen to me. He wonât allow Mama to send me away. He wonât, will he? And besides  â¦Â
I am not mad.
I am not mad.
I am not mad.
I chant the words over and over to myself. And as I do, I see Lady Egerton again, tumbling down the stairs, and I see Lillieâs gaping mouth, empty of words but full of blood. I did those things. I wished for those things to happen. And like a miracle, those wishes came true. For a brief moment, I forget my fear and am filled instead with a wonderful sense of power, as though the sun is caressing my bones from the inside. But the feeling is only fleeting. Soon, the dread is back, and I have to stand and walk again. I follow the same path as earlier: from the window to the bed and back again, from the dressing table to the door to the end wall and back to the window again. Nothing will happen until Papa comes home, I tell myself. Papa would never let Mama send me away. I am not mad. Papa knows that I am not mad.
I see the tray that Sarah left on my bedside table. I lift the white linen cloth and there is the usual cup of beef tea and bowl of watery gruel that Mama sees fit to punish me with. I spoon out a small amount and put it to my lips. It tastes of nothing. It is invalid food. I spit the gruel back into the bowl and throw myself on the bed.
Then the tears come, taking me by surprise. A torrent of them, bubbling up from some place deep inside me that I never knew I had. They keep coming, robbing me of my breath and soaking my pillows. I cannot stop. I cry until my throat hurts and my tongue grows thick in my mouth. I cry until my head pounds and my stomach turns inside out. Then a shaft of sunlight creeps from the window and slides across my legs, covering me like a warm blanket. And gradually, with great shuddering gulps, I fall into an exhausted sleep.
Grey light filters through my eyelids. How long have I been sleeping? I ease one eye open, but it aches so much that I have to close it again. For a brief, blissful moment, my mind is empty of thought. But then I try to open my eyes again and I feel my face tight with salt and suddenly everything comes rushing back and my mouth turns dry.
Where am I?
I look around wildly, staring into the gloom. Strange shapes loom in the shadows. There are bars at the window. I sit up and my breaths turn to gasps.
It is too late. They have taken me while I was sleeping. My heart batters against my ribs as the horror of it all dawns on me. I am locked in a cell. In the
madhouse.
I push back against the headboard, my knees drawn up to my chest.
Oh God!
Mama did it. She finally got rid of me. And she didnât even wait for Papa to come home.
I press harder against the headboard, praying the solid oak will stop me from falling down the dark hole that has opened beneath me. As I struggle to make sense of my surroundings, I suddenly hear a sound in the distance, a familiar sound, a sound I have heard every day of my life. I half laugh, half sob with relief as I count the long-case clock down in the hall strike eleven times. I look around the room again, and the strange shapes rising up from the gloom room reveal themselves to be my wardrobe, my washstand, my desk, my dressing table
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