But then, she gave the idea up. Perhaps it was the heat. She yawned again, put the chain of keys around her neck, got into her bed; and started snoring.
I counted her snores. When I had counted twenty I rose, like a ghost, crept back to the cupboard, and got out the jar of grease.
Then I cut my copy. I can't say how long it took. I only know, it took hours— for of course, though the file was a fine one, and though I worked with the sheets and blankets bunched about my hands to muffle the sound, still the rasp of the iron seemed loud, and I dared only cut in time to Nurse Bacon's snores. And I could not file too quickly even then, for I had always to be matching up the blank with the impression, making sure the cuts were right; then again, my fingers would ache, I 294
would have to stop and flex them; or they'd grow wet, the blank would slip and swivel in my hands. It was terrible work to be doing in a desperate mood. I seemed to feel the night slipping away, like so much sand— or else, Nurse Bacon would fall silent, I would pause and look about me and be brought back to myself— to the beds, and the sleeping ladies— and the room would seem so still I feared that time had stopped and I should be caught in it for ever. No-one called out
that night, no-one had awful dreams, no bells were rung, everyone lay heavy in their beds. I was the only wakeful soul in the house— the only wakeful soul, I might as w e l l h a v e b e e n , i n a l l t h e w o r l d ; e x c e p t , t h a t I k n e w t h a t C h a r l e s w a s a l s o wakeful— was waiting, on the other side of Dr Christie's walls— was waiting for me; and that, beyond him, Mrs Sucksby was also waiting— perhaps, was sighing in her bed— or walking, wringing her hands and calling out my name ... It must have been the thought of that, that gave me courage and made the file run true.
For at last there came a time when I put the blank to the jar, and saw that the cuts all matched. The key was finished. I held it, in a sort of daze. My fingers were stained from the iron, and grazed from the slipping of the file, and almost numb from gripping. I dared not stay to bind them up, though. Very carefully I rose, pulled on my tartan gown, and took up my rubber boots. I also took Nurse Bacon's comb.— That was all, just that. I lifted it from off her table, and, as I did, she moved her head: I held my breath, but she did not wake. I stood quite still, looking into her face. And I was filled, suddenly, with guilt. I thought, 'How disappointed she'll be, when she finds how I've tricked her!'— I thought of how pleased she had got, when I'd said I would rub her hands.
Queer, the things you think at such times. I watched her another minute, then went to the door. Slowly, slowly, I put the key in the lock. Slowly, slowly, I turned it. 'Please, God,' I whispered, as it moved. 'Dear God, I swear, I'll be good, I'll be honest the rest of my days, I swear— ' It caught, and stuck. 'Fuck! Fuck!' I said. The wards had jammed, I had not cut true after alclass="underline" now it would not turn, either forwards or backwards. 'Fuck! You fuckster! Oh!' I gripped it harder, and tried again— still nothing— at last I let it go. I went silently back to my bed, got Nurse Bacon's ointment jar, stole back with it to the door, put grease across the key- hole and blew it into the lock. Then, almost fainting with fear, I gripped the key again; and this time— this time, it worked.
There were three more doors to be got through, after that. The key did the same in all of them— got stuck, and must be greased— and every time, I shuddered to hear the grinding of the iron in the
lock, and went on faster. But no-one woke. The passages were hot and quiet, the stairs and hall quite still. The front door was bolted and latched, I didn't need a key for that.
I left it open behind me. It was as easy as the time that I had gone from Briar with Maud: only on the walk before the house did I get a fright, for as I made to cross the bit of gravel there, I heard a step, and then a voice. The voice called, softly, 'Hey!'— I heard it, and almost died. I thought it was calling me. Then there came a woman's l a u g h , a n d I s a w f i g u r e s : t w o m e n — M r B a t e s , I t h i n k , a n d a n o t h e r ; a n d a nurse— Nurse Flew, with the swivel- eye. 'You'll get your— ' one of them said; but that 295
was all I heard. They went through bushes, at the side of the house. Nurse Flew laughed again. Then the laugh got stifled, and there came silence.
I did not wait to see what the silence would become. I ran— lightly, at first, across the strip of gravel— then fast and hard, across the lawn. I didn't look back at the house. I didn't think about the ladies, still inside it. I should like to say I went and threw my key into the little walled garden, for one of them to find; but I did not. I didn't save anyone but myself. I was too afraid. I found the tallest tree: it took me another half- hour, then, to get myself up the knots in its trunk— to fall, to try again— to fall a second time, a third, a fourth— to heave myself finally on to its lowest branch— to climb from there to the branch above— to work my way across a creaking bough until I reached the wall . . . God knows how I did it. I can only say, I did. 'Charles!
Charles!' I called, from the top of the bricks. There was no answer. But I did not wait.
I jumped. I hit the ground and heard a yelp. It was him. He had waited so long, he had fallen asleep; and I almost struck him.
The yelp made a dog bark, back at the house. That dog set off another. Charles put his hand before his mouth.
'Come on!' I said.
I caught his arm. We turned our backs to the wall, and ran and ran.
We ran through grass and hedges. The night was still dark, the paths all hidden, and I was too afraid, at first, to take the time to
find them out. Every now and then Charles would stumble, or slow his step to press his hand to his side and find his breath, and then I'd tilt my head and listen; but there was nothing to hear but birds, and breezes, and mice. Soon the sky grew lighter, and we made out the pale strip of a road. 'Which way?' said Charles. I did not know. It had been months and months since I had stood on any kind of path and had to choose the way to take. I looked about me, and the land and the lightening sky seemed suddenly vast and fearful. Then I saw Charles looking, and waiting. I thought of London. 'This way,' I said, beginning to walk; and the fear passed from me.
It was like that, then, all the way: every time we met the crossing of two or three roads, I would stand for a minute and think hard of London; and just as if I were Dick Whittington, the idea would come to me which road we ought to take. When the sky grew even paler, we began to hear horses and wheels. We should have been glad of a lift, but I was afraid, each time, that the cart or coach might have been sent out after us, from the madhouse. Only when we saw an old farmer driving out of a gate in a donkey-cart, did I think we could be sure he was not one of Dr Christie's men: we put ourselves in his way, and he slowed the donkey and let us ride beside him for an hour.
I had combed out the plaits and stitches from my hair and it stood up like coir, and I had no hat, so put a handkerchief of Charles's about my head. I said that we were brother and sister, and going back to London after a stay with our aunty.
'London, eh?' said the farmer. 'They say a man can live forty years there and never meet his neighbour. Is that right?'
He put us down at the side of the road at the edge of a town, and showed us the way we must take from there. I guessed we had gone about nine or ten miles. We had forty more to do. This was still early morning. We found a baker's shop, and bought bread; 296