When I get away from here, I’ll find you, Grace. I’ll take your hand. We’ll walk beside the river and we’ll laugh again. It’s not too late, Grace. Not for us.
*
But my desk is gone. Emily has moved me out. She has found the keys. I run to the front door and try the handle but it’s locked. Of course it’s locked. I rest my head against the stained glass and think about the letter in my pocket, and then I start to see shapes moving, turning the vivid colours of the glass dull. There are footsteps on the gravel outside and the sound of the letterbox being lifted. An envelope drops through it and lands by my feet.
‘Wait,’ I say, kneeling down to shout through the letterbox. ‘Excuse me. I’m sorry about this.’ Half a face appears in the opening, just a pair of eyes.
‘I’m afraid I’ve mislaid my keys,’ I say. ‘Could I trouble you to put this in the postbox when you pass it, please? It’s urgent.’
The eyes smile in at me. ‘Of course, miss.’
I need to keep my voice steady; I mustn’t give myself away. ‘Thank you. Rather strange to be posting a letter out to you. It’s usually the other way around! But it really is vital that it is delivered.’
‘Do you live here now, then?’ he says. ‘It used to be the old schoolhouse, didn’t it? I’ve seen you’ve been busy getting the place sorted out.’
‘Yes, we are hoping to open up for some guests very soon. I live at 12 Albany Road. Do you have any post for me: Dilys Barltrop? Or my mother Octavia … Mabel? I can take it now if you like.’
He stands up, and I see a pile of letters being shuffled in his hands. ‘One for Mrs Barltrop,’ he says, and I have to stop myself from snatching it when he pushes it through the door.
‘Thank you. You’ll definitely post the one I gave you? It’s important.’
‘I will, Miss. Good luck finding those keys.’
I let the letterbox fall shut and rest my forehead on it, listening to the footsteps moving away across the gravel. Only when I am sure he is gone do I sit back on my heels and tear the letter open.
Edward Reeves Esq.
Jessop and Son,
5c Harper Street,
Bedford
Dear Mrs Barltrop,
I write to you again on behalf of my client Mr Adrian Barltrop on a matter of great urgency. Since we have received no reply from you and no assurances about the well-being of Miss Dilys Barltrop, your son has determined to return to England himself. His ship left India two weeks ago and he is expected in Bedford any day.
He wishes to warn you that, though you appear to show no pity for his sister’s suffering, there are those who are prepared to assist him in getting her the treatment she so desperately needs. With the help of a concerned party, Mr Barltrop managed to get a doctor to diagnose Miss Barltrop. His orders were that she must be taken away from Bedford to a specialist hospital immediately and that any delay could have grave consequences. With the opinion of an expert in this field you can no longer afford to ignore Mr Barltrop’s fears.
Any refusal on your part to allow access to the patient will be considered a criminal offence and action will be taken accordingly.
Yours sincerely,
Edward Reeves Esq.
All this time I feared I was going mad; I thought my mother’s secret had become my own, but it’s the very thing that will set me free. What if there was a way, Grace said, would you take it? Do you trust me?
Adrian sent a doctor to me. With the help of a concerned party. Grace was the one who brought him to me on Ellen’s deathbed. She is probably sitting with Adrian right now, planning how to get me away from here. This is the only way that he could get to me. To force Octavia to let me go.
Now all I have to do is sit and wait. And behave myself. Bide my time until Saturday; sit quietly in chapel; bow my head in silent contemplation; sit and watch Emily attack demons with the Jerusalem knife; drink the water; praise the Lord; chew quietly. Be invisible: colourless, faultless, zero.
Just as I’ve been taught.
Seventy-seven Steps
Time has slowed and I wonder if they are coming for me at all. My letter to Adrian might still be in the postman’s pocket. I see him standing by the postbox, the wind picking up and snatching it from his hand. Flinging it into the river. I see it lying on the surface, soaking up the water, my blue handwriting starting to bleed into the paper, then disappearing into grey. But I must stop thinking the worst.
I pace around the outside of the garden and listen for Grace, hoping she will call from the other side of the wall. She is with me when I sit on the bench by the tree; when I climb the ladder into the clock tower; when I watch the washing dancing on the line. Wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
I know they are all watching from their windows. But they can’t see Grace. Only I can see her, in my memory. Only I can hear her whisper: It won’t be long now. But I am frightened I will give myself away, that I won’t be able to keep the truth inside. It shouts for me to let it out. When Emily looks at me over breakfast it is all I can do to stop myself from slamming her head into the table, from screaming at Octavia, ‘Look at her. Look what she has done. To Grace. To Ellen. To us.’ It is all I can do to stop myself telling her about Adrian. But I can’t let them know what I am planning. Besides, I know she wouldn’t believe me. She listens only to the Divine Mother now. I think it is a relief to pass the burden to someone else; any question, any problem and Emily takes out her Bible and her knife. She closes her eyes and gives Octavia the answer she wants to hear; and sometimes the one she doesn’t. Since that telegram arrived from America she doesn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing. It is all the truth.
‘You are very quiet, Dilys,’ she says.
Yes, Emily, I am choosing not to speak. I might say too much and then Octavia will lock me in my room again. ‘Just tired,’ I say. Of you.
I sleep as much as I can. When I have typed up the latest directive, or delivered another article to the Printing Room, I lie on my bed and think of Grace. It passes another minute, another hour, another day. Every second spent is a second closer to escape.
In my daydreams she is waiting for me across the street. I walk out of the house and pull the door shut behind me and she smiles. But when I fall into a fitful sleep she always turns away. I step into the road to follow her and I don’t see the car coming towards me. I only hear the crack of my bones as I am thrown over the bonnet.
*
‘You can walk with me to chapel, Dilys,’ Emily says. ‘It is six o’clock, we had better go. We mustn’t keep Octavia waiting.’
‘Go without me,’ I say. ‘I am not feeling well. I’ll follow on.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she says, but she is not sorry, not really. ‘Octavia was suffering earlier too.’
As she walks out of my bedroom I realise it is the last time I will see her. This is the end for us. But she has no idea.
‘Emily—’
‘What is it?’ She turns back, agitated that I am making her late.
‘I’ll be down shortly.’ I mustn’t say all the things I want to. But I stand and think them as I listen to her leaving; thirteen steps along the landing, eleven down the stairs. From my window I watch the others heading into chapel. They look so ordinary. So benign. Up here I will get everything ready. Octavia does not tolerate tardiness, and I’m not sure why it matters to me now, but I want to leave everything just as it should be, the three wise monkeys watching on as I make my bed and arrange my books. I am not taking anything with me, except my fur coat and the Bible she gave me on my eighth birthday. I’m hoping I’ll find God in there: the God I knew when I was young. In my pocket I have a blue button, and the notes Grace left under my pillow. I kept them all. I can’t bear the thought of Emily finding them after I’ve gone, but neither can I bear to throw them away.
The chapel clock is chiming six.
I go to Grace’s room to look down at the street. I haven’t been back in here since the day Emily sat on
that bed and told me her lies. I haven’t been back in here since then, because it is Betty who sleeps in here now. Because Grace has gone.
And soon I will be too.
There is no sign of Adrian outside, but he will come. I know he will. It is time. Time to walk along the landing. Time to walk past Octavia’s bedroom door. Time to whisper goodbye, in my head. There is no point in saying it out loud. She is in the chapel now, healing the sick and delivering the sinful from the Devil. And it wouldn’t matter what I said, she wouldn’t listen. She never has. If I told her, she would find a way to stop me. Or get Emily to. She gets Emily to do all the difficult jobs now. That way she can concentrate on being worshipped.
At the bottom of the stairs I check the front door, just in case, but of course it is locked. I’ll have to climb out of the window in the sitting room, go through the net curtain that separates In Here from Out There. There will be no witnesses to my passing, it is gone six, everyone is at chapel now; even Sir Jack is asleep, perched on the edge of the sideboard, his eyes closed. I pull Octavia’s wicker chair to the window and lift the catch that holds the casement down. The frame rumbles in the grooves either side but opens no more than a few inches before it sticks: wood against wood, screeching in pain. I bow my head and I am praying, praying for a miracle, and with my eyes still shut tight I reach up and try to move the window again. Please God, let it open.
Suddenly I feel someone shove me from behind, a knock on the back of the head which sends me falling forward into the glass pane. I turn and see a flash of black; I feel the flick of fingers against my skin. I try to see but my eyes are fighting to stay open, as if the air itself is slapping me across the face. There’s someone pulling my hair. I reach forward to fight them but there is only empty space. No chest or arms. No body. I bring my hands up to my face and that’s when I feel him: the scratch of claws and feathers. He jerks, kicking back into my head as he propels himself into flight. But he stumbles in the empty air, his talons snagging on the skin above my eye. I feel him tear free. I see the clump of feathers that his tail has left in my clenched fist. I watch him bounce from wall to wall, sending ornaments toppling and a vase crashing to the floor.
He is coming at me again, a spiteful whisper, razor sharp as he cuts through the air with serrated wings. I lash out with my arms to beat him back from my face, but he fights back, cackling like a madwoman. I must cover my eyes. That beak could pierce them, pluck them out, peck away at all the light and leave me lost. I fall back into the window and I hear it creep: a long crack crawling across the glass.
‘Dilys … what in the Lord’s name?’ Octavia is in the doorway. ‘What are you doing? Sir Jack! Sir Jack, that is quite enough!’ He flies another clumsy lap of the room then settles on the table, shaking his feathers with a guilty shrug.
‘Dilys?’
I touch my hand to the skin above my eyebrow and realise it is wet.
‘Dilys. What is going on?’
‘He attacked me,’ I say. ‘Your bird attacked me. Emily’s doing, I suppose. Has she been training him like she has been training you?’
‘Dilys, that’s enough.’
‘This isn’t right,’ I say. ‘You aren’t supposed to be here. You’re supposed to be in chapel.’
‘I had a headache. I was a little late in sitting to receive the Lord’s words this evening. What is going on? I heard the commotion from upstairs.’ She looks at the chair, and the window, then she looks at me, wearing a fur coat in the sitting room. ‘Dilys, what are you doing?’
‘I am leaving.’
‘You can’t leave,’ she says, calmly, as if the act of saying it makes it true.
‘But I am, Octavia. I need to get away from here, from her … from you.’
She steps forward and for a moment I think she is going to reach out and touch me. But she doesn’t. She makes her way as far as the table and steadies herself on one of the chairs, arms shaking, eyes cast down.
‘Dilys, we are so close now. Once the bishops come—’
‘They will never come, Mother. I watched the box being opened myself.’
There is silence, then she stumbles back, knocking against the sideboard. ‘Don’t you dare,’ she whispers, ‘you will not speak like that. I forbid it.’
But even as the words leave her lips she already knows: I won’t do as I am told. Not any more. I pick up a leather-bound Bible from her desk and hit the window, and from the big crack smaller shoots grow. I hit it again and the shattered pieces fall out onto the path outside.
‘Dilys, stop!’ she shouts. ‘Oh Emily, thank God! Do something!’
She has come. Of course she has. Emily is standing in the doorway now. ‘Octavia, are You all right? Has she hurt You? I said she was a danger.’
‘No, I’m quite safe. But Dilys is—’
Emily interrupts. ‘When You weren’t in chapel I came back to check on You. What is she doing?’
‘I’m leaving,’ I say.
‘Have you finally lost your mind?’ she says, the hint of a smile in her words. ‘Be careful, Dilys, you can get locked away for behaving like this.’ She turns to Octavia. ‘Isn’t that right?’
‘Emily … please, don’t!’ Octavia gasps. And I realise. Emily knows her secret.
‘She found out,’ I say. ‘Is that why you let her take over?’
‘She is not taking over,’ Octavia says, her voice rising to a cry. ‘I told her myself. She could see how I suffered. We prayed together for the Lord to help me …’
‘And He sent the Divine Mother?’
‘Yes, Dilys!’
I start to laugh. ‘Perhaps it is time for Emily to make her confession. To tell you the things she has been keeping secret. Adrian has come to England. He has been trying to see you but she wouldn’t let him. She has been hiding his letters from you.’
Emily shakes her head, but colour is flooding her cheeks. ‘This is ridiculous. She really has gone too far this time. Octavia?’
But my mother says nothing. She doesn’t make a sound. She is holding her breath, covering her mouth with her hand.
‘And what else is she keeping from you?’ I ask her. ‘I’ve been wondering about Edgar. About why she went to see him every day. So concerned for the health of a man who had sinned against you. Do you really think it was your healing she was putting in his water? Convenient that her prophecy—’
‘So now I am a murderess?’ Emily shouts before I can say any more. ‘This is lunacy. She needs to be locked up.’
‘No, Emily. That is not going to happen,’ I say. From here in the window, I can see two figures. They have come for me, they are rushing up the path. Octavia and Emily have no idea. They jump when the knocking starts.
It is time.
I step on the wicker chair and make to climb out, but they rush forward. ‘Dilly, the glass!’ Octavia grabs my coat and pulls me back. And when I look up I see it: a shard sticking out of the frame. It would have cut my throat.
Did she call me Dilly? The name she used when I was small.
‘Come with me, Mother,’ I say. ‘Adrian will look after us. He is taking me to India.’
‘You know I can’t. Apollyon is waiting. Out there. To devour me.’ Her breath is ragged. She is staring at the window as if demons might fly in through the broken pane. ‘Oh Lord, protect us!’
Emily rushes to the door. ‘Betty, don’t let them in!’ she shouts into the hallway, but it is too late. I hear footsteps, then two men come in. They are wearing white coats.
‘Miss Dilys Barltrop?’ the first man asks me. ‘You need to come with us. Otherwise we have been instructed to call the police.’
*
At the end of the garden path there is a black van waiting. I want to run to it but I must concentrate on walking, one foot in front of the other, head up, back straight, as if I’m wearing a corset. As if I have the faith and discipline to contain myself. I walk past the broken glass; the net curtains have snagged on the window frame, and the breeze has caught them,
sucking them in and out as if the house is gasping for breath. My mother is standing behind them, looking out. Emily is by her side. ‘She is leaving God’s Chosen Land,’ she is saying. ‘She is choosing to follow the Devil’s way. There is nothing You can do for her now.’
But I know the truth, Emily, and soon Mother will know too.
I left two letters under her pillow after breakfast.
Letters from Adrian.
For nothing is secret, that shall not be made manifest; neither any thing hid that shall not be known and come abroad.
*
‘Are you taking me all the way to India?’ I ask the two men, as they open the doors at the back of the van.
‘No, Miss!’ one of them laughs, putting his hand on the top of my head as I stoop to climb in. ‘Slowly now, we don’t want you hurting yourself, do we?’
‘Dilys!’
From the darkness within I hear his voice and my legs give way.
He has come.
I am safe.
‘Adrian?’
‘Dilys, I’m so sorry.’ He reaches out and helps me onto a wooden bench that runs along the inside of the van. ‘I’ve been trying to get to you for so long.’
The door slams shut and we are locked in together. It is dark, the only light cutting in through two vented windows in the back doors.
‘It really is you …’ I say, bringing my face close to his. ‘You have a moustache …’ I was expecting the little boy I used to play with when we were children, when we used to sit and listen to Father preach.
‘Yes, Dilys. I have a moustache.’ He smiles gently and takes my hand in his, brings it to his lips; in the gloom it looks so pale, like crisp white linen.
The Rapture Page 28