Willa’s legs will not carry her further.
‘Now, now. You mustn’t be frightened, Willa. Is this your secret?’
Nothing from the girl. She continues her slope-shouldered walk.
When they are outside the Refuge’s dim corridors and the influence of Matron Jennet, Clovis motions for Willa to follow her to the small front garden, near the gate and safely away from the windows. Willa’s uniform of dark-brown petticoats, white apron and cap looks drab and spiritless in the company of this woman who towers over her, whose hair is even more brilliant against the rich, green leaves of the trees and their bowing branches.
‘Have you ever been outside these gates before?’
‘Not often, madam. Once, near Christmas, we carted our knitting to the market. It were a special occasion for us. That night, I suppose because of the holiday so near and everything, Matron, she was on the gin. ‘’Tain’t allowed, madam. Not here. Never.’
Now that Willa has found her tongue she forgets to breathe.
‘I were dead asleep, long day and all, when Matron is rattling my shoulder. She were without candle even. It scared me so to see her standin’ over me in the dark like that. She said I must come with her and to be quick and quiet about it. But Mary, who was in the next one over, she put up such a fit and fuss. I were awed by her bravery. My only friend ever in this world. So Matron, she turned around sharp-like and left. She were very cross. Mary were placed directly after that in the New Year. I dunno know where she is.’
Clovis approaches slowly and deliberately. ‘Willa, has Matron ever touched you in a manner of … fondness? In a way that makes you feel uncomfortable?’
A guttural sound sticks in Willa’s throat. She freezes in her steps and her face turns pale. Then her fingers ply against her thigh, each slender tip moves singularly up and down, up and down, as though she must perform this counting motion in order to save her life.
‘Once. But she tries many times. I has to think quick.’
‘Hmm. Yes, I thought as much. Your secret is safe with me. I will be as silent as the grave.’
‘Please, please, madam. You will not say anything, will you? Matron is very powerful.’ Her fingers continue to tap.
‘Oh Willa, that is not power. Matron is filled with fear. We will not speak of this again. You will not have that worry with me, or anyone in my household. But you will work very hard.’
‘I like to work.’
‘We shall see. Now, I think I will walk back to the bridge. Yes, a walk to celebrate today’s business. Good day to you, Willa Robinson. Until next week.’
‘Goodbye, madam … Madam?’
‘Yes, what is it?’
‘You won’t tell, will you?’
‘I am the soul of discretion.’
‘Oh. Does that mean you won’t?’
‘It does. Now run along, will you?’
‘Yes, madam. Thank you, madam.’
Willa feels as if a spell of bad luck has been broken as she stands at the gate and watches the magnificent vision of the lady’s gown fade into the remainder of the day’s sunlight. She has been saved! Saved from the monstrous Matron Jennet.
Willa wakes early the next morning and uses the extra time to prepare for her departure next week. A petticoat needs mending, and though her boots are clean, she rubs and buffs and shines them until her arms are sore. She had squirrelled away a piece of gnarly gristle from her stew and rendered its fat with the flame of a tallow. She rubs it on her rough hands and feet, working it in and smoothing it as if it were as rich as a pot of Pears’ balm.
After the morning lessons she scurries to collects her charms and tokens from the hiding places in the asylum. Behind the heavy curtain of the sleeping-hall’s window she pockets the acorn that serves as protection against lightning. From under the corner of her mattress she retrieves the wishbone bound in striped silk for protection against danger. She has only a few minutes left to dash to the chapel where behind the shelving, last year’s Soul Mass cakes have become as solid as little bricks and the mice have had a good gnaw at them. She leaves them.
‘You are late to dinner, Miss Robinson.’
Willa’s back is to the door of the chapel and she is almost certain that the trembling that overtakes her is visible.
‘I was replacin’ a prayer book, Matron.’
Willa had managed to avoid the woman all morning. For the first time in her life she has reason to feel hopeful, and was so consumed with her tasks that there were moments when she was free from the weighty thought of Matron Jennet. Emboldened by her impending departure and new place in the world she turns to face Matron, but upon seeing the creature’s knitted brows at the top of her bulldog face, Willa’s fickle strength leaves her and fear shoots her down. She feels like one of the ducks or pigeons that famously fall to the ground in the surrounding Lambeth marshes when the men are at the hunt.
‘There will be a day in your future when you will think on your time here. It may not be in a fortnight, or in one year’s time, but that day will come.’
Matron’s poisoned breath is at her ear and her breasts push against Willa’s arm.
‘And on that day you will ask yourself in quiet despair, why wasn’t I a little kinder to Matron? It really would not have been so bad. Not as terrifying as this stranger … this woman who hides something black-hearted behind her seductive smile. Mark my words.’ She pauses. ‘Now get out of my sight.’
Willa runs out of chapel to the bathhouse where she washes her hands several times and then paces with her hand deep into her pocket, rubbing another of her tokens, a human tooth. Oh no, she has forgotten its
