The Ballroom (29 page)

Clem’s eyes were wide. ‘For God’s sake, Ella. Don’t you
care
? How long will it be without any
letters
?’

She wanted to say she didn’t need letters. That she couldn’t read. She wanted to say that what was written on her skin was stronger than a hundred letters could be, but the sight of Clem’s white, wild face silenced her.

That afternoon, instead of lining up to be checked for the dance, they were put in the day room and made to sit in their usual seats. The heat seemed closer, the fractious, flitting chorus of the women louder than ever. Clem’s voice was part of it now; she kept repeating the same few words: ‘No dance. No books. No dance. No books,’ staring at the air in front of her as her hands plucked in agitation at her skirts.

‘Clem?’ Ella said. But Clem did not look up or pause in her recitation.

‘No dance, no books. No dance, no books.
Nodancenobooksnodance
.’

She turned her body away from the sight of Clem and shut her eyes. After a while, she slept, falling into a feverish dream in which she was back at the mill, and late, and Jim Christy, the pennyhoil man, was shutting the gate in her face, and she had her hands on the bars and was pleading with him to let her in. She woke to a tugging on her arm – Clem’s face close to hers, and the day room drenched with woozy golden light. ‘It’s time for the dance,’ she said.

Ella blinked at her. ‘What dance?’

Clem grinned, baring her teeth; there were small flecks of white at the edge of her lips. ‘If they won’t let us dance in the ballroom, then we’ll make our own. We’ll show them. We don’t need stupid Dr Fuller and his
stupid
violin. Come
on
.’ She yanked Ella by the arm. ‘If you get up, then I’ll play.’

‘Wait.’

Clem made a small, impatient noise and turned on her heel. Ella stayed where she was, watching as Clem walked around the listless, sunken women, clapping her hands in their faces. ‘Wake up! Wake up! One day we’re all going to be dead.’

The nurse on duty was watching, but lazily, with half an eye, as Clem lifted the lid of the piano and played a few brief bars of a piece that Ella recognized, a beautiful piece, one that Dr Fuller had played. For a moment the notes hung on the air, until they crashed into clashing chords. ‘If
he
won’t play for us,’ said Clem, ‘I’ll do it.’ Next came the first few bars of a waltz, and then she was away from the piano and on her feet, clapping and singing. ‘
Da
da-da
Da
da-da
Da
da-da
Da
da-da.’

Old Germany was up, and Clem caught her, turning a hectic circle around the room. When they came close to where Ella was sitting, Clem span Old Germany around then let her go free. She turned to Ella, kicking her on the shin. ‘Get up then. Go on.’

Clem grabbed her hands, and this time Ella allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. ‘One day you’ll be dead,’ said Clem, and then leant forward, putting her lips on Ella’s own. At first they were hard and bloodless, and then, as she pressed herself closer, they softened, and Ella felt the quick small flick of her tongue. ‘Pretend I’m him.’ Clem pulled back, placing her cheek on Ella’s, whispering into her ear. ‘Why don’t you just pretend I’m him?’ Then she span them off, singing tunelessly.

Ella tried to find her footing, but Clem was too fast and the spinning was making her dizzy. ‘Stop. Can you just—’

‘Stop bleating, would you, and
dance
.’

Clem’s small, hard breasts pressed painfully against hers, the heel of her palms grinding against her own, until she hit the side of an armchair, and pain bloomed along Ella’s hip. She wrenched herself away, the movement taking her on to the floor, the room spinning, giddy, queasy, until she vomited between her hands. When there was nothing left inside her, she managed to stand. Her eyes were streaming. The back of her nose and throat stung. She wiped her face and eyes with her sleeve. Clem was standing a little way away, breathing hard, her arms folded, a look of contempt on her face.

‘I’m sorry.’ Ella took a few paces towards her then faltered. ‘I just felt sick.’

Clem made a snorting noise. ‘Well, you shouldn’t have eaten so much food at lunch, should you? That’s what you get for eating twice.’

The next morning in the laundry, Clem was working on the other side of the room and so their paths did not cross, but at dinnertime, when Ella made her way over towards where she was sitting, ready to take her usual place, Clem looked up. ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was very calm.

‘Sitting down.’

‘Not here.’

Ella’s lips were dry. ‘Why not here?’

‘Because I don’t want you to.’ Clem’s face was smooth.

Ella’s cheeks scalded as she made her way to an empty space on the far side of the hall. She felt tears wanting to come, so put the heels of her palms to her eyes and ground them out. All through dinner she kept her gaze fixed on her plate, but when she was finished eating she couldn’t help but look up to where Clem was sitting, arms folded over her chest, bowl in front of her, staring out at nothing.

That was three days without food.

In the day room she saw immediately that they had removed the encylopaedia, and that, instead of the tall gold-backed books, there was only a length of bare shelf.

A high, thin sound came from beside her, and she turned to see Clem, standing very still, staring at the space where the books should be. After a moment, Clem took a couple of steps towards the bookshelf, reached out and ran her fingertip along the wood. ‘
I cannot live with you
,’ she muttered. ‘
It would be life. And life is over there. Behind the shelf
.’

‘Clem?’

Clem raised her head.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Why? Why are you sorry?’

Ella gestured to the shelf. ‘I’m sorry they took your books away. I’m sorry the encyclopaedia has gone. I’m sorry about the dancing.’

‘Oh. Is that it?’ Clem said in a strange, light voice. ‘Is that all?’

The skin was stretched tight across Clem’s skull. It seemed to Ella that while some parts of her were shrinking, others were getting bigger. Her jaw. Her forehead. Her eyes. Fear uncurled inside Ella.

‘You have to eat, Clem. Please eat. If you don’t, you’ll get ill.’

‘I already am ill.’ Clem spoke slowly. ‘I mean, really, Ella. You can’t be that stupid, can you? Why on earth do you think I’m in here?’

‘No.’ Ella shook her head. ‘You’re not ill.’

Clem gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘What do you know anyway?’

‘I know you’re not ill. And I know they’ll put you in the chronic wards if you don’t eat.’

‘So?’

‘If you go, then you won’t come out again.’

‘
If you go, then you won’t come out again.
’ Clem mocked Ella’s accent. ‘God, you’re so
dull
sometimes, you know that? Don’t you see? Who cares?’ she said. ‘Who bloody cares what happens to me?’

‘I do,’ said Ella miserably. ‘You’re my friend.’

Clem said nothing to that.

‘Clem?’

‘What?’

‘Here.’ She reached into her dress and brought out the letter, the last one he had given her, the one she hadn’t yet heard. ‘It’s a new letter. I kept it from you. I’m sorry. Take it. I can’t read it anyway, can I? You can have it if you want.’

Clem looked from the letter to Ella and back again. Her face was twisted and ugly with wanting. She was so hungry. Her hunger was frightening.

‘Here.’ Ella pushed her fist towards Clem. ‘Read it, please. And then, would you help me write one back?’

Clem carried on staring at the letter but did not take it. Instead, she turned away, curling over herself as though protecting a wound. She began to shake. At first Ella thought she was crying, but when she finally looked up Clem’s face was contorted, her mouth stretched wide. ‘Why?’ she said. ‘Why should I help you write your
stupid
letter? I thought you cared about me?’

‘I do.’

‘Well, if you care about me so much you’ll know when to bloody well
leave me alone.
’ She was speaking so loudly that everyone would be able to hear.

Ella sensed movement in the room around them – saw the Irish nurse stand, come closer. She turned her back to her. ‘Clem. Please.’

‘Go on.’ Clem was shouting now. ‘Why should I help you? You’re just a stupid, ignorant girl who can’t even read. Why don’t you tell him? Next time you see him? Next time you
dance
with him, if you can even call it that. Whatever it is you do with him. What is it you
do
with him, Ella? Why don’t you tell him that you can’t read? See what he thinks of you then? Your
man.
Your
John
.’

She snatched the letter from Ella’s hand and waved it in her face. ‘You’ve no idea what this says, have you? You think he’d like you if it weren’t for me? If it weren’t for
my
words?’ Her lips curled back, and she was a snarling, spitting dog. ‘How do you even know what he
wrote
? I could have made it all up. You wouldn’t know the difference, you’re so stupid. How do you know it’s not me he likes after all?’

Ella reached up and slapped her across the cheek. Clem staggered backwards, hand to her face, gasping, then laughed, as though she were pleased, as though that was exactly what she had wanted to happen. Her cheek was bright red: the marks of Ella’s fingers clear upon it. She was still holding the letter, crumpled now in her fist. Ella took a step towards her. ‘Give that back.’

‘Why should I?’

She grabbed Clem’s hair and twisted it around her fist. ‘Give it
back
.’

Clem cried out in pain, and as her hands went to her head the letter fell to the floor. Ella let go, clawing to pick it up, but arrived too late.

The Irish nurse had got there first.

I
F HE RESTED
his hands on the green baize of his desk, they did not tremble quite so much.

The crumpled letter was pinned by a paperweight at each corner. He read it again, slowly, mouthing the words under his breath.

Gradh Machree,

I barely know how to write to you, since now you seem to me a creature beyond any words.

There was a moment when I watched you, before you knew I was there. I watched your face as you stood beneath the tree. I hope you can forgive me. But there was no fear there, even though it was dark and the night was all around.

I will not write of our meeting. I cannot. Only to say, I believe the trees were our only witness. The trees and the fields and the sky.

You told me we were free. I asked you to stay with me. I think of this often, now. I told you once that you were made for flight. And so I believe you are. Forgive me for keeping you here.

It is my great hope that we will meet in the same way again. But I would wish we would meet in freedom. True freedom. You were right. We must take our freedom now.

We will meet again. I know it. I know it as I know that my name is John or that I have five fingers on my right hand and I come from Mayo in the far west of Ireland. And these are things I know well.

And so, I look forward, mavourneen, greatly to that day, or that night.

Yours,

John Mulligan

The handwriting was careful, perhaps not that of a man who was used to wielding the pen, but the language was fluent enough, or, if not fluent, it made a virtue of a slight hesitancy. Charles knew there were board schools in Ireland, but there was something in this man’s turn of phrase that could not be taught. Where had he learnt to write like that? And this girl – she was half feral. Surely she could come up with little in response?

‘What does this mean?’ He pointed to the letter, looking up to where Nurse Keane was standing before him.

The woman leant over the desk. ‘
Mavourneen?
That would mean … my darling,’ she said, pressing her lip in a tight thin line.

‘And this? …
Gradh Machree?
’

‘I believe,’ the tip of the woman’s nose was turning red, ‘bright love of my heart, Doctor.’

‘I see,’ said Charles. ‘Thank you.’ He dismissed her with a wave of the hand.

As he sat there, something occurred to him: that this was not the only letter; somewhere there must be a hoard of them, a cache. The girl must have them about her person somewhere. If he were to summon her here, force her to give them up …

He folded the letter and placed it on the mantelshelf alongside his sketches. If he were to summon her directly, the game would be up, and there would be no more letters. It would be more politic to wait and watch.

Along with delivery of the letter, the nurse had brought him news of Miss Church’s disobedience. He requested an appointment with the superintendent at the earliest opportunity; Dr Soames received him in his room.

‘It appears my idea has worked, sir. Miss Church has refused to eat for the last few days.’

The older man nodded. ‘So I hear. And you take this to be a good thing?’

‘I do, sir. She is reacting against her environment. Now her books have gone she cannot help but see what surrounds her. This is the first step towards her recovery. But it will not be easy; there has been a violent incident with another patient, a Miss Fay. A most unsuitable companion for a young lady. Miss Church has been violent with the nurses too it seems. One of them was badly bitten while trying to feed her.’

‘I see.’ The man nodded. ‘Where is she now?’

‘The infirmary. I think, sir, she must be fed by tube.’

‘Indeed.’ The superintendent looked hunched suddenly, old. ‘You know I am a friend of the father, Fuller. Considering the … special nature of the patient, I wouldn’t want to entrust such a job to just anyone. But I find I have little stomach for the task. Might I entrust Miss Church to your care?’

Charles wanted to laugh. Was the pun intentional? ‘Of course, sir.’ He gave a slight bow. ‘I should be delighted to carry out the feeding myself.’

When the patient was carried in by two male attendants, she was already strapped to the chair. She had grown noticeably thinner. Charles was shocked at the transformation but determined she would not see what he felt.