Mad Alice Lane

Chapter Twenty

Alice

My eyes opened with a start and I moved up into a sitting position immediately. I was not entirely certain of what was going on, but my body and my mind were alert.

I looked around me. I was in a small room, painted entirely white, from the wooden floorboard to the plaster ceiling. It was a far cry from the cell I had occupied for the last few months. Tentatively I stretched my arms to see if shackles still bound them but they moved freely, coming to rest in front of me. There were still raw red marks on my wrists but they were clean.

In fact, my entire body was clean; both in look and smell. I was wearing a simple white linen shift, not of fine quality, but of good sturdy fabric with a ribbon that tied tightly at my neck. There was no mirror, but I put a hand to my head, which no longer felt as if it was crawling alive with lice. My hair was unmated and lay soft and smooth against my scalp, caught together at the nape of my neck by a tie of some sort.

I got up from the wooden bed, complete with thick woollen sheets and a soft horsehair mattress, and went over to the window. It was barred with iron, but I could still see out on to a green park where, in the distance, carriages passed. I thought I knew where I was: The Retreat.

I remembered the trial, piecing it together in my head. I remembered the twin relief and horror to look up, recognising a voice and seeing Samuel standing there, facing the judge, then to look down at myself, covered in grime, smelling of a pigsty and accused of murder. The shame of it made me wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole, and then, when the judge passed sentence - that I was to be taken to The Retreat and not to the gallows - it seemed as if the ground did open, and I remembered nothing more.

The force of the recollections caused me to sit down on the bed once more with a thump. I had escaped the gallows, despite killing my husband. It was painful to think of those nightmare days with him, but I was saved from doing so by a key in the door.

I drew the sheets over my legs to gain some sort of protection but let them fall when I saw the face that entered. Samuel.

He looked uncomfortable and awkward, and had yet to meet my eyes. I had to speak first.

"Samuel."

"Mrs Smith."

"Mrs Smith?"

"You must be feeling a little disorientated. You fainted after the judge passed sentence at your trial. What do you remember?"

Although I had crossed my legs leaving ample space on the bed, Samuel pulled a chair towards him and sat on that.

"What do I remember?" I asked, confused. This was not the Samuel I knew. I was wrong-footed; adrift.

"Yes, Mrs Smith. What do you remember of the trial?"

"I remember it all, Mr Tuke," I said.

"So, you recall you stood accused of murdering your husband, and that you faced death?"

"I am aware of it, yes."

"And that you have been brought here, under my protection, as you have been declared insane?"

"Yes."

"And you understand that you are to remain here for the rest of your days? That although you have been spared a death sentence, the law demands retribution for your crimes."

"Yes."

"You will never leave this place, Mrs Smith."

I was unable to take his coldness anymore, "Sam-" but I was interrupted when the door swung open once more.