Patsy's fury was unbound. Last night she had screamed, kicked and cried her heart out at finding herself in this god-forbidden cottage in Wales again with its damp walls as they closed in around her. Why her mother insisted they live out here she could barely imagine. Patsy had said and thought some things that were far from becoming and having stormed up to her bedroom some hours ago, her mother had not followed her.
When she had fallen asleep, her interrupted dreams were haunted by images of that walk along the Seine and that cramped garret they had stayed in at the top of the house, even if it was only for two days before they fled again. The repeated times she banged her head on the low beams and that patch on the floorboards that crunched ominously when you stepped on it. The dreams felt so real and present it was almost as though she could feel the rough wallpaper, the thin cotton sheets and Delia's hand in hers.
It was almost as though they were back there.
Wonderful and free as they strolled around the winding alleyways of Vallauris with nobody even acknowledging them as the pair walked arm in arm, looking into the windows of shops and cafes as life revolved around them. They could just be and whilst it was short, the sweetness of those few days had stayed with Patsy even in the tumult of her return.
During a restless night, she had woken with a start more times than she could count; that rush of anxious adrenalin that caused her eyes to fly open as it taunted her in dreams. That weight that had lifted immediately from her shoulders as soon as she and Delia stepped foot on French soil was back with a vengeance and Patsy's head was spinning.
As she lay in bed as morning dawned, her eiderdown wrapped tight around her shoulders, she could barely speak. Outside her room she could hear footsteps and at first thought it was the housemaid, but she knew Valerie would knock. Instead, she heard her mother – without even a thought for her daughter's privacy - stalk across the room; the click click click of the heels of her embroidered pumps on the wooden floor sounding in annoyance.
"Do sit up Patience. You know full well it is uncouth to slouch" Mrs Mount barked as she threw back the curtains, letting in streams of early morning sunlight.
Patsy sat up, hair dangling over her sore eyes that were red and swollen with the tears that had flowed for hours last night. Her head began to swim as soon as she sat up and she blinked in a vain attempt to focus. It was almost as though her head had been filled with a heavy, deadly cloud that made it feel as though it was so overflowing that she could barely hold her head up straight. Patsy breathed heavily trying to find her lungs as she swung her legs over the side of her bed to sit. Her mother sat beside her; not too close though that she might feel her presence as a daughter should. Arm's length.
"Now", Mrs Mount began her voice cold, unfeeling and intending to go straight to the point. This was not a moment to dilly-dally. The sooner it was done, the better it would be for all concerned. "The car is almost ready and one will ask the staff to bring your cases down. One intends to leave at eleven o'clock on the dot, not a moment after". She saw her daughter hook a strand of hair behind her ear. "One will ask Dolly to bring up a washbasin and she will tidy that abomination..."
Self-conciously Patsy patted the back of her hair down. No, it was a sight. She did not need her mother or a mirror to tell her otherwise.
"Why do I have go to to a convent Mother?" she asked. Those words last night. "Convent" "Indefinitely" "Tomorrow". "I could go and live with Aunt Monica instead" Patsy pleaded, turning her palms over and over. At least her aunt lived in a city; somewhere civilised and the old dear was getting on so that she might just benefit from a younger companion?
"Your aunt Monica is unwell, as you already know, Patience" her mother replied, trying to keep her temper at this continued belligerence. "She is elderly and is not in a position to care for you. No, no, the Sisters will attend to you and cure your sickness".
"My sickness?" Patsy queried, eyes fluttering open in shock, her heart clattering into life at the rush of fear she suddenly felt. That feeling of being utterly bereft had not left her from yesterday.
"Yes," her mother replied bluntly, barely able to look her only daughter in the eye. "This affliction you suffer from. This ridiculous infatuation with this creature of a girl who has influenced you this way. With the assistance of god and the Sisters, you will be restored to your sensibilities. If you pray hard enough with their guidance your innocence will be rebuilt and you can live a worthwhile and fulfilling life when you marry a good man".
"I am not ill, Mother", Patsy pleaded, still confused.
Her mother huffed, her chin jutting out in disgust. "You are incredibly lucky that Dr Dean did not recommend the asylum. Your behaviour truly makes me wonder if you are still in possession of the sensibilties you were born with. You are clearly not capable of making rational decisions for your own well-being". Her mother paused. "One will spend one night at the Convent with you as the journey is somewhat long, but you will be at the Convent until one deems it appropriate you return to me and the Sisters can procure your reformation. When one is confident that you have been cured and we will see, if He is so favouring, if bridges can be built with the Warings". Her mother pressed her palm to her chest. How unedifying it had all been to face them with the news of this...this...the words were stuck in Mrs Mount's craw. To have to explain to them that her daughter had taken flight! Why? Could the infernal child not see just how well she could do for herself rather than a silly folly with this devil?
Her mother stood up and brushed her skirts, heavy hands swiping the material down. "Half an hour Patience; and please ensure you look respectable when you come downstairs. One is not taking you to the Convent looking as though you have been dragged through a hedge backwards and out again".
With that her mother was gone; those heels click-clicking on the floor again.
Patsy stood up and shivered, the room swaying for a moment as though she was on a restless ship. She had not eaten or taken a drink since...well she couldn't remember! Turning to the mirror she saw a sight before her and she let what was left of her pinned hair fall around her shoulders. She frowned. "Cured?" she whispered to herself as she walked across to her dressing table. "Cured?"
She took up her hair brush, pulling it gently through the auburn strands. "Am I sick?" she asked herself. "Is there a 'cure' for what I feel?" Dr Dean last night had examined her as though she was an anomoly, someone abnormal yet as far as she could understand, these feelings, well if a woman could feel them towards a man, why not a woman to a woman? Patsy truly had feared that her mother might see to her being committed, but no matter how hard she pleaded for her to at least try to understand. No, it was more than clear exactly how Mrs Mount felt. She would even see her daughter sent away, all for the sake of what?! Appearances? Or was it wrong and she was losing her faculties?
Almost for the first time she thought of Delia. At Paris, for the second time, they were separated, watching each other as the distance across the gleaming floor of Gard De Nord grew as each second ticked on. Was Delia back in Wales too? For years they had barely lived more than two miles away until what seemed like an endless time ago, they found each other. She could run again but what would that achieve? That would mean the asylum and she had heard too many things to take that chance. Perhaps the Convent – for now – might be her best and only option where she could think. Patsy smiled ironically as she continued to examine her tired face in the mirror, it was not an option at all but it would mean Mother was miles away.
Her thoughts were broken when she heard a polite tap on the door. She knew who that was. It was Dolly and that washbasin.
One minute to eleven o'clock Patsy arrived in the dark hallway. Her mother was already there and out of the corner of her eye she saw the doorway that led to the kitchen corridor open slightly. Then she heard the whispers through the crack.
'Poor girl'
'How could a mother do that to her own child?'
'I heard she was an invert'
'Shut it Doll, you don't know nothing'.
"Mother?" Patsy asked, trying to ignore the conversation that was going on amongst their staff. "Could you tell Chummy where I am?"
"No" her Mother responded flatly, adjusting her hat in the hallway mirror so it was perfect.
"Why not?" her daughter responded, feeling that obstruction in her chest arise again but she was not going to cry. "She is my dearest friend and she will worry Mother".
"That may well be the case" Mrs Mount responded, gently pressing her lip to smooth away a barely visible smudge, "but you are not a suitable companion for her and besides her parents will see she is reassured".
Patsy was confused. They had known each other since they were eleven!
Her mother turned to her as Patsy stood at the bottom of the stairs, seeing the look on her face. "Camilla is a good and honest girl who has lived her life in accordance with the teachings of the Bible and the wishes of her parents, Patience. Her father, who one might add one entirely agrees with, does not wish her to be influenced by those who might impact on her current..." Mrs Mount struggled for the word. "Those who might interfere with her current entanglement".
"Her what?" Patsy asked, taking a step or two towards her mother in surprise.
Her mother turned to her and sighed, seeing the door where the servants had been close now. It was discomforting enough to now have to cobble together a plausible story of where her daughter was going for may be weeks or months – or indeed where she had been - but now the staff had been ear-wigging! "Her father feels very much that in the forthcoming weeks, they will have an engagement to announce and I for one will not stand that you or your ...friends...influence that". Her mother still saw the lost look on Patsy's face and a brief flash of what might have been sympathy overcame her. "So much for your unending friendship with her that you did not even know her news! Daniel Gregory..." Mrs Mount concluded, going back to adjusting her hat.
"I do know of him", Patsy replied defensively, yet equally wondering just exactly what was being kept behind closed doors. Did Chummy have a secret?
"Well her Mother too is quite sure we will soon have something to celebrate" Mrs Mount replied, keen to start this journey. "Now...come along. We have a long road ahead of us". She had decided against asking a Police Officer to escort them. It was better this debacle was kept to as little as possible.
"Long road?" Patsy thought as she was ushered out of the door. "Yes, it will be".