The Observations (23 page)

Of course to begin with I had simply wanted to scare the mullacky out her. And why not, I ask you? Why not indeed, you reply. Well I’ll tell you why not. She had misled me and betrayed me and took advantage of me and poked around into my past, moreover she had said some rotten things about me in her scutting book, about my appearance and how I followed her round like a Tantony pig, all this. It seemed to me that a small fright or two here and there was not overmuch to ask in the way of retribution. It was only a cod so it was. And boys oh dear, was it not a lark to see her looking so thrilled and nervy! Every door that banged she leapt about 6 foot in the air. And if ever I happened to emerge suddenly from a place she wasn’t expecting, she would shriek and clutch at her chest.

“Oh Bessy!” she’d say. “What a fright you gave me! Feel this.”

Then she’d take my hand and press it to the place where her heart throbbed beneath her bodice. Well that happened a few times, I daresay I was not averse to it. And it was a laugh that she had got stuck on the notion that the ghost was Nora. I made the most of that with the gloves and hair clasp and honeysuckle and what have you.

But nothing prepared me for her reaction to the writing in the window. I had put “My Lady‘ because according to
The Observations
that is what Nora called missus. But now—what if my Arabella remained deluded? What if (God forbid) she were to die?

How long I sat there watching over her and cursing myself for being a terrible person I know not, it seemed as if my care for life was all gone. I tried to soften it for myself by saying I was brought up wicked and didn’t know any better, so it wasn’t really my fault I couldn’t help what I done. But a voice inside me kept raising objections. Saying things like, “You could have gone to Mass when you was at Mr. Levys, for he would have let you go if you wanted. But Oh no, what did you do instead of a Sunday? Lay stinking in bed and then go and eat hokey-Pokeys in the Park.” And it said, “You could have forgive missus and turned the other cheek, she is a lady after all.” And it said, “Brought up wicked or not, you know what is right from what is wrong.”

To punish myself I resolved to bite off my own thumb at the root. I did
begin
to do so and might even have achieved my aim but that the task proved much too painful and so instead I bit at the flesh of my arm very hard indeed, so you could still see the teeth-marks two days later. And although I never was much of a one for prayers it is an indication of how desperate I was that I got down on my knees and put my hands together for missus. I begged over and over again that she would please get well. After which I prayed that I could be made into a better sort of girl than I was and not be sent to Hell. And then I ran out of things to say about that and got to praying that the doctor would just hurry up and come. He took forever—but eventually I heard a pony trap rattle up the lane.

I hurried over to the bed and peered down at missus. She was fire-faced now, covered in sweat and her breathing came in fits and starts. Even in this state she seemed to know that I had done her harm for when I touched her hand she moaned and pulled away. With a final glance at her lovely face, I left the room and flew up to the attic.

There was the dirty skylight—and traced upon it the message of which I had previously been so proud.

HELP ME MY LADY

I had so many reasons to get rid of that writing, not least my own shame. God knows I didn’t want the chance of missus seeing it again. For look what it had done to her the first time. And I daresay I did not want master James to find it. I had a feeling that if he
did
happen to turn his steely gaze upon it not much time would pass before the same gaze were turned upon
me.

I cast around for a rag to wipe away my crime but found none. Instead, I stood on tiptoe and rubbed the filthy glass with my sleeve until every trace of the writing had disappeared. If it were necessary, I would have licked the scut clean.

As I left the attic, I heard the sound of hurried footsteps in the hall down below. And when I reached the landing I was shocked to see master James coming upstairs with McGregor-Robertson hot on his heels. This (the master) I was not prepared for. I stood with my mouth open as the pair of them dashed towards me, two men. A dark blur of limbs shoulders elbows clarty boots and the doctors bag and coat tails.

Master James gave me a scowl as they barged past. “I’ll be wanting a word with you later,” he says. “Get downstairs now and wait.”

“Sir!” I says. “The missus—”

But before I could continue they had disappeared into her room and slammed the door in my face leaving behind them only a stale whiff of cigar smoke.

Back in the kitchen I just sat there feeling helpless staring into the fire. I couldn’t seem to shift myself to work. What did I care about a few crumbs and a speck of dust? Not a fartleberry. I got to wondering whether I should run away. But that was the cowards way out. I couldn’t do it, especially since missus might think wrong of me. Then after a while I had an idea. I
would
take French leave but not without a word. What I’d do was compose a private note for missus, a full confession and apology. That way she’d know I’d done wrong, but I’d have owned up and said I was sorry. And as time went by she might find it in her heart to forgive me.

Feeling somewhat better already I got a piece of paper and a pencil and wrote.

Dear Madam, You know you thought there was a ghost in the house well it were me all along that done the haunting, I put your gloves on the bed and wrote the message in the window and all the other things like walking in the attic I done them as well. I don’t know why I done it, except I thought you did not like me any more. But that is no excuse and I hope you can believe me when I say I am TRULY SORRY. I am sure you will understand that I can stay no longer at Castle Haivers. I hope that my departure does not inconvenience you too much. You will find someone else and they had better know what a lucky girl they are. I hope that the hurt I done you will heal and that you are feeling better. A thousand apologies please FORGIVE ME I am not really DUPLICITOUS

Your very devoted servant

Bessy

PS I punched you in the face as well when you took your fit in the attic but it was only because I wanted you to come out of it. I would never have hit you otherwise. I just wanted you to know that in case you remembered and thought wrong of me.

PPS Also I went in your drawers a while back and read what you wrote about me in your book. It was a shock to see some of those things you said and I was hurt but as I sit here and stew over this letter I do be thinking what a truly wonderful lady you must be for you have known all this time about what I was before and you have never mentioned it once to me nor tret me any different (because of that anyway) nor dismissed me and there is not many would have done the same. So I am grateful.

PPPS May the next one be a better girl than I was, I hope your book goes well, it is awful well done.

My spirits rose upon finishing this letter, at least I had done the right thing and confessed. Perhaps I was good after all. In fact it is a wonder I did not float out the window I was feeling that saintly. I was tempted to walk out the kitchen door there and then but just as I was about to depart I heard footsteps running downstairs and the master calling out.

“Bessy! Bessy!”

Like that, my heart flew up into my head and beat its wings between my ears. In my minds eye I seen missus laid out in white, surrounded by golden angels. Then I seen a vision of her with hair all wild and matted, chained up in an asylum, screaming “Nora! Nora!

Next she appeared, smartly dressed, all this, but looking stern as she stood in the doorway of the house, pointing me (sorry-faced) in the direction of the Great Road. Then a final vision, this time a return to the gallows, where my mother hove into view, throwing back her head and cackling as my body swung to and fro.

All these visions took no more than a few seconds. I glanced towards the kitchen door, I could have stepped out and vanished into the trees before anyone noticed. Instead what I done was steady myself for a second by leaning against the table. Then I put the letter in my apron pocket and went along the passage into the hall to face the master. All very noble yes, yes. But I near had a dose of the scutters if you want the truth of it, or maybe you don’t.

The two gentlemen were stood outside the study talking in low voices. When I approached master James motioned me to wait where I stood, at some little distance from them. He and the doctor exchanged another few hushed words then shook hands. The master stepped into his study and—without giving me another glance—closed the door. What to make of that I knew not, but it didn’t look good.

In the same moment, the doctor turned towards me. It was impossible to tell anything from his phiz he was not an animated man at the best of times, I’ve seen more expression on a ham bone. Today was no exception. What made it worse, he never looked you in the eye. He was forever glancing off to the side and if he did ever face you he was one of those condescending articles that talks to you with their eyes shut as though they do not care to include you in their field of vision.

Sir, can I do anything? Is she all right, sir? Should I go up and see her?“

Without replying, McGregor-Robertson set down his bag by the hallstand. Then he removed his gloves from his pocket and began to pull them on, finger by finger. I stood in silence, awaiting my fate. Was I to fetch the undertaker? Or was missus gone moony?

Once the gloves were pulled on to his satisfaction, the doctor addressed the banister sternly. Aye, your mistress has suffered a wee collapse. Do you know how it happened?“

My confession was for missus not for the likes of him and so I felt only a twinge of guilt in replying, “No I don’t, sir. But is she going to be all right?”

“That depends,” he says. “I fear her symptoms are much more complicated than a simple fainting fit. Her condition is grave. She may be very unwell.”

His words rained down on me like blows. Very unwell. More complicated. Grave. That depends. Oh if only I could exchange places with her! I’d have done it in a second, so I would. I would have peeled the skin off my own face with a blunt paring knife, if it would have helped her. But the doctor was still speaking. “Aye, for the time being,” he says. “She is not in a lucid state. She has spoke only a few words.”

“What did she say?”

He shook his head. “It does not bear repeating, for none of it makes one whit of sense.”

“What—what about the blood at her mouth, sir? Is she hurt bad?”

“Her mouth? Oh aye—she must have bit her lip when she fell. No, that’s a minor cut, nothing to worry about. What is of concern to me is her fever and the state of her nerves. This next day or two are crucial. She’ll need care, somebody to watch over her through the night, somebody who will keep her temperature down and send for me if her condition gets any worse. Are you capable of it, lassie? Or do you want me to send a woman up from the village or the farm?”

These words he had addressed to the hallstand. In the whole conversation he had not looked at me once. Was it shyness or condescension, it was hard to tell but it gave the impression that his opinion of you was none too high.

“I’ll do whatever’s needed, sir,” I says. “There’s no need to send for anybody. I am quite capable of looking after my missus.”

He glanced at me for the first time. Are you crying, girl?“

“No, sir,” I says. “Not at all. Now will you please tell me what it is that I have to do to make missus better?”

All this while, not a peep from master James. The door to the study remained resolutely shut. Once I’d shown the doctor out I legged it to the kitchen and began to gather the things I would need. I found Hector in the yard and charged him with feeding the animals and a few other tasks and then I went upstairs. For the time being, I put the thought of taking flight out of my mind—that could wait until missus was better. I resolved to restore her to health and then creep away only afterwards, leaving behind my note as explanation. All I could hope was that she would recover. I would burst my hole to make it happen.

I found her asleep but restless. Jesus Murphy she was hotter than a roasted apple and so I draped a few cool cloths on her brow and throat as the doctor had instructed and then I laid the fire. Once that was lit I dragged the wicker chair to the bedside and began rotation of the cloths in and out cold water and onto the missus skin.

About an hour passed in this fashion. It had grown quite dark since I first sat down and I had not yet lit a candle, the only light came from the fire. From time to time missus moaned and her eyelids fluttered. I must have been powerful absorbed in my task because I was startled when the chamber door swung open and I turned to see a figure standing just inside the room. Master James. He closed the door but did not approach the bed.

“Tell me how the patient fares,” he says. His eyes were gleaming in the firelight, the rest of his face in shadow.

I busied myself wringing out a set of cloths, glad to have something to do. “Much the same, sir. She still has the fever.” I was trying to make my voice sound normal but it shook, thank God the room was gloomy and my face
1/2
hid.

“The doctor tells me this was a collapse due to nerves or somesuch.”

“Yes, sir.”

Master James came to the foot of the bed. He glanced at the prostrate form beneath the covers and then looked at me. What he saw seemed to displease him. “Your bun is loose,” he says.

He was right, so it was. I had not thought of it since I had shook out my hair in the attic. I reached up and began to tidy some loose strands.

Never mind that now,“ he says. ”For the moment, I would be interred to hear from you in your own words what happened today.“ He put his head to one side and with one hand in his pocket, he lay in wait for me.

“Well, sir,” says I, careful. “There’s not much to tell. She collapsed, sir, but I’m sure she’ll soon be back to her old self. The doctor tellt me how to look after her and I’ll do it sir every bit of it, you needn’t lift a finger. I’m going to make her better just you see if I don’t. And I’ll get you some dinner in a minute as well. Now would you like lamb chops sir or there’s herring? A fishwife came by this morning.”