This House is Haunted (12 page)

“Oh dear me, no,” I said, laughing a little. “Don’t you think that would be a little young? Could you imagine Isabella getting married?”

Eustace snorted a little and his sister silenced him with a look. She turned to me with a dark expression and I could see that she had taken my light-hearted remark badly.

“I call that a very rude remark,” she said in a low voice. “Do you think that no one would want me?”

“Oh really, Isabella,” I said, hoping to lighten the mood. “I didn’t mean anything of the sort. I only meant that it would be rather unusual for a girl of your age to find a suitor, don’t you
agree? In time, of course, there will be any number of young men vying for your hand.”

“And what about you, Eliza Caine,” she asked, leaning forward and picking up one of her pencils before pressing the finely pared point down slowly into the top of her left hand. “You’re not married, are you?”

I hesitated, nervous that she might injure herself. “No,” I said. “No, I’m not.”

“But you’re quite old. What age are you, anyway?”

“What age do you think I am?” I asked, wishing that she would not pursue this topic any further.

“Sixty-seven,” said Eustace.

“I’m twenty-one, you cheeky boy,” I said, smiling at him.

“Twenty-one and unmarried,” said Isabella. “Don’t you worry about being left on the shelf?”

“It’s not something I give much thought to,” I replied, a lie.

“What, never?”

“No. I have my position, after all. Here at Gaudlin Hall. And I’m very content with it.”

“But would you choose us over a husband?” she asked.

“Well, I don’t know,” I said, uncertainty creeping into my voice.

“Don’t you want children of your own? Isn’t it tiresome to be taking care of someone else’s?”

“I should very much like to have children,” I said. “One day, hopefully, that might happen.”

“But if you married, then you wouldn’t be able to work, would you?” she continued, her voice growing more intense as she spoke, her argument being driven home to me, the pencil tip pressing deeper against her skin until I became agitated that she might pierce it entirely and draw blood.

“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked.

“Well, who would look after your children? You couldn’t let another woman bring them up, could you?”

“Isabella!” whispered Eustace, poking her in the side with an unhappy expression on his face, a mixture of fear and horror that she was making these apparently innocuous remarks.

“I suppose not,” I said. “I expect my husband would be working and I would devote my time to looking after the children. That is the way of the world, after all. But really, Isabella, these are hypotheticals and—”

“Children are a mother’s responsibility, are they not?” she continued. “And no other woman should attempt to take a mother’s place.”

“Well, I suppose so,” I said, uncertain what she was getting at.

“You wouldn’t allow it, would you?” she asked. “If someone asked you to marry them, I mean. And if you said yes. And if you had children. You wouldn’t allow another woman to bring them up?”

“No,” I said. “That would be my job.”

“Then you understand,” she said, leaning back, returning the pencil to the groove at the top of her desk, apparently satisfied now.

“Understand what?” I asked, for no matter how hard I thought about it, I had no idea of the point she was trying to make.

“Everything,” she said with a deep sigh and turned her head away, looking out the window. I watched her for what felt like the longest time; she seemed to be in a daze of some sort, a daze which left me in the same state, and it was only when Eustace spoke that we both snapped out of it.

“Miss Caine,” he said quietly, almost in a whisper, and I spun round.

“Yes,” I said. “To work, children. We can’t sit around gossiping all day, can we? I thought today that we should look at the Kings and Queens of England. There’s so much to learn about history there and I think you’ll find the stories fascinating.”

“We know something about Kings and Queens,” he remarked. “A King stayed here at Gaudlin Hall once.”

I laughed. “Can that be true?” I asked, wondering whether he was inventing some story for mischief’s sake.

“It is true, actually,” said Isabella, turning back to look at me, her piercing blue eyes meeting my own. “Father told us all about it. It was a long time ago, of course. More than a hundred years. 1737, to be precise. When Great-Grandfather was master of Gaudlin.”

“1737,” I said, running through the lists in my head. “So the king would have been—”

“George II,” she replied. “I told you he wasn’t making it up. I wouldn’t be so quick with that if he was, would I?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “Really, Eustace, I wasn’t doubting you,” I added, looking at her brother, who smiled brightly back at me. “I was just surprised, that’s all. The sovereign here at Gaudlin Hall! How exciting it must have been for everyone.”

“I daresay it was,” said Isabella. “But the Queen, Caroline of Ansbach, took ill after a turn in the gardens. She was bled and purged in the room next to your own, Eliza Caine, but it didn’t do her much good. The doctor was a fool, you see. He didn’t know how to treat her, that was the problem. Provincial doctors often don’t. One is often better served to leave nature to take care of the body than to trust a Norfolk physician. His attentions would have been better suited to the horses in the stable or Heckling’s dog, Pepper.” I stared at her, both amused
and perplexed by the way she talked; it was obvious that this was a speech that she had heard many times before—perhaps the words came directly from her father as he recounted the tale to friends over the dinner table—but hearing such adult syntax emerging from the mouth of one so young was disconcerting and not a little unsettling. “In the end, they took her back to London,” she continued. “But her bowel ruptured and she died. The King was distraught. He loved his Queen very much, you see. He never took another wife despite living for almost a quarter-century afterwards. That’s quite honourable, don’t you think? But he took against Great-Grandfather on account of the association. He didn’t invite him to appear at court any more. It was a source of enormous disappointment to Great-Grandfather, who was a supporter of the Crown. Our family always has been, since the Restoration. We were on the wrong side during the Wars of the Roses but that’s going back a long way. And we were forgiven for it, in time. Anyway, a thing like that lingers, wouldn’t you agree? A death in a household?”

“But you said the Queen didn’t die here,” I pointed out.

“I wasn’t talking about the Queen,” she said, waving a hand in front of her face and dismissing my remark, which, to her, was apparently a very stupid one. “So should we learn about King George II today, Eliza Caine, or were you planning on going further back in time? To the Lancasters and the Yorks, perhaps, since I brought them up?”

“Further back,” I said, opening my book and turning to the chapter I had marked. I felt a slight breeze in the room and wished I had brought my cardigan but had no desire to wander through this empty house in search of it, passing the room where Caroline of Ansbach had been bled, poor woman. “I thought
we might commence with the capture of Edmund Tudor and the beginnings of that triumphant but bloody dynasty.”

I glanced towards the window and sighed. One of the children must have written in the condensation while I wasn’t looking. Something so vulgar I refused even to draw attention to it.

Chapter Eleven

O
N
S
UNDAYS
,
THE
children and I attended services in the village church and, during those first weeks, I felt a little like an animal on display in a zoo whenever we entered and made our way along the nave towards the family pew in the front row. Every head would turn in that terribly subtle way where no one would actually make it obvious that they were watching us but their eyes burned through me nevertheless. At first, I thought it was because the children were always so beautifully turned out but gradually I began to suspect that it was me they were interested in, a sensation that was new to me, as I was not accustomed to turning heads.

At peace within the stone walls of the church, my spirits often lifted by the choir who were almost invisible in the balcony behind us, I found that I looked forward greatly to Sunday mornings and the solace the service offered me. Reverend Deacons always gave a thoughtful sermon and, unlike some of the services I had heard in London, his words did not sound as though they had been regurgitated time and again for a fresh congregation, but then he was a young man and filled with enthusiasm for his calling. As he spoke of love
and kindness towards our fellow man, I would often find my thoughts drifting back to Father, and sometimes I struggled with my emotions. I had settled in well to Norfolk, or so I believed, but the abruptness of my departure from London so soon after his sudden death had left me emotionally raw, and now that things were more stable, I found my thoughts turning back to him more frequently whenever I was alone or in church. I missed him terribly, that was the truth of it. I missed our conversations; I even missed the insect books and regretted not keeping one for myself instead of delivering them all to the custody of Mr. Heston and the British Museum. “I will always look after you,” he had told me after my return from Cornwall. “I will keep you safe.” Now that he was gone, who would look after me? Who would protect me? Who would keep me safe if trouble came my way?

After one particularly moving homily, when I was close to tears at recalling how happy we had been together, I told the children that I wanted to remain behind and say a last few private prayers, and we arranged to meet in a few minutes’ time at the village pump, where the road led back towards Gaudlin Hall. The rest of the congregation departed as usual and I sank to my knees, my head in my hands as I said prayers to God for the safe repose of Father’s soul, and prayed that he was looking down at me and protecting me still. When I lifted my head again I found that I had been crying and, to my embarrassment, Reverend Deacons was clearing some of his effects from the altar and staring at me. I sat back on the pew as he walked towards me and attempted a smile.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Fine, thank you,” I said, blushing a little. “You’ll have to forgive me, I didn’t mean to make a fool of myself.”

He shook his head and came towards me, sitting down in the row in front of mine but turning his body so that he was looking directly at me. He had a kindly face and I liked him for it. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he said with a shrug. “It’s Miss Caine, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“The new governess over at the Hall?” I nodded again and he turned his head slightly, his expression becoming a little more troubled. “I think I owe you an apology, Miss Caine.”

I raised an eyebrow, uncertain what he could mean. “Whatever for?” I asked.

“You’ve been here a couple of weeks now. I’ve seen you in the village and here, at church service, but I haven’t been out to see you. To introduce myself, so to speak. I hope you don’t think ill of me for it.”

“Not at all,” I said, shaking my head, and in truth the idea had never crossed my mind that he would make an expedition to meet me. What was I, after all? Nothing more than a paid employee. A governess. I was not mistress of Gaudlin Hall even if I was the only woman in residence. “I expect you’re a very busy man.”

“I am, I am,” he said, nodding slowly. “But that’s no excuse. I should have made the time. I told myself I should speak with you, but …” He shivered slightly, a ghost walking over his grave, and I got the impression there was something about the place that disturbed him. “Well, I’m sorry, anyway,” he said after a moment, shaking his head to dismiss whatever thoughts were lingering there. “How are you getting on?”

“Quite well,” I said. “The children are a delight.”

“They’re unusual children, I think,” said Reverend Deacons, considering this. “Their hearts are good, of course, but they
have suffered so much. Isabella is an extraordinarily intelligent girl. I wonder whether she might one day be the wife of a brilliant man. Eustace shows great promise too.”

I frowned, only noticing one word in that statement. “Suffered?” I asked. “Suffered how?”

He hesitated. “We all suffer, don’t we, Miss Caine?” he said. “Life is suffering. Until the great day of judgement, when peace and equanimity may be restored for those who are pure of heart and deed.”

I raised an eyebrow. I did not know Reverend Deacons, of course, but I felt this remark was somehow beneath him. “But you said they suffered,” I insisted. “It sounded as if you meant that they had suffered in some way other than the general. Might I ask what you meant?”

“They have seen great upheaval in their lives,” he said, looking down and examining the cover of his prayer book, which, I noticed, was inscribed with the letters AD. “Why, over the last twelve months you are … what must it be … the sixth governess at Gaudlin Hall?”

I stared in surprise. This was most certainly news to me. “The sixth?” I asked. “But you must be mistaken, I’m only the second. Miss Bennet was governess before me. Surely she was here for some time?”

“Oh dear me, no,” said Reverend Deacons. “No, Miss Bennet had only been here a month. If even that.”

“A month?” I asked. “But I don’t understand. Why did she leave so soon? And if you are correct, then where are the other four? They can’t have stayed much longer if I’m the sixth governess in twelve months.”

The vicar appeared uncomfortable, as if he regretted having ever begun this conversation. He looked as if he would
prefer to be safely back in his vicarage, awaiting the pleasures of his Sunday lunch and an afternoon stroll with his puppy. “Mr. Raisin,” he said. “He really is the person who should be discussing these matters with you. He has responsibility for the estate, after all.”

Mr. Raisin! That man again! To my embarrassment, I blushed at the name. Perhaps he had been in my thoughts a little in recent days.

“I have tried to meet with Mr. Raisin,” I said, growing irritated with my own silliness, a note of displeasure evident in my tone. “Several times, in fact. But he is a difficult man to get hold of. His assistant, Mr. Cratchett, keeps a close grip on his appointment book. I wonder if it might not be easier to gain access to the Kingdom of Heaven than to Mr. Raisin’s private office.”