This House is Haunted (13 page)

Reverend Deacons raised an eyebrow and I turned away, wondering whether this had been a sacrilegious remark. “I’m sorry,” I said after a moment. “Only it’s so frustrating. I can’t get any answers anywhere. I feel quite alone sometimes.”

“You should be more insistent,” he said in a gentle voice. “Don’t let Cratchett tell you what you can and can’t do, who you can and can’t see. You have the right to know, after all,” he added in a more forceful tone, a tone that sent a shiver down my spine. “A woman in your position, why you’re little more than a girl. You have the right to know!”

A series of questions appeared in my head but I hesitated, trying to select the right one. I suspected that if I pushed Reverend Deacons too far, he would close up entirely and repeat that I should speak only with Mr. Raisin, but I also felt that there were things that he would tell me, things that he wanted to tell me, if only I could find the right way to ask.

“You say I am the sixth governess in a year,” I said quietly, trying to keep any suggestion of hectoring out of my tone. “The children’s parents have been gone that long then?”

“Yes,” he agreed. “Just over a year, in fact.”

I frowned. What kind of parents abandoned their children for such a protracted period? Yes, of course they were moneyed and travel was so much easier these days. Why, they could take a boat from Southampton to France and be in Rome in a matter of weeks if they put their mind to it and didn’t dawdle along the way. And this was how the wealthy classes lived, wasn’t it? Or so I believed, from my reading. They went on grand European tours. They rented villas in Italy and houses in Mesopotamia. They took cruises down the Nile and spent evenings drinking cocktails on the Bosphorus. They were not like me, condemned to a life lived in one place, with no possibility of change. But to leave their children at such a young age? Why, Eustace would have turned eight since they left. It was outrageous. It made a farce of their believing themselves to be the upper class when they cared so little for their young. Wolf spiders ate their own.

“And the other four governesses,” I continued. “They were like Miss Bennet? They worked for a short period of time and then advertised for their replacement? Are the gentlemen from the
Morning Post
expecting my notice to be placed with them any day now?”

Reverend Deacons frowned and looked deeply troubled. “Only Miss Bennet placed her own advertisement,” he said. “Mr. Raisin placed the others.”

“Well, that’s something, I suppose. But these other four. What were their motives for leaving? They didn’t like the house? How is it possible when it’s so beautiful! They didn’t care for the children? I can’t believe it when they’re so …” I searched for
the word. Lovable was entirely wrong. Warm? Certainly not. A joy to be around? Not quite. In the end, I settled for the word he himself had used to describe them. “Intelligent,” I said. “And interesting.”

“It had nothing to do with the house, nothing to do with the children,” he replied, his words emerging from his mouth in a great hurry now, and I could see that I was putting him under tremendous pressure but I had no desire to stop.

“Then what was it? Why would they leave?”

“They didn’t leave,” he said, his voice rising, almost shouting at me now, and it rang around the church, bouncing off the strong stone walls and echoing in the chamber. “They died.”

I stared at him. I was glad to be seated for I felt a little lightheaded at the words. “They died?” I said finally, my voice emerging from my mouth in a near whisper. “All of them? How?”

“No, not all,” he replied, turning away from me, desperate to go now. “The first, Miss Tomlin, yes, she died. In such terrible circumstances. And the other three. Miss Golding, Miss Williams and Miss Harkness. They all died too. But Miss Bennet, your predecessor, she survived. There was that awful incident, of course, which precipitated her departure, but she survived it.”

“What incident?” I asked, leaning forward. “Please, I know nothing of these things. I beg you to tell me.”

He stood up and shook his head. “I have said too much already,” he replied. “There are certain things which … there are confidences, Miss Caine. Can’t you understand that? I have asked you to speak to Mr. Raisin about these matters and I implore you to do so. If you have questions, ask them of him. If you have concerns, ask him to alleviate them. If you have
spiritual problems, then yes, do come to me, but not in matters relating to the affairs of the last twelve months at Gaudlin Hall. I have buried too many of your predecessors and have no desire to bury another. Now I do apologize, I have behaved badly I fear, I have left you with more questions than answers, but I must leave you now.”

I nodded; it was clear that he was going to tell me no more and I stood up and shook his hand and made my way down the aisle towards the bright, sunny day. As I reached the door I looked back and saw Reverend Deacons moving to the front pew and seating himself heavily in it, his face in his hands, and I watched him for only a moment before turning away.

On the street outside, I looked around for the children but could not see them. I did, however, see Dr. and Mrs. Toxley, the couple who had rescued me on my first night in Norfolk when I had almost stepped out beneath the approaching train.

“Miss Caine,” said Mrs. Toxley cheerfully as she saw me. “How are you?”

“Very well, thank you,” I said. “I’m so glad I saw you. I wondered whether you might like to come to afternoon tea one day this week. Wednesday perhaps?”

I had been wondering no such thing, of course. The idea had just come to me on the spot. But I had no companions, no friends at all. And Mrs. Toxley was only a few years older than I. Why shouldn’t I invite her to tea, after all? Yes, I was a mere governess and she a doctor’s wife, but what of it? Her smile faded a little and I noticed her husband shifting uncomfortably in his stance.

“Well, of course,” she replied, stuttering slightly, perhaps surprised by the absurd spontaneity of the invitation. “But why don’t we meet at Mrs. Sutcliffe’s tea shop here in the village? Wouldn’t that be more convenient for you?”

“I’d love for you to come to Gaudlin Hall,” I said.

“She makes the most excellent custard tarts. I think you’d enjoy—”

“Please,” I insisted, reaching out and touching her on the elbow, an unusual gesture for me for I was not a tactile woman. “Please come to Gaudlin Hall. Shall we say Wednesday at three?”

She looked at her husband, who appeared deeply troubled, but then seemed to take some independent sense of purpose for she nodded, said not a word, and I smiled. “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll see you then. Now, please don’t think me rude, but I’ve just seen Mr. Cratchett emerging from the public house and I need a word with him.”

The Toxleys watched in surprise as I left them with almost the same sense of urgency as I had approached them, and I marched on in the direction of Mr. Raisin’s assistant who, upon seeing me, raised an eyebrow, turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“Mr. Cratchett?” I called but he ignored me, so I shouted louder—“Mr. Cratchett! If you please!”—at such a volume that he had no choice but to turn, as did several other villagers passing, who looked at me as if I was an undesirable element.

“Ah, Miss Caine,” he said. “What a delight.”

“Let’s not play games, Mr. Cratchett,” I replied. “I wanted to let you know that I’ll be coming in for an appointment with Mr. Raisin on Tuesday morning at eleven o’clock. I shall need about an hour and would prefer it if we were not disturbed during that time. I hope that he will be free at that hour but just so you both know, if he is not, then I am perfectly willing to sit in your office until he is free. I shall bring a book with me to pass the time. I shall bring two, if need be. I shall bring the complete
works of Shakespeare if he insists on keeping me waiting interminably and those plays will get me through the long hours. But I will not leave until I have seen him, are we quite clear on that? Now, I wish you a very pleasant Sunday, Mr. Cratchett. Enjoy your lunch, won’t you? Your breath smells of whisky.”

And with that, I turned on my heels and walked away, no doubt leaving him completely astonished in the street, annoyed by my audacity, but feeling very pleased with myself for having managed to get through this unprepared speech without stumbling once. Tuesday at eleven o’clock. The time was now set and I would get some answers or I would be damned. I looked ahead, almost laughing out loud at my own strength of purpose, and was pleased to see Isabella and Eustace standing near the pump as instructed, playing some game with stick and ball.

“Come along, children,” I said, marching straight past them, feeling like a new woman entirely. “Let’s not dawdle. Lunch won’t prepare itself, you know.”

Chapter Twelve

M
Y MOOD OF
well-being lasted through the dinner hour and into the early afternoon, at which point the strange mixture of emotions that I had experienced that morning—grief, confusion, frustration and euphoria—seemed to settle down into a sensation of melancholia and I strolled around the grounds, my mind troubled at the things I had learned, or failed to learn, since waking that day. The sixth governess in a year! It seemed extraordinary. The first four dead and the fifth running through Thorpe Station in such a rush that she almost knocked me over in her urgency to get away. What had happened to them all? What had driven them to such terrible ends?

Returning to the Hall and looking up towards my bedroom window on the third floor, I felt a distinct sense of unease and wrapped my arms around my body, rubbing them up and down a little to bring some warmth to my bones. I wondered whether each of the previous governesses had used the same bedroom that I used—there were at least a dozen, after all, in the Hall, so it was entirely possible that they hadn’t—but felt quite chilled at the idea that it was the same one. It had occurred to me before, after all, how well appointed my room
was, not the usual type (I imagined) that an employee would be offered. It was so large and the view over the grounds was exceptional. Were it not for the fact that the windows had been sealed shut, then it would have been almost perfect. I looked up at that window now and sighed. But perhaps the children had given me a new room since it would not have bad memories attached to it?

As I looked, however, I was surprised to see a figure standing behind the curtains, leaning in a little, looking down at me. It was difficult to make out who it was as the white lace separated the glass from the person, and I frowned, certain that it must be Isabella. (Eustace did not strike me as the kind of boy who was interested in going through someone else’s belongings.) This was exactly why I didn’t leave my door open, I thought. I wanted this small piece of privacy to be maintained for myself. Staring at the figure, I noticed it move and then slip away from the window, and I marched through the front door of the house, preparing to be firm with the girl when, to my astonishment, I noticed Isabella in the parlour to my left, seated on the couch with her legs stretched out, engaged with one of her storybooks. I was surprised to say the least and even a little disappointed. So it
had
been Eustace! Perhaps I had misread his character. I did not like the idea of scolding him, for in truth I thought him a dear boy, but there would be no way around it; we would have to have words. I started to move towards the staircase to go up to my bedroom but, before I could do so, Eustace emerged from his sister’s left, where he had been previously out of sight to me, followed by Pepper, Heckling’s dog, who was looking up at the ceiling and growling in a low, throaty voice, one of his hind paws stamping urgently on the floor, as if he was preparing to attack.

Feeling no fear, I ascended the staircase, turned to my left, ascended the larger staircase to the second floor and made my way down the corridor to my room, flinging open the door and staring around, ready to confront my intruder.

To my astonishment there was no one there. I looked around, utterly confused. It had been less than a minute since I had seen the figure behind the curtains and there was no way that anyone could have left the room and gone downstairs without passing me in the meantime. I opened the wardrobe, looked under the bed, but the room was empty. I almost laughed. Had I imagined the whole thing? Had the events of the day so far played games with my mind and my imagination? I sighed. It was the only possible explanation. But I had been so certain!

I made my way to the window and pulled the curtains apart, placing my two hands against the enormous sealed glass, standing in the same position where I had imagined the figure to be, and, exhausted now, closed my eyes and relaxed my body against it. What happened next took no more than ten seconds, perhaps fifteen at the very most, but I can recall it now as if I am still in the throes of it and I swear that it felt like an hour.

The window, impossible to open, sealed shut at its lock with boiling tar, flew open wide, the two doors splitting outwards, and a rush of air blew into the room as a pair of hands—I felt them! I felt those two hands!—pushed sharply against my back, lifting me off the floor with as much vengeance as that terrible wind had on the afternoon I journeyed back to Gaudlin Hall. They pushed with as much determination as the unseen force that had tried to cast me under the train upon my arrival at Thorpe, and my body fell forwards through the window now and, in the split second when I exited my room, my eyes opening wide at the fifty-foot fall to the ground below which I
knew would certainly kill me, another set of hands, another invisible pairing, larger hands though, these ones, stronger ones, pushed me again from the front, thrust into my stomach as if I was being punched, winding me, forcing me back into my bedroom. The wind outside roared and I gasped, those few seconds so shocking that I could not understand what was happening or even yet feel fear, but it was not over yet for the hands behind thrust forward again, and out I went once more, the floor gone from beneath me, the ground visible before me, my death place, where my body would be smashed to pieces, but once again before I could fall those second hands pushed me back, even harder this time, so forcibly that I had never felt such pain, and I fell back into the room, tumbling to the floor, scrambling back against the wall, my back hitting it so hard that I cried out and, as I did so, the windows slammed shut, the wind immediately silenced, and I was left there, terrified and weeping, my entire body racked with pain, uncertain what had just taken place.