The House of Dead Maids (11 page)

I might have observed that Arnby had done plenty of dragging, but instead I took him into my arms. He was shivering too.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, and I meant it.

“Sing me a song,” he said as we lay there together in the darkness.

“Bless you! I can’t sing,” I said, half sobbing.

“I knew a beautiful lady,” he whispered to me. “Her hair was soft, and she used to let me stroke it.
I loved to hear her sing; I used to tell her to, and she sang just to please me.”

“Was she your mother?” I asked, but he didn’t answer.

“Then it was all shouts and screams and fire everywhere, just like they say hell is, and devils running into the houses and killing people. I hid in the bread oven, and they didn’t find me there. I heard her call me, and then I heard her scream, so I crept out to see. She was on fire, waving her arms in the air, and two devils took their spears and pushed her into the hottest flames, making a joke of her burning. I ran and hid, and ran and hid some more, and I left the beautiful lady behind in hell.”

I meant to tell him that this was not hell, although it sounded horrible. But before I could, he spoke again.

“Are we going to die tonight, truly?”

I didn’t answer, but only wept.

“Well, I’m not sorry,” said Himself. “I like it here, and I’ll be master at any rate; dead or alive, I’ll stay with the house and the land. I can join the other ghosts and play tricks on the living. I’ll soon have Master Jack’s hair turning white.”

That made me laugh through my tears.

The little boy twined his arms around my neck
and snuggled close to me. “We’ll lie just like this when they cover us up, won’t we?” he whispered. “And then we won’t be scared. And I’ve a score to settle with that old master who had the fit. I hope when I’m dead my hands will stop slipping through him.”

I felt sorrier for the poor child at that moment than I had ever felt before, and my pity for him dried my tears. The thought of dying terrified me, but I knew the promises, and I had faith that God’s mercy would see me safe to the kingdom of heaven. My bones would be here, but I would be with the justified who sang before the throne of the Lamb.

But this poor heathen boy knew nothing of that. He had no greater prize to hope for beyond this world than the privilege of brawling with a ghost. If I could not save my charge’s body, I could still save his soul. And yet, how should I express the invitation so that it would fit into his faulty understanding? Asking him to renounce his evil ways wouldn’t do. We had no time for proper instruction.

I sat up and pushed aside the curtain. A gleam of golden light came through. I climbed down the ladder, took up Alma Augusta from the chair next to the hearth, and laid her gently in the hiding place beneath the clothes press. Beside her, I placed
Izzy’s humble knitted sock. I owed the dead that much. And all the while, I pondered what to say.

Himself sat on the edge of the bed now, holding back the curtain, watching me with those lively black eyes. My heart softened again at the sight of him. After all, he was a good boy.

I walked to the washstand and hefted the pitcher. “This land isn’t so much,” I said. “Shouldn’t you like to inherit a kingdom?”

It was all a matter of asking the right question.

Arnby came for Himself when dusk fell, at the head of a group of village men. But I held my charge fast and wouldn’t let them take him.

“You’re throttling me, you ninny,” he complained.

“The boy’s too young. I won’t leave him,” I said. “He needs me by his side.”

“That’s a good lass,” said Arnby. “You’ll be by his side, never fear. He just comes in a different way, is all.”

“If you don’t turn me loose,” said Himself, “I’ll
kick you in the shins.” So I released him and let the men take him away.

Next, a group of women came, led by the one who had touched me with her thimble, and they brought me to the room with the fine leather paneling. Miss Winter was already there.

Justice compels me to give Miss Winter her due: she looked particularly handsome that evening. She had taken pains with her hair, and she wore her black dress with a poise that none of the clay-faced village women could emulate. She came to stand beside me, but she did not look at me. None of them looked at me.

A hand waved from the fireplace, and the company grew still. The woman who had fetched me from my room beckoned to Miss Winter, who bent gracefully beneath the mantel and disappeared into the hidden corridor. Then the woman beckoned to me. I ought to have bolted and made them chase me down, but such a course of action did not occur to me. I could scarcely stand on my feet as it was; I could not have run just then even to save my life.

I walked down the narrow tunnel, following the light of Miss Winter’s lamp, and stepped outside behind her. A passing wind whipped at my skirt, and the night sky arched above me, with a
bright moon and pinpricks of stars shining through patches of shimmering cloud. I suppose I must have stopped just then to gaze at them because a grimfaced woman with a guttering torch prodded me to keep walking.

The rest of the women and girls filed out behind me, and we made our way down the steps. Meanwhile, the men and boys were emerging from the archways below, presumably having come through the underground passage.

Miss Winter picked her way delicately along the edge of the open grave next to one of the piles of bones, and the lead woman signified, with grimaces and gestures, that I should take my place by her side. I felt dizzy so close to the yawning pit; it seemed that I walked above a precipice. Himself and Mr. Ketch were taking their places opposite ours, the latter but a hollow-eyed remnant of the bright, good-looking gentleman who had charmed me upon his arrival. The villagers packed together into a tight crowd one or two paces back from us, and Arnby walked to the mound of dirt, holding a spade.

I saw my young charge looking at the grave, and fierce, hot tears scalded my eyes. He was only a little boy, a very little, half-famished boy, with
scrawny limbs and thin hands no stronger than a bird’s wing. Did no one in this company understand the meaning of compassion? Was no one here capable of pity? I left my place and walked briskly to the head of the grave. “Come here, boy,” I ordered. And Himself came to me with relief shining in his eyes, although he resisted when I would have embraced him.

“Here now,” said Mr. Ketch uncertainly, drifting towards us. He reeked of spirits, and his footing was unsteady.

“Doesn’t matter,” rumbled Arnby, and he pushed by to stand between us and Mr. Ketch, perhaps to avert a drunken tumble into the grave should Mr. Ketch attempt any further movement.

“The Master of Seldom House,” Arnby intoned, “having enjoyed the luck of the land and lived by our honest labor, is called upon to fulfill the contract he made when he took his place in the Master’s Seat. Master, do you and your maid stand ready to perform your office?”

“Oh, aye,” quavered Mr. Ketch in a thick accent quite unlike his accustomed gentlemanly tones. Miss Winter favored him with a withering look of contempt.

“But you have brought others,” continued Arnby, “who have accepted their positions and taken their place as your proxies in this house.”

Little choice we had in the matter, I said to myself as I squeezed my charge’s hand reassuringly.

Mr. Ketch nodded gravely several times and then, realizing he had to speak, trebled, “Yes.” Miss Winter rewarded him with another venomous glance.

“And do you guarantee that the proxy who takes your place as master is at liberty to dedicate his allegiance to these rites, free from the bonds of Christian service?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Ketch, brightening. “No trouble over that one. Ain’t that right, my little heathen git?”

“He’s no heathen,” I declared, “and fie on you for making light of it! You would have sent him to his death unsanctified. I christened him this very day. His hair is damp yet.”

Every face turned towards me, with an awestruck expression, as though I had spoken with the tongues of men and of angels. The entire gathering stared with open mouths, while the moment stretched on and on.

Then Mr. Ketch gave a high-pitched giggle.

“She’s lying,” he said, quick and breathless. “She didn’t! She can’t do that.”

Beside me, Arnby set down the spade.

“Do you think so? I don’t,” he replied, the picture of calm. “This good, honest girl wouldn’t tell an untruth. And as to doing, of course she can. Every man his own priest, eh, little maidie?” To my surprise, he gave me a wink.

“But she didn’t, she didn’t,” said Mr. Ketch rapidly. “He wouldn’t have it, I tell you.” He lurched forward and threw himself on his knees before the little boy, so that the two of them were eye to eye. “Tell them you didn’t let her pour water on you,” he begged. “I know you wouldn’t have it.”

Himself looked at him and then up at me, puzzled. “But she promised me a kingdom,” he said.

Mr. Ketch shrank back, his mouth wobbling. Arnby spoke quickly in the silence.

“So that’s how it’s to be. John Cookson, you had fair play, but she’s a canny lass, and it’s on your own head for squandering the luck. You made the promise, and you ratified the contract. Time to show a good spirit.”

“But . . . but . . .” sputtered Mr. Ketch, “but I’ve been christened, too!”

“Have you? Have you, now?” Arnby laughed.
“Then shame on you for a weakling! Your parents suffered in prison for the privilege of not baptizing you.”

“Not then,” babbled Mr. Ketch. “Not then; in London. And your spies there never knew.” He attempted, I think, a triumphant smile, but what emerged was half a grin and half a titter. “So you see where you are,” he said, turning to the crowd. “You’ve got no master at all.”

At last, my charge found something in the conversation to understand. “
I’m
master,” he said resolutely.

“You’ve been disqualified, my boy,” Arnby informed him. “You’re christened, so you forfeited your chance.”

Himself turned to glare furiously at me and gave me a painful pinch. I smacked his hands for it, and Arnby caught us by the shoulders and gave us both a warning shake. “As for you,” he said over our heads to Mr. Ketch, “you’re wasting our time. You know as well as I do that once you’ve sat in the Master’s Seat yonder, you might become Archbishop of Canterbury if you like, but it makes no difference to us.”

The Master’s Seat. Arnby had nodded at the curious boulder Himself had climbed to be king of
the castle. Himself had sat in the Master’s Seat already, and before his christening, too. He wasn’t disqualified after all.

To my horror, I saw my charge gazing on the boulder and reaching the same conclusion. He turned to Arnby. He meant to speak and kill us both. I bent to distract him, but he was too smart for me, and he shrugged out of my grasp.

What would have happened next makes me shiver yet to think of, but just then, Miss Winter began to laugh.

She had stretched out her hand to point at the terrified Mr. Ketch, and her whole body convulsed to do it: a loud, ghastly, raucous sound, half a scream, half the bray of a donkey. It stunned my charge as no ghost or goblin had; he flinched and put his hands over his ears. Before he could think to interfere again, I threw my arms around him.

“That’s enough,” said Arnby, and he gestured to the men standing nearby. They stepped forward with coils of rope.

Miss Winter did not seem to feel the loops of cord; she had eyes only for her partner’s pitiful terror. On and on went her laughter, while the men bound her hands and feet, until the slate tiles rang with it. Her mouth stretched wide, and the screeching rose
higher and higher, until it ceased to be a human sound. Then three strong fellows picked her up and slung her into the grave, and the laugh stopped with a splash and a thud. I drew breath again and found I had tears on my cheeks, and I prayed God the fall had broken her neck.

Mr. Ketch was stammering nonsense now, shreds of phrases meant to be arguments no doubt, but strung together so that they were robbed of meaning. The men threw him into the pit next, and the jabber went on in the darkness below. “Look lively,” commanded Arnby, handing the spade to the person nearest and gesturing towards the pile of earth. The fellow dug out a great clump and cast it into the pit, and the jabber broke up into coughing.