The Poisoned House (12 page)

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Chapter 26

For the first time since I could remember, I overslept the next morning. When I woke, my hand reached automatically for the watch before I remembered that it wasn’t there. I dressed and rushed downstairs, knowing that I was late, but not by how much.

Cook was already up and the fires were lit under the range.

‘Don’t worry yourself,’ she said. ‘She’s not down yet, and she shan’t hear from me.’

Cook looked even more ragged than usual that morning. Her face was puffy and covered in red blotches and her eyes ringed with yellowish skin. As she brushed past me carrying a dustpan, a wave of stale air followed her. I wondered if she had been drinking since she awoke.

‘Miss McMahon,’ I asked, ‘have you seen anything odd of late? About the house.’

‘And what would you be meaning by odd?’ she asked. She came up to me, and her careworn face was alive with anxiety.

‘It’s only that . . .’ I began. Should I really be confiding in her? She’d think me mad. ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I said. ‘Don’t mind me.’

She gripped my arm, not hard like Mrs Cotton the night before, but firmly enough.

‘Odd, you say?’

Something in her look frightened me, so I pulled my arm away. ‘No. I’m being silly.’

I walked over the trapdoor on my way to light the fires in the main rooms. Down there was the key to this oddness. I wouldn’t oversleep tomorrow.

Weariness dogged me all morning. I did my best to avoid Mrs Cotton, and when I couldn’t, I tried to be in the company of others when we met.

Cook had seen something, I was sure. She’d latched on to me as though we were two people lost in a storm. Lizzy’s expression was wretched, and Lord Greave didn’t come down at all. Mr Lock went about the house like a man in a daze. It was as if the ghost was haunting all of us.

Adam arrived at the backyard after lunch as I was drying the plates. He was drawing the coal wagon that day, and I unbolted the hatch from the inside, then went out to sign for it.

‘Mornin’,’ he said. ‘Any post for me today?’

I shot a look back at the house. ‘Shh!’ I said. ‘Keep your voice down, will you?’

I’d snapped more than I meant to, and he looked hurt. ‘’Pologies,’ he said.

‘So you should be,’ I said. ‘I told you it was a secret, didn’t I?’

I could hear my words and hated myself for it, but the frustrations of the previous days – of being stuck in that house, powerless and forever at the whim of Mrs Cotton – bubbled over like a boiling pan, sizzling and hissing.

He grumbled something under his breath, then said, ‘I’ll be on my way then.’

‘Yes, go,’ I said, staring at a point between him and the house.

He jumped back up on to the cart and flicked the reins. As he trundled towards the gate, I went after him to close it. ‘Adam,’ I called, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

I’m not sure if he heard me above the clop of the horse’s hoofs, but he didn’t look back.

The day did not improve. It was the time of week when we cleaned the unused nurses’s rooms. Mrs Cotton wouldn’t go in at all, so it was Lizzy and I who went up with the brushes and polishes. We did the bedroom together, then Lizzy went to tackle the adjoining nursery.

As soon as she walked in, she backed out of the door again, with her hand clasped over her mouth.

She looked at me then back into the room. I dropped the brush I was holding.

‘What’s the matter, Lizzy?’

She was speechless. I crossed to her side and looked in. It was my turn to suck in a shocked breath.

‘Who would do such a thing?’ she asked.

The cot-bed was upturned and the blankets were in disarray. Samuel’s toy soldiers had been flung across the floor and a spinning top lay on its side in the middle of the floor. The few storybooks had been pulled from the little shelf and hurled to the ground. It looked as if a whirlwind had passed through the room.

‘Who?’ said Lizzy again.

I had a good idea, but shook my head. ‘I don’t know.’

‘We have to tell Mrs Cotton,’ said Lizzy. She turned to the hallway, but I managed to get a hand on her shoulder.

‘No!’ I said. ‘Wait a moment.’

‘But she must know,’ said Lizzy. ‘Someone in the house has done this.’ Her expression hardened.

‘I know who, and you can’t say.’

‘Who?’

‘Please,’ I said. ‘Sit down.’

She looked uncertain, but did as I asked. I closed the door to the bedroom so no one could hear. I’d kept the secret until now, but I needed to tell her. I could trust her.

‘Can you keep a secret?’ I asked her.

She gave a worried grin, and nodded briskly. ‘You know I can, Abi. We’re friends.’

So I took a deep breath and told her everything, from the hand at the window that night to my visit to Dr Reinhardt south of the river. It felt good to be getting it off my chest, and as the events spilled out, a great weight was lifted. I should have told her long before, and wondered what had stopped me.

Lizzy listened patiently, nodding occasionally, and her eyes stared into mine with a look of growing astonishment. It was only as I concluded my story that I found out it wasn’t the story that horrified her, it was me.

She stood up from the bed where we were sitting. She looked into the room again and then at me. She was biting her lip and shaking her head.

‘You don’t believe me?’ I asked.

‘Believe you?’ she cried, tears gathering in her eyes. ‘Abi, what a horrid trick!’

‘What? No. It’s no trick!’

I tried to reach for her, but she pulled away.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said. ‘How could you make up such things about something so serious?’

Her look was one of sympathy mingled with confusion. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She had to believe me!

‘It’s her,’ I said. ‘You must see that.’

‘It’s you!’ she said, pointing at me. Then she laughed despairingly, wiping the tears from her eyes. ‘I forgave you for tearing my scarf like that. You were jealous, that’s all. I know now that Henry wasn’t the man I thought, but at least he had the honesty to admit his faults. At least . . .’ She trailed off.

‘Please, Lizzy, I said. ‘I know it’s hard to understand, but why would I lie? My mother is here. Now.’

Lizzy’s brow was creased and she backed away to the door.

‘You really believe what you’re saying, don’t you?’

My throat was dry. ‘Of course I do.’

‘I won’t tell, Abi,’ she said, nodding towards the nursery. ‘I promise.’

‘And you’ll help me?’ I asked. ‘To find who killed my mother?’

Lizzy shook her head sadly. ‘I can’t,’ she said. ‘And you must stop this, Abi. It’s all in your mind.’

She rushed from the room, leaving me more alone than ever.

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Chapter 27

Why had I told her? And what did I expect would be the result? That she would say, ‘Yes, Abi, your mother was murdered and her ghost can’t find its rest until the culprit is punished’?

She thought I was insane! And who wouldn’t?

I sank down on the floor. I’d been such a fool.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Laughter trickled from the lower floors – Samuel’s rich baritone and Alexander’s snorts. At least someone in Greave Hall was happy.

For a long while I sat there alone. I felt like giving up completely. As the minutes ticked by, I asked myself how I ever could have dreamt of finding, let alone proving, foul play. Mrs Cotton’s plan was foolproof, her secret buried with my mother more than a year ago. The time for alibis was long past. Even confronted with her deed, I could imagine her stony face and lips curled with contempt. There would be no choice other than to cast me out. Or worse, throw me in some lunatic asylum with the other poor souls tormented by fantasies.

I stood up weakly.

‘Enough,’ I said under my breath. ‘I tried.’

If I expected a draught to blow across the room, signalling some displeasure from beyond the grave, then I was disappointed. The only sounds were crockery rattling in the rooms below and more guffaws from Sammy and his guest.

There was still the nursery to clean. I straightened my apron.
Time to take stock, Abigail
, I told myself.

Mrs Cotton had always despised me and always would. I thought I might be able to repair my friendship with Lizzy, shortlived though it would be if she was turfed out. She’d told me to try and forget about it, but we both knew that was impossible. I felt ashamed even to face her again, but working below stairs that would be inevitable. At least I still had Sammy. He’d be there for me, just as I had been there for him.

I walked back into the nursery. When I entered, my legs almost gave way beneath me. ‘What?’ I gasped.

The room was pristine. I walked into the centre, turning a full circle to take it all in.

The rocking horse was righted, the toy soldiers stood in neat ranks. The sheets on the cot were folded back and the books were aligned on their shelves.

I looked back to the main room. Had someone come in while I was musing? Perhaps Lizzy had returned and restored the room without me noticing.

But of course it wasn’t that! The nursery hadn’t merely been put to rights again: it was as though it had never been touched!

I still checked under the cot, as if someone might be hiding there. There was nobody. I went to the window. It was closed. Finally – and I don’t know what it was that drew my eyes upwards – I looked at the ceiling hatch and suddenly felt all the breath leave my body.

There, quite clear in an otherwise spotless room, was a handprint, splayed out just like the mark on the library window many nights before. There weren’t any acrobats in the house as far as I knew, which left only one other option. But why leave a handprint at all unless it was some sort of clue?

No, this was meant as a message just for me, from Mama. It said, more clearly than ever,
I’m here. I’m watching over you.

So much for a draught blowing across the room.

The incident redoubled my determination. Samuel took dinner with Alexander Ambrose again that night, with his father retreating once more to his chamber. I had a moment of panic when Rob went down to the cellar to fetch a bottle of wine, but he came up again swiftly, and I was fairly sure he hadn’t spotted the item I wanted to keep hidden.

Had Mrs Cotton asked Sammy about the library key? I wondered. If it had been just the two gentlemen I might have had a chance to ask him directly, but Mrs Cotton chose to dine with them, so I couldn’t risk it.

From what I could gather while stoking the fire in the dining room and carrying away the plates, dinner was a muted affair.

At one point during the serving of the main course of stuffed pork chops, Samuel spoke up.

‘Auntie,’ he said – in a faintly mocking tone, I noted – ‘how would you like to pose for us later?’

‘Pose?’ she said, as though the meat she’d bitten into was rotten.

‘That’s right,’ said Samuel. ‘Alex here’s brought over one of those dagger . . . What are they called, old chap?’

‘Daguerreotypes,’ said Alexander, dabbing his lips with a napkin.

‘Sounds vicious,’ said Mrs Cotton. ‘What is it?’

‘Oh, Auntie, don’t look so suspicious,’ said Samuel. ‘It’s a sort of camera. Don’t you remember? They were all the rage at Crystal Palace.’

I smiled to myself. I
remembered the day well, four years earlier. It had been a reminder that Sammy and I weren’t quite the brother and sister I’d hoped. The family – Mrs Cotton, Lord Greave and Samuel – had gone out to the Great Exhibition with the Ambroses, while my mother and I were left indoors. She’d taken me around the Park to lessen the disappointment, and bought me an ice cream.

‘Pray, what is a man of the law doing with such a contraption?’ asked Mrs Cotton.

‘It’s just a hobby,’ said Alexander anxiously. I noticed, as I carried apple sauce to the table, that Mrs Cotton seemed to be able to reduce even grown men to nervous wrecks.

‘We might take a couple of portraits in the house tomorrow, then give the thing a whirl in the garden,’ Samuel continued.

Mrs Cotton pursed her lips. ‘Are you sure you’re quite well enough to be gallivanting outside?’

Samuel grinned. ‘We shall hardly be gallivanting. Lots of sitting about, actually. It takes a good few minutes to fix everything up.’

‘Be that as it may,’ she said, ‘you must be careful, in your condition.’

‘You don’t want to sit for us then?’ said Samuel, his eyes alive with playfulness. ‘Be immortalised for all posterity?’

‘Certainly not,’ said Mrs Cotton. ‘Besides, I don’t have a “good few minutes” for “sitting about”.’

Samuel chuckled, which only made Mrs Cotton’s eyes blaze brighter.

‘Well, gentlemen,’ she said, and her voice was heavy with sarcasm, ‘I must retire.’

‘But you’ve hardly eaten a thing,’ said Samuel.

He was right. Mrs Cotton’s plate was still full.

‘I’ve lost my appetite,’ she said. ‘Excuse me.’

After she’d left the room, Samuel shook his head. ‘Dear, oh dear. Seems I upset the old crone, doesn’t it?’

Alexander grunted and looked at me uncomfortably.

‘Oh, don’t mind her,’ said Samuel. ‘She’s practically one of the family.’

Alexander looked less than convinced. ‘Been on the receiving end of Mrs Cotton’s tongue more than once, I dare say,’ Samuel continued. ‘Isn’t that right, Abi?’

I smiled, but didn’t speak. To do so in front of Alexander would have been out of turn. Inside, though, I was beaming.

Samuel drained his glass and picked up the bottle.

‘Another, Alex?’

‘Why not?’ said the guest.

‘Now, where’s that butler when you need him?’ said Samuel.

This is my chance,
I thought.

‘He’s upstairs, sir,’ I said quickly. ‘Shall I get it for you?’

‘Very good,’ said Samuel. ‘Save Lock’s poor old knees on the cellar steps. I swear I can hear his joints over the gears of the omnibus.’

Alexander laughed along with him, and I hurried out of the room. My heart was fluttering as I skipped down the steps to the scullery. Cook had her head up close to the open oven door, cleaning, and Rob was rubbing a piece of horse tack with a grubby cloth. ‘Everything dandy up there?’ he said.

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘They want another bottle.’

Rob sighed. ‘They’ll be drunk later.’

Cook stopped her scrubbing for a moment, and Rob and I shared a look. Then she carried on.

‘Need a hand with the hatch?’ Rob asked.

I thanked him, and he hauled up the trapdoor easily. I descended the steps and went first to the spot behind the crates. I felt in the gloom and pulled out the Ouija cloth, then stuffed it in my apron. The wine rack was across the other side. I plucked out a bottle.

It was as easy as that.