THE RIDDLE OF RAMSEY HALLS (3 page)

“No you’re not.
You gave me cyanide. Mummy told me all about it,”

“Well… aren’t
you a very smart boy?”

~

Sir Collins was
rather drunk, or at least as inebriated as he was expected to be.
He clicked his fingers at The Curator and gestured for him to come
close. He leaned in to his neck, his acrid breath on his ear.

“Will you send
for the boys now?”

“Of course
sir,” and the suave man in the tuxedo paused for a second. “And
your son sir, shall we get him ready?”

“No, not yet,”
the old man nodded in thought. “Better let him get another hour of
beauty sleep,”

“Good idea
sir,” and The Curator hurried off to gather the night’s talent.

~

Meanwhile I was
trying to help Adam see sense. I was so desperate to make him
believe he was in danger that my words rushed out my mouth in great
tirades. They must have seemed so terrifying to the young boy and
as I tried to hold him in comfort, he pulled away screaming.

“Mummy says you
don’t exist!”

“Well….that’s
not so true. She knows who I am. I know she does. But listen Adam,
that’s not important right now. You are in great danger. You will
be hurt tonight if you don’t do as I say. You must follow me. You
must come
with
me. If only you could see how much I love
you, how much I want to help you,”

“
No,
go
away,” his voice was getting more anguished as the tears caught in
his throat.

“I didn’t want
to do this but I fear I must,” and I grabbed the pillow from under
him.

There was great
terror in his eyes. His face twisted into a desperate grimace as I
lowered the pillow over him. His limbs were so fragile and brittle
beneath me as I leaned down on his body. Then as I pushed the
pillow onto his head I felt his tiny fingernails grasp at my
arms.

His screams
were now muffled as he fought for his life. Tears fell from my face
as I took him away from his troubles. I never wanted it to be like
this, but how else can you kill a child with love. There is no
pleasant way. And so I pushed harder until his screams vanished and
his body went limp. Then I stayed for a long while, unable to face
the reality of what I’d done.

I watched as
his arms went blue while the veins under his skin turned a dark
purple. Then I lifted the pillow from his face and saw what I’d
done, taken a life to save it. I cried as I saw the horror of my
actions. His face was cemented into a silent scream, his eyes
clamped shut as he closed out the pain of his last few moments.

Sobbing at the
sight, I slid off the bed, my body gathering on the floor in a
bundle. Then I heard them, the little steps as they ran to me
across the floorboard.

“I found Mummy
downstairs but she couldn’t see me,” Adam was still crying but was
putting on a brave face. “You can see me can’t you?”

“Oh thank you
God. Yes I
can
see you,”

~

Downstairs Sir
Collins was enjoying the heady heights of the party. The room was
hot and damp with the large amount of people pressed into it. He
noticed his glasses were beginning to steam up and he took them off
for a second to give them a wipe with his handkerchief. Placing
them back on, he looked around the room to see where The Curator
had vanished to. He had ventured upstairs to collect Adam twenty
minutes ago and hadn’t returned.

“That God
forsaken Frenchman,” Collins fumed as he strutted out the room into
the great hall.

He heard it in
the distance, the screaming. It was coming down the stairs in
waves. For a moment he thought it was his wife again in a moment of
melodrama, but there was something so visceral about her voice as
she sobbed.

There were
other voices too, a young girl and an older man. But still, he was
too angered by having to wait that he didn’t think for a moment
that something serious had occurred. Not until he reached the top
of the stairs. Turning towards Adam’s room he saw the bustles
resting against the floor as the figures of his wife and the
governess hugged each other.

The Curator was
standing in the open doorway with his hand clutched to his mouth.
One solitary tear was running down his cheek.

“What in God’s
name is going on?” Collins bellowed.

But nobody
jumped to attention or even looked at him. They were all immersed
in their own shock and grief and continued to weep as though he
wasn’t there.

“I say, one of
you tell me this very minute what the fuss is ab-“

He stopped in
his tracks the moment he turned into the bedroom. He saw little
Adam on the bed, his limbs sprawled and blue across the covers. The
window above him let in the moonlight making the boy look like he
was made of the finest porcelain.

“Adam!” his
father ran to him, clutched at his face and ran his fingers through
his hair but it did nothing to revive him.

Meanwhile, the
attic had a new tenant and I was eager to make him feel at
home.

“You’ll like it
here, you really will,”

“I’m not sure,”
Adam looked around. “There aren’t any toys,”

“Well, you can
bring up your old ones up from your room,” I suggested.

But he wasn’t
interested anymore. I could tell his mind was fixed on the noise
downstairs.

“Mummy’s so sad
that I’m gone. I can’t listen anymore,” and the tears returned to
his eyes. “I knew you were evil! I
knew
you were trying to
kill me,” he slumped on the floor and began banging his fists.

“No, don’t do
that,” I insisted. “It’ll cause more trouble,”

He stopped and
pouted as he looked up to me.

“Who’s that
behind you?” he stuttered as his eyes became wide.

“I’m Mathilda,”
the girl in the yellow dress stepped out from the shadows. “Would
you like to play?”