This House is Haunted (16 page)

What Mr. Raisin described might have been outside the experience of most young women of my age but of course I knew only too well a little about such behaviour from the events that had taken place at St. Elizabeth’s the previous year. My young friend, Mr. Covan, had been given responsibility for the middle girls, who were aged around ten years old. One of those girls, a quiet, pretty little thing whose name I shall not record, went from being a well-behaved student to a troublemaker over the course of a few months and no one could get to the bottom of it. She grew quite violent in class one day and attempted to assault Mr. Covan. The girl had to be restrained and was in danger of expulsion, only she revealed a set of circumstances to Mrs. Farnsworth after much questioning which led to the police being called and Mr. Covan being escorted from the grounds that very day. A trial was avoided when the young man took his own life, but it was a shocking episode, one which caused great distress to all the teachers and particular upset to me, who had nurtured affectionate
feelings towards him and who felt betrayed and frightened by the revelation of his true nature. But of course this was as naught compared to the harm inflicted on the girl herself, who, by the time I left the school, had still not returned to her old self but seemed intent on causing as much chaos around her as possible.

“I find human nature to be a very disturbing thing,” I told Mr. Raisin. “People can be capable of the most despicable cruelties. If Mrs. Westerley suffered at the hands of her own family, perhaps it was only natural that she wanted to keep her children close to her. That she did not want anyone to harm them.”

“I can understand her desire to protect them, Miss Caine,” he replied. “But damn it all, she would barely let their own father lift them or play with them, let alone anyone else. It was a situation that could not be allowed to continue. And yet it did. It continued for several years and we all simply grew accustomed to the fact that there was a madwoman living at Gaudlin Hall. We became complacent, I suppose. We thought that it was not our problem. James and Santina’s relationship became utterly fraught and he aged before my eyes. The poor man didn’t know how to fix things. It might have gone on interminably but matters came to a head some eighteen months ago when a regrettable incident took place. Santina was in a park with Isabella and Eustace and, when she had her back turned for only a moment, another lady invited them both to join her own two children in a game of chase. For a few seconds, they were lost to Santina and she went … well, I have used the word ‘mad’ already but really, Miss Caine, that is the only way to explain it. She lost her reason entirely.”

I sat there, wide-eyed. “What did she do?” I asked.

“She lifted part of a fallen branch off the ground. A heavy, substantial piece of wood. And she beat the woman. She beat this good woman badly. She might have killed her had others not intervened. It was a terrible thing. A truly terrible thing.” He had grown quite pale by now. “The police were called, of course, but somehow James managed to prevent her from being charged. You’ll find, Miss Caine, that in a place like this, money and position can buy you a lot of favours. The truth is that it would have been better for all had she been arrested and imprisoned that day. If she had, then the rest might never have happened.” He ran a hand across his eyes and sighed, taking another drink from his glass, a longer draught this time. “I’m afraid my story becomes rather distressing from here on, Miss Caine. I shall have to ask you to prepare yourself.”

“It’s already distressing,” I said. “I can scarcely imagine worse.”

He laughed bitterly. “Try,” he replied. “Whatever deal James made with the constabulary, whatever conversation he had with his wife in the wake of this attack, it must have lifted the veil of so many years from his eyes because he could see at last how unhealthy the attachment between Santina and her children had grown. How love had been stretched beyond its natural boundary to a place where it had been transformed into obsession and cruelty. You’ve seen Isabella’s curious nature, after all. The maturity combined with childishness. That has its roots in her intimate relationship with her mother. Anyway, James insisted that a new relationship needed to be established. That Santina could not spend all her time with the children. That they needed other influences. And so, over her objections, he hired a governess. The first governess. Miss
Tomlin. A nice girl. A little older than you, rather pretty in her way. We all liked her. She spoke French fluently but nobody minded that. I saw her occasionally in the village with the children and I took to playing a ridiculous game with myself: where was Santina? For if I looked around I knew that I would be able to discover her somewhere, hiding, watching, fretting. But still I thought that this was healthier than what had gone before. I felt that she was learning to loosen the cord that connected her to Isabella and Eustace. And I genuinely believed—I genuinely believed this, Miss Caine—that this would be for the best in the long run. After all, one day the children would grow up, would marry, and would move away from Gaudlin Hall. And Santina would need to be ready for that. But of course I was entirely wrong, for she simply could not live with the idea that her children were in the care of another. That, for a few hours of each day, they were, to her way of thinking, in danger.

“One night, a little over a year ago, she came into the living room at Gaudlin Hall while the children were upstairs to discover her husband and the governess in conversation. She was quite relaxed, quite composed. She waited for them both to turn away from her and then she reached for the poker from the fire, the heavy iron poker that had been there for generations, and she set about them both, catching them off guard, with as much fury as she had attacked that unfortunate lady in the park. Only this time there was no one to intervene and a poker, Miss Caine, is a more deadly weapon than a fallen branch.” He bowed his head and became silent.

“Murder?” I asked, whispering the dreaded word, and he nodded his head.

“I’m afraid so, Miss Caine,” he said quietly. “Cold-blooded murder. When I think of that lovely Miss Tomlin, her youth, her beauty, her life taken away from her. The scene at Gaudlin Hall that night was shocking. As the family lawyer, as a lifelong friend, the officers who discovered the carnage summoned me and I promise you, Miss Caine, that I will never forget what I saw. No one should ever have to witness such butchery. No one ever could and sleep soundly again.”

I looked away. I felt sick to the pit of my stomach. I wished I did not know this story. Was I little more than a fearsome gossip, wanting to know these intimate secrets when truly they did not concern me? But we had got this far. We might as well finish.

“And Mrs. Westerley,” I said. “Santina. She was not released this time, I presume.”

“She was hanged, Miss Caine,” he replied. “The judge showed no mercy, and why should he have, after all? She was hanged from the neck until dead.”

I nodded and put a hand to my chest, feeling the bruises that were still tender.

“And the other governesses?” I asked.

Mr. Raisin shook his head. “Not today, Miss Caine,” he said, glancing at the grandfather clock. “I’m afraid I must stop there. I have to be in Norwich soon and I feel that I may need a few moments to allow my emotions to settle before I leave. Can we talk again another time?”

I nodded. “Of course,” I said, standing up and retrieving my coat. “You’ve been very generous. I feel I should apologize, Mr. Raisin,” I said. “I can see how distressed you are. I think I have only added to your pain.”

“You had a right to know,” he said with a shrug. “And you have a right to know the rest too. Only … not today, if you please.”

I nodded again and turned for the door, hesitating as I reached for the handle before turning back to him.

“It’s shocking though, isn’t it?” I said, trying to imagine how far love could be perverted so that the natural bond of mother and child should descend into something so obsessive. “To commit two murders simply to prevent anyone else from becoming close to your children. It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

Mr. Raisin looked back at me and frowned. “Two murders, Miss Caine?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Mr. Westerley and Miss Tomlin. It’s shocking.”

The lawyer shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I fear that I haven’t been entirely clear. Mrs. Westerley was not a double murderer. Miss Tomlin was the only fatality on that terrible night. Oh, she wanted to kill them both of course. And she damn near succeeded, if you’ll excuse my language. But no, Mr. Westerley, James, did not die. Although considering the life he has now and the condition in which that woman left him, it might have been better for him if he had.”

I stared at him. “Mr. Westerley is alive?” I asked, astonished.

“Yes.”

“Then I return to my original question of an hour ago,” I said. “I asked where the children’s parents are. I know where Mrs. Westerley is, of course. But Mr. Westerley? Where is he?”

He stared at me as if I was quite mad. “You don’t know?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I said, growing more frustrated now. “If I knew, then why would I ask? Has he left Norfolk? Abandoned his own children?”

“Miss Caine, James Westerley would no more abandon his children than I would mine. And he has not left Norfolk since the day he returned from that ill-fated voyage to Madrid. No, James is still here, with us. He never left. He’s at Gaudlin Hall. He’s in the house with you. He’s been there since you arrived.”

Chapter Fourteen

I
NEVER NEEDED AN
alarm to wake in the morning nor, as a child, did I ever require Father to knock on my door to rouse me for school. When Aunt Hermione took me to Cornwall for the summer after Mother’s death, she proclaimed herself astonished that I always appeared downstairs for breakfast at precisely the time that she had told me the night before. She called me an unnatural child but seemed impressed by my punctuality. All my life, when I have known that I must wake at a particular time, I always wake.

And so when I told myself to rise at four o’clock the morning after my appointment with Mr. Raisin, I knew that I would not fail, and sure enough my eyes opened at that hour to a darkened bedroom. I roused myself and parted the curtains, looking across the grounds of Gaudlin Hall while keeping back from the window, although I did not fear it entirely for the spirit that haunted that place seemed uninterested in repeating its tricks. The fear grew from never knowing when it might strike next. Or how.

A fog had descended across the gardens, a pea-souper that reminded me of the “London Particular.” It was difficult to make
anything out and I dressed quickly, making my way downstairs to the kitchen. Sitting in a position where I might keep a close eye on anyone who walked round this side of the house, I made some tea and waited. Four thirty came and went, five o’clock appeared and with it a faint splinter of light on the horizon. I could feel my eyes starting to fail and, after almost nodding off, stepped quickly towards the library to find a book that might keep me awake. While I was selecting one I heard movement from the room beyond, and I stood at the kitchen door, looking in, pleased but a little frightened that I had finally trapped my prey.

“Mrs. Livermore.”

The lady jumped, startled, uttering an oath, and spun round, her hand pressed against her chest in surprise. “Whatever do you think you’re doing?” she asked, the first words she had ever spoken to me, despite the fact that we had been in this house, or around it, together for several weeks. “Creeping up on a person like that? You might have given me a turn.”

“How else would I get to meet you?” I asked, not standing on ceremony. “It’s not easy to make your acquaintance.”

“Aye,” she replied, nodding and staring at me with a contemptuous expression before turning back to the cooker where she had set a pan of water to boil. “Them as lies in bed all morning are likely to miss me. You need to get up early, Governess, if it’s conversation you’re after.”

“Would I have got any?” I asked. “I suspect that you would have denied me any discourse.”

She sighed and looked at me with an exhausted expression. She was a stout woman, perhaps closer to fifty years of age than
forty, and wore her greying hair in a tight bun behind her head. Her eyes were bright, however, and I suspected that she did not suffer fools lightly. “You may speak plain with me,” she said in a low voice. “I’m not an educated woman.”

I nodded and felt slightly embarrassed. Was “discourse” a word only used among the learned classes?

“Well, perhaps you’re right anyhow,” she added after a moment, relenting slightly, and turned back to the range. “I were making tea,” she said.

“May I join you?”

“I don’t suppose I should get any peace if I said no, should I?” she asked. “Sit down in there, I’ll bring the tea in, you can say what needs to be said and then I can get on with my work. Are we agreed?”

I nodded, and turned to make my way back towards the parlour, a room that I had not spent much time in hitherto. Before leaving the kitchen, however, I noticed a grey mark on my hand—I must have collected some dust on the banisters as I had made my way downstairs—and went over to the sink to wash it off. I gave a slight gasp as the water hit my hands, and Mrs. Livermore turned to me.

“What’s the matter with you now, girl?”

“It’s just the water,” I said, flushing a little. “It’s so cold.”

“Well, of course it’s cold,” she replied. “Where do you think you are, Buckingham Palace?” I moved away, rubbing my hands together to warm them. The water was always freezing cold, of course; if we wanted hot water at Gaudlin Hall it had to be heated on the range.

“Tea,” said Mrs. Livermore a few minutes later, entering the room with a tray carrying two cups, the teapot, a jug of milk
and a bowl of sugar. “I’ve no fancies, so don’t be asking for any. You can make your own breakfast later.”

“That’s quite all right,” I said, my tone less combative now. “And I’m sorry about startling you earlier. I really didn’t intend to give you a fright.”