This House is Haunted (18 page)

For a moment I would have sworn that there was someone behind me, breathing on my neck, the presence again, the spirit, or something like it. But it was a comforting presence this time, not the one that had forced me off my dandy-horse or tried to push me from the window. Perhaps it was the one who had saved me on that occasion. Or perhaps I was imagining it entirely.

I nodded and looked at the door, determined now. “Please open it, Mrs. Livermore,” I said. “I wish to meet my employer.”

Chapter Fifteen

B
Y LUNCHTIME
, I had almost recovered.

The children were delighted not to have any classroom studies that morning; I had no choice but to cancel our class as there was certainly no possibility that I could have concentrated on Shakespeare’s sonnets or the difference between a peninsula and an inlet after such a traumatic and upsetting experience.

After Mrs. Livermore had gone for the day—or rather, had retired to her small cottage hidden behind the trees that ran along the rear of the stables; the cottage to which she would go back and forth throughout the day, mostly unnoticed by me—I wandered around the house feeling lost and disconsolate. Isabella and Eustace were outside playing but I could neither bring myself to read nor to sew nor to practise on the small piano that I had lately taken to attempting. Instead I prayed for night to fall so that I could retire to my bed, to sleep, for what Coleridge had called “the wide blessing,” and to wake again the following day refreshed and ready to begin anew. I wondered whether I would feel that ghastly presence in the house that seemed to come and go of its own will, but all was still until the ringing of the doorbell, which jolted me and made me cry aloud.

Afternoon had fallen. It was growing dark early now and the fog had returned. I could not hear the children or see them from the window.

I walked down the hallway nervously, uncertain of what might be awaiting me on the other side, and opened the door only a little at first, carefully, but then upon seeing who it was I relaxed immediately.

“Mrs. Toxley,” I said, surprised at first to see her but then recalling that I had invited her on Sunday to call over this afternoon, an appointment I had entirely forgotten until that moment.

“You look surprised to see me,” she said, remaining outside, her eyes looking around the front of the house nervously. “We did say today, didn’t we?”

“We did, we did,” I agreed. “I’m so sorry. Can I be entirely honest with you and say that it slipped my mind? There have been a number of upsetting incidents here and I forgot our arrangement.”

“I could always come back another day if it’s more convenient?” she suggested, stepping back with a certain relieved expression on her face, but I shook my head and ushered her in.

“You must think terribly of me,” I said. “What kind of person invites another over for tea and then forgets? I can only apologize.” I peered out into the fog. A shadow passed between the trees; I blinked, it vanished. “You didn’t see the children as you came up the driveway, did you?”

“I saw Isabella,” she said. “She was marching around with a ball in her hands, looking very cross. And I heard Eustace shouting after her but didn’t see him. Is everything all right?”

I glanced at the grandfather clock in the hallway. There was time enough for them to stay outdoors yet. “Everything’s fine,” I said.

“You look tired, Miss Caine,” she replied, a concerned expression on her face. “Have you been sleeping?”

“I have,” I said. “Only I was up quite early this morning, so perhaps my appearance is a little drawn.”

“There’s nothing worse than someone telling you that you look tired, is there?” she asked, smiling at me, putting me at my ease. “I always think it’s terribly rude. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Let’s go into the kitchen,” I said. “I’ll put some water on for tea.”

She followed me in and I took her hat, coat and gloves and she handed me a charming, neatly packaged box. “A small gift,” she said.

I was touched by such an unexpected kindness and opened it. Immediately an explosion of powerful odours emerged from the box. Mrs. Toxley had brought pear cakes infused with cinnamon and I felt a weakness overtake me.

“I bought them at Mrs. Sutcliffe’s tea shop in the village,” she explained. “I would have made the cakes myself only Alex said that I should stay away from the oven if I didn’t want to poison anyone. I’m a frightful cook. Miss Caine, are you quite all right?”

I nodded and sank into a chair, burying my face in my hands. Before I knew it, the tears were forming in my eyes and began to fall.

“My dear,” she said, sitting next to me and putting her arm around me. “Whatever’s the matter?”

“I’m so sorry,” I replied, trying to smile and wipe the tears away at the same time. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just that I associate the scent of cinnamon entirely with my late father. He died only a month ago and he has been very much
on my mind lately. Particularly now, when things are growing so difficult here.”

“It’s my fault,” she said, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t have brought the cake.”

“You weren’t to know,” I replied, drying my face and taking a deep breath before smiling at her. “There,” I said. “All my silliness over, I think. I was going to make tea, wasn’t I?”

I went across to the sink and turned the water on, letting it run for a minute to take away any sediment left in the pipes. I ran my fingers under it and pulled them away immediately. It was just as icy cold as it had been that morning.

“How have you been settling in?” asked Mrs. Toxley, who instructed me to call her Madge when we were seated again and drinking our tea. I wasted no time eating my pear cake in order to allow the scent of the spice to dissipate from the kitchen more quickly.

“Well, at first,” I replied. “But it seems as if every day brings fresh challenges.”

“You know about Mr. Westerley, don’t you?” she said, reading my expression, and I nodded.

“I only learned yesterday. Mr. Raisin told me about the traumatic relationship he had with his wife. I saw him earlier.”

“Mr. Raisin?”

“No, Mr. Westerley.”

She opened her eyes wide in surprise. “You saw him? I’m astonished. I didn’t think … well, I didn’t think anyone was allowed.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not sure that I was allowed, if I’m being honest,” I told her. “I rather insisted upon it.”

“And how was he?” asked Madge. I shook my head and she sighed. “He’s upstairs somewhere, isn’t he? It makes me so sad to
think of it,” she continued. “Alex and I, we were great friends of the Westerleys, you see. We dined together quite often. Alex and James went shooting together. We had some very happy times.”

“You knew his wife well then?” I asked.

“Santina? Oh yes. I knew her for years. I was something of a friend to her when James first brought her back from Spain. Old Mr. Westerley was up in arms, of course, that a foreigner, particularly a foreigner of no note, should be brought into the family, but I thought she was rather sweet. And so beautiful! But there were suspicions that she was after the money.”

“And was she?”

Madge laughed and shook her head. “There was never a woman who cared less for money than Santina Westerley. Oh, she wasn’t opposed to having some, of course not. Why should she be? But no, she did not marry James for his money.”

“She married for love then?”

Madge considered this. “I’m not sure,” she said. “She was fond of him certainly in those early days. No, I think she married him because he offered her an escape. Still, old Mr. Westerley refused her an allowance at first. He was convinced that she was a gold-digger. But she was not particularly interested in material things. She didn’t go looking for new gowns constantly, for example, she seemed content with the ones she had. She wasn’t interested in jewellery. James bought her some at the start, of course, but she had the sort of neckline that was best unadorned. Perhaps the occasional pendant, that was all. No, even old Mr. Westerley agreed in the end that she had not married James for financial gain.”

“And did he love her?” I asked.

“Oh yes. I should say so. Of course, they were both so young when James came back from Spain with his new bride. But they
seemed very happy with each other then. It wasn’t until much later that she became, well, troubled.”

“Troubled how?” I asked.

She shook her head and frowned, as if she wanted to find the precise words to explain what she meant. “Something had happened to her, that much was obvious,” she said. “When she was a girl, I mean.”

“Mr. Raisin made mention of it,” I told her, leaning forward, feeling a degree of distress that any adult would injure a child in the way that he had implied. “It’s an abomination.”

“Yes, but I thought she had put those days behind her, if such a thing is possible. I truly believed that she and James would find peace together. I was a great supporter of their union. And they were happy for a time. No one will ever convince me differently.”

We said nothing for a while, sipping at our tea, both of us lost in our reflections. I was thinking of the girl Santina, of what might have happened to her to produce such a damaging psychosis. Madge was no doubt recalling happier times between the two couples.

“You have been married a long time?” I asked after a lengthy silence and she smiled and nodded.

“Nine years,” she said. “Alex and I met when my brother brought him home from the Varsity for a weekend. They were studying together and had chummed up from the start. Of course I was only sixteen when I first laid eyes on him and he was three years older so naturally—”

“You fell quickly in love,” I said, smiling at her.

“No, I hated him,” she replied, bursting out laughing. “Oh don’t look so shocked, Eliza, the feeling didn’t last long. He teased me terribly that first weekend, you see. He said the most
frightful things and I think I responded in kind. Mother thought we would have to be separated at dinner one night for the number of insults that we were throwing in each other’s direction. It was all a mask, of course. He wrote to me soon after, you see. Apologized for being such a brute.”

“And did he explain it?”

“He said that when he first laid eyes on me he knew that he would be incapable of spending the weekend trying to do what he really wanted to do—which was to make me fall in love with him—and so settled on the next best thing, making me despise him instead. Naturally I wrote back and told him that I had never met such a vulgar, pompous, despicable, unpleasant, rude, discourteous beast in all my life and that should he find himself down with us for another weekend I would refuse to have anything to do with him. He came the following weekend and brought me flowers and a copy of Keats’
Poems
and I told him that my letter had been a lie and that I had spent every hour thinking of him.”

It surprised me how open she was, how willing to tell me the story of her courtship, but I could see that she enjoyed the memory of it.

“We were married within the year,” she added after a moment. “I was terribly lucky. He’s a fine man. But what about you, Eliza? Any sweethearts waiting for you back in London?”

I blushed and shook my head. “I don’t think I am exactly what a young man is looking for,” I said, and to her credit, Madge Toxley did not dispute this, for the evidence was there for all to see. She was a beauty who could make a man like Alex Toxley fall for her in a heartbeat; I was not.

“Well,” she said, shifting a little uncomfortably in her chair, “who knows what the future might bring. How is he, anyway?”
she asked, changing the subject abruptly. “James, I mean. Is he well?”

“No,” I said.

“No, of course not,” she said, reddening slightly. “Of course he’s not well. I meant … how is he coping? He won’t see us, you see. Either of us. Alex was terribly upset last year. He tried time and again after James was released from the hospital but it was to no avail. He wrote letters, spoke to the doctors. When Mrs. Livermore came to tend to him he spoke to her and she promised that she would do what she could but it seems that James is adamant. He does not want visitors.”

“My dear,” I said, reaching across and laying my hand on top of hers. “The truth is that I don’t believe he would even know if you were there.”

She stared at me and shook her head. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“The man I saw this morning,” I began. “I use the term ‘man’ with great caution for there is little of the man left. He is … how he survived his attack, I do not know. His face is … I’m sorry, Madge, I don’t wish to distress you, but his face is a jumble. He’s scarcely recognizable as human.”

She put a hand to her mouth, but I did not regret my choice of words. I had deserved to know the truth about Mr. Westerley and I was a complete stranger to him. She and her husband were old friends of his. If she thought he was sitting up in bed issuing orders about whom he might or might not see, and was hurt by the exclusion, then she deserved the truth as well.

“Shall I stop or continue?” I asked her. “Is this too upsetting?”

“It is but I’d rather know,” she said. “And so, I daresay, would Alex. Please tell me everything.”

I sighed. “He lies there,” I said, “a shell of a man. The skin half ripped from his face. There is bone and cartilage on display. Mrs. Livermore changes the dressings, she tells me, three times a day, otherwise there is the chance of infection setting in. His teeth are gone. His mouth lies open, gasping for breath. A horrendous sound, Madge. Like a dog dying in the street. And the rest of him … well, I did not see his body of course, that lies beneath the sheets. But he will never walk again, I am certain of that. He can barely move his arms. He is a man who seems dead to me, were it not for the fact that his heart continues to beat. It’s a blasphemy, I know, but that poor man would have been better dying in the attack and not surviving it. Surviving it!” I repeated, laughing a little in bitterness at the word. “As if that is survival.”

I glanced across at Mrs. Toxley, who had grown quite pale now. I could see that she was close to tears but she had a strength to her, a resilience that I had recognized on the first day when I saw her on the platform, and she simply breathed deeply now and nodded.