This House is Haunted (26 page)

“I’ve never been up there,” I said.

“It’s best that you never do,” she said. “The house looks solid enough but in truth it’s falling apart. The stonework does not sit together well. Fifty years from now, I promise you, Miss Caine, a wind will come that will knock that place down if they do not do any repairs. Earlier than that, perhaps.”

“What were you doing on the roof?” I asked.

“I like to paint,” she explained. “I’m not very good, of course, but it gives me pleasure. It’s flat up there and the views over the Norfolk Broads are magnificent. It was a sunny day and I took my easel and paints to the roof. Two things happened that day. Despite the fact that the weather was so good, a strong wind appeared out of nowhere, lifted me from my chair and would
have carried me over the side of the house had I not grabbed hold of a stone beam by the chimney and clung on to it until the wind finally subsided. When it did, I made my way down to the ground and was standing in the driveway, recovering my breath, when stones from the roof began to rain down. One missed me by no more than a couple of feet. Had it hit me, I would have been killed instantly. I ran, of course. On to the lawns. Only when I was at a safe distance did the stones stop falling.”

I shook my head. I had not encountered any falling stones yet; was this a nightmare that awaited me upon my return? Did I need a suit of armour to prevent myself from being crushed to death?

“And then there was the incident with the knife,” she said.

“The knife?”

“I was preparing lunch, chopping vegetables, and the knife I was holding … it sounds ridiculous, I know, but it seemed to take on a life of its own. It turned on me. I was holding it in my own hands but it was pushing me back towards the wall. As I stood there, pressed flat against the stone, my hands were getting closer to my throat, the point of the knife ready to slit me open.”

“And how did you stop it?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” she said. “Isabella walked in. And she uttered just one word—“No”—and my hands were returned to my own control. I dropped the knife, fell to the floor, and when I looked up, Isabella was standing over me.
You should be more careful with knives
, she told me.
Mother never lets us play with them
.”

“
Lets
us? The present tense?”

“I noticed that too.”

“And she wasn’t frightened by what she had witnessed?”

Now it was Miss Bennet’s turn to laugh. “Isabella Westerley?” she asked. “Frightened? You’ve met her, Miss Caine. You’ve spent this last month with her. Do you think that she’s a child who feels those kinds of emotions? Do you think she’s a child who feels any emotions at all?”

“She’s very damaged,” I said, defending her. “Think of all she’s been through. The death of her mother, the ruination of her father’s life. Not to mention all the governesses who have died. How she has kept her sanity at all is a mystery to me.”

“You’re assuming that she has,” said Miss Bennet, shaking her head. “Anyway, I don’t trust that girl. I never did. I would catch her spying on me, observing my every movement. She would creep up on me out of the blue and frighten me, that’s the truth of it. A twelve-year-old girl and she frightened me greatly.”

“And Eustace?” I asked, hoping that she would not cast any slur upon his character, for he was my favourite, he was my darling.

“Well, Eustace, of course …” she said, smiling a little at the memory of him. “He’s a sweet boy. But, to use your own phrase, terribly damaged. I fear for his future, I truly do.”

“Might I ask what it was that made you leave in the end?” I asked. “Was there some other incident? Something that pushed you too far?”

“I should think all that I have described would have been enough,” she replied. “But yes, there was one more thing. Heckling’s horse; you’re familiar with the animal, I presume?”

“Yes,” I said. “A placid creature. She should really be left to her retirement at this point.”

“I would have said the same,” she replied. “But she turned on me one day, when Heckling wasn’t there to witness it, of course. I was taking a walk and had brought a small bag of sugar to give
her as a treat; I did it most mornings and I thought she loved me for it. But on this particular day, when I reached for the bag, she reared up, her legs in the air, and had I not jumped out of the way they would have landed on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I was shocked, of course, and looked at the horse, begging it to take control of itself, but there was murder in her eyes, she was drooling, and I ran. I ran, Miss Caine, as fast as I could, and that old horse came after me with murderous intent. It was neighing and whinnying like the hounds of hell and had I not made it to the front door of the Hall and run inside before she could reach me I have no doubt that I would have been killed by her.”

“It seems impossible,” I said, thinking of that placid, worthy animal. “But something similar happened to me. With a dog. I was sure that it meant me harm. Were it not for Isabella, I believe it would have ripped my throat out.”

“Her spirit is attracted to animals then,” said Miss Bennet, shuddering slightly. “I wonder why. Anyway, for me that was the last straw. I drew up the advertisement, waited until I could see Heckling controlling the horse from a window—she was calm then, entirely her old self—and made my way to the village to telegraph the position of governess to the editor of the
Morning Star
. Which, I presume, is where you saw it.”

“It was,” I said, nodding. “But you didn’t leave,” I pointed out. “Despite everything that had happened. You waited until your replacement had been found.”

She smiled at me. “Miss Caine,” she said quietly, “I grant you that I do not come out of this adventure without a stain on my character. It was wrong of me to advertise the position under false pretences. I knew that it sounded as if I was master of Gaudlin Hall and not a mere governess. And I realize that if
I were a braver soul, then I should have waited for you to arrive and warned you of the things that were taking place there. But I couldn’t take that chance, you see. I couldn’t risk your turning on your heels and boarding the train back to London. It was cowardly of me, of course. I know that very well. But, you see, I had to get away. But the one thing that I wouldn’t do, the one act that I could not bring myself to commit, was walking away from those children and leaving them to that spirit. Leaving them without a protector. Until I knew that you were coming, I could not leave.” She hesitated and shook her head. “No, that’s not entirely accurate,” she said, reconsidering this. “I couldn’t leave Eustace without a protector. Isabella, I don’t think she needs anyone to look after her. She can take care of herself.”

I stood up, pacing slowly around the classroom. A wall chart listed the Kings and Queens of England, from the Battle of Hastings to Victoria, and it distracted me for a moment, bringing me back to happier times. How I wished that I was simply waiting for my small girls to run back in after their lunch break, tired and yawning, ready for their afternoon’s exercises.

“And you, Miss Caine,” said Miss Bennet after a long silence. “You have suffered badly?” I nodded and told her briefly about the various incidents that had taken place since my residence at the Hall began. “At least you have survived,” she said.

“So far,” I replied.

“But you’re here,” she said, smiling and coming over to me, taking both my hands in hers. “You’re here, after all. You got away. Like me. Perhaps the spirit is losing her power.”

I shook my head and pulled my hands away. “I think you misunderstand me,” I said. “I may have survived, so far, but I have not got away, as you put it. I am only here for the afternoon in
London. I told you already that I return to Norfolk by the afternoon train.”

“You’re going back to Gaudlin Hall?”

“But of course I am,” I said. “Where else would I go? I have no other home.”

“Go anywhere,” she shouted, throwing her hands in the air, months of tension pouring out of her now in frustration. “Go anywhere at all. Go back to the school you used to teach in. Go to Cornwall or Edinburgh or Cardiff or London. Go to France or Italy. Travel into the heart of Russia, if you must, or live with those unfortunate women on the streets of the capital. But get away from that terrible place. If you have any sense, Miss Caine, get as far away from Gaudlin Hall as you possibly can.”

I stared at her, shocked by her selfishness. “And then who,” I asked her in an even tone, trying to control my growing temper, “who would take care of the children?”

“She would.”

I shook my head. “I will not leave them to her,” I said.

She shrugged. “Then she will come for you. Like she came for the others.” She looked away, her tone suggesting that this much was both obvious and unavoidable. “She’ll come; you’ll die.”

Her words were like a knife through me. “But why?” I asked, as much of myself as anyone else. “Why does she mean us harm? I seek nothing but to help those children. To take care of them. And what of the other presence? The old man? You have not spoken of him. What part does he play in this?”

Miss Bennet frowned and looked back at me, shaking her head as if she had not heard me correctly. “I beg your pardon?” she said.

“The other spirit,” I said. “There are two of them, are there not? He prevented me from being pushed out the window on one occasion—I could feel his hands on me. Eustace has seen him, has spoken to him. He said that he was there to take care of me.”

Miss Bennet wrapped her arms around herself and I could see that she had grown more frightened by what I said. “I’m sorry, Miss Caine. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You never felt him?”

“No,” she said. “Not once. Only the destructive spirit. Only her.”

“Perhaps he was there and you never felt him? Perhaps he prevented those stones from falling on you, for example.”

She considered this for a moment but shook her head. “I would have known,” she said in a confident voice. “I am certain that I would have. I would have known if there was another. And there wasn’t. I would swear to it.”

I nodded. I had no choice but to believe her; she had no reason to lie. The bell rang and I could see the boys in the playground bringing their games to an end, gathering their lunch cans and making their way towards the doors.

“I should go,” I said. “I suppose I must thank you, Miss Bennet, for your candour. You have confirmed a number of things for me. And, strange as it might sound, it is something of a relief to me to know that another has gone through what I am going through. It prevents me from thinking that I am going mad.”

“But you are going mad,” said Miss Bennet evenly. “You must be if you decide to go back there. Only a madwoman would return to that place.”

“Then I am a madwoman,” I replied. “And so be it. But the children will not leave while their father remains in the house,
I know that much for certain. They never speak of him, they never acknowledge his presence. But they are comforted to know that he is there. And I will never leave them alone to that malevolent spirit.”

I reached for the door handle and heard her voice behind me, sorrowful now, regretful.

“You must think me a terrible woman,” she said. “To have deserted them like I did.”

I turned back to her and shook my head. “You did as your nature dictated,” I said, smiling at her. “And I must do as my own nature dictates too. Goodbye, Miss Bennet.”

“Goodbye, Miss Caine,” she said. “And good luck.”

It was late when I returned to Gaudlin Hall. The train had been delayed in London and then delayed a second time just outside Manningtree. It had been an uncomfortable journey. A middle-aged man in the carriage, seated opposite me, had begun an unwelcome flirtation, an experience which was entirely new to me and which, at another time, I might have rather enjoyed, but I could not enjoy it then and was forced to move to a different seat, where I had the misfortune to find myself next to an elderly lady who wanted nothing more than to regale me with stories of how cruel her daughter and son-in-law were to her, how they prevented her from seeing her grandchildren, and how neither of them were any better than they ought to be anyway and that they would find no place in her will.

Madge Toxley had brought the children home to their own beds and seemed relieved to see me, summoning her carriage immediately and making her way back down the driveway with extraordinary haste. As I ascended the staircase at Gaudlin Hall I prayed that I would be permitted to sleep through the night,
to recover my energies for the following day, and be prepared to face whatever trauma might come next. I stopped on the landing before heading up to my own floor and was surprised to hear voices coming from Eustace’s room. I glanced at the clock next to me; it was past midnight and far too late for either of the children to still be awake. I made my way down the corridor and stopped outside his room, pressing an ear to the door. It was difficult to make out what they were saying but after a moment my hearing adjusted and I could make out Eustace speaking in a quiet tone.

“But what if she doesn’t come back?” he was asking.

“She will,” came the reply, not Isabella’s voice as I expected, but something older, something more mature, something masculine.

“I don’t want her to leave us like the others did,” said Eustace.

“She won’t,” said the second person, at which point I opened the door and stepped inside. There was no light in the room save for Eustace’s candle which sat next to his bed on the table, illuminating him. His pale skin looked white as snow against his nightshirt. I looked around. He was entirely alone.

“Who were you talking to?” I asked, marching towards him, seizing him by the shoulders and raising my voice. “Who were you talking to, Eustace?”

He issued a short gasp of fright but, despite how much I loved him, I had had enough and was unwilling to release him from my grasp. “Who were you talking to?” I shouted, and now he relented.

“The old man,” he said.

I could have wept in frustration. “But there is no old man,” I cried, releasing him and turning round in a full circle before looking back at the boy. “There’s no one else here.”