This House is Haunted (7 page)

“Please,” I said, turning round to glare at him. “Can’t you help me?”

He swore a blasphemy under his breath, dropped my suitcase on the ground without ceremony and walked around, and I stared at him irritably, wondering why he was being so
difficult. I looked forward to him trying the door for himself so he would see that I was not some foolish woman who did not know how to turn a handle, but to my surprise, the moment he reached out for it, it opened easily, quite as easily as it had when I had first boarded the carriage a couple of hours earlier.

“Ain’t too difficult,” he grumbled, walking away, refusing even to offer me his hand as I descended, and I simply shook my head, wondering what on earth was wrong with me. Had I been turning it the wrong way? It was ridiculous, after all. The door had been sealed shut. I could not open it. And yet he could.

“Gaudlin Hall,” he said as we made our way towards the front door. He pulled a heavy rope and I heard the bell ringing within, at which time he placed my suitcase on the step beside me and tipped his hat. “Evening then, Governess,” he said.

“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked, surprised that I should just be deposited here like this, as if I was little more than a piece of luggage.

“Never do,” he said, walking away. “I live out yonder.”

And to my astonishment, he simply boarded the carriage and started to drive away, while I stood there, open-mouthed, wondering whether this was the manner in which all new employees were treated here.

A moment later, the door opened and I turned, expecting at last to come face to face with my new employer, whoever he or she might be.

It was not a man or woman standing there, however, but a little girl. She was about twelve years old, I thought, older than my small girls, and very pale and pretty. Her hair was curled into ringlets that hung down to her shoulders and perhaps a
little further. She was dressed in a white nightdress, fastened at the neck and hanging to her ankles, and as she stood there, the candles in the hallway illuminating her from behind, she took on a spectral appearance that rather frightened me.

“Hello,” she said quietly.

“Good evening,” I replied, smiling, trying to put myself at ease by pretending that nothing was amiss. “I didn’t expect the door to be answered by the daughter of the house.”

“Oh no? Who did you expect to answer it then? The Prime Minister?”

“Well, the butler,” I said. “Or the maid.”

The little girl smiled. “We have fallen on diminished times,” she said after a long pause.

I nodded. I had no answer to this. “Well then,” I said. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. I’m Eliza Caine. The new governess.”

There was an almost imperceptible roll of the girl’s eyes and she opened the door wider to let me in. “It’s only been a few hours,” she said.

“Since what?”

“Since the last one left. Miss Bennet. Still, at least she’s gone. She wanted to go, terribly. But she couldn’t, of course. Not until she found someone to take her place. That was kind of her, I suppose. It does her great credit. And here you are.”

I stepped inside, uncertain what to make of this extraordinary speech. Looking around, expecting her mother or father to descend the staircase despite what Heckling had said, I found myself immediately impressed by the grandeur of the house. It was very traditional and no expense had been spared on its ornamentation. And yet, for all that, it seemed to me to be a home which had been decorated perhaps several years before,
and little had been done to keep it looking fresh in recent times. Still, it was clean and well ordered. Whoever took care of the place did a good job. As the little girl closed the door behind me, it sealed with a heavy sound, making me jump and turn round in fright, at which point I startled again, for standing next to her, wearing a similarly white, crisp nightshirt, was a little boy, perhaps four years her junior. I hadn’t seen him before. Had he been hiding behind the door?

“Eliza Caine,” said the little girl, tapping her index finger against her lower lip. “What a funny name. It sounds common.”

“The working classes all have names like that, I think,” said the little boy, scrunching his face up as if he was almost certain that this was true but not entirely so. I stared at him, wondering whether he meant to be rude, but he offered me such a friendly smile that I felt he was just stating the obvious. If we had to speak in terms of classes, then I supposed I was working class. I was here, after all, to work.

“Did you have a governess when you were a girl?” he asked me then. “Or did you go to school?”

“I went to school,” I told him. “St. Elizabeth’s in London.”

“I’ve always wondered what that would be like,” said the girl. “Eustace here would suffer dreadfully at a normal school, I think,” she added, nodding in the direction of her brother. “He’s quite a delicate child, as you can see, and boys can be terribly rough. Or so I’ve heard. I don’t know any boys myself. Other than Eustace, of course. Do you know many boys, Miss Caine?”

“Only the brothers of the small girls I teach,” I said. “Or taught. I was a teacher, you see.”

“At the same school you attended as a girl?”

“Yes.”

“My goodness,” she said, smirking a little. “It’s almost as if you never grew up. Or never wanted to. But it’s true what I say, isn’t it? About little boys. They can be terribly rough.”

“Some,” I said, looking around, wondering whether we were going to stand here chatting all night or whether I might be shown to my room and introduced to the adults. “So,” I said, smiling at them and attempting to speak in an authoritative manner. “Here I am anyway. I wonder, could you let your mama know that I have arrived? Or your papa? They might not have heard the carriage.”

I noticed the boy, Eustace, stiffen slightly as I made reference to his parents but chose not to remark on it. The little girl, however, allowed her demeanour to slip a little and she bit her lip and looked away with an expression approaching, but not quite reaching, embarrassment.

“Poor Eliza Caine,” she said. “I’m afraid you’ve been brought here under false pretences. That is a phrase, isn’t it?” she added. “I read it in a book recently and rather liked the sound of it.”

“It is a phrase, yes,” I said. “Although I don’t think it can mean what you think it means. I’ve been hired to be your governess. Your father placed the advertisement in the
Morning Post
.” I didn’t care what Heckling had said; the notion that the previous governess had placed the notice was quite absurd.

“He didn’t, as it happens,” said the girl lightly, and now Eustace turned and pressed his small body against hers, and she put an arm around him. It was true, he was a delicate child. I thought he could break quite easily. “Perhaps we should sit down, Miss Caine,” she said, leading the way towards the drawing room. “You must be tired after your journey.”

I followed in astonishment, both amused and disturbed by her grown-up manner. She waited until I had sat down on a
long sofa before taking her place in an armchair opposite me, as if she was mistress of Gaudlin and not the daughter of the house. Eustace hovered between us but then chose to sit at the very end of the sofa, staring at his toes.

“Your parents are home, aren’t they?” I asked, sitting opposite her, beginning to wonder whether this entire position was some elaborate ruse, designed to fool a grieving young woman for no apparent reason. Perhaps the family was comprised of lunatics.

“They’re not, I’m afraid,” she said. “There’s just Eustace and me. Mrs. Livermore comes in every day to take care of various things. She does a little cooking and leaves meals for us. I hope you like overcooked meat and undercooked vegetables. But she lives in the village. And you’ve met Heckling, of course. He has a cottage out near the stables. Dreadful man, don’t you agree? He reminds me of an ape. And doesn’t he smell funny?”

“He smells of the horses,” said Eustace, grinning at me, displaying a missing front tooth, and I could not prevent myself, despite my disquiet, from smiling back.

“He does rather,” I said before turning back to his sister. “I’m sorry,” I said, my tone expressing my confusion. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“Didn’t I?”

“No.”

She frowned and nodded, waiting the longest time before replying. “How rude of me,” she said. “My name is Isabella Westerley. I am named for one of the great Queens of Spain.”

“Isabella of Castille,” I said, remembering my history.

“That’s the one,” she replied, apparently pleased that I knew to whom she was referring. “My mother was born in Cantabria, you see. My father, on the other hand, was born here. In this very house.”

“So you’re half English, half Spanish?” I said.

“Yes, if you want to talk of me in terms of fractions,” she replied.

I stared at her, then looked around. There were some interesting paintings in the room—forebears of the current inhabitants, I assumed—and a rather lovely tapestry on the wall that faced out towards the courtyard, and it crossed my mind that I would enjoy studying these in more detail the following day, in sunlight.

“But you don’t,” I began, wondering how to phrase this. “You don’t live here alone, surely? Just the two of you?”

“Oh no, of course not,” said Isabella. “We’re far too young to be left alone.”

I exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens for that,” I said. “Well, if your parents aren’t here, then who is? Could you call for the adult of the house?”

To my astonishment, without moving even slightly on her seat, Isabella opened her mouth and let out an extraordinary and chilling scream. At least, I thought it was a scream until I realized that she had, in fact, simply called my name. Eliza Caine.

“What on earth?” I said, placing a hand to my breast in fright. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. I glanced across at Eustace but he seemed unperturbed, merely staring at me, the whites of his eyes appearing very clear in the candlelight.

“I do apologize,” said Isabella, smiling a little. “But you asked me to call for the adult of the house.”

“And you called my name. You screamed it, in fact.”

“You are the adult of the house,” she insisted. “Now that Miss Bennet is gone. You’ve taken her place. You’re the only responsible adult here.”

“Ha!” said Eustace, laughing a little and shaking his head, as if his sister’s statement was not one that he entirely believed. He was not the only person who seemed astonished. I could make no sense of this.

“But the advertisement—” I began, exhausted by now from explaining this.

“Was placed by Miss Bennet,” said Isabella. “I told you that. You’re her replacement.”

“But who takes charge of things? Who, for example, settles my accounts due?”

“Mr. Raisin.”

There was that name again. Mr. Raisin, the lawyer. So Heckling had not been entirely deceiving me.

“And where is this Mr. Raisin, might I ask?”

“He lives in the village. I can show you tomorrow if you like.”

I glanced at the grandfather clock, beautiful piece, that was standing in the corner of the room. It was already past ten o’clock at night.

“Mr. Raisin settles everything,” continued Isabella. “He pays the governess, he pays Mrs. Livermore and Heckling. He sees that we have our pocket money.”

“And he reports to your parents?” I asked and this time Isabella shrugged her shoulders and looked away.

“You must be tired,” she said.

“I am rather,” I agreed. “It’s been a very long day.”

“And hungry? I’m sure there’s something in the kitchen if—”

“No,” I said, shaking my head and standing up abruptly. I had had enough of this for one night. “No, the motion of the carriage has unsettled my stomach a little. Perhaps it would be for the best if you just showed me to my room. A good night’s
sleep will settle things and then tomorrow I can find Mr. Raisin and get to the bottom of this business.”

“As you like,” said Isabella, standing up. The moment she did, Eustace stood too and clung close to her. She smiled at me, that mistress-of-the-house expression on her face once again. “Won’t you follow me?”

We made our way upstairs. It was such a grand and elaborate staircase that I could not resist running my hand against the marble balustrade. The carpet beneath our feet was of a very fine quality too, although like everything else in the house it did not look as if it had been changed in a number of years.

“Eustace and I sleep here on the first floor,” said Isabella, indicating a couple of rooms towards the end of a corridor; difficult to see in the darkness now for only Isabella was carrying a candle. “You’re on the next floor up. I hope you’ll be comfortable. Truly I do.”

I looked at her, wondering whether she was trying to be funny, but her face bore a stoic expression and we ascended together, Isabella with her candle three steps in front of Eustace; Eustace three steps before me. I glanced at his bare feet. They were tiny and he had two cuts on his heels, as if he had been wearing shoes that were a size too small. Who looked after this little boy, I wondered, if there were no adults around? “This way, Eliza Caine,” said Isabella, making her way along a corridor before opening a large oak door and stepping inside. Entering a few moments later, I appreciated the fact that she had used her own candle to light three more in the bedroom and I looked around, able to see a little better now. It was a rather nice room, large and quite airy, neither cold nor hot, and the bed looked comfortable. My sense of unease dissipated and I felt goodwill towards the children and this place. Everything
would be all right in the morning, I decided. Things would become clearer then.

“Well, goodnight then,” said Isabella, heading for the door. “I hope you sleep well.”

“Goodnight, Miss Caine,” said Eustace, following his sister, and I smiled and nodded at them both, wished them a good night’s sleep and told them that I would look forward to our getting better acquainted in the morning.

When I was alone, the first time I had been alone since leaving my home that morning, I sat on the bed for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked around, uncertain whether I should burst into tears at how bizarre this day had been or laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. When I finally unlatched my suitcase I decided against unpacking and setting my clothes away in the wardrobe and bureau just yet. That, I decided, could wait until the morning. Instead, I simply took out my nightdress and changed into it, glad to relieve myself of my wet clothes, and performed a few ablutions in the bowl that was laid out with a water jug on a side table. I pulled the curtain aside to examine my view and was pleased to see that my room was situated at the front of the house, overlooking the lawns. I tried to open the tall windows to breathe in the night air but they were sealed fast and no pressure that I put on the handles would make them open. I could see the driveway that Heckling and I had rode along streaking off into the distance, and a half-moon illuminated some of the estate that was entirely empty now. Relieved, I climbed into bed, satisfied by the spring of the mattress and the softness of the pillows. Everything will be all right, I told myself. Everything always feels better after a good night’s sleep.