by Amy Cross
“Please, Your Ladyship,” I stammer as the light begins to trouble me, “just -”
“I'm not a monster!” she shouts. “I'm just trying to be good! I'm trying to -”
“Stop!” I shout, unable to help myself, pushing her arm away and then taking a step back.
The room is dark once more.
I freeze, aware that I have just over-stepped my boundaries by some considerable distance. In an instant, I realize that I shall have to tell His Lordship that I have been unprofessional, and I shall have to tender my resignation. He might not accept, but I must offer. And now, even as Her Ladyship stands before me in the darkness and begins to weep uncontrollably, I cannot help but feel utterly shocked by my actions.
“Okay, Lawrence,” a voice says suddenly, “that'll do for now.”
Turning, I see His Lordship's silhouette in the nearby doorway. Evidently he has been watching us, perhaps for some time.
“Sir,” I stammer, “I -”
“It's alright,” he says calmly, “I saw everything. You can retire for the night now, Lawrence. I shall take care of my wife.”
As Her Ladyship falls against one of the chairs and continues to sob, I step toward His Lordship.
“I have acted improperly,” I say, “and -”
“You have acted impeccably,” he replies, interrupting me, “as always. I cannot fault you in any way, Lawrence.”
“I feel I must offer my -”
“Please take the rest of the night off,” he says, “and in the morning, do not worry about anything that has happened. I know you are a man of absolute virtue, and I am sure you will regret what just happened. You do not need to do so, however, for you have done absolutely nothing wrong.” He pauses, as Her Ladyship continues to weep loudly. “Thank you for your work today, Lawrence,” he continues finally. “I suppose I should say that more often. I don't want you to think that I take you for granted.”
“Of course not, Sir,” I reply. “I was planning to tidy the conservatory before I retire for the night.”
“Can you do that in the morning, please, Lawrence?”
“If that is your wish,” I tell him, before pausing again.
Her Ladyship is still sobbing.
“Very good, Sir,” I say finally, stepping past His Lordship and making my way out into the corridor, before turning again. “I am truly sorry for any discomfort I might have caused this evening.”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” he replies, and I can hear the tension in his voice. “Goodnight, Lawrence.”
He pauses, and then he slowly shuts the door. A moment later I hear a click, and I see that he has switched the light on in the study, and then I hear his footsteps walking away. Her Ladyship is still sobbing, and I must confess that I stand and listen as the footsteps once again fall silent. I listen, even though I should not, but for what feels like an eternity that are no further sounds from the other side of the door. Finally there is one final noise, a brief slap perhaps or perhaps something else entirely, and then silence resumes and I realize I have no business standing here, so I turn and walk away and I try to sort my restless mind and focus on something else, and yet I cannot help but think about the madness in Her Ladyship's eyes.
I fear that His Lordship might soon have to get her some professional help.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The Waiting is Over
It should be possible to be here in Aldburn Park and to not think of the past at all. Yet as I stand at the foot of the stairs, I realize I have once again allowed my mind to drift. I was thinking of the night when I first understood the seriousness of Her Ladyship's condition, when the fear first truly set in my heart. Looking around, I realize that at least this time Mrs. Ferguson did not come upon me in such a mindless state. Unless she did, and she simply stepped around me and continued on her way.
I am so tired.
I start making my way up the stairs. His Lordship is sleeping, and I believe it would be wise for me to take a short break and try to get some rest. As I get to the top of the staircase, however, I spot the recently-fixed light-switch, and I think back to the night when it seemed to turn itself on and off again so many times. That was, I suppose, rather similar to the time when Lady Fetchford was flicking the switch constantly in the study, when I briefly lost my composure. It is strange how this simply light-switch, in its moment of malfunction, stirred in me the memory of that long-ago night. Such coincidences are difficult to fathom sometimes.
I go to my room, and I do not bother to switch on the light in here. Instead, I slip my shoes off and then I go over to my bed, and I wince slightly as I settle down on my back. I cannot afford to sleep, but I often find that simply resting with my eyes closed can help me to regain some lost energy. Indeed, as I place my hands together on my stomach, I can already feel some degree of calmness returning to my mind. Soon I shall have to get up and check on His Lordship again, and discuss plans for tomorrow with Mrs. Ferguson, but for now I can afford myself a few minutes of calm.
The only sound I hear is rain, tapping relentlessly at the window.
Suddenly something starts banging hard nearby, and I sit up in darkness and turn to see a shadow interrupting the line of light at the bottom of the door.
“Mr. Lawrence!” Mrs. Ferguson calls out, before banging again. “Oh Mr. Lawrence, are you in there? You must come at once!”
“Wait,” I say, getting to my feet and heading across the room, then pulling the door open. Even after just a few minutes in darkness, I find that the light of the landing is rather overwhelming. “Whatever is the matter?”
“It's His Lordship,” she says, taking a step back. “I heard him moving about a few minutes ago and I went through to check on him, and he's in the most dreadful state. He's talking and shaking and trying to hide and -”
Before she can finish, there's a loud thump from downstairs, and I hear a distant wail of terror.
“That's him!” Mrs. Ferguson gasps. “I don't know whatever has got into him!”
As I hurry to the stairs, I check that my uniform is not creased. Then, as I make my way down to the hallway with Mrs. Ferguson just a few steps behind, I hear more thudding sounds and then a sudden shattering, as if a glass or a vase has been broken somewhere far off in the house. I make my way to the study, but there is no sign of His Lordship, and then Mrs. Ferguson and I start going from room to room as we search for the source of all this commotion. There is the sound of more breaking items, and there are more cries, but wherever we go we seem to be always a room or two away from whatever is occurring.
“Your Lordship?” I call out, trying desperately not to panic. “Where are you?”
“I can't find him anywhere,” Mrs. Ferguson says. “It's as if he's everywhere and nowhere at the same time!”
“He's through here,” I say confidently, as I hear a series of crashing sound coming from the dining room.
I storm through, convinced that we have finally located His Lordship, but we are once again confronted with an empty room. A fraction of a second later, there is the sound of more breaking glass, this time coming it seems from the library.
“How can this be?” Mrs. Ferguson asks as we hurry to the library, only to once again find no trace of His Lordship. “I can't stand these dreadful sounds much longer, Mr. Lawrence. What's wrong with His Lordship?”
I want to answer, but for a moment I do not have the words. Indeed, as we both stand here, it seems that the sounds of violence and destruction are coming from all around us, from every room simultaneously except – of course – the one room in which we presently stand. It is as if this cacophony is filling the entire house.
“No!” His Lordship shouts suddenly, his voice most certainly coming now from the conservatory. “Please, no! Stay back!”
I hurry along the corridor and through to the next door, but once more there is no sign of His Lordship whatsoever. For a moment, I feel as if His Lordship is indeed everywhere at once. I turn to try the next room
, but at the last moment I hear a clattering sound nearby and I turn just in time to see something moving behind one of the chairs. And then, before I have a chance to react, a glass vase is thrown from that spot and sent smashing into the opposite wall.
“Go away!” His Lordship screams. “For the love of God, leave me alone!”
I hurry over, stepping past several broken cups and vases, and finally I see His Lordship huddled on the floor. He has pulled back into the corner, and he is staring up at me with the most terrified and anguished expression I have ever seen on a man's face.
“She's here!” he sobs. “I saw her, Lawrence! Catherine was right before me, she's come for me! It's tonight, Lawrence! I thought I'd be able to reason with her, but I can't! She hates me!”
“Whatever do you mean?” I ask, taking a step toward him, convinced that he must be suffering from some kind of delusion. “Your Lordship, let me help you up and get you back to your -”
“Why won't you listen to me?” he screams. “I heard her! Then I saw her, in the mirror! She came up right behind me and she looked at me with those eyes! I've never seen such hatred, Lawrence! There's no reasoning with her! All she wants is to drag me to Hell!”
Hearing steps nearby, I turn to see that Mrs. Ferguson has joined us, although she is now staring at His Lordship with an expression of pure shock.
“Can you try to telephone a doctor?” I ask her, keeping my voice a little low so that perhaps His Lordship shall not hear. “I know it's late and unlikely, but please try to get someone out here.”
She pauses, as if she hasn't heard my words, as if she's frozen by the horror of what is happening.
“Can't you make her go away?” His Lordship whimpers. “I should never have come back here! I thought I was doing the right thing, but Catherine won't listen to me!”
Mrs. Ferguson turns to me.
“He's imagining things,” I tell her firmly. “Go and call a doctor. Now, Mrs. Ferguson. Please hurry.”
“Of course,” she stammers, and then she lingers for a moment before turning and hurrying out of the room.
I look back down at His Lordship, and in all honesty I cannot believe that he is in such a terrible state. There are tears running down his face and his features appear gaunt, almost haggard.
“Let me help you up,” I say, stepping closer and reaching a hand out to him. “Your Lordship, please, you cannot stay on the floor like this. Whatever is wrong, I must help you up and get you comfortable, and then we shall see what can be done. I am sure there is a local doctor who'll be able to help you calm down.”
“You don't believe me, do you?”
“I believe that the first step is for you to come with me, Your Lordship,” I reply, struggling to refrain from showing my concern. “Please, let me get you to somewhere more comfortable. I can assure you that you are in no danger whatsoever. I will look after you.”
He stares at me, and for a moment the only sound comes from the rain that continues to fall against the window. Then, finally, His Lordship seems to understand that he cannot remain forever on the floor, and he begins to reach out and accept my hand.
I take a firm hold and help him up, although I cannot help but notice that he is still cowering. Bent almost double, and with his spare hand reaching out as if he expects at any moment to push something away, he looks wildly around the room. His mouth is hanging open and there is saliva glistening on his chin, and it truly pains me to see such a magnificent man reduced to this animal-like condition. Still, there will be time to clean him shortly, once I have managed to get him back through to the study.
“This way,” I say, as I begin to gently lead him around the chair and over toward the door. He resists slightly, but ultimately he follows. “That's right, Your Lordship. There's no reason to be afraid.”
As we reach the door, I realize I can hear Mrs. Ferguson in the distance, speaking frantically on the telephone. I can only hope that, despite the bad weather, the local doctor can be persuaded to come out to Aldburn Park. Surely he must, once he understands that his patient is far more than an ordinary man.
“Don't worry about the mess,” I say to His Lordship, as I turn to him. “Mrs. Ferguson and I shall have it all cleaned up by the morning.”
He does not respond. Instead, he is looking past me, watching the corridor with an expression of pure fear. He seems to be digging his feet in slightly, as if he is afraid of leaving the conservatory.
“I am with you,” I remind him. “I am not -”
“It's her!” he screams suddenly, pulling away and stepping back, then stumbling and falling, landing against a chair and slumping to the floor before turning and crawling out of sight behind a table.
Turning, I look along the corridor. There is absolutely no sign of anyone, and I can still hear Mrs. Ferguson's voice in the distance. I watch the corridor for a moment longer, in case there is any hint of a shadow that might have caused His Lordship's terror, but there is still nothing.
“She's out there!” His Lordship whimpers as I step around the table and see him once more cowering on the floor. “You saw her, Lawrence, didn't you? You must have. Tell me you saw her!”
“I -”
“Tell me!” he screams, and now his whole body seems to be trembling. “She was in the mirror! I saw her reflection, she was staring at me again!”
I look once more along the corridor, and slowly my gaze falls upon a small mirror about halfway along. All I see in the mirror, however, is a reflection of the opposite door. There is nothing – so far as I can tell – that could possibly be mistaken for the face of any person, let alone the face of Her Ladyship.
I turn back to His Lordship.
“You must have seen her!” he snarls through gritted teeth. “She's getting closer, Lawrence. I should run, I should leave Aldburn Park, but then maybe I'd never be able to get away.” He starts sobbing again. “I thought I could reason with her! I thought I could make her understand, but she's been waiting for me all this time! She wants to make me suffer!”
“Your Lordship,” I reply, choosing my words very carefully in an effort to avoid exacerbating an already difficult situation, “I must recommend that you come with me. Whatever you think you see, it's not... I mean, there is no reason to be afraid. The only people in Aldburn Park at this present moment are the two of us and Mrs. Ferguson. Please, you must recognize that and come with me. Anybody else is just in your...”
My voice trails off. I cannot say it. I cannot tell him that he is imagining things. It would be highly improper for me to cast any such aspersions.
“I'm not going out there,” he stammers, still staring at the corridor as if he expects the most dreadful vision to appear. “You can't make me.”
“Sir -”
“You talk to her, Lawrence,” he continues, speaking so fast now that he almost trips over his own words. “She always listened to you. Tell her not to hurt me. Tell her I came back for her. Tell her I'm sorry. Please, Lawrence, tell her to leave me alone!”
“Sir, I -”
“She always respected you, Lawrence. Always!”
“I'm not sure that that's...”
My voice trails off, as I find myself thinking back to the final time I saw Her Ladyship. It was in this very room. Indeed, I might well have been standing in this very spot. And while I'm not convinced that she respected me, I do think that – at the end – she saw me as someone who could perhaps help her. Of course, that was when she had truly lost her mind, and there was no question of me intervening when His Lordship had everything under control. Yet as His Lordship continues to simper and wail before me, I cannot help recalling that awful night when – for the final time – I saw the face of Lady Catherine Fetchford.
“Keep her away from me, Lawrence!” His Lordship screams, his voice ragged as a wild animal. “Don't let her get me!”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Poor Matthew
I hurried through to the conservatory and then – stopping in the doorw
ay – I was horrified by the sight of Lady Catherine frantically pushing all the items from His Lordship's shelves.
“Whatever is the matter in here?” I asked, as crystal decanters and ornamental cups fell down and smashed against the hard-wood floor.
“Where is it?” she murmured, not even looking at me as she stumbled – bedraggled and unsteady – over to one of the tables. “I know he's hidden it here somewhere.”
“Your Ladyship, I -”
Before I could finish, she turned and knocked a candle that stood on one of the smaller tables. The candle fell against the carpet, and remained lit as it began to burn the fabric. I rushed forward and extinguished the flames, quite possibly preventing a catastrophe, and then Her Ladyship bumped hard against my back as she made her way over to the other shelves on the far side of the room.
As I got to my feet, I heard her let out a horrid shriek.
“He's been watching me,” she mumbled as she started examining all the books on the shelves, one by one. “I don't know how, but he's had something in here. He knew I came here to get away from him, so he had something put here. I know you probably don't know anything about it, Lawrence, but I've worked it all out. He's had some kind of device put in here, something new and modern, and it records everything I do in this room. I think it even records my thoughts!”
“Your Ladyship -”
“How does that work, anyway? How does it get into my head? Oh, but it does, Lawrence, because how else would he know what I'm thinking? What I'm feeling? It doesn't make sense, unless...”
Her voice trailed off, and suddenly she froze with her back to me.
I waited.
“Your Ladyship,” I said finally, trying to sound as tactful as possible, “the doctor is due to see you again this afternoon. Perhaps it would be wise to rest until then.”
“There's one other possible explanation,” she replied, still not looking in my direction.
