The Housemaid

by Sarah A. Denzil

  “You couldn’t let us have our fun, could you? You just had to wake up the whole house with your antics.”

  “Please… B—”

  “Give up, Emily,” he said.

  I struggled against his iron grip, but it was worthless. Even with my fingernails digging into his knuckles, he never budged an inch. And as life left my body, he threw me down the stairs.

  My body was bruised and broken by the time I landed. I closed my eyes, opened them, saw all three of them looking down at me: Mrs Huxley, Lord Howard… and him. Bertie. Seawater eyes watching me die.

  It’s funny. I’d thought that I’d see my life flash through my eyes as I died, and some of it did. I saw the people I loved. I saw the beautiful moments that I treasured.

  I saw my sister.

  I wished she still loved me.

  I saw my baby girl. Such a beautiful baby girl.

  But then the loudest thought in my head was my name, because I was sure it would soon be forgotten, not just by the people standing over me, but by the world.

  Emily.

  Emily.

  Emi—

  Em—

  Part 2

  “Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.”

  William Shakespeare, The Tempest

  Chapter 40

  I read in one of my mother’s letters that ghost is another word for maid. No matter how close you believe you are to your family, one day you will mean nothing to them. They will forget your name, forget that you are a person, forget that you have the same wants and needs as everyone else. Sometimes they’ll tell you all about themselves, but they won’t want to know about you. And when they’re done taking from you, you’ll be nothing but a husk. An outline against the wall. A ghost in the hallway.

  He was already in the music room when I got there. I watched him for a while, standing in the shadows against the wall. He sat down at the long piano stool as always. Him on the left, waiting for me to sit to his right. Those strong fingers lifted the lid and caressed the keys. But he didn’t play, not yet.

  He had no idea I was there. I thought of what he’d said to me in the cupboard above the stairs, about the power of observation, of voyeurism. I enjoyed it too. But then I breathed in quickly, and he turned to face me. I saw some sort of emotion traverse the glassy surface of his eyes. Not happiness. Desire maybe?

  “Ruby,” Alex said. “What are you doing lurking over there? Come here and sit with me. I want to teach you.”

  I did as I was told, as I always did. I sat down, and I allowed him to move my hands over the keys. It was just like every other time with Alex’s strict tutoring and my compliance, only now I was pretending, just like him.

  “You know, I don’t think I ever told you this, but my father is an excellent pianist,” he said.

  “Not as good as you though, I bet.” I flashed him a grin that I knew would excite him. The kind laced with wickedness that would make him want to play one of his games.

  “Yes,” he said faintly. “I am better actually. Daddy’s too obsessed with Debussy to learn the most challenging pieces. Though I never saw him play when he was young. Maybe he was better then. Anyway, all the men in my family learn some sort of instrument, usually the piano. It’s a tradition. My grandfather learned the violin.”

  “What about the women?” I asked.

  He launched softly into my favourite, a delicate Chopin étude. “No traditions there as far as I know. Not many women either. My father had a sister I think, but she died when she was ten.”

  “What happened?”

  “She fell down the stairs.”

  “Like your mother.”

  He retracted his fingers from the keys and turned to face me. “Yes. Like her.”

  “Is there a portrait of her in the dining room?”

  “Daddy’s little sister?” Alex shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “When your father played the piano, did he have a page turner like you?”

  Alex smiled. “Yes, I remember that the maid would help sometimes.”

  “Which maid?”

  He shook his head. “Oh, many over the years.” He reached out and took my hand in his. “Listen, Ruby, I want to take you for a walk.”

  “I thought you wanted to teach me some more notes.” When I caressed the ivory keys, he slapped my hand away. It made me smile, seeing him react. I’d been waiting for that side of him to come out again.

  “I’ve changed my mind. Come on. Let’s walk around the grounds.”

  “All right,” I said.

  Despite the silence that followed us from room to room, Highwood Hall was not empty. Far from it. The place fermented from its own history. Pale-faced men and women loomed down at me from within their frames on the walls. Ghosts everywhere. As we made our way through the grand hall, past the rooms the Howards used for their living quarters and through to the north wing, I thought of Margot enjoying her last cigarette before bed and Lottie on her phone texting or using TikTok.

  The more we moved through the house, the tighter Alex’s grip became. I did not remove my hand from his, despite how odd it would have looked to other members of the staff or the household. No, I allowed him to squeeze my fingers as we walked. I knew what I was doing.

  But when we approached the dining room, I stopped in my tracks, breathing hard with a fluttering of nerves in my stomach. “I want to see the mural again.”

  Alex tugged on my hand. “Later.”

  “Just for a moment,” I begged.

  He sighed. This was an inconvenience for him, a roadblock to where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. A man like Alex didn’t like to be inconvenienced because he wasn’t used to it. And yet, he relented.

  “Your aunt might be in here,” I said, stepping into the room. He let go of my hand, and I moved both of them behind my back, rubbing the parts that ached from his grip. My heart raced as I paced the perimeter of the room, taking in each of the faces I saw before me.

  “One of the cherubs maybe,” he said, his voice flat, disinterested. But I noticed his eyes move across to his mother’s portrait.

  I, however, was drawn to another face on the wall. She had brown hair and brown eyes. She had not been painted large on the wall; she was tucked behind a blond angel and peacock in flight. But her eyes drew me in. Even though I wanted to, I didn’t linger. As soon as I was done, I signalled for us to leave. If Alex was suspicious of anything, he didn’t show it. But he did take my hand, applying that same pressure to my fingers.

  “I love working here, you know,” I said. “I’ve been a maid in many other households, but this is my favourite. The house is so beautiful.”

  He grunted. He wasn’t listening to me at all. I wanted to say more. My mouth longed to open, for words to come tumbling out, for secrets held deep within to finally be released, but I snapped my jaw shut. I watched him walk. I almost stumbled into a door jamb as we approached the north wing from inside Highwood. Even as he reached into his pocket and retrieved his swipe card, he didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he fumbled with it until the door opened, and once we were inside, he manoeuvred around me so he could close the door. Only then did he let me go, and at that point he locked the door behind us.

  “What are you doing?” I asked. “Why did you just lock the door?”

  “Quiet now.” He placed a finger to his lips.

  Fear rushed over me like a bucket of freezing cold water. He saw the intention in my eyes before I’d even decided to run. As soon as I tried to spring away from him, he lurched forward, grabbing my waist. I screamed, but he clamped a strong hand over my mouth. Like that, he half dragged me through the rooms he’d promised would be left for his wife. I struggled and squirmed and kicked, and he panted and swore and whispered threats in my ear.

  “Listen here, you little cunt.” His hot breath hissed against the nape of my neck. “If you don’t stop struggling, I’ll shut you up for good.”

  I bit his finger, and he retracted it with a cry. It gave me about a
second to try to make a run for it, but before I managed a few paces forward, he grasped hold of my hair and wrenched me back, shoving me as hard as he could so that I went flying, landing in a heap on the cold, hard floor. From there, he took hold of the neck of my tunic and dragged me like a sack of potatoes across the room to a final door.

  Once again, he fumbled to open the door one-handed, this time with a keypad. I tried to sink my teeth into his ankle, but he kicked me away. A heel caught me in the mouth. Blood exploded from my mashed lips along with the sudden bloom of pain.

  And then the door opened.

  In the pitch black, Alex hauled me through the door, swinging it shut and locking it. I was quiet now, and still. I waited, hearing nothing but the panting of my breath. I could tell Alex bided his time. Perhaps he enjoyed these moments of complete control, or perhaps he was waiting for me to lose it, to start screaming for help. Both, I decided. But after a few moments of silence, he switched on a light.

  We were in a room as red as the pyjamas I’d seen him wearing the night he was sleepwalking. It was almost an empty room, aside from one bed, a chair, a sink and a toilet. The smell of blood and sweat lingered sourly in the air, but I couldn’t be certain whether that came from me.

  A chain hung from the centre of the room, and from that chain was a harness. I repressed a shudder, knowing exactly where that harness was going to go.

  “Mrs Huxley has cleaned it for you,” Alex said. “We’re all set for your arrival. I checked it over myself not long ago.” He took a tiny remote control and pressed a button. All around us, Chopin played from tiny speakers in the walls. My favourite étude.

  “Who am I replacing?” I asked, raising my voice above the music. “Were you coming here when you went through the secret door in your father’s office?”

  He turned the music down a few bars. “Those are your first questions?” He laughed. “I think you might be my favourite, Ruby. During these past few weeks, I’ve enjoyed playing with you. I truly believe you actually thrived on our games.” He stepped closer to me and forced me to my feet, using one hand on my throat. The sudden pressure made me gasp. “Don’t fight me.” Then he pulled me into the centre of the room, strapped the harness quickly around my waist, and staggered back, laughter playing on his lips.

  No, I hadn’t fought him because there was no point now. I was trapped. I was the mouse with its tail caught. The fly in the web. Alex had done this before, and he knew exactly how to manoeuvre me quickly so that I couldn’t escape. This was his game after all.

  Once I was secured, he frisked me, searching for a mobile phone, but it was back in my room anyway. Then he removed his own phone from the inside of his blazer pocket and made a call.

  “It’s done. You can come now.”

  I tested the extent of the chain. It dangled from a rig on the ceiling with the harness around my waist and chest. I couldn’t reach the side of the room with Alex and the door. Above me, the ceiling was covered in spotlights, making the room almost unbearably bright, turning the walls into slick blood-coloured rectangles. But my arms were free at least.

  “Who did you call?” I asked. My eyes roamed the walls, checking every inch. They were so bare it was hard to look at them. I tried not to think about what might’ve happened in those rooms. Part of me wanted to sit down at least, and the bed looked inviting, but yet again, I couldn’t bring myself to look at it, let alone touch it. “What are you going to do with me?”

  Alex removed his blazer and tidily arranged it over the back of the chair. Then he pulled the chair into the corner of the room and sat down. He had the appearance of a man at a business meeting, waiting to negotiate a deal.

  “Whatever we want to do with you,” he said.

  I nodded my head. “I thought so.”

  “Are you afraid?” His head cocked to one side as he tried to figure me out.

  I answered honestly. “I have been for a while.”

  “And yet you didn’t leave.”

  “Who killed Roisin, Alex? Did she learn too much? Was she too close? Why didn’t she end up in here?”

  “Roisin killed herself,” he said. His response made my blood boil. Even now, after allowing his mask to slip, he couldn’t tell me the truth.

  There were footsteps in the distance. Someone had entered the wing. I wasn’t stupid. I knew who it would be.

  “Alex,” I said. “Can you turn the music off please?”

  He grinned. “Fine.”

  “And then will you look under the bed?”

  He scoffed. “I’m not falling for that. What are you going to do? Try to choke me?”

  “No,” I said gently. “I promise I won’t.”

  His eyebrows bunched together, and his head turned slightly towards the bed. Mine did too so that I could see the edge of the box peeking out below the hanging duvet. He frowned and clicked a button on the remote. I could tell he hadn’t expected to see anything beneath the bed. He’d thought I was bluffing, but I wasn’t.

  “Maybe you should see what it is,” I said. “It might be of interest to you.”

  His expression said what the fuck, and a delicious smile of satisfaction spread across my lips. He hurried over to the bed, one eye on me at all times. He’s afraid of me, I thought. Then he dropped to his knees, grabbed the box, and took it back to his chair.

  When he pulled on the bow, the front flap opened to reveal the diorama inside. It had been perfectly arranged with blood-red walls and a chain hanging down from the centre of the room. A man stood slightly off centre, wearing a shirt and jeans, the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows. In the corner of the room a younger man lounged in an armchair with one leg crossed over the other. His arms dangled nonchalantly over the arm of the chair. Two small, piercing blue eyes, the colour of the deepest ocean, had been expertly painted on the doll’s face.

  “You like to watch, Alex, don’t you?” I asked.

  The door opened.

  Chapter 41

  Dear David,

  This must be strange for you to hear from me. We didn’t end things on great terms, did we? And look, I want you to know that when you’re clean, I’ll let you see Ruby again, I promise. But right now I can’t allow it to happen. She needs stability in her life. Why do you think I left her with Josephine? I can’t provide her that stability, and I know you can’t either. It’s for the best. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. That everything will work out fine.

  I miss Ruby so much. I miss her smell and the way she wraps her tiny fist around my finger. I can’t stand working here and not being able to see her, but it’s so much more money than working in York. If I can just stick it out for at least six months, I’ll be able to save up a deposit for a flat and move back. Have you been able to save anything? Look, I don’t want to pressure you, but Ruby is your daughter too. If you can get your act together and find a job, please, David, I want Ruby to have the best start in life, and right now we’re failing her.

  Josephine is so mad at me for leaving. She hangs up the phone when I call and won’t reply to my letters. I can’t call very often because I never have credit on my phone and the housekeeper here only lets me call twice a week. She says that outside distractions are bad for you. What does she know? She has no life. She’s barely older than me, but she acts like she’s fifty. And she calls herself Mrs Huxley when I’m convinced there’s no Mr Huxley. It’s some weird affectation.

  You know, I think there’s something wrong with Highwood Hall. Things are strange here. All the staff say the north wing is haunted, and sometimes I could honestly swear that I hear noises coming from that part of the house. But it’s impossible, isn’t it? The place gives me the creeps. I’ve never known anyone so stern as Mrs Huxley. Last night I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and I think I heard her crying in her room. God, this place… I can’t wait to leave.

  I feel like a ghost stalking the walls. When I’m in a room, the Howards ignore me as though I’m a piece of furniture. We shouldn’t be
known as maids; we should be called ghosts because that’s what we are.

  At least the boss’s son likes me. Bertie’s kind to me, and we spend a lot of time together. Maybe… maybe if we fell in love, he’d be able to provide for me. Someone needs to, David. I know you won’t like hearing that, but it’s true.

  Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling. I just wanted to write to you and let you know that I won’t be staying here forever. I want to build a new life for me and Ruby, and I hope you might be part of that too. It’s nice to write to someone. Please reply. This place can make you feel so alone at times.

  Tell Josephine I’ll call her, and she can’t hang up next time. I know she’s mad about looking after the baby, but she can afford childcare and I can’t. I’ll be back soon. I promise.

  And, David, if you can spare some child support… please. I don’t want to stay here. I want to be with my Ruby.

  Emily

  David,

  Well, you never wrote to me. I waited for weeks and heard nothing. That’s nearly three months without hearing from anyone I know. Not Josephine, not you. I haven’t heard my baby gurgle or cry, and I haven’t smelled her beautiful head for so long. At night I cry myself to sleep and then I dream about her.

  This place still doesn’t feel right. I don’t like the way Lord Howard looks at me, like I’m a prize, or something to hunt. I want to leave, but if I can stick it out just a couple more months, I’ll have the deposit I need and then I can take Ruby back. I wish Josephine would talk to me.

  Remember what I said in my last letter? About Bertie and how he could provide for us? Well, I don’t think that’s going to happen. He’s a user. He just wants me to play these little sadistic games of his. He always asks me “Do you trust me” and I say yes, but I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. I’m losing my resolve, David; every day I feel it slipping away. I want to run away from everything, my whole life. Maybe I should. I don’t know. And then I start thinking that Ruby is better off without me, and then I slip into this fog that I can’t explain. If it wasn’t for Mrs Huxley and this job, I don’t know if I’d get out of bed in the morning. I feel terrible, like there’s no point in me existing.