The Girl in the Attic

by Wendy Reakes

  My appetite was lost when I went back the way I came.

  The attic was a welcome refuge for me to throw down the goods I’d scavenged so pitifully. And to find my breath. With my head hung in shame, suddenly the realisation of what I had done hit me. Stealing! The shame of it. Now tears were streaming down my miserable face and my lips were curled into a ghastly shape as I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

  I allowed myself five minutes before I wiped away my tears. I had lived thirteen-years under the rule of my uncle, but there had never been a time when I’d felt like a victim. I wasn’t about to let that happen now. I stood up and surveyed the space I was in. Maybe I could make the place cosy for the duration of my stay, until Celia came back. If I was to be found out, hiding away up here like a trapped rat, there was no reason to think they would object to me moving a few things around. My eyes fell on the brass bed leaning in pieces against the wall near the second space. I’d seen the mattress somewhere and blankets too.

  Yes, I was resolute. I would make myself a little home in that small space, just until Celia came back to rescue me.

  Chapter 4

  The bed in the attic was made of solid brass, stained black under a coating of green. I ran my hand along the cleverly moulded decorative lines and saw in the middle of the headboard a coat of arms with scrolls and wreaths, and a figure of a rearing horse and a stag. The motto underneath read Carpe Diem but I struggled to grasp its meaning. I’d picked up a few words of Latin when I learned my letters at quite a young age but this slogan seemed to say Seize the day. If I was right then I’d ne’er heard a truer word. Now, it would be my motto too and when I laid down to sleep, I’d be reminded that I should use all my resources and make the most of what I had left, which wasn’t very much in the scheme of things. Now, driven by the desire to seize everything available to me, I took a tight hold on that collapsed bedstead and moved it bit by bit across the dusty wooden floor to where I wanted it. With its rusted wheels, I shuffled it one side after the other as if I was dancing a waltz with it until the bed and I arrived at our destination. I propped it against the base leaning six inches from the wall and found a small bag with screws and attachments taped to its underside. I mentally thanked the person who had put it up there for saving them. Now I could assemble it properly and sleep content.

  It took me three hours to put that bed together, including fishing out the mattress in the next section of the attic and dragging it little by little through the obstacles on the way. I couldn’t find a tool of any fashion to fix the bolts and screws, so I was left with no choice but to use my fingers until they were as tight as I could get them. The blade of the cheese knife came in handy for making one final turn but it was too flimsy to tighten them properly. The bed wasn’t rock solid, in fact it leaned a bit to one side, but for now it was good enough. When I placed the mattress atop the spring base, I fell upon it front first and stayed there for a good ten minutes until the dust began to intrude upon my nostrils. I sneezed. I stopped as I took a moment to listen for any signs of life in the quarters below me. Then I sneezed again. I couldn’t prevent it. Please, God, don’t let me be caught for the sake of a sniffle.

  Down the far end, near the entrance, I found a solid chest packed full of bed linen and blankets. I’d discovered it earlier when I was making my way to retrieve the mattress through the forest of furniture. When I opened the lid, and delved deep for two clean sheets, I realised I hadn’t seen a pillow to fill the pillow coverlet but I didn’t mind about that. I was used to sleeping with my head flat on the bed, since uncle wasn’t one for purchasing such luxuries. With my arms laden with sweet musty smelling sheets, incensed by the aroma of starch, homemade bags of potpourri and moth balls, I worked my way back to the newly assembled bed in the back section of the attic near the glass windows leading to the roof terrace.

  I had a distinct feeling of joy at the prospect of slipping between those sheets very soon, but first I needed to eat since my appetite had returned with a vengeance.

  I looked inside my sack of stolen food and pulled out an apple. I savoured the sweet taste reminding me of the orchard down Hawthorn Way. Then, suddenly, I was remembering the fair and the black-haired lout who had unashamedly robbed me of my innocence and dignity. Feeling sorry for myself, only monetarily, as a single sob broke from my mouth, I opened my stolen jar of pickles and dipped my fingers inside to pull out an onion. A scream almost escaped my lips when the vinegar seeped into my open wounds I’d made when assembling the bed. Trying to hold back tears of frustration and burning pain, suddenly exhaustion seized my body as if my bones were made of mush. I turned my head as I sat on the floor, looking through the dirty glass windows to see the sun with hues of red and yellow and bright orange setting beyond the turreted terrace and the grimacing gargoyles.

  Without anything more to torture my mind, I slowly lifted myself up off the floor and with my fingers stinging like I’d dipped them into a hive of bees, I got upon the bed and slipped my weak and painful body between those welcome smelling sheets.

  Another day began when I opened my eyes to see the sun streaming though the dirt on the window, peppering the floorboards with yellow lines and dots. My night of undisturbed sleep had been greatly appreciated, because now I felt as if I could conquer my new world, small as it was. I regarded my filthy fingers. I needed to clean up, to find water where I could bathe my wounds. My hunger was painful now, making my stomach growl in its emptiness and I needed to empty my bladder, badly.

  I went to the glass door and stepped out onto the lead covered terrace whereupon I frightened the birds making them scatter in a flustered frenzy into the air. Then it occurred to me that the groundsman, from below, if he were looking, might observe their sudden flight. Would it be the pigeons that exposed my presence? Would it be the birds? Putting my worries to one side, I looked for a valley in the stone where water could have settled, but I found nothing. The chances of it raining were slim, since the sky was as blue as a peacock’s tail. The sun offered me warmth and nourishment on my skin, but I was still filthy dirty, so the sensation held no joy right then.

  Where could I get clean? And where could I relieve myself? Perhaps there was a room on the servant’s floor in which to draw water. Surely there was something!

  Once again, with sincere trepidation, I made my way out of the attic and closed the door behind me, creeping down the wooden stairs to the lower landing. Which room? Which door could I open and be absolutely sure I wouldn’t bump into another human being?

  Dispelling the panic threatening to overtake me I looked along the corridor, still dark with just a small window at the far end allowing a narrow beam of light through the gap in the shutters. I inched slowly along, going past the door to the room I had hidden inside yesterday. I tried the door after it, turning the brass knob. It was exactly like the room before, housing two single beds and a chair in the corner. I closed that door and went to the next. Another room…then another, until I came to a final door.

  I’d expected to see another bedchamber but gladly I was confronted by a chequered floor of black and white tiles, yellowed and cracked with age. I stepped inside, closing the door softly behind me. In the corner, I saw a latrine with a pipe running up to a black box fixed high up on the wall above ornately scrolled brackets. From that dangled a chain with a wooden pulley at its end. It was the cleanest lav’ I had ever seen! What luxury! To have a privy inside the house, and one with a warm wooden seat atop the bowl too. Dare I use it? Dare I?

  Against the far wall was a white bath with taps over one end made of unpolished brass. I was awestruck. All I had ever known was the tin bath uncle had dragged in from the yard once a fortnight and placed in front of the fire. Uncle always used it first, then our Brent and then I was left with the dirty water at the last when they left me to bathe in peace. The water was usually cold by then, and grey, so there was no joy to be had from it. But this one, in this grand house, was a luxury to behold.

  I leaned over and inse
rted the plug attached to a silver chain. Then turned on the tap marked hot. The sound of the gushing water startled me. I quickly turned it off again and opened my ears to listen for any untoward response to my careless noise. Then I thought about when I had to empty the bath. Would the noise of it draining through the pipes alert the groundsman?

  I decided to risk it. It was still early. Maybe the groundsman wasn’t around yet, thereby allowing me to make as much noise as I liked. It was a pleasing notion. I turned the tap back on. Once some water had settled on the bottom, I was pleased to hear the gushing sound wasn’t so violent. The water was icy cold of course, but that wouldn’t deter me. I wasn’t used to warm water.

  I took off my dress and left it on the floor at the side as I stepped in. I could see the bruises and cuts on the flesh of my arms and legs and the blood that had dried between my legs. The boy’s face come into my head as I imagined him pinning me to the dirt floor at the side of uncle’s house. He’d secured my arms in front of me, and after unbuttoning his britches, he’d pushed up my skirts and stuck his thing in me. I’d screamed from the pain before he placed his rough and smelly hand over my mouth. In and out he went with his eyes closed and with a look of urgency on his face. When his body shook, I knew he was finished and when he relaxed his hold on me, I managed to push him off with a strength I never knew I possessed.

  Then he ran away.

  Now I was rubbing the place between my legs with a loofah I’d found, cleaning away the smell and the filth and the degradation.

  When I was clean there -as clean as I’d ever feel- I decided to push the lout’s face out of my mind and concentrate on getting the rest of me washed. The thin slab of soap left on a dish on the wall was the most welcome of finds. It lathered me up good and cleansed my cuts as if I had covered them with soft soothing cream. My hair was matted badly, so I rubbed and rubbed and combed my fingers through it until it fell in strands down my back. It was a relief to me when I was finally able to push my head back into the shallow water and rinse away the dirt and the excess soap. Nice and clean now, I grabbed my dress and threw it into the water between my bent knees. I tried scrubbing it with the same soap, but the stains of grass and mud were unshifting. I rinsed it as best I could, wrung it out and threw it over the side of the bath before I let my bladder flow into the remaining dirty water. I couldn’t use the lav. The sound of the flush and the echoing rush of water would surely have woken up the whole of Mells.

  I pulled out the plug and stood naked as the day I was born while I leaned over and scrubbed the sides of the bath with the soap and the loofah. By the time I placed them back on the dish my skin was almost dry but my frock was still dripping wet. Fearing catching a chill, I decided not to put it back on while it was soaked through. I had no choice but to run back to my new home in the attic with not a stitch on. I could never begin to contemplate the shame I felt. Clean, but as naked as a new born infant, leaving the blessed room, I padded along the corridor with the dress over one arm as the other covered my breasts.

  Then I heard a noise.

  Swiftly, I opened a door to one of the servant’s rooms and slipped inside, placing my ear against the wood, desperate to hear what I could be up against.

  Footsteps!

  I held my breath as I heard the heavy thud of feet pacing along the corridor as each door was opened and closed. I looked around but there was nowhere for me to hide. If I crossed the room to crawl under the bed, I could make a floorboard creek and then I would surely be discovered. My nakedness was my biggest concern. To be caught was one thing, but to be caught naked was something else. How would it look if I was found without a stitch on me? What on earth would he think? Just as I was about to step into the wet dress, I drew in my breath as I watched the handle turn and the door open inwards. As if I were dancing with the door, I stepped back towards the wall and through the crack I espied the groundsman.

  I surely resembled a scared rabbit as my eyes opened as wide as I could stretch them. He took one step into the room. I couldn’t see him now since I was shielded by the door but I knew if he happened to look around it, then my naked presence would be finally and shamefully exposed.

  Seconds later, I thought my heart had stopped beating when he stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him.

  My body relaxed as I squeezed my eyes shut and sucked in my breath as the beat of my heart pounded my head like a soldier’s rhythmic drum. I heard his footsteps go along the rest of the corridor and when I was sure he had gone, I bent my knees, letting my bare back slide down the wall until I reached the unyielding security of the floor.

  Back upstairs in the attic, I whipped a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my body. I’d discovered an old wooden clothes horse leaning against a wall in the second section, so I lifted it up and carried it through the glass doors to outside. The sun had come up over the terrace now and I could at last relish in the energising rays on my shoulders and face. I don’t think I’d ever appreciated the sun as much as I hid that morning. Truly heaven-sent. My wet frock hung dripping from my arm, so I threw it over my shoulder while I erected the clothes horse. The contraption was covered in dust, but I would have to see to that later. For the moment, I tossed my dress over the top rung and set it to dry in the sun.

  Now I was starving. My stomach growled so fiercely, I feared the whole of Mells would hear it echoing over the valley. If I were to spend a few days up there, awaiting the arrival of my friend and saviour, I should work out how I could best provide food for myself from my stolen provisions. I had to admit to dying for a nice cup of tea.

  I took my sack and looked inside to the aromatic leaves waiting to be brewed. Boiled water was what I needed. But how? Where would I acquire some? I admit I had never before had to consider such a task since hot water was always on the go in the big kettle on top of the stove in uncle’s house.

  I decided to put the matter on hold. I would think about the problem after I’d eaten a morsel to sustain me. I took an apple from the sack along with the salami sausage. I was glad of the knife I had swiped from the larder, since I could now cut the salami in small pieces, to nibble at leisure and preserve the rest. The apple was juicy and for a moment it quenched my thirst, but I was still desperate for a calming cuppa tea.

  I munched on a savoury biscuit and despite my reluctance to open it, my eye fell on the jar of blueberry jam. Deserving of a treat -so I’d told myself- and realising that saving it for later to relish as a variation to my diet was just wishful thinking, I twisted off the lid. The homemade preserve smelled as sweet as a tree laden with ripe fruit as I dipped the last of the biscuit into the jar and scooped out some jam. I put the whole lot into my mouth closing my eyes and swooning with desire as the sugar rushed through my blood like a tide on a slow stream. Yes, it was more delicious than anything I’d ever tasted before.

  Satisfied I’d eaten enough to fill that gaping hole in my stomach, I knew I had to get better prepared if I were to survive up there alone in the attic for a few days. Soon the family would be back and Celia would help me find a place to go, or at the very least put me on a train. I knew we had relatives in Taunton. Perhaps that could be the place to head and start again.

  Chapter 5

  Dressed in dry clothes and with food in my stomach, as the sun continued to shine outside, I went for a hunt amongst the numerous items in the attic. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I’d know when I found it.

  At the front section near the entrance, I came across a dresser made of fine mahogany holding a mirror covered in dust. An old rag had been discarded on the floor at the side, as if someone had tried to polish up the wood before abandoning the project in haste. I picked it up and crunched the cloth between my two hands, and only after I managed to salvage a clean corner, I wiped it over the mirror in a circular motion. The mirror wasn’t yet clean, but I could see my face in the circle and what I saw shocked me. I appeared pale and not in an attractive way. Dark round shadows tinted the skin unde
r my eyes, making me look sick, as if I had the consumption and I’d be popping off any day. My hair needed brushing, truly. It was long and loose about my shoulders, which wasn’t the most attractive state to be in. Uncle had often said, ‘a girl who lets her hair go loose is loose herself.’

  I opened one of the drawers of the dresser but it was empty apart from a discoloured length of paper lining the bottom. The inside had a not-unpleasant musty smell generated by aging wood and cleaning wax and something else which I couldn’t yet identify. When I opened the drawer on the right, that third aroma revealed itself and made me imagine myself running through fields of purple lavender. Inside was a handmade pouch of mixed herbs, florals and spices still holding its bouquet, even after all that time abandoned in the attic. Abandoned, just like me!

  I went to the dresser next to it. The two pieces of furniture matched, both displaying delicate marquetry and brass handles caked with dust. The second piece was a tall boy with six deep drawers. I attempted to open the one at the top, but it was above my shoulders and much too heavy for me to pull out. I pulled out the next one but that was empty. I tried the next, and it too was empty with just the same paper liners beneath it. I was about to give up trying to find anything of interest, when I gave the next drawer a swift tug. It was heavier than the rest, so it came out slowly with a dragging noise that made me want to stop for fear of being heard. The drawer was filled with white vests and long johns neatly folded and divided with yellowed tissue paper. I grimaced as I briefly wondered about the man who had once worn them. It seemed to me that peering into a gentleman’s underwear drawer was distasteful to say the least. I closed it up without making too much of a noise and ventured to the next drawer down. That was filled with an array of woollen scarves, checked cloth caps and cable knit waistcoats and cardigans.