The House

by Hilda Lawrence

  ‘Time will do it if anything can. I think she’s sound.”

  “I know she is.”

  “Do you want to marry her, Mike?”

  “Yes, Lucy.”

  “I’ll reset your mother’s ring...Mike, there’s something in this room! I feel eyes, Mike. There’s something in this room, I tell you!”

  “There’s nothing here, Lucy. And if you’re thinking about Issy, she went to the cousins’.”

  I went back to my dark house and entered by the kitchen. I wasn’t hungry. That was fortunate, because Mrs. Tench and Anna watch the food. I sat in the kitchen and watched the Barnabys’ lights. After dinner they would go their separate ways, Joe to his room in the attic, Mike to his room on the second floor. Joe would study, and Mike would do accounts. He looks after the estate. Old Mrs. Barnaby would read for an hour, then go to bed. Her bedroom light would be my signal. When I saw it, I would telephone Mike. I’d say, “I want to see you, Mike, I want to tell you something.” When he came, I’d tell him Mother thought I had been dining with them.

  “I had odds and ends of things to do,” I’d say. I’d make him believe me. “Personal things. But Mother doesn’t like me to be alone, so do explain to your grandmother, will you? Oh, yes, you’re going to have a surprise tomorrow. Mother and I are giving a dinner! Only the cousins and you people, but it means she’s feeling better, doesn’t it? I can hardly believe it! We had a wonderful lunch today, Mother and I. We talked, and she actually laughed. I think my yellow dress was responsible. I think it made her realize that I’ve been—that I—but you understand, Mike. I think we re going to have a wonderful winter after all. This little dinner to start with, and then there’s Thanksgiving. Perhaps you can come then, too. And my birthday. I’ll have a birthday party; I’ll insist on it. I can, because I’ll be of age. You’ll have to lend me your party list I’ve forgotten most of the people, and I’m sure they’ve forgotten me. Forgotten! That reminds me, there’s something else. Such a small thing, Mike, too small to speak of seriously, but it’s about Anna. You know Anna, too silly for words. But she has some fantastic notion about our dog’s food. He brings food home, and she doesn’t like it Do you suppose your cook feeds him? Can you find out without offending her? I mean the hamburger or chopped meat or whatever it is. He found some and brought it home. Your cook said it didn’t come from your house, but I suspect Anna was rude and made her angry. Do straighten it out, will you, Mike? It really does upset Anna. She made quite a mystery of the chopped meat today. Of course he may have stolen it but where? Isn’t it silly? But you know how Anna is. And by the way, have you seen Tray since this morning?”

  That’s what I planned to tell him, and I did, almost word for word. I rehearsed it over and over, sitting at the kitchen table and watching the Barnabys’ windows. Around and above and behind me the house held its breath.

  It was nine o’clock when Mrs. Barnaby went to bed and I called Mike on the phone in the kitchen passage. Tray’s pan and his rug were there, both empty.

  “Mike? This is Isobel.”

  “Where are you, Issy? What’s up?”

  I told him I was home. “Mike, I want to see you.”

  “What’s wrong? You sound funny. Why aren’t you at the cousins’?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Mike, can you slip out for a few minutes?”

  “Sure. Bight away. Where?”

  “That old cedar tree with the bench around it.”

  “On my way.”

  I went back to the kitchen and turned out the single light When the others came home, they would find everything in order. Mike and I, in the double darkness of the night and the old cedar, would see the car when it turned in at the drive. We would meet than on the veranda, properly, saying the right things. “Good-night, Issy, it was nice having you come to dinner.”

  “Goodnight, Mike, and thanks for everything.” a That was how I planned, standing in the dark kitchen at nine o’clock, before I went to meet him. That was what we said, too, when he brought me home at eleven, and we stood in the empty, lighted hall and challenged the house with words. Good-night Good-night. We warned the house that I had returned. We tried to let it know what we had seen. We raised our voices and made them strong and sent them up the stairs like hostages.

  It was a few minutes after nine when I locked the kitchen door and went out to the tree.

  “I’m crazy about this,” Mike said, “even if I can’t see my hand before my face. I don’t know what’s on your mind, but we ought to be burying a body. Are you convulsed with laughter or shivering?”

  “Neither. Mike, will you watch for the car and walk back with me when they come? I want Mother to see us.”

  “Do you mean to say we aren’t getting away with anything?”

  “Oh, we are! Mother thinks I had dinner with you!” I began the carefully rehearsed story, filling in the weak spots when his silence told me they were there. “The cousins,” I went on. “Not today, I simply couldn’t face it. So if your grandmother—”

  “Okay, shell lie for you this time. Shell overdo it, of course, the same way you’re overdoing it now. On the level, why did you want to stay home?”

  “I told you, Mike. I had odds and ends of things to do, and I didn’t want a lot of fuss made about my dinner. Mother was perfectly agreeable. She understood; I don’t see why you can’t Now here’s the really important thing. Mother wants you all for dinner tomorrow. The cousins, too—not much fun for you and Joe, but much, much better than nothing at all. It was her own idea, too. I still can’t believe it.”

  “I’m having a little trouble that way myself. Is that all you had to tell me, Issy?”

  “That’s all. You see, everything’s going to be all right from now on. Mother even laughed at lunch.”

  “I hope she did a better job than you’re doing.”

  “Mike! Oh, yes, I nearly forgot, there is something else. Talking about lunch made me remember. It’s Tray again, Tray and Anna. You know how she is about animals. Now she has some fantastic notion—“ The planned speech, casual, carelessly spaced, better than the first one, much better.

  His face was a pale blur, close to mine in the dark. He let me finish without an interruption. Then he said, “Chopped meat? How exciting! Sure, I’ll fix it Maybe it was Joe. But aren’t you a little tense about the whole thing? You know Anna is bats.”

  “She is, isn’t she? She doesn’t like Tray, she’s afraid of him. By the way, have you seen him around? He seems to be missing.”

  “Again? Don’t worry, he’ll show up. Is that what you were doing down at the stable? Looking for Tray?”

  “Yes, thats what I was doing.”

  “Well, don’t worry, he—oops, sorry.” He was looking over my shoulder, toward the house. “Were going to be a little late, but I can fix that, too.”

  “Late? Who? Late for what?”

  “I forgot to watch for the car. They’re home.”

  “Car? I don’t see it.”

  “Neither do I, but look.” He turned me around to face the house.

  There was a light in one of the windows, a small, yellow light behind the trees, high in the house, high in the trees. One light.

  We turned to look at the stable; it was dark. The cottage was dark. The distant road, the driveway, the house, all dark. Except—

  We raised our eyes to the one small light.

  “Issy, whose room is that?”

  “The house is empty.”

  “Someone came home alone, before the others.” “How?”

  “Cab. We must have missed it.”

  “You know we didn’t miss it.” The small light moved, from the left to the right, high in the trees, as if a hand had hung it there.

  “Whose room is that, Issy?”

  “The house is empty and locked. I have my keys.”

  “I say whose room is that? What is that window?”

  “I don’t know. It’s too high. I can’t see. It’s hidden in the trees.” When people whisper slowl
y, their words sound like pebbles dropping into deep water.

  “Somebody didn’t go, that’s it. Somebody put one over on you. Somebody didn’t go, or else came back while you were down at the stable. That’s it.”

  “I saw them go, Mike. All four. No wonder I heard the house hold its breath.”

  “You heard the house what? Easy does it, baby, easy. Here comes the car. Now you’ll see, now you’ll know I’m right. Somebody came home early.”

  The car turned in at the drive. We watched it crawl beneath the trees and stop at the veranda steps. Someone left the driver’s seat and crossed the path of the headlights. Tench. One of them. One. Tench. He opened the door, and the ceiling light finished the count. Anna on the front seat. Anna. Two. Mrs. Tench and Mother, three and four. All four, all of them.

  We lifted our eyes to the hidden window high in the trees. The light went out.

  “Whose room is that?”

  “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

  “Your wiring’s off, that’s the answer. Joe said he saw—”

  “What did he see?”

  “He said he saw that light last week, and I called him a liar.”

  I told him then.

  The car crawled down to the stable, and the night was black again. The cottage came to life and sank into darkness.

  “When I was about seven, I think it was seven, a child at school told me a story. It was about a house and a room—”

  I told him about the monster.

  PART TWO

  WHEN we left the garden last night, we knew what we must do the next day.

  It is afternoon of that day. I am waiting again, but this time I am not afraid, because Mike and Joe will be here in a little while. Mike, Joe, Mrs. Barnaby, the cousins.

  Breakfast and lunch are behind me. In two hours, more or less, the party will begin. I know every move we will make afterward. Mike and Joe and I will go to the old playroom to see my music box. They will make it convincing.

  I talked to everyone in the house this morning, a few words to each. I went where they were and watched what they were doing. That was my idea, not Mikes.

  When I went to the kitchen, Tray was leaving, and I met him face to face. He stood aside to let me pass. “Good-morning, Tray, I’ve missed you.”

  Mrs. Tench was washing vegetables at the sink, and Anna was drinking coffee at the worktable.

  “Did you have a pleasant time yesterday, Anna?” I asked. I wanted to know whether she had talked to her priest.

  She colored. “I did all right. The dog ate his breakfast this morning, Miss Isobel, a nice bowl of milk.” She looked into her cup, not at me.

  “Hes an old fraud, Anna, don’t worry about him. What did you people do in town?”

  They had been together all the time, Mrs. Tench said. She emphasized together. They had shopped together, gone to the movies together, to buy a nice bond, to the tearoom for the special blue-plate dinner. “Only it was chipped white. A dollar fifty and not worth the fifty. They can’t fool me with their wilted lettuce, warm vinegar on other people’s leavings, and I told the woman so.”

  I said, “I had a good time, too. T came home late. Everybody was in bed when I came home. Where’s Tench?”

  “Out back.” Mrs. Tench frowned. “What’s on your mind, Miss Isobel? You’re a hen on a hot griddle. “Where’s Tench?’ Out bade washing the car, which is what he always does on Friday morning, as you know. You’ll do well to go out yourself and have a nice walk.”

  “I’d like to help you. Is there anything I can do? I can get the candles ready if you tell me the color you want.”

  “All done, Miss Isobel, but thank you.”

  “I hope we’re using yellow. It’s a warm color.” Where did the yellow wax on the floor of Father’s closet come from?

  “Your mother wants white,” Mrs. Tench said.

  I left them talking for my benefit. I know how people sound when they want to be overheard.

  “Those lobsters look very nice and lively, don’t they?” Anna.

  “The—oh, yes, to he sure they do. But you might give them a poke. I like company; I like visitors and getting out the best cloth and doing things pretty. We’re going to enjoy this, Anna. And Miss Isobel! It’s a treat to see her, taking an interest And the madam! Well, they can’t grieve forever—he wouldn’t want it so.” Mrs. Tench lowered her voice. “Psst! Gone?”

  “Wait. Sure, not a sound out there. Listen, you ought to feel my heart, like a jumping jack. I was afraid you were going to give me away. Did you get a good look at those eyes, Ada? Looking over the place, all over you and me. In another minute I’d have hollered. And all that talk, as if I didn’t know what she was getting at. It was me she came out here to see, cm account of what I said to her yesterday and she said to me. She was trying to find out what I done. I certainly thank you for not giving me away.”

  “You ought to know I wouldn’t. I’m dying to know what happened, myself. But what with Tench hanging around, I couldn’t ask. What did the priest say?”

  “Read me the riot act Skinned me alive. I got to go back next week for more. Pray for the poor man’s soul, he says, and stop making a fool of yourself. He talked terrible. Pray for the poor girl and her mother, he says, and stop reading trashy books. You can’t beat an educated priest for talk. Why didn’t you tell her she left her handkerchief in here last night? All over dirt from my own windows. Anybody could see that.”

  “What’s the good? She thinks we don’t know. What do you suppose she was doing?”

  “What does she do when she stays up all night? I know what a bed looks like when you don’t sleep in it And what does the madam do when she walks all night? I see that candle going past the windows at all hours, and I dean up the grease and stubs, and she sees me doing it, too, and don’t say a word. One day it’s a sin to laugh and go a little party next door, and the next day it’s a party in your own house.”

  “There’s all kinds of grief, Anna; it comes to everybody in a different way. Sometimes people can’t sleep for thinking of the things they didn’t do or say, and wish they had. But it passes.”

  “Grief! Look back, Ada, I ask you, look back. They never acted like other people. Sitting in the same room together, eating at the same table, you’d think they were strangers. And the girl was always odd, you know it Grief!”

  ‘Things might have been different if they’d had more children. She was a nice little thing. Always smiling, always saying ‘please’...Hush, did I hear something?”

  “Only the dog sniffing in the passage. You see, you’re getting the same as me. You’re hearing things and don’t know what they are.”

  I found Tench outside the stable.

  “Good-morning, Miss Isobel.”

  “Good-morning, Tench. Did you have a pleasant time yesterday?”

  “The old routine, Miss Isobel, the same as usual. And yourself? Did the neighbors give you a fine dinner?”

  “Oh, yes. We’re being very gay, aren’t we, Tench? A dinner tonight; too. How long has it been since we gave a dinner, Tench?”

  “Now, I’d have to think about that. I doubt if I could answer that right off. Were you wanting some of my wife’s flowers, Miss Isobel? You don’t have to ask, you know. I came across the foot-prints in the beds this morning, so I figured it was flowers you were after. That ground’s soft, it shows up everything. You wait here, I’ll get you some. You should have helped yourself.”

  I let him cut a few sprays and thanked him.

  Mother was telephoning when I reached the library door.

  “I knew you’d agree, my dear Mrs. Barnaby—in fact, it was you who opened my eyes. When I saw that pale little face across the luncheon table, I was shocked. My own child was a stranger to me, a pathetic stranger!...But you think she looks well otherwise?...No, nothing; nothing that she will admit to. That brightens me a little when I think of it; he was the same, you know. But not a word of this to the cousins, Mrs. Barnaby. You and I together, and of cou
rse dear Mike, will work wonders...Indeed we must...Ah, here’s my child now. Until this evening, then.”

  “Good-morning, Mother.”

  “Good-morning, dear. I missed you at breakfast Nice that you could oversleep again. Lucy Barnaby says she is delighted; she sounded quite gay. And now I’m going to scold you, darling, What was all the shouting in the hall last night? High spirits?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. Did we wake you?”

  “Of course you did. But I’m glad you had a happy evening; my own was a little dull. The cousins found me a large fowl with mushroom dressing. I persuaded them to share it with me, but I fear they are regretting the size.” She was mischievous, twinkling. “Their mouths were full of their own chicken when I told them about our party. How their poor faces fell! Two good dinners in succession, a smaller bird would have done just as well. Are you looking for something, Isobel?”

  “No, Mother”

  “You seem—coiled. Tell me, what do you think of cards after dinner? Bridge?”

  “Why don’t we wait, Mother? Perhaps Mrs. Barnaby would rather talk. She hasn’t seen the cousins recently”

  “You may be right. Talk and a little music, but I’ll put out cards in any case.”

  She sent me away with a wave of her hand and returned to the telephone. That time she talked to the cousins. Tench would call for them at five. The black cut velvets would be charming. Black was always good. Additional chiffon at the hem? A flounce? Only if Jane did the sewing, not darling Bessy. Isobel? Isobel was not too well...Why does she always say that?