Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  It had been late February when the young men had left for France. Somehow it seemed like years.

  As the days began to pass I was telling myself twenty times a day that I had done the right thing. I was very happy. David and I had everything in common and we would be happy all our lives in the heart of the family.

  “It is true,” I would say to myself. But why should I have to tell myself so insistently?

  I was happy, however, to see my mother so absorbed. She was almost her old self wondering whether Molly Blackett was capable of making the wedding dress or whether she should risk hurting her by engaging a court dressmaker. While she concerned herself with such a matter at least she was not brooding about what might have happened to Charlot.

  At length she decided that fashion must be sacrificed to human kindness and Molly set to work with yards and yards of pure white chiffon and delicate lace. And there was I standing, while she knelt at my feet, with the pincushion beside her, and my thoughts went back to another occasion when Jonathan had burst in on us and lured Molly away on a false pretext while he held me in his arms.

  The dress turned out to be quite a triumph, and the joy of Molly Blackett’s life. It hung in my bedroom cupboard for a whole week before the wedding, and every night, before I got into bed, I would look at it, and very often I thought it was like a ghost standing there—not a ghost from the past, but the ghost of what was to come. Once I dreamed that I was wearing it and Jonathan came and slipped the bodice from my shoulders and kissed me.

  I supposed that every girl felt a little apprehensive before her wedding. I often pondered on those marriages which were arranged in highborn families. How did the bride feel going to an unknown bridegroom? At least I knew David for a kindly, interesting person, someone who really loved me, and, I said almost defiantly to the ghost in the cupboard, “whom I love.”

  During the days I was less fearful. Riding with David about the estate I felt contented. This was what our life would be. I should grow into it graciously. I should help him when he had little worries about something on the estate; we should take trips to London. Indeed we had planned to do so on our honeymoon. I often thought of the one we had planned in Italy, visiting Herculaneum or Pompeii—but that would not be easy now that we were at war with France. I often wondered what would happen to an Englishman found in France at this time. Dickon said that the country was in such a turmoil that they would pay little attention to foreigners; they were too intent on killing each other. But I feared for Charlot and Louis Charles as well as Jonathan.

  We decided we would go to London… just for a week, say. We would sail up the river as far as Hampton; we would go to the theatre; and we would stay in the family house, which would be like home in a way.

  I could not help thinking of Venice and Italian love songs as the gondoliers swept their way over darkened waters.

  One day we came home past Grasslands, which belonged to Mrs. Trent, and as we were passing she came out and called to us.

  I had never really liked her. There was a certain slyness about her. When I had visited Eversleigh the very first time—and I was quite young then—I had thought she was a witch and had been rather afraid of her.

  Why I should have felt so I was not quite sure, for she must have been rather pretty when she was young; but there was a certain wariness about her which put me on my guard.

  She called a greeting and said: “So it is our young bride and groom. Come and drink a glass of sloe gin… or if you would prefer it, the elderberry wine was very good this year.”

  I wanted to refuse, but David was already thanking her and accepting the invitation. I guessed he did not want to go any more than I did, but he was too kindhearted to refuse.

  Grasslands was a very small estate compared with Eversleigh. There were only two farms, but I had heard it said that Mrs. Trent had a very good manager.

  We went into a hall—a lofty place with some magnificent oak beams—but small compared with ours at Eversleigh, and she led us into a parlour and called out for the serving girl to bring the elderberry wine and sloe gin.

  Mrs. Trent was beaming her satisfaction. I knew that she did not have many visitors. I gathered that for some reason she had never been accepted in the neighbourhood. There was some scandal about her. Her mother had been housekeeper to my distant relative Carl Eversleigh—in fact she had been his mistress and the story was that she had robbed him right and left. There was some scandal, which was discovered by my grandmother Zipporah, and the lady had disappeared, but not before her daughter had gone to work for Andrew Mather at Grasslands, and so insinuated herself into his life that he had married her, and when he died shortly afterwards leaving her with a baby son, she had become the owner of Grasslands.

  Rumour had branded her an adventuress, and soon after the death of her first husband she married Jack Trent, her manager—who was said to have been her lover—and had lived in outward respectability ever since, but such a past was not easily forgotten.

  “Everyone is most excited about the wedding,” she said. “I reckon your mama is really pleased—and your step-papa too. It’s always nice when things turn out the way people want, don’t you think?”

  David said we were also delighted about the coming marriage.

  “Well, if you weren’t that would be a nice kettle of fish, wouldn’t it? I expect Mr. Jonathan’s nose will be put out of joint when he comes home and finds his brother has stolen a march on him.”

  I felt myself flushing. Yes, that was what I remembered about Mrs. Trent. She seemed to be aware of one’s weaknesses and to find a pleasure in letting one know it—and to set one wondering how much she really knew. It was that witchlike quality.

  The wine had arrived and she poured it out.

  “Good ones this year—both sloe and elder,” she commented. “There now. Let’s drink to the wedding.”

  We did. Then she went on: “And to the safe return of Mr. Jonathan.”

  Her eyes glittered as she looked straight at me. I could almost feel her probing my mind.

  She said: “I like things to happen. That’s one thing about the country… it can be a bit quiet. I started my life in London, you know. What a difference! Then my mother came to Eversleigh and it was the country life for me and has been ever since. There’s some that say I’ve been lucky, and in spite of everything I’d say I’ve much to be thankful for.”

  Her bright eyes seemed to be looking back into the past and she was smirking at memories.

  “I saw your step-papa out riding the other day. What a fine gentleman!” There was a special glitter in her eyes now, as though she knew something about Dickon which she would dearly love to tell.

  I wondered whether I was imagining that certain slyness, this harbouring of secret knowledge, because in my childhood I had thought of her as the witch.

  When she spoke of Jonathan and Dickon there was a note in her voice which seemed to suggest that she knew them very well indeed and was greatly amused by them.

  I had a great desire to get away; she was depressing me. I wondered if she had the same effect on David. I caught his eye and tried to indicate that we should finish the wine and get out. There was something claustrophobic about Grasslands.

  Mrs. Trent cocked her head as though listening. Then she called out: “I can see you… peeping in. Come and meet the happy pair.”

  The two girls came in. They were dressed in riding habits. Evie looked very pretty, which made the contrast with her sister very noticeable.

  “You know my Evie and Dolly,” said Mrs. Trent. She looked at Evie with pride, and I immediately felt sorry for Dolly, who hung back a little, for I guessed she was very much aware of her deformity.

  The girls dropped a curtsy, and Mrs. Trent went on: “They think it’s lovely… you, Miss Claudine, and Mr. David, don’t you, girls?”

  They nodded.

  “Where’s your tongues?” demanded Mrs. Trent. “Haven’t you got something to say?”

  “Con
gratulations, Miss de Tourville and Mr. Frenshaw,” said Evie.

  “Thanks,” we replied simultaneously and David went on: “I saw you riding the other day. I must say you manage your horses well.”

  “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Trent, “I’ve had them brought up in the right way, both of them. I was determined my girls should be as good as anyone else.”

  “I’m sure you succeeded, Mrs. Trent,” I said. “I do agree about the wine being especially good this year. Thanks for letting us try it, and now I think we really ought to be going, don’t you, David?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “There is so much to do round the estate.”

  “Don’t I know it,” said Mrs. Trent. “In my own little way, of course. Grasslands is no Eversleigh, but my goodness there’s enough to keep us busy. It was very gracious of you to call. We do appreciate that, don’t we, girls?”

  Evie said: “Oh yes, we do.”

  “And I’ll come and dance at your wedding. You girls will have to wait a bit for yours. But I’ve a feeling Evie won’t have so long. Well, we’ll see.”

  We rose and thanked her for the wine, and she came out with us to our horses. Evie and Dolly came with her and stood looking at us while we mounted.

  Mrs. Trent slapped the flanks of my horse affectionately.

  “I’ll be at the wedding,” she said. “I have a special interest in your family.”

  I don’t know why it was—perhaps because of the mood she aroused in me—but I thought the words sounded ominous.

  As we rode away, David said: “She is rather ill-bred, but I don’t think she means any harm.”

  So he must have felt the same as I did. I agreed that she was ill-bred, but I was not so sure of the harm; but my apprehension did seem rather foolish so I pressed my horse into a gallop. I felt I wanted to put a distance between myself and Grasslands.

  We slowed down as we came to the road. “They must have been at Grasslands for a long time,” I said.

  “Well, Mrs. Trent went there as housekeeper, and married old Andrew Mather.”

  “Yes, I heard that. The girls’ father was her son.”

  “Yes, by her first husband. He managed the estate very well until his death. Now she has quite a good manager.”

  “Grasslands is very different from that other house… Enderby.”

  “Very. Always was. It’s odd about Enderby.”

  “Do you believe that houses have an effect on people? They do say that Enderby is unlucky.”

  David laughed. “How can a house be? It’s only bricks or stone. They can’t change luck, can they?”

  “Let’s go and look at the old place. Just a glimpse. It’s up this way, isn’t it?”

  I turned off the road and David followed me. As we rounded a bend, there was the old house. I have to admit that even in broad daylight it sent a shiver through me. It looked dark and menacing, as neglected houses will sometimes. The shrubs about it were thick and untended.

  “It looks very dejected,” said David.

  “And at the same time defiant,” I replied.

  He laughed. “Can a house look so?”

  “Enderby does. Come on. I want a close look. Do you think anyone will ever buy it?”

  “Not in the state it’s in. It’s been empty for years. Because of its reputation probably.”

  “David, I want to look closer.”

  “Hasn’t Grasslands been enough for one morning?”

  “Perhaps because of Grasslands.”

  He looked at me puzzled. Then he smiled and said: “All right. Let’s go.”

  We tethered our horses to the post which was set there conveniently for the use of visitors and went to the front door. It was silent, eerie. There was a rusty bell which I pulled, and we stood listening to the jangling which echoed through the house.

  “No use ringing the bell,” said David. “Whom do you expect to answer it?”

  “Ghosts,” I said. “People who have lived in the house and can’t rest because of their sins. Wasn’t there a murder here once?”

  “If there was it’s ancient history.”

  “It’s ancient history that makes ghosts.”

  “Claudine, I believe there’s a side to your nature which I have not discovered. You believe in evil spirits. Do you, Claudine?”

  “I don’t know, but I should if I were made aware of them. In fact, David, I would believe anything in the world if I had evidence of it.”

  “Well, that is the crux of the matter. Are you going to believe without proof?”

  “Standing here… in the shadow of this house… I could.”

  “We can’t get in because there is no one to let us in.”

  “Is there a key somewhere… just in case of a prospective buyer?”

  “I believe it is with Mrs. Trent. She’s the nearest neighbour. You’re not going to propose that we go back and ask for it, are you?”

  I shook my head emphatically. “Still, I should like to explore a bit.”

  David, ever willing to please, followed me round the house. We fought our way through overgrown weeds in the long grass. When I found the window with the broken latch, I pushed it open and looked into the hall.

  “David,” I said excitedly. “We could climb through here. Do let’s.”

  He did, and standing in the hall turned to help me in, and soon we were there, looking up at the vaulted ceiling and the minstrels’ gallery and the wide staircase at one end of the hall.

  “That,” said David, “is said to be the haunted spot. It all started when someone in financial difficulties, I think, tried to hang himself with a rope suspended from the gallery. The rope was too long and he landed on his feet suffering terrible agonies. Ever since then the house has been cursed.”

  “Sabrina lived here in her childhood.”

  “Yes. But even when she was well she avoided coming here. The house was quite normal then because her mother, who was a very good woman, made it so. And after she died her husband was heartbroken and it reverted to its gloomy aspect. That shows, does it not, that it is people who make the house what it is—not stone and bricks?”

  “You win,” I said.

  And he laughed. He put an arm about me. “There you are, Madam. An undesirable property. But one which could be made desirable… by the right people.”

  “Who in their right minds would want to live in such a place? Think of all the work which would have to be done.”

  “Nothing that a few gardeners could not alter in a month. To my mind it’s the darkness. It’s all that growth outside.”

  “Come and look at the haunted gallery then.”

  We mounted the staircase. I parted the curtains. They were thick with dust. I went in and stood looking down on the hall. Yes, there was an eerie atmosphere. The house seemed silent, watchful.

  I shivered, but said nothing to David. He would not notice. He was too practical.

  We looked down to the other end of the hall, to the screens with the kitchens beyond. I could imagine the people who had danced in this hall; and I wondered what it would be like here when darkness fell. It really was ghostly, and one’s imagination might play tricks. No one would ever want to come and live here and the house would crumble and decay.

  We went up the staircase, our footsteps echoing through the house. We looked into the bedrooms. There were many of them, and some of the furniture must have been there for years—such as the old court cupboard in one room and the four-poster bed in another.

  I had a feeling that I wanted to be alone here—just for a few moments. David was too prosaic, too unimaginative to feel the atmosphere as I did. Of course, I was fanciful and was allowing myself to pretend I felt something which I had probably worked up within myself.

  I slipped into one of the rooms. I could hear David’s footsteps in another and I guessed he was examining the old court cupboard.

  Silence! Just a faint murmur in the trees which grew so thickly round the house. I heard a sound. It must have been the sway
ing lattice of the broken window downstairs, but it startled me.

  Then suddenly I heard a sibilant whisper. It seemed to fill the room. It was: “Beware… beware, little bride.”

  I felt myself go cold with horror. I looked quickly round. Someone had spoken. I had distinctly heard those words. I ran to the door and looked along the corridor to the staircase. There was no sign of anyone.

  David emerged from the room in which he had been.

  I said: “Did you hear someone?”

  He looked surprised. “There’s no one here,” he said.

  “I thought I heard…”

  “You’re imagining things,” he said.

  I nodded. I now had a great desire to get away. I had known there was something malevolent about the house.

  We went quickly down the staircase to the hall. All the time I was looking about me to see if there was any sign of anyone’s being in the house.

  There was nothing.

  David helped me through the window. I tried to stop my hands trembling as he helped me into the saddle.

  “Can you see anyone’s trying to make a home of that place?” said David.

  “I can’t really. I think it is full of evil ghosts.”

  “And cobwebs and spiders’ webs doubtless.”

  “Horrible.”

  “Never mind, my dearest. It makes you appreciate Eversleigh all the more.”

  Eversleigh… My home forever… surrounded by love, the love of my mother and my husband. And if Jonathan ever came home…?

  I tried not to think of that but I could not stop myself. I kept hearing those words: “Beware, little bride.”

  The days which followed were very busy and I forgot our visit to Enderby. It was only occasionally—and in dreams—that those words kept coming back to my mind.

  It was to be a moderately quiet wedding. The absence of Jonathan, Charlot and Louis Charles could not be lightly brushed aside. However much we tried to forget it, and while we were in doubt as to where they were and what was happening to them, ours must be an anxious household. It was seven months since they had left and that seemed a long time.