Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  “What have I done?”

  He took my hands and kissed them. “Made me happy,” he said. “Made yourself happy.”

  “David… What of David?”

  “He will not know.”

  I stared at him in horror. “I must tell him. I must confess what I have done. I must do so… right away.”

  “My dear, dear one, you are not being reasonable.”

  “I have been so wicked.”

  “No, no. You have behaved naturally. You must not feel this guilt.”

  “Not feel guilty when I am guilty? Oh, how could you!”

  “I did not force you, did I? You wanted to make love with me as much as I did with you.”

  “If you had not come here. If you—”

  “If you were not you and I were not myself, yes, things would have been so different. Listen to me, Claudine. You are married to David. He is a good man. He would be bitterly hurt if he knew that you and I were in love with each other.”

  “I tell you, I love him.”

  “Yes… but differently, eh? You love us both. Well, we are twins, are we not? There must be a closeness between us. We started life together right from the beginning. We were together before we were born. There must be a bond between us. You love us both and because we are twins it is almost as though you love the same man.”

  “This doesn’t help at all.” I put my hands to my burning cheeks and started to pile up my hair. I was trembling, I could not bear to look into the future.

  “Oh, why did you do this?” I cried. “Why did you send that message to Molly Blackett?”

  “It had to be. I was seeking an opportunity. This seemed a good one.”

  “I don’t think you have any scruples.”

  “Oh yes I have. But I accept the inevitable. This had to be.”

  “It must never happen again.”

  He stood beside me and kissed me gently. “It is our secret,” he said. “No one need ever know.”

  “I must tell David.”

  “If you do you will ruin his happiness.”

  “What a pity you did not think of that before!”

  “Before, I could think of only one thing. Listen to me, Claudine. This has happened. It had to happen at some time. Perhaps it will happen again.”

  “Never,” I cried vehemently. “It must never.”

  “Nobody knows we are here together. It can be our secret. Look at it like this: I had to do what I did. It obsessed me. It was such a desperate need that I had no feelings for anything else, and when you were there, close to me, Claudine, it was the same with you. It is a powerful attraction between us. You can do no good by confessions. Your secret guilt hurts only you.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” I said slowly. “I want to get away from this house. I know it is an evil house. It does something to people. It makes them different from what they really are.”

  “Perhaps it shows them what they really are.”

  I wanted to get away. I wanted to think about this. I could not bear to stay there a moment longer.

  I felt for the key of the house in the pocket of my dress. I was thankful it was still there for I feared it might have dropped out. There were certain cracks in the floorboards and it could have fallen down one of those. But there it was, safe, and the very feel of it brought me back to reality.

  I ran down the stairs. Jonathan was right behind me.

  Into the hall, across the stone floor, our footsteps echoing through the house, I turned to look at the minstrels’ gallery and it seemed to me that there was a smug satisfaction about the house.

  We came out and I locked the door.

  I was dazed by my experience; and I felt as though I were still living in that world of wonderment to which he had introduced me. We walked across the fields to Eversleigh.

  The house was quiet and I was glad I did not meet anyone on my way to my room. There I looked at myself in the mirror and it seemed that a stranger looked back at me.

  This was not the same woman who had left that afternoon for the appointment with Molly Blackett. Of course it wasn’t! I should never be the same again. I had broken one of the commandments: Thou Shalt Not Commit Adultery. And I had done this so easily… yet unintentionally—so carried away by the impulse of the moment. I had feared it, of course, but I had never truly thought it would happen. I had not realized that potent sexuality, that overwhelming power which silenced all qualms, which knew no conscience while one was in its thrall. I would never have believed this could happen to me.

  I knew the story of my grandmother Zipporah, who had met a man in that very house and had behaved as I had today. She had been a quiet, virtuous woman, different from me, really, because I had always known that Jonathan could arouse desires in me which I must not give way to. What was that brooding evil at Enderby which had such an effect on the women of my family?

  I was trying to shift the blame. I was trying to accuse the house of being responsible for my own misconduct.

  How had it happened, so quickly, so easily? He had not forced me, he had said rather triumphantly. It was true. I had abandoned myself, willingly. I wished I could stop thinking of him. But I loved him, if loving was feeling more alive with some one person more than with anyone else, wanting to be with that person, to be close, to share intimacy, to be together every hour of the day and night.

  Had I not felt that with David? David was interesting. He was kind and tender. It was a quiet relationship which had contented me until this afternoon. Love-making with David was quite pleasurable—as was everything else. But never had I experienced that wild excitement, that complete abandonment which I had known this afternoon.

  Guilt weighed me down. If only I could go back to early afternoon. I should have waited outside the house. I should never have allowed it to wrap its tentacles around me. There I was, blaming the house again. There was no one to blame but myself… and Jonathan. And he had not forced me. I kept stressing that.

  He was right. What good could confession do? If I were wise I should dismiss the incident from my mind. I should try to behave as though it had never happened. Perhaps in time I could forget it ever had. Forget it? That most shattering experience? Already I was thinking of being there, and seeing him there with me.

  I must not tell David. It must be my secret… and Jonathan’s. He was right. It must remain so.

  Perhaps his conscience would trouble him, as mine did me. Perhaps he would go to London, stay there, visit Eversleigh only occasionally.

  Perhaps the manager would decide to leave, and then David and I could have his house.

  I knew what I was telling myself were improbabilities. Jonathan would not stay in London; the manager would not go. Moreover, I wondered whether Jonathan would seek to trap me again. The very thought excited me. God help me, I wanted to be trapped. That was the frightening part of it. I revelled in my sin.

  In the meantime I had to live through the next hours. I had to behave normally with my guilt clinging to me. Surely it was obvious.

  I took down my hair which I had hastily pinned up. I undressed and got into bed. I would have a headache today. I could not go down to dine for I could not face anyone.

  David was full of concern when he came in.

  I said: “I have such a headache. I thought I’d go to bed. It’s better when I’m lying down.”

  He bent over me and kissed me tenderly. Was there anything I needed? Should he have a tray sent up?

  I told him no. I would rather sleep.

  So I lay in my bed and when David came up I pretended to be asleep.

  I almost burst into tears when he kissed me lightly because he feared to wake me.

  I lay still, and I could not stop myself thinking of Jonathan, and of those magical moments in the haunted room.

  My mother, with Dickon, Sophie and Jeanne, came home the next day. They were excited by their purchases. I had not seen Jonathan since our encounter and I needed all my cunning to act as though everything were normal. />
  Sophie was delighted with the materials she had bought and admitted it was a good idea to have gone to London.

  “Did Molly get those measurements?” she asked.

  I replied that she hadn’t done so yet as I had been unable to meet her when I intended to.

  “Well, there’s no hurry,” said my mother, “and Jeanne can supervise her.”

  At dinner that night everyone was there, even Sabrina, who appeared on special occasions, which was when anyone who had been away returned; and particularly if it happened to be Dickon.

  Jonathan seemed exactly the same. I could not meet his eyes but I was aware of him all the time.

  The sale of Enderby was now completed and Sophie could begin doing any repairs to the house and furniture she wanted to.

  “I’ll get Tom Ellin to come over and see you,” said Dickon. “He’s an excellent carpenter.”

  “We shall see wonders at Enderby,” said my mother. “What an exciting project!”

  “I think,” put in Jonathan, looking at me, blue flames in his eyes, “that we are getting rather fond of that old house.”

  “David always said that cutting down some of the shrubs and trees would make all the difference,” I commented deliberately, not meeting Jonathan’s gaze.

  “I shall not do too much cutting back,” said Sophie. “What I like about Enderby is that feeling of seclusion.”

  Then my mother started to talk about Christmas.

  “All this excitement has made me forget how close it is.”

  “I suppose it will be the usual entertaining?” I asked.

  “It is the old tradition, isn’t it, Mother?” said Dickon.

  Sabrina smiled fondly at him, and he put his hand over hers and pressed it. He was always gentle and tender with her. I supposed such absolute adoration could not fail to bring a response.

  “Carol singers and the punch bowl,” went on my mother, “the wassailing, and of course the usual festivities of the day. I don’t want too many this year. Just a few house guests. I think the Farringdons will have to stay a night or two. The Manor is not far off, but if the weather is bad…”

  “It’s a pity,” I said, “that Christmas can’t be in the summer when travelling would be so much easier.”

  “Oh, no, no,” cried Jonathan. “The darkness adds to the joy. Those lovely log fires, coming in from the cold, hoping there’ll be snow, picturesque on the trees—after everyone has safely arrived, and it must have thawed to allow them to depart at the appointed time. Why do people always want life to fit neatly into their plans?”

  “I suppose you are right,” I admitted. “Christmas wouldn’t be the same at any other time.”

  He touched my hand lightly and said: “You will find that I often am right, little Claudine.”

  “No one can accuse Jonathan of an abundance of modesty,” said my mother lightly. “What do you think of the Farringdons, all of you? They are quite a nice family and Harry would be an asset at any party.”

  “Oh yes, Harry is amusing and handsome,” I said. “Quite an asset.”

  “I wonder they haven’t married him off,” mused Dickon. “He’s quite a catch. He will be very comfortably placed when he inherits, as he will, as the only son.”

  “And of course the Pettigrews,” went on my mother. “You’ll like that, won’t you, Jonathan?” She spoke with meaning. I think there had been an understanding between her and Lady Pettigrew that her daughter Millicent should make a match with either David or Jonathan, and now that David and I were married Jonathan was the free one.

  “Very much, Step-mama,” said Jonathan.

  It was absurd, it was shameful, but I felt a pang of jealousy. I was trying to pretend that what had happened between us at Enderby would never happen again, and yet the thought of Jonathan with anyone else was excessively painful to me.

  “And what about the locals,” asked David. “The Dollands, of course.”

  “Of course,” agreed my mother. “Emily Dolland is such a help with everything, and we all appreciate Jack, of course.”

  “He’s a good man,” commented Dickon. “David agrees, don’t you?”

  “Absolutely,” said David.

  “And I suppose,” went on my mother, “we can’t leave out the Grasslands people.”

  There was silence at the table and my mother went on: “Evalina Trent would be most put out. The girl, Evie, is getting very pretty. I saw her the other day. She looks very attractive in her habit and she rides well. I thought she was quite a beauty. The little one was with her.”

  “Poor Dolly,” said Sabrina.

  “We’ll have to have them, I’m afraid,” said my mother. “I must say I don’t greatly care for Evalina Trent.”

  “She’s a great pusher,” Dickon put in. “Always has been since she was a young girl.”

  “She’s been around for a long time, hasn’t she, Dickon?” said Sabrina.

  “Yes, she came to Grasslands when her mother was housekeeper here.” He laughed suddenly, as though he was remembering something amusing.

  “She seems to think a great deal of that pretty grand-daughter of hers,” said my mother. “That’s natural, but rather a responsibility for her since they have no parents. I suppose they’ll have to come. Thank Heaven, they don’t have to stay in the house. I wonder when Enderby will be ready. Well into the new year, I suppose.”

  “When do you hope to move?” asked Sabrina of Sophie.

  “As soon as I can.” Sophie gave a nervous little laugh. “Oh, that seems ungrateful. You have all been so helpful. But I want to be in my own house, you understand.”

  “Of course we understand,” said my mother, “and we are only too pleased that it has all worked out so satisfactorily.”

  Satisfactorily? I thought. I wondered what she would say if she knew what had happened between Jonathan and me.

  So the plans for Christmas went on.

  I saw Jonathan alone in the gardens. He said to me: “I must see you again, Claudine… alone. I can’t go on like this.”

  I begged: “Please don’t. I’m beginning to forget…”

  “You can never forget. It was too wonderful to be forgotten. Claudine, we must—”

  “No, no,” I said.

  “Admit then that you love me.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t understand myself, you, or anything any more.”

  “But it was wonderful for you.”

  I was silent.

  “You were tempted, weren’t you? You could not resist. Do you think I didn’t know! You’re so marvelous. No one else will do for me, and it must be the same with you.”

  “It can’t be. David is my husband.”

  “And I am your lover.”

  “It is an impossible situation.”

  “How can it be when it exists?”

  “It must not exist. It is finished… Finished, I tell you.”

  “It will never finish, Claudine, while you are you and I am myself.”

  “Please, don’t…”

  “Admit it then. Admit that you love me. Admit that it was wonderful… more wonderful than you have ever believed anything could be.”

  I heard myself shouting: “All right. It was. It was…”

  Then I ran into the house.

  Once I had made that admission, I knew there would be no holding back. He would seek every opportunity and when it came, snatch at it. And I knew that I should be there. I could not fight this. I was learning something of my own nature which I had not known until Jonathan aroused it. I was not the woman to be content with a quiet tender passion. I wanted to soar the heights, not just dally in the pleasant lowlands. He was right when he said I wanted both him and David. I did. I loved David. I found the way in which he seemed so delighted and almost surprised that I loved him, most endearing. I loved to read and discuss with him. I was interested in matters of the mind, but there was another side to my nature too. I was a voluptuous and sensuous woman. I had needs which demanded satisfaction
; and as with such physical desires, when they presented themselves, they could subdue everything else.

  Jonathan knew me better than I knew myself. He had probed that hidden part of me. It was that which appealed to him. He wanted the sort of woman I was. My position in the household had made me the most desirable wife he could have. It had never occurred to him that in such a short time after his disappearance, I could have married David.

  His journey to France had not been one of those on-the-spur-of-the-moment decisions we had been led to believe it was. He was involved with his father’s secret life, and Dickon, in the past, had made many journeys to France. Men doing such work contrived to have an obvious reason for their voyages, the better to help disguise the real one. Jonathan had gone to France not only to rescue Sophie but to gather certain information—of that I was sure now. He had seized the opportunity to go with Charlot and had intended to return when his mission was accomplished… and then he planned to marry me.

  But I had ruined his plans by my hasty marriage to David. Looking back, I wondered why I had slipped into that so easily. It might have been because I was piqued by Jonathan’s departure. Always it was Jonathan who was in my thoughts. Had I been older, wiser, I should have guessed; but because I was innocent, life seemed simple to me. I had imagined that when I married David that would be the end of all conflict and we should live happily ever after.

  Now I was being revealed to myself and I saw a woman who would risk a great deal to be with her lover. My marriage vows, everything I had been brought up to believe was right, my guilty conscience… all could be pushed to one side when I was confronted by the overpowering need to make love with this one man.

  I can make no excuses. I went into the next betrayal eagerly. We had the key of the house. We knew when no one would be there, and we went again to that room and made frenzied love, and it seemed to me more excruciatingly exciting the second time than the first.

  Then my remorse returned. I was weighed down by my guilt. It was even heavier than before because I could not now tell myself that I had been trapped into the situation. I had gone willingly. I had clung to him; I had shared his impatience and his ecstasy. I had admitted that I loved him, that I had made a bitter mistake. I was a wicked and abandoned woman and, during the height of my passion, I revelled in my abandonment.