Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  “She was such a quiet, gentle girl. Please don’t try to blacken her character, Harry.”

  “I would have done anything I could for her.”

  “A not very taxing exercise since she no longer needs your assistance.”

  “Oh, Claudine. You doubt me.”

  Of course I doubted him! We had never heard of her having another lover. And we should surely have known if there had been anyone else. Who could there be? I had imagined Harry coming surreptitiously to Grasslands, their meeting in secret, his persuading her to become his mistress… no doubt with a promise of marriage. It was an old story.

  I said: “Harry, for Heaven’s sake, don’t show yourself. Go away. The mischief is done now. Nothing can bring her back to life.”

  “But I was fond of her…” he began.

  I looked at him in exasperation. “Harry, go away. You must not be seen. You would be torn to pieces by a lot of angry people. We don’t want a scene at the funeral. That would be the last straw.”

  “I wish that you would believe me,” he said. “I swear to you, Claudine, on everything that I hold sacred, that the child was not mine.”

  “All right, Harry, but go away. Don’t let anyone see you here. I’m glad you didn’t come to the house.”

  “Are those roses for her?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Oh, Claudine, I wish I could have helped her.”

  “It’s too late now, Harry. Please go away.”

  He turned away and as I watched his retreating figure my hands were shaking.

  I had always felt there was something weak about him. He had never been able to make up his mind. Whatever he said, I should still believe that Evie’s child was his. He was so full of remorse now. Well, so he should be.

  How fortunate that I had seen him. If he had appeared at the graveside anything might have happened.

  There was a simple service in our chapel and Evie’s body was taken in the Eversleigh carriage to the churchyard and there we laid her to rest.

  We stood silently round her grave, listening to the fall of the earth as it struck the coffin. As I threw down the roses I had gathered that morning, I saw Mrs. Trent reach for Dolly’s hand and hold it tightly.

  When we were leaving the grave I saw the figure of a man partly hidden by some bushes.

  I recognized Harry Farringdon.

  So he had not been able to keep away.

  The Fifth of November

  AUGUST HAD COME. It was several weeks since Evie’s funeral. I often went to her grave and took flowers with me. I noticed that a rose had been planted there and I wondered by whom.

  I thought a great deal about her. I could well understand her succumbing to temptation. Who better than I? And often I thought how harsh life was with some people and lenient with others. I had sinned more deeply than she had, for I had betrayed my husband; yet she had suffered and I had gone free—not exactly free, but to be troubled only by my conscience.

  Life is so unfair, I thought. If only she had confided in me and I had been able to help her! I could have found comfort in that for myself. What agony of mind a person must endure to come to the conclusion that there was no other way than to end it all!

  Mrs. Trent kept largely to her house and I rarely saw her. I had called once or twice, but I think seeing me recalled Evie to her more vividly and it seemed that it was better to leave her alone.

  Aunt Sophie was horrified by what had happened. She could always have pity for others’ misfortunes; in fact she was apt to brood on them as she did on her own; and Jeanne said that she talked incessantly about Evie’s death and the wickedness of men who betrayed women.

  Young Dolly was with her a great deal.

  “Poor child!” said Jeanne. “It is a terrible blow to her. She adored her sister. She has become more withdrawn than ever; but she and Mademoiselle seem to bring some comfort to each other.”

  “Time will help,” I said. “It always does.”

  Jeanne agreed with me. “Time,” she repeated, “even with Mademoiselle and the little Dolly… it will help.”

  There was a change in the air. Events were moving fast and it was clear that what was happening on the Continent must affect our lives. England was indeed deeply involved in the conflict.

  In June the little Dauphin had died in the Temple. He had been twelve years old. Now there was no king of France. I often thought of that little boy. What a sad life he had had! And how he must have suffered, parted from his mother, forced to make cruel and even obscene allegations against her. And then… to die. How had he died? We should never be sure of that.

  Oh, what a cruel world this had become.

  There were riots in some parts of the country due to the high price of food. I wondered if Léon Blanchard had helped to rouse the mobs. Jonathan was right. Agitators must be eliminated—even young men like Alberic.

  There was some consternation when Spain made peace with France; and it seemed that all our allies were deserting us because they realized that France, led by this adventuring Corsican Napoleon Bonaparte, war-torn though it was by revolution, was a power to be reckoned with.

  It was afternoon. I had been in the garden and as I came in I saw Grace Soper on the lawn with the babies. Jessica was now a year old, Amaryllis a little younger. They were both crawling all over the place and could now take a few staggering steps. Soon they would be running about.

  “That’s the time we shall have to watch them,” said Grace Soper. “My word, that Miss Jessica, she’s a little madam, she is. She wants this, she wants that and I’ll tell you this, Mrs. Frenshaw, she won’t be happy till she gets what takes her fancy. Miss Amaryllis is such a good little girl.”

  My mother took as much pride in Jessica’s waywardness as I did in Amaryllis’s docility; they were both perfect in our eyes.

  I looked into the little carriage in which they slept side by side. Jessica with her dark hair and long sweeping lashes, cheeks faintly tinted, was beautiful in a striking way; I thought she might be like my mother except that her eyes were dark and my mother’s a brilliant blue. “She must get them from some of her fiery French ancestors,” my mother said.

  “The Eversleighs can be somewhat fiery too on occasions,” I replied.

  She admitted it. “Amaryllis looks like a little angel,” she said; and so she did with her fair hair and blue eyes and a certain air of fragility which alarmed me sometimes but which Grace Soper said was due to small bones, and that my Amaryllis was in as perfect health as her robust nursery companion Jessica.

  I left them slumbering side by side under the shadow of a sycamore tree on that peaceful August afternoon and went into the house.

  It must have been about half an hour later when I heard shrieks coming from the garden. I hastily ran downstairs. Grace Soper was there with my mother and they were both distracted. All my mother could say was: “It can’t be… How can it be? What does it mean?”

  Grace was shaking so much that she could scarcely speak.

  “The babies…”

  My mother cried: “Jessica… she’s not there…”

  I looked into the baby carriage. Floods of relief swept over me, for Amaryllis was lying there fast asleep. But then the horror of what had happened dawned on me. Jessica was missing.

  “How… what has happened?” I cried.

  “They were asleep,” stammered Grace. “I went into the house. I was only gone five minutes… When I came out…”

  “She can’t be far,” said my mother.

  “Could she have got out of the carriage?”

  Grace shook her head. “They were both strapped in. I always see to that.”

  “Oh, God help us,” I prayed. “Someone has taken Jessica.”

  Fortunately Dickon was at home and he took charge in that calm efficient way of his.

  “The strap could have been loose,” he said. “She might have undone it.”

  “It wouldn’t have been easy for her to get out even then,” said my
mother. “Someone’s taken her. Oh… Dickon… who? Who? We must find her.”

  “We’ll find her,” said Dickon. “Now first of all we must have a thorough search of the garden and all around. It is possible that she could have got out. She could have crawled into the bushes somewhere. That’s where she’ll be. We’ll waste no more time.”

  The servants had come running out of the house. Everyone was deeply shocked. The search began; but although the gardens were thoroughly checked there was no sign of Jessica.

  I took Amaryllis from the carriage. I couldn’t bear to let her out of my sight. Poor Grace Soper was in a state of collapse, blaming herself, which we assured her she should not do. She was an excellent nurse and had been assiduous in her care for the babies. She had left them for only five minutes asleep in their carriage.

  The straps were examined. There was nothing wrong with them and that brought us to the only conclusion.

  Jessica had been kidnapped.

  Dickon said that there would almost certainly be a demand for ransom.

  “I hope so,” said my mother. “I hope so… soon… anything, just anything, to get my baby back.”

  Dickon himself led a party and searched and questioned everyone on the estate.

  The news spread.

  I don’t know how we lived through the rest of that day. My mother was distracted. I think we all were. It was so unexpected.

  Dickon immediately had posters set up in the town offering a reward for any news of his daughter. He sent messengers out to all the neighbouring towns and to the ports.

  By the end of the day we were all exhausted with anxiety. Night had fallen and there was still no sign of the child. There was nothing further we could do. We all knew it. We sat in the punch room—silent and desperate.

  Grace Soper was upstairs in the nursery. She would not go to bed, but kept her vigil beside Amaryllis’s bed. Dickon said: “You can rest assured we shall hear something in the morning. They are giving us time to work ourselves into a frenzy. I know these people. We shall hear, you see.”

  We sat through the night. My mother stared before her, huddled close to Dickon. Every now and then he would murmur something reassuring. “You see, we’ll hear something in the morning. I know the way these people work.”

  “But what will they do to her… my little baby. She’ll be hungry…”

  “No, no. They’ll look after her. You’ll see. In the morning…”

  Should we hear in the morning? I wondered.

  David put his arm round me. He knew I was fearful for Amaryllis.

  All through the next day we waited. There was no news. The usual rumours began to circulate, for the whole neighbourhood knew that Jessica was missing. Someone had seen a stranger carrying a baby hurrying through the main streets of the town. Dickon and David hastened off to make enquiries and when the woman was tracked down she proved to have been visiting her relations in the town—so naturally she was a stranger to some people.

  I shall never forget the look of hopelessness in my mother’s eyes when they returned.

  I suppose the most difficult thing to endure in such circumstances is the frustration, the utter helplessness of not knowing which way to turn.

  “How can anyone be so cruel as to do this?” I cried for the twentieth time. “Do they not think of mothers…”

  David soothed me.

  “Dickon’s right. It’s money they want. It’ll be a ransom.”

  “We’ll pay and they’ll give her back. You really think that?”

  “They know my father is a rich man. It can’t be anything but that. What point could there possibly be in harming Jessica?”

  I shook my head. “There are so many things I don’t understand. Why do people want to inflict torture on others… without a reason.”

  “There’s always a reason. In this case it is money. You’ll see. Dickon will pay. He’d give anything for the family… and particularly your mother.”

  I knew it was true. But the waiting… the anxiety… the terrible fear of the unknown… they were hard to endure.

  My mother looked like a ghost. All her vitality seemed to have been drained away. I tried to persuade her to rest and I did induce her to lie down for a while. I sat by her bed but I could think of nothing to say which would comfort her; she just lay staring ahead of her and then she rose saying that she could lie idle no longer, although there was nothing we could do.

  I went to the nursery and played with Amaryllis. I felt so grateful that she was safe—and yet the very sight of her brought back more acutely the terrible loss of Jessica.

  Poor Grace Soper continued to blame herself. She needed comforting. She said that someone must watch over Amaryllis day and night, and she would see to it that no one got at that precious little mite.

  The long, long morning ended and the long weary afternoon began.

  No news. Let something happen soon, I prayed. We can’t go on like this.

  Dickon and David had been out all the afternoon. They were searching everywhere they could think she might possibly be; they were seeing everyone who they thought might help. They came back and even Dickon was dispirited. His prophecy that a ransom would be demanded had not happened.

  That night we made a pretence of going to our bedrooms to sleep; but none of us could rest.

  David and I sat through the night talking desultorily. Now Jessica had been away two nights and we were really getting very frightened.

  There was one horrible thought which had occurred to me. I would not have mentioned it to my mother but I did to David, as I wanted him to reassure me that it could not be.

  I said: “David, your father must have many enemies.”

  David was thoughtful.

  I went on: “A man in his position surely would have. He is rich and the rich are envied—and envy is a powerful force. This could be a form of revenge.”

  David’s words horrified me. “I had thought of that,” he said. “He has many contacts… not only in this country but abroad. There must be many who would wish to do him some injury.”

  “I know there are these secret matters and that he and Jonathan are involved in them.”

  “It is so. You remember those people who came to stay for a night. It was something in his study they were after. Some secret document. And they found it. If you live dangerously you must expect your enemies to strike you in unexpected ways.”

  “So it could be possible that someone has taken Jessica out of revenge… against Dickon?”

  David was silent for a few moments. I knew he wanted to comfort me; but that inherent honesty made it difficult for him to dissemble. At last he said: “It is possible. But I don’t think we should allow ourselves to think the worst. The most likely answer is ransom, and perhaps we can deal with that.”

  “But why don’t the kidnappers ask for it? Why do they delay?”

  “Because they want to keep us in suspense.”

  “Do you think they are looking after Jessica?”

  “Yes, they usually do in these circumstances. A live child is of more value to them than a dead one.”

  So we talked, and at length from sheer exhaustion I dozed, only to be startled into wakefulness by a nightmare—confused and horrible, in which I was clutching Amaryllis to me while someone was trying to drag her away.

  “It’s all right,” I heard David saying. “It’s all right.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “I think it is better to stay awake,” I said.

  We watched the dawn come. Another day! Another weary vigil! What would it bring forth? I asked myself and trembled as I tried to dismiss the thoughts which crowded into my mind.

  I felt a sudden urge to get out of the house, to walk through the gardens, to make yet another search.

  “I can’t stay in,” I cried. “Let’s go into the garden.”

  “All right,” said David.

  He put a cloak round my shoulders. “It will be a bit chilly,” he said, “and the grass w
ill be damp.”

  We opened the door and stepped into the porch.

  Something was lying there. I stared. I thought I was dreaming. Then floods of joy swept over me. Lying there wrapped in a blanket was Jessica.

  I picked her up. David was staring at her. She opened sleepy eyes, looked at me, gave a big yawn and closed them again.

  “It is!” I cried. “It is!”

  I went into the hall shouting: “She’s here. Jessica is here.”

  My mother came first. She ran to me and snatched the sleeping Jessica from me. There was Dickon… Grace Soper… all the servants.

  “She’s back! She’s back!” cried my mother; and I thought she would collapse from very joy.

  Dickon took Jessica. “She’s in fine shape,” he said.

  My mother snatched her. “She’s well,” she murmured. “She’s not harmed… Oh, my little baby.”

  Jessica opened her eyes; she gave a crooked smile and when she saw her mother started to wail.

  After the joy of having Jessica back we fell into a state of great uneasiness, asking ourselves: Who could have done this? And for what purpose?

  It was clear that during her absence the child had been well cared for and she seemed to accept her return to her family without any great show of delight—although she did smile with a rather special contentment when her mother held her fast in her arms.

  Who had submitted us to this suffering, seemingly without purpose? We could not forget it and the memory hung over us like a pall clouding our days. The babies were never left alone for a moment. First thing in the morning my mother and I would hurry to the nursery to assure ourselves that they were safe. Grace had her bed moved into the night nursery and she said she slept with one eye and one ear open.

  Her niece, a pleasant girl of about fourteen, came as nursery maid and her room led out of the night nursery, so she was on the alert too.

  But we should never feel entirely safe again.

  In September Jonathan and Millicent came to Eversleigh; they were only staying for a few days and then going on to Pettigrew Hall for a short visit before returning to London.

  I was suffering from a return of that apprehension which I always felt when Jonathan was under the same roof. I tried to discover surreptitiously what difference marriage had made to him. I could see none; Millicent had changed, though; she seemed softer, more pleased with life; I supposed that meant she was finding her marriage satisfactory.