Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  Jonathan grabbed me and brought me back to the bank. I had never seen him look so furious.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  I nodded, gasping and shivering. I felt as though my lungs were full of water and my muddied stained dress clung coldly to my shaking body.

  Jonathan was equally bedraggled.

  A little crowd had gathered to watch us; some seemed amused. I supposed it was not such an unusual occurrence for a boat to be overturned.

  Someone brought in the boat and one of the watermen said: “Best get back to Borrows’ Inn, sir. He’ll dry you and the young lady off there.”

  Jonathan said: “Yes… yes. That’s best.”

  “Get in, sir and I’ll row you back.”

  The crowd began to disperse. The little entertainment was over.

  “I saw what happened,” said the boatman. “Looked like deliberate to me, it did.”

  “It was,” said Jonathan shortly.

  “There’s some as likes a bit of mischief. Well, you’ll get into something dry and you’ll be none the worse.”

  We had come to the inn. Jimmy Borrows came out rubbing his hands in consternation.

  “We had a spill,” said Jonathan. “Can you help us dry our clothes?”

  “Of a surety. Come in… come in. There’s a fire in the parlour. But first the clothes. You’ll catch your deaths if you stay in those.”

  He took me to a bedroom and Jonathan to another. I was given a dressing robe which was far too big for me and slippers which would fit a man. Never mind. I was glad to get out of my wet clothes and rub myself down with a rough towel. The odour from the river was none too sweet. My hair hung limply about me, but there was colour in my cheeks and my eyes were bright and sparkling.

  Jimmy’s wife, Meg, gathered up my clothes which she said she would put on a horse before the fire. I could go into the parlour, where the gentleman already was, and warm myself up. Jimmy had taken him mulled wine, which was just what was needed at such a time.

  I went down to the parlour. Jonathan was already there. He wore a robe not unlike mine only his was too small. He laughed at me; he had recovered from his anger.

  “Well, who can say this is not cosy! Borrows thinks you should have some of this mulled wine. It is very good and Mrs. B. has supplied some fritters which she says go with it.”

  I sipped the wine. It was warming. I shook out my damp hair.

  He said seriously: “I lost him, Claudine.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was the man in the boat… a fellow conspirator obviously.”

  “I am sure that must be so. It was bad luck.”

  “Bad strategy. I should have thought of that. I ought to have been quicker. Then I would have had him.” He looked at me steadily. “You know how I love to be with you, but I wish you had not been with me today.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this involves you even more than you were already. You know what happened there. You know that people… innocent people… like your mother and grandmother can be caught up in this holocaust. How much more danger is there for those who have special information.”

  “You mean that I know for sure that Billy Grafter is a spy.”

  He nodded. “You see, I have brought you into this.”

  “No. I brought myself into it when I recognized Alberic in the coffee house. That was none of your doing.”

  “You’ll have to be careful, Claudine. I think they’ll move Billy Grafter out of London. They know now that we are aware that he is here. He runs the risk of coming face to face with me or my father. He will be transferred to do his evil work elsewhere.”

  “Which is inciting the people to riot.”

  Jonathan nodded. “The same method which was used so successfully in France.”

  “They shot at the King…”

  “One of their fraternity most surely. If that had succeeded it would have been a start. I worry about you.”

  “Oh, Jonathan, I shall be all right. I can look after myself. I don’t know much of all these things—but at least I now know a little.”

  He came to me and took my hands in his.

  “You are very precious to me,” he said.

  “Oh, please, Jonathan… don’t,” I said tremulously.

  He was silent for a while—more serious than I had ever known him to be. He had been greatly shaken, not only by the incident and its failure for him; and I knew in that moment that he really was deeply concerned for me.

  The wine was warming me. I gazed into the blue flames which spurted out of the logs. I could see all sorts of pictures in the fire—castles, fiery red faces… figures, and I thought: I wish this could go on.

  But that was how I always felt when I was with him.

  It must have been about an hour that we sat there before Meg Borrows came in to say that our things were dry enough to put on now and would we like some more mulled wine?

  I said: “We must be going. They’ll be missing us.”

  “I’ll have your things taken up to the rooms,” said the obliging Meg, “and you can go up when you like.”

  Jonathan looked at me. “Let us have a little more of your excellent wine,” he said.

  Meg looked delighted and went off to get it.

  “We should go back,” I said.

  “Just a little longer.”

  “We ought…”

  “My dear Claudine, as usual you are concerned with what you ought instead of what you want.”

  “They’ll be wondering what has become of us.”

  “They can wonder for a little longer surely.”

  Meg brought in the wine, poured it out and carried it to us.

  Jonathan watched me as he drank.

  “In the years to come,” he said, “I shall remember this moment. You and I in our ill-fitting robes, damp from the river, alone, drinking in paradise. This stuff tastes like nectar to me and I feel like Jove.”

  “I do believe your tastes run in similar directions.”

  “You find me godlike?”

  “I believe he was constantly chasing women.”

  “In various shapes when doing so… swans… bulls… what a gift!”

  “Presumably he felt he was not attractive enough to be as he really was.”

  “I can see I do not need such a gift. I believe I am irresistible just as I am.”

  “Are you?”

  “Almost,” he replied. “I have no rivals except dull Duty, who is a formidable one, I agree, where a certain would-be virtuous lady is concerned.”

  “I wish you would be serious.”

  “I have to be…. most of the time. Let me dally for a while. At this moment I should be on my way back to the house. I should be changing into presentable garments. I am sure those we are wearing are ruined. I have work to do. You don’t realize, Claudine, how desperately I long to be with you, for when I am, I forget that I should be hot on the trail of our enemies. You are the seductress.”

  “No,” I said, “it is you who are the seducer.”

  “Claudine, listen to me. Just one thing before we go. Here we are in our natural state, you might say. Will you answer me one question truthfully?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you love me?”

  I hesitated before I said: “I don’t know.”

  “You like to be with me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “It is more exciting than anything else?”

  I was silent.

  He said as though to himself: “Construe silence as an affirmative.” Then he went on: “Do you ever think of those hours we spent together?”

  “I try to forget.”

  “Knowing in your heart that wrong as you might have thought them, you would not have missed them.”

  “I’ve had enough of this catechism.”

  “You have answered all my questions. Claudine, what are we going to do? Are we going on like this all our lives… seeing each other fairly frequently, finding that this
love between us is growing, that it is never going to fade? Do you really believe that all our lives we are going on denying ourselves…”

  I stood up. “I shall go and put on my dry things now. We must go back.”

  I ran out of the parlour and up to the room. I was trembling as I put on my clothes. They were stained with mud and smelt none too savoury, but at least they were dry. My hair was still damp about my shoulders.

  I went downstairs. Jonathan was dressed and waiting for me. Jimmy Borrows had offered his gig to take us back to Albemarle Street. We should look rather odd arriving at the house in that, but it was quicker than trying to find some other conveyance.

  As we came into the house, Millicent appeared. She stared at us.

  “Hello, my love,” said Jonathan. “You are astounded by the spectacle, are you not?”

  “Whatever happened?”

  “A spill on the river.”

  “Did you go on a boat then?”

  “We were not walking on the water.”

  “What on earth were you doing?”

  “Rowing… and some idiot ran into us.”

  “I thought you were going out on business.”

  “It was business, and we took a boat. Well, here we are and I want to get into some clean clothes. I have to go out immediately.”

  I went up to my room and changed everything. I was sitting at my dressing table combing my hair when there was a knock on my door and Millicent came in. Her eyes were wide and suspicious, I thought.

  She said: “It must have been quite a shock.”

  “It was.”

  “You might have been drowned.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so. There were lots of boats on the river.”

  “I did not know that you had gone out with Jonathan.”

  “It was decided right at the last minute. I was here and he thought I might like to go out… and as David wasn’t here and you were resting…”

  She nodded. “Your clothes will be ruined,” she said.

  “I daresay.”

  She shrugged her shoulders and went out.

  I felt very uneasy. She is aware of something, I thought, and she is suspicious.

  Jonathan went out and was away all that day. When David came back I told him of our adventure.

  “I thought you weren’t going out today, as you had so much to do in the house,” he said.

  “I meant to get ready for our departure, but as it was a special sort of day… Guy Fawkes and all that… I thought it would be silly not to see something of the fun, and as Jonathan was going out he said he would take me along with him.”

  “Did you enjoy it?”

  “The guys and everything, yes. The ducking, well, that was less pleasant.”

  “I should have thought Jonathan could have managed a boat better than that.”

  “Oh, it was an idiot in another boat. He went straight into us.”

  “Well, you are none the worse, I hope.”

  “No. Fortunately, the inn was close by and we were able to dry off there. The host and hostess were very helpful. We are going home tomorrow, aren’t we?”

  “I think we could. You’re missing Amaryllis.”

  I admitted that I was.

  “I too,” he said.

  I thought how much easier he was to deceive than Millicent.

  I was very much aware of her. She seemed to be watching me. Night came and from the windows I looked out on the night sky which was red from the light of the bonfires which were burning all over London.

  “It looks,” I said to David, “as though London is on fire.”

  The Last Farewell

  THE NEXT DAY WE WENT back to Eversleigh—all except Jonathan, who said he had business to keep him in London. Millicent came with us. Jonathan would be away for the greater part of the days and she did not wish to be alone; and in any case, Jonathan said he would be back at Eversleigh in less than a week, so it was a good idea that Millicent should travel with us.

  All was well at home. My mother was delighted by our return, particularly as Dickon was on one of his rare visits to Clavering. She had not gone with him because she did not want to leave Jessica, who had a slight cold. Amaryllis was more beautiful than ever and as she was now very much aware of what was going on and expressed a certain delight in seeing me, I was very happy.

  The days passed in pleasant domesticity; on the third day I accompanied David on the rounds of the estate. As usual we were taken into the kitchens when we visited the farms, and the farmers’ wives always insisted on our tasting their homemade wines.

  We were at the Penns’ farm that day with Jenny Penn, a big buxom woman, who took a great delight in her kitchen and all that she produced in it. But there was one thing she liked better than her food and that was a gossip.

  David used to say that we could catch up on what was happening on the estate from Jenny for she knew everything that was going on, not only on the land her husband farmed but all the others too.

  “Now what do you think of this brew, sir?” she said to David. “And you, Mrs. Frenshaw. I’ve got a feeling that it is better than the last. A bit too sweet that. I always say to my Len, ‘Wine wants a bit of a tang to it!’ That’s what I say. Too much sweetness can kill a wine.”

  We both agreed that it was a perfect vintage, which pleased her; and it was just as we were about to leave that she said: “And what do you think of our ghost? If you was to ask me I’d say it was a lot of fancy.” She put her hands on her substantial hips and added: “I was never much of a one for ghosts myself.”

  “Ghosts?” I asked. “We haven’t heard anything about ghosts.”

  “Well, it’s that young man… the one that drowned, you know. He was shot at and that was the end of him. Someone said he’d been seen on the shore like… coming out of the sea.”

  “But he’s dead and buried.”

  “I know. But this was his ghost, you know, sir. Ghosts don’t take heed of coffins. And the other one was with him.”

  “What other one?” I asked.

  “Oh, that young man he was friendly with. Him as was working up at the big house. What was his name?”

  “Billy Grafter?” I said.

  “Yes, that’s him. He was drowned when the boat was upset. Well, he’s been seen… according to some. Or his ghost has.”

  “He’s been seen… here?” I asked faintly.

  “Why, you look all shook up, Mrs. Frenshaw. There’s nothing to be afraid of in ghosts.”

  “Who saw this?” I asked.

  “Oh, it was one or two of them. Patty Grey’s girl, Ada, said she was down on the beach with her brother collecting wood that had been thrown up by the tide… and she said he was there. He appeared… and then he was gone.”

  “It was inevitable that someone should start imagining these things,” said David. “It made quite a stir at the time.”

  We put down our glasses.

  “That was enjoyable, Mrs. Penn,” went on David. “I am sure you are right about the tang.”

  She ushered us out.

  “Very good farmers, the Penns,” said David, as we rode away. “Everything in order. I wish there were more like them.”

  But I could only think: Someone has seen Billy Grafter. Was it imagination or does that mean that he is here… in the neighbourhood?

  We were rather worried about Aunt Sophie for she was not very well. My mother said one of us should call every day.

  “She hasn’t been the same since Alberic died,” Jeanne told us. “And now there is all this talk about ghosts, she fancies Alberic can come back and talk to her… tell her who his murderer was…”

  “Is there a lot of talk about ghosts?”

  “Among the servants, yes. Two of them have said they have actually seen Alberic’s friend who was drowned with him, and now she has the idea that Alberic is trying to reach her. She talks about it all the time. Dolly Mather is there with her a good deal. Poor Dolly, she doesn’t have much of a life. Mrs. Trent has
changed so much since that suicide. You know how she always wanted to be included in everything… now she hardly ever goes out. Dolly is here a lot. I think she must find it a relief to get away from Grasslands. And Mademoiselle likes to have her. They talk constantly of Alberic.”

  “I heard the rumour that Billy Grafter had been seen,” I said.

  “Yes. He’s supposed to look as though he has walked out of the sea… dripping water and ghastly white.”

  “It’s a lot of nonsense.”

  “She takes comfort in thinking that Alberic could come back.”

  “Was she really so fond of him when he was here?”

  Jeanne looked at me shrewdly. “She took an interest in him. She liked to have him around. You know he was very useful. There weren’t many she would have trusted to go up to London and do little commissions for her. She let him ride the horses. I think it was his being of our own nationality and being upset by everything that was happening in France… It was a common tragedy.”

  “And the fact that he is dead would endear him to her.”

  Jeanne said nothing and I went on: “Oh, you know as well as I do that Aunt Sophie revels in misfortune. If only she would try to see the bright things of life. She shuts herself away… lives like a recluse…”

  “That is Mademoiselle d’Aubigné,” said Jeanne soberly. “And we must accept this and do all we can to make life tolerable for her.”

  “You are right, Jeanne, as always. Does she really want us to visit her?”

  “Oh, yes, she looks forward to seeing you. She likes to rest and meditate in the early afternoon but as you come at three and go at five… that’s as she likes it. She was always one for regularity. She likes life to go to a pattern.”

  “Well, I shall come every afternoon as long as she wants me, and if I don’t, I expect my mother will.”

  “Oh, I think she would rather it was you. She still broods on the past and often talks about your father. She was very much in love with him, you know, and I think she has never quite forgiven your mother for marrying him. And she thinks of you as the daughter she has never had.”

  “Then I’ll come.”

  And I did. Each afternoon I rode over and I made sure that I left precisely at five.