“I? What have I done?”
“When you were a little baby I kidnapped you. Did you know that?”
“Yes,” I said.
“I thought you were the other one. I was going to kill her.”
“Kill Amaryllis! Whatever for?”
“Because she was alive … and oh … it’s an old story. But my sister had lost her lover and she killed herself. It was all mixed up with them at Eversleigh. It was their fault that it had happened. She was going away with her lover and I was going with her to look after the little baby.”
“You mean … you wanted revenge through Amaryllis?”
“Something like that.”
“But Amaryllis … she is the most inoffensive person I ever knew. She would never do anyone any harm.”
“It was because she was a baby and I’d lost Evie’s. But I took you instead … the wrong baby, you see. I had you up in my room hidden away. I was afraid you were going to cry. You were the most lovely baby I had ever seen. I used to try to make myself believe you were Evie’s baby. You used to smile at me when I spoke to you. I just loved you when you were a baby. That was when above everything I wanted a baby of my own. It was you who started it. And now I’m going to have one.”
“You seem very happy about it.”
“I always wanted a little baby… ever since I took you. I thought I’d look after Evie’s. I don’t care what people say. It will be worth it to have a little baby. You’d like to know about it, wouldn’t you?”
I did not speak for a moment. I looked into her face and I thought of her dancing round the bonfire on Trafalgar night.
“And … the baby’s father?” I said weakly.
She smiled, reminiscently, I thought.
I said: “Was it… Romany Jake?”
She did not deny it. “He used to sing those songs for me. No one ever cared about me before. He said life was meant for enjoying. There should be laughter and pleasure. ‘Live for today,’ he said, ‘and let tomorrow take care of itself.’ The gypsies lived a life of freedom. It was what they cared about more than anything. And so … I was happy … for the first time in my life, really. And now… there is going to be a little baby … mine and Jake’s.”
I felt deflated; betrayed. I could see him so clearly standing there in the light of the bonfire. I had felt he was calling to me … to me … not to Dolly. He had wanted me to be down there dancing with him and I had wanted to be there. Only now did I realize how much.
“Dolly,” I said, “did he ask you to go off with the gypsies … with him … ?”
She shook her head.
“It was such a night… It was the people dancing and singing … and everything somehow not quite real. I’ve never known anyone like him.”
“You will love the baby, Dolly.”
Her smile was ecstatic. “More than anything on earth I wanted a little baby … a little baby of my own,” she repeated.
I thought what a strange girl she was! She had changed, grown up suddenly. Though she was adult in years, there had always been a childishness about her, perhaps because she was so vulnerable. I was angry suddenly with Romany Jake. He had taken advantage of her innocence. He had called to me with his eyes, with his presence … but I was too young … I was guarded by my family and so he had turned to Dolly. It was wrong; it was wicked … but it had given Dolly what she wanted more than anything on earth.
She said: “I have nightmares about Granny. You know how you feel when it’s your fault… in a way. I could say I killed her.”
“You!”
“I didn’t know where she had gone … not then. But now I know and I know why. There was a terrible scene that night before she died. I’ve got to tell someone so I’ll tell you because it was partly your fault for being the baby you were … and it was your family who made Evie do what she did. But for the Frenshaws at Eversleigh, Evie’s lover would never have been found out and he would have gone to France with Evie and me and she would have had the dear little baby … so it was the Frenshaws’ fault in a way.”
“Tell me what happened that night when your grandmother went out in the cold.”
“She thought there was something wrong with me and she questioned me. When I said I was going to have a baby she nearly went mad with rage. She kept saying, ‘The two of you. It’s happened to the two of you. What’s wrong with you …’ That seemed to upset her so much that it took her right back to the time when Evie had died. She always thought afterwards that if she had been different Evie would have come to her with her trouble and something could have been sorted out. She blamed herself and that was why she was so ill. She kept shouting, ‘Who was it?’ and when I told her she cried out, ‘The gypsy! God help us, I can’t bear this. You … and the gypsy …’ I told her that he was a wonderful man and that there was no one I’d rather have for the father of my child, and the more I talked the more mad she became. She kept saying she had failed with us. She had planned for us; she had wanted so much for us … and I was going the same way as Evie. She kept on and on about Evie. I thought she really had gone mad. I didn’t know she had left the house. She told me to leave her alone and I did. ‘Go away,’ she said. ‘I’ve got something to do. Go away and leave me in peace to do it.’ She was so upset I went out and left her and in the morning she had gone. I know now where she had gone. She was making her way to Polly Crypton. Polly knows what to do to get rid of babies. She had done it before for girls in trouble. That was where my grandmother was going on that night. She was going to Polly Crypton to get her to do something to destroy my child.”
“Oh, Dolly, what a terrible story! Poor Mrs. Trent, she cared so much for you.”
“It was the wrong sort of caring … with Evie and with me. Evie was afraid to tell her. I shall never forget the day she learned that her lover was dead and we shouldn’t be going away with him after all. She kept saying, ‘What shall I do?’ I said we’d tell Granny and we’d stand together and we’d manage somehow. But, you see, she could not bring herself to tell Granny. She chose to drown in the river instead. Granny blamed herself for that, and when she knew that I was going to have a child it brought it all back to her. She was going to stand by me. That was why she went to Polly Crypton’s on that night.”
“I’m so sorry, Dolly. You know we’ll do everything … everything we possibly can.”
“Yes. Madame Sophie wants to help me. So do the two Mrs. Frenshaws. I’ll be all right.”
Jeanne was calling that Aunt Sophie was ready to see me. I touched Dolly’s hand gently and as I ran into the house I was still seeing Romany Jake standing there in the light of the bonfire and wondering what would have happened … if I had danced with him as Dolly had done.
By the time spring came, people ceased to talk much about Dolly and her coming child. No one seemed to think very harshly of her. I suppose it is only when people envy others that they revel in their misfortunes. Nobody ever envied Dolly. “Poor Dolly,” they all said, even the most humble of them. So if she had had her hour of abandoned passion and this was the result—about which she was delighted—who was to grudge her that?
She spent a great deal of time at Enderby. Aunt Sophie was quite excited at the prospect of the coming child. Jeanne Fougere made all sorts of nourishing dishes, and Dolly seemed to like to be cossetted. Aunt Sophie said that when the time came she must go to Enderby. The midwife should be there and Jeanne would look after her. My mother commented that she had rarely seen Sophie so happy.
Soon it was summer. The war with France dragged on. One grew used to it and a little bored by it. It seemed there was always war with France and always would be.
It was the end of June. Dolly’s baby was expected in July. Aunt Sophie insisted that Dolly leave Grasslands and take up her residence at Enderby and Dolly seemed happy to do so. She was completely absorbed in the coming baby and it was wonderful to see her so contented. For as long as I could remember she had been mourning her sister Evie and had been very much her grandmo
ther’s prisoner. Now she was free and that which she wanted more than anything—a child of her own—was about to come to her.
“It’s a strange state of affairs,” said my mother. “That poor girl with her illegitimate child … the child of a wandering gypsy… and there she is for the first time in her life really happy.”
“Yes,” added Claudine, “even in the days when Evie was alive, she was overshadowed by her. Now she is a person in her own right… about to be a mother, no less.”
“I do hope all goes well for her,” said my mother fervently.
Jeanne had taken one of the cradles from the Eversleigh nursery and had made flounces of oyster-coloured silk for it. It was a glorious affair by the time Jeanne had finished with it. There was a room at Enderby called “the nursery”; and Aunt Sophie talked of little else but the baby. Jeanne was making baby clothes—very beautiful ones at that—and Aunt Sophie embroidered them.
It certainly was an extraordinary state of affairs, as my mother said.
The few servants who had been at Grasslands resided chiefly at Enderby now, going to Grasslands only a few times a week to be sure the place was kept in order.
When I walked past it I thought it had a dead look. It would soon have the reputation Enderby used to have. David had said that a house acquired a ghostly reputation because the shrubs were allowed to enshroud it, giving it a dark and sinister appearance. It was not the houses themselves which were haunted; it was the reputation they were given, and people usually saw to it that those reputations were enhanced. Things happened in supposedly haunted houses because people imagined they would.
With July the weather came in hot and sultry. Late one afternoon I had been over to Aunt Sophie with a special cake our cook had made and to enquire after Dolly’s health. When I came out of the house I noticed the heavy clouds overhead.
One of the servants called to me: “You’d best wait awhile, Miss Jessica. It’s going to pelt down in a moment or two. There’s thunder in the air, too.”
“I’ll be at Eversleigh before it starts,” I replied.
And I set out.
There was a stillness in the air. I found it rather exciting. The calm before the storm! Not a breath of wind to stir the leaves of the trees … just that silence, rather eerie … ominous in fact. It was the kind of silence in which one could expect anything to happen.
I walked on quickly. I was near Grasslands. I glanced at the house … empty now. I stood for a few seconds looking up at the windows. Some houses seem to have a life of their own. Enderby certainly had. And now… Grasslands. Eversleigh? Well, there were always so many people at Eversleigh. Enderby had had an evil reputation before Aunt Sophie had gone there, and a woman whose face was half hidden from sight because of a dire accident could hardly be expected to disperse that. Grasslands? Well, people had said that old Mrs. Trent was a witch; and her grand-daughter had committed suicide and now the other was going to have an illegitimate child. It was stories like that which made houses seem strange … influencing the lives of the people who lived in them.
There was a faint rumbling in the distance and forked lightning shot across the sky. Several large drops of rain fell on my upturned face. The black clouds overhead were about to burst.
I was flimsily clad. I ought to take shelter. The rain would pelt down but it would very likely soon be over. I looked about me. “Never shelter under trees in a thunderstorm,” my mother had often warned me.
I turned in at the gate. I could find adequate shelter under the porch at Grasslands.
I started to run towards the house; the rain was coming down in earnest now. I looked up. Then I stopped short for there at one of the upper windows, I saw … or thought I saw … a face.
Who could be there? Dolly was at Enderby, so were all the servants. There were only three of them and I had seen them all that afternoon.
A dark face … I could not see clearly. It had moved swiftly away as I looked up. Was it a trick of the unusual light? A fancy? But I was sure I saw the curtains move.
I reached the porch and stood there. I was quite wet already. Who could be in the house? I wondered.
One of the servants? But I had seen them all at Enderby just before I left. I pulled on the somewhat rusty chain and the bell rang. I could hear it echoing through the house.
“Is anyone at home?” I called through the keyhole.
There was no answer—only a loud clap of thunder.
I rapped on the door. Nothing happened. It was a heavy oak door and I leaned against it, feeling that something very strange was happening. I am not particularly scared by thunderstorms, especially when other people are there, but to see that lightning streaking across the sky and to wait for the violent claps of thunder which followed and to watch the rain violently hitting the ground when behind me was a house which should have been empty … well, I did feel a strange sort of fear which made my skin creep.
I stood for a while watching the storm as it grew wilder. My impulse was to run, for suddenly I knew that there was someone on the other side of the door.
“Who is there?” I called.
There was no answer. Did I hear heavy breathing? How could I? The storm was too noisy, the door too thick.
What was it I was aware of? A presence?
I would brave the storm. They would scold me. Miss Rennie would say, How foolish to run through it. You should have stayed at Enderby till at least the worst was over …
I shivered. My thin damp dress was clinging to me, but I was not really cold. It was just the thought that there was someone in that house who was aware of me … and that it was very lonely here.
I turned to the door and put my hands against it. To my amazement it opened.
How could that be? It had been shut. I had leaned against it. I had rapped on it and now… it was open.
I stepped into the hall.
It was dark because of the weather. I looked up at the vaulted ceiling which was rather like ours at Eversleigh but smaller.
“Is anyone there?” I called.
There was no answer and I had the feeling that I was being watched.
I advanced cautiously, crossing the hall to the staircase. I heard a movement and hastily turned round. There was no one in the hall. The door swung shut with a bang. I ran over to it. Someone was in the house and I had to get out quickly. I had to run home as fast as I could, never mind the storm.
A figure appeared at the top of the stairs. I stared.
“Are you alone?” said a voice.
“It’s … it’s …” I stammered.
“That is right,” he said. “You remember me.”
“Romany Jake,” I murmured.
“And the lady Jessica.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I’ll tell you. But first are you alone … Is anyone with you? Anyone coming after you?”
I shook my head. I was no longer afraid. Waves of relief were sweeping over me. I could not feel afraid of Romany Jake—only a tremendous excitement.
He came down the stairs stealthily.
“It was you who were behind the door. You were at the window … You opened the door so that I would come in. What are you doing here?”
“Hiding.”
“Hiding? From whom are you hiding?”
“The law.”
“What have you done?”
“Killed a man.”
I stared at him in horror.
“You will understand when I tell you. You will not betray me, I know.”
“Why did you come here?”
“I thought Dolly would help me. There was no one in the house so I got in through an open window on the first floor. I was hiding until she came.”
“She is staying at Enderby.”
“Where are the servants?”
“They are there, too. They only come now and then to see that the place is all right.”
“What does it mean?”
“Aunt Sophie is looking after her unti
l the baby comes.”
“The baby?”
“Your baby,” I said, watching him closely.
He stared at me incredulously. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Dolly is going to have your baby. She wants it very much and so do Aunt Sophie and Jeanne, and my mother says it is not such a bad thing.”
He was silent, running his fingers through his thick dark hair. Then he murmured: “Dolly!”
I said: “You say you have killed someone.”
“I want you to understand. But first… Dolly? Is she all right?”
“She is with my Aunt Sophie.”
“And she told you that?”
“That it was your baby, yes.”
“Oh … my God,” he said quietly. “What a mess.”
“She wants it. She’s happy about it. She’ll be all right. They’ll look after her and the baby, and my mother says she has never been so happy in her life. Tell me what you have done.”
A loud clap of thunder seemed to shake the house.
“No one will come here in this storm,” he said. “Sit down here and let us talk.”
I sat beside him on the stairs.
“You must decide whether you will go straight back to your father and tell him I am hiding here … or whether you will say nothing and help me.”
“I want to hear all about it. I don’t think I would tell my father. I think I should want to help you.”
He laughed suddenly and he was like the merry man I had known before he went away. I was happy to sit close to him.
He said: “First Dolly. It happened you know, suddenly … These things sometimes do. You won’t understand.”
“I think I do.”
He took my chin in his hands and looked into my face. “I believe you are very wise,” he said. “From the moment we met I wished you were a little older … not much … just a little.”
“Why?”
“Then I could have talked to you … You would have understood.”
“I can understand now.”
He smiled and kissed me lightly on the cheek. “I must tell you what happened. We were encamped in a forest near Nottingham. The local squire had a nephew staying with him. I killed the nephew.”
Voices in a Haunted Room Page 43
