Voices in a Haunted Room

by Philippa Carr

  I went to the door of the summer house and said: “She’s here, Jenny. Did you think you had lost her?”

  “She ran off and when I turned round she had gone, Miss Frenshaw.”

  “Well, she’s here now. She ought to be put on a chain like a little dog.”

  Tamarisk lifted her head and put out her tongue at me.

  “Oh, certainly she should be,” I went on. “And taught how to behave.”

  “I know how to behave.”

  “Well, why not practise what you know?”

  “Come along, Miss Tamarisk,” said Jenny. “Jeanne is waiting to go.”

  She took Tamarisk firmly by the hand and led her away.

  “She is a beautiful child,” said Leah as the door of the summer house closed.

  “And a very unmanageable one. They spoil her.”

  “She has a look of…”

  “Romany Jake?” I said. “He is her father.”

  Leah nodded; her face was full of secrets and I did not know what she was thinking.

  “Poor Tamarisk,” said Amaryllis, “her mother is dead.”

  “She has her father …” began Leah.

  “A father who does not know of her existence!” went on Amaryllis.

  “She is his child,” said Leah. “There could be no doubt of it.”

  She was quiet for a moment, then she said: “I am sorry I could not tell you more. That is how it is. I do not want to talk nonsense … as some of our people do … just while they are waiting for what is to come. Inspiration … truth … it flashes upon you… and you wait for it. But sometimes it does not come and then there is no fortune. But what can be done? Can one say, ‘There is nothing. You do not inspire me. The powers are silent…’ Or ‘I do not wish to tell…’ How could we say that? We can only wait… and sometimes it comes and sometimes not.”

  “I understand perfectly, don’t you, Amaryllis?”

  “Perfectly,” she replied. “And you have given me such a lovely fortune. It’s poor Jessica I’m sorry about… all those dark forces …”

  “They are there surrounding us all. We must be like you and look neither up nor down. Then we shall not see them … and perhaps our good angel will guide our footsteps in the right direction.”

  I had brought money with which to pay her and I gave it to her. She accepted it gracefully with many thanks and we walked with her to the gates and then went back to the house.

  Tamarisk and Jeanne had already left.

  Guests were arriving for the party. Lord and Lady Pettigrew were there with Millicent and her son Jonathan.

  Jonathan was a little younger than I, and Millicent, although my sister-in-law, was of an age with Amaryllis’ mother, Claudine. My birth to my parents late in life had made some rather complicated relationships for me.

  I quite liked Jonathan. He had always been a high-spirited boy and was continually in some sort of scrape. He had a charming personality, and was always disarmingly sorry if he caused anyone any trouble. His mother said he was very like his father who had been killed nearly twenty years ago in a shooting affray with a French spy.

  The Pettigrews were frequent visitors at Eversleigh and one day Jonathan would inherit the estate, and my father was quite interested in him, although he was often exasperated by him.

  Lady Pettigrew was a very autocratic lady who thought she could manage everyone’s affairs better than they could themselves, and unfortunately tried to do so. Lord Pettigrew was a very pleasant old man, gentle and resigned. As I said to Amaryllis, he had to be, living with Lady Pettigrew for years. Claudine said she was getting old now and we must bear with her. Amaryllis was a great favourite with her; I was not because I could not resist the temptation to contradict.

  The Pettigrews had come several days before the birthday and we were all invited over to the Barringtons’ to dine. I was next to Edward for dinner and I began to wonder whether we were being thrown together, for I always seemed to find myself close to him.

  “I am very much looking forward to the party,” he said.

  “We all are.”

  “The eighteenth birthday! Rather a special one, isn’t it? Eighteen is supposed to be one of the milestones of life.”

  “When one leaves childhood behind.”

  He looked at me seriously and nodded. I felt faintly uneasy. He was hinting at something. Could it really be that he was thinking of marriage?

  I hoped not. I had always fretted to be grown up but when one was an adult certain decisions had to be made. I did not want to be married yet. I liked Edward Barrington, of course. I also liked some of the other young men in the neighbourhood. Oh yes, I wanted to be grown up; but I did not want to leap straight out of girlhood into marriage. I wanted a little time to bask in the admiration of a number of people. I did not want to confine myself to the attentions of one, which I supposed I should have to do when I was married.

  A faint gloom had been cast over the evening. Times change. Nothing remains the same for long. I looked along the table at my father and realized with a sudden anxiety that he was an old man. The great Dickon … old! I had always had a special relationship with him. I had been grateful from my earliest childhood when I discovered that I and my mother were the only ones who could soften him. I remembered Amaryllis’ saying “Ask your father. He’ll say yes … if you ask him.” Miss Rennie had said, “Miss Jessica knows how to get round her father.” It was especially wonderful because I did not have to know anything. I just had to be. I loved him dearly. For all his wickedness—and I believed he had been very wicked in his youth—I loved him more than I did anyone else—except perhaps my mother and that was equally. But they were both getting old and could not live forever. My father was fresh-faced; he looked healthy; but I realized with a pang that he was well into his sixties. The thought frightened me. And my mother was in her fifties. She was still beautiful, of course, because she had that kind of beauty which does not fade. There is a permanence about it. There was white in her hair now but it was still abundant; and her eyes, although they might be a little lined, were still of that arresting dark blue shade. But they were both getting old. Edward Barrington, by his insinuations … if insinuations they were … had reminded me of this.

  “You look a little sad,” Edward was saying.

  I flashed a smile at him. “Sad? No, of course not.”

  I started to talk animatedly trying to dismiss those rather frightening thoughts.

  When we returned home that night, my mother came to my room. It was a habit of hers. There were times, she said, when she was in need of a cosy chat. This was one of those occasions.

  “A pleasant evening,” she said. “It always is at the Barringtons’. Nice neighbours. We were lucky when they came to Grasslands.”

  “A little different from the last inhabitants.”

  My mother frowned. “Yes, old Mrs. Trent was always something of a misfit and then that tragedy with Evie … and now poor Dolly … it seemed as though she were dogged by ill fortune.”

  “Edward is a little perturbed about the work people and the machines.”

  “Yes, I heard about that. I daresay Edward will overcome his difficulties. He’s that sort of person. I like him, don’t you?”

  I looked sharply at her and burst out laughing.

  “You know me well,” she said. “Sometimes I believe you know what I’m thinking.”

  “For instance at the present moment?”

  “Well, he’s very earnest. Mrs. Barrington hinted to me … Now, you mustn’t get on your high horse. Parents are like that. You’ll know one day. It has occurred to me for some time that there might be a happy outcome.”

  “Why don’t you say it outright. You want me to marry Edward Barrington. Well, Mother, I do not want to marry him or anybody.”

  “Don’t look so fierce. Nobody is going to drag you to the altar against your wishes.”

  “I should think not!”

  She laughed at me. “Just idle dreaming. I expect the i
dea is new to you. I’d like to see you happily married. It’s nice to have children when you are young.”

  “As you did me?”

  “That was a very special case.”

  “I don’t want to think about marrying anyone. I want to be young for a while yet.”

  “Of course. But if you did decide on Edward Barrington we should all be rather pleased. You’d be near us, for one thing.”

  “He’s in Nottingham a great deal of the time.”

  “Yes … but Grasslands would be a sort of root. I should hate it if you went far away.”

  “I have no intention of going far away … or marrying … for a very long time. I like it here. I can’t imagine I should ever love anyone as much as I love you and my father.”

  She was deeply moved. “My dear, dear Jessica,” she said. “What a comfort you have been to us both!”

  “You don’t need any comfort from me. You have each other.”

  “I’m so lucky.”

  “I think we all are.”

  She laughed. “We’re getting quite maudlin.”

  “I felt a little sad at dinner because it suddenly occurred to me that you were getting old … you and my father … and it frightened me. I just could not bear it if you weren’t there … either of you.”

  “We shall always be here until…”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “My dearest child, all my joy has been in my husband and my daughters … you and Claudine. Charlot…”

  “You rarely speak of him.”

  “I think of him often. He left us … on that day years ago and I have not seen him since. Perhaps I shall one day. He is after all my son, and when I think of him I thank God for my daughters.”

  I said: “Who is getting maudlin now? You are going to live forever and I’m going to be with you … your unmarried daughter who will always be there to look after you.”

  The door opened and my father came in.

  “What on earth is going on here?” he demanded. He was looking at my mother. “I wondered what had happened to you.”

  “We got talking,” she said.

  “You look a bit… peculiar.”

  “Jessica was saying she was going to look after us for the rest of our days.”

  “Look after us! When did we need looking after?”

  “She’s worried because we’re getting old, and so is she, and she is dead against marriage because she much prefers you to any suitor.”

  “Well, of course she does. She is going to find it impossible to discover someone who will match up with me.”

  “It’s true,” I said.

  My mother slipped her arm through his. “It all came about because I mentioned … or did I hint? … that Edward Barrington looked as though he might have plans concerning her.”

  “I shouldn’t object to him as a son-in-law.”

  “But it is I who have to accept or object, dear Father, not you.”

  “Parental approbation is usually necessary in the best regulated families.”

  “But this is not one of those. It’s us. Please get out of your silly old heads that you have to find a husband for me. When I feel the need of one I’ll choose him myself. At the moment, I am very content for everything to remain as it is.”

  “You’ve made that clear enough. And what’s this about our getting old? I’ll never be old.”

  “I don’t believe you ever will.”

  “Well, come on, Lottie.”

  He took my face in his hand and looked at me. “Stop fretting,” he said. “When have you not had your own way, eh? Nothing is going to change that… just because you have reached the mature age of eighteen. Stop thinking about age. That’s the best way to ward it off. All will be well. You are like me … born lucky. Life works out for people like us. Look at me. A wicked old sinner and I have got the two best women in the world.”

  He kissed me swiftly.

  “Good night,” he went on briefly.

  My mother kissed me and they were gone.

  Nothing had changed. No one would attempt to force me, nor even persuade me, to do what I did not want to.

  My fate was in my own hands.

  It was the day of the party. In the morning Amaryllis and I rode over to Enderby. We did not think for a moment that Aunt Sophie would come, but we had to assure her that if she decided to, we should be very happy to see her.

  I said to Amaryllis: “It is good to get away from the house. The servants seemed to be running round in circles like a lot of ants. They seem to be busy but they are not sure doing what.”

  “There is so much to be prepared and both our mothers want everything to go without a hitch. They’ll be terribly hurt if it doesn’t.”

  We had reached Enderby. Jeanne met us and told us that Aunt Sophie was not very well. She believed she had a cold coming.

  “Would she not want to see us today?” I asked. “We only came to enquire how she was, and to tell her that if she did decide to come to the party, we’d be delighted.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t come to the party, but she will be glad to see you.”

  We went into Aunt Sophie’s room. Tamarisk was seated on a stool with a little table before her. She was painting in lurid reds and blues.

  “I am sorry you are not well, Aunt Sophie,” I said.

  “Are we disturbing you?” asked Amaryllis.

  “No … no. Come in. I thought I’d have a day in bed. Jeanne thinks I should. Just a slight cold. Tamarisk is keeping me company.”

  Tamarisk glanced up from her painting, looking very virtuous as though she were performing some act of mercy.

  “What are you painting?” Amaryllis asked Tamarisk.

  “I’m painting gypsies.”

  “Tamarisk saw the gypsies yesterday, didn’t you, Tamarisk?” said Aunt Sophie. “She came back and told us all about it. We wondered where she was. Jeanne went out and found her with the gypsies.”

  “I like gypsies,” said Tamarisk. “They have caravans. They sleep in them … and sometimes on the grass. There are horses and dogs and children without shoes and stockings. I don’t want to wear shoes and stockings.”

  “You’d hurt your feet if you didn’t.”

  “Gypsies don’t hurt their feet.”

  “They are used to it,” I said, “and they would be thankful to have shoes.”

  Tamarisk was thoughtful. Then she said: “They have fires on the ground and they cook the dinner on them.”

  Amaryllis said to Aunt Sophie: “My mother would be so delighted if you came to the party tonight.”

  “My dear child,” said Aunt Sophie, “I am afraid I am not well enough.”

  “I want to come to the party,” cried Tamarisk. “It ought to be my party.”

  “You always have a party for your birthday, mon amour” said Aunt Sophie.

  “I want this party.”

  “This is Jessica’s and Amaryllis’.”

  “I have a birthday, too.”

  “We all have birthdays and this happens to be mine and Amaryllis’,” I told her.

  “Two of you! It ought to be mine, too. I want to come.”

  “My dearest,” said Aunt Sophie, “it is not a children’s party. It is for grown-ups.”

  “I don’t want a children’s party. I want a grown-ups’ party. I want to come.”

  “When you are eighteen,” I said.

  Tamarisk glared at me and leaving her painting went over to Aunt Sophie. She looked at her appealingly. “Please, I want to go to the party.”

  “Now, Tamarisk my dear, you shall have a party of your own. This is not for little ones.”

  Tamarisk stamped her foot. “You don’t love me,” she said.

  Aunt Sophie looked desolate. “Oh, my little one …”

  “You don’t. You don’t,” she cried. “I hate you. I hate you all.” With that she ran from the room.

  “Oh dear,” said Aunt Sophie, almost in tears.

  “She needs a very stern governes
s,” I said and even Amaryllis admitted that the child was getting out of hand.

  “It’s so sad for her, having no parents,” said Aunt Sophie.

  “Dear Aunt Sophie, you have done everything for her. She has not learned to be grateful. She must realize that she is not the only person in the world.”

  Jeanne came in and said that Tamarisk had gone to Miss Allen who was going to take her for a ride.

  When we came out of the house we saw Tamarisk coming out of the stables with one of the grooms. She was on a leading rein and they were making for the paddock. She looked at us serenely, but I thought I saw a certain look of triumph in her eyes.

  It was a beautiful night. There was a full moon which threw a romantic glow over the gardens and so after the buffet supper, which had been served in the hall, the guests strolled out to take the air. Through the open windows came the strains of music which was being played in the gallery for those who wished to dance.

  I was with Edward who was very anxious to find a secluded spot as he wished to talk to me. I guessed of what he wanted to speak.

  We sat on the wooden seat and he was silent for a few moments, then he said: “What a lovely evening!”

  “Just what we hoped and prayed for,” I replied.

  “Jessica, I have wanted to talk to you for so long. I’ve been afraid to.”

  “You … afraid! I thought you were never afraid of anything.”

  He laughed. “I am … now. I am afraid that you will say No. I want to marry you.”

  I was silent, and he went on: “I fancied you knew. After all, it seems obvious to everyone else.”

  “I do know but… well, I haven’t really thought about marriage. I don’t believe I want to … just yet.”

  “You are eighteen now.”

  “I know that many girls are married at that age, but somehow … I don’t feel ready.”

  “We could become engaged.”

  “That seems too … definite.”

  “My parents would be delighted.”

  “Mine would too. It seems that everyone would be. It is just that I am … well, uncertain. I am fond of you, Edward. It’s been great fun since you came to Grasslands. We’re all delighted to have you for neighbours.” I thought then of our first meeting and when I did so there was one other figure who loomed large in my thoughts. But for Romany Jake I should never have known Edward. Then came the thought of what I should feel if instead of Edward sitting beside me on this moonlight night it was that other … he whom I had never been able to banish from my thoughts though it was so long since I had seen him. Something suggested to me that he might be at the root of my indecision. I dismissed that thought immediately as ridiculous. Then I thought of Leah … for whose sake he had been sent away. I thought of her large luminous eyes probing my mind. A choice, she had said. There were two paths. One would lead me to serenity, the other to danger. Surely this must be one of the choices and surely this life with Edward would lead me to peace. How could it be otherwise with a man like Edward? He was distinguished, of good family, comparatively wealthy, considerate and kind. He was all that my parents asked for in a son-in-law. But it should not be parents who made the choice.