A House in London

by Amy Cross

  Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Jennifer could feel tears in her eyes as she looked at Vivian.

  “My dear,” Vivian said with a frown, suddenly concerned, “whatever is the matter with you? Has this old fool said something to upset you?”

  “Not at all,” Jennifer replied, forcing a smile as she wiped her eyes. “I just -”

  “Overcome with emotion?” Vivian suggested. “I know, it's only natural. This is a truly lovely house, I can understand how it might be a little much for someone who hasn't experienced such grandeur before, but you'll be fine. It's overwhelming for a girl from the north to come to London and find herself thrust into high society like this. I know because, well, I was in a similar boat once. Don't think I didn't detect a slip of an accent in your voice, either.” She paused, before reaching out and squeezing Jennifer's left hand. “Thank you,” she added, her voice trembling a little. There as a trace of fear in her eyes, almost as if deep down she understood the strangeness of the arrangement. “For doing this, I mean. I know it might seem... Well, I'm sure you'll be perfectly okay.”

  Jennifer nodded.

  “Come on, my dear,” Mr. Diebold said, having slipped into his jacket. Taking his wife's arm, he led her to the door. “The sooner we get going, the sooner we shall return.”

  “Give Ivan an extra bedtime kiss for me,” Vivian told Jennifer. “Oh, and there's milk in the refrigerator. Oh, and you might need to burp him, and also there's -”

  “I'm sure she knows all of this,” Mr. Diebold muttered. “To the taxi, my dear.”

  “Oh, but...” Vivian paused, as if suddenly she was filled with doubt. “Ivan has never been alone before,” she continued, with a sense of panic, “not without his Mama. Maybe we shouldn't go after all. Oh Arthur, if Ivan wakes and I'm not here, he'll be dreadfully afraid.”

  Seeing the hint of panic in Mr. Diebold's eyes, Jennifer stepped forward.

  “It'll be fine, Mrs. Diebold,” she told Vivian. “Honestly, you should just go out and have a lovely evening. Take all the time you need, and don't worry about a thing. Everything here is in safe hands.”

  “Come,” Mr. Diebold continued, clearly grateful as he gently steered his wife out through the door. “Ivan will be quite alright. He's getting to be a big boy now, is he not? Besides, Miss Griffith is evidently a very responsible young lady. This is far from her first babysitting job, you know.”

  Vivian smiled, although she still seemed a little uncertain. “Well, yes, I suppose it might be alright to leave him for one night. One can't coddle them forever, can one?”

  Stepping over to the doorway, Jennifer watched as Mr. and Mrs. Diebold made their way slowly down the steps toward the waiting taxi. She could hear them still discussing the matter, and Vivian seemed to hesitate several times, as if she was still tempted to turn back. Finally, however, Mr. Diebold managed to get her into the vehicle. As he limped around to the other side, he cast a brief, grateful glance back toward Jennifer, and then he climbed inside. A moment later the taxi pulled away, joining the rush of evening traffic. Jennifer watched until the taxi was out of sight, and then she stepped back into the warmth of the house. As soon as she pushed the door shut, the the silence of the house seemed to assert itself against the city's noise.

  She waited.

  The house really did feel completely still.

  As she made her way toward the door that led into the reception room, she glanced briefly up the stairs. She slowed a little, almost as if she was considering going up, but instead she kept walking, heading further into the house. Her footsteps could be heard getting further and further away, until silence once again fell upon the hallway, and upon the stairs that led up to the darkness of the upper level. And then, slowly, a door could be heard creaking open somewhere far off in the house.

  III

  One hour later, having spent some time wandering from room to room, Jennifer was finally curled up in one of the library's large leather armchairs, leafing through a leather-bound book on the history of London. She glanced up every so often, taking a moment to look around at the empty, silent room, but each time she quickly returned to the book, while absent-mindedly twiddling a stray strand of hair between the fingers of her left hand.

  Even since the Diebolds had departed, the house had remained utterly quiet with the sole exception of the grandfather clock, which had chimed at eight o'clock. Now, as nine o'clock arrived, the clock started to chime once again, and Jennifer couldn't help looking over at the doorway, glad of the interruption. She began to count the chimes one by one, just to check that there were indeed nine, and then she set the leather-bound book aside, grabbed her glass of water from the table, and went over to the doorway so she could watch the grandfather clock as its last chimes rang out.

  She could hear the clock's wooden case vibrating slightly, although the sound lasted only half a second or so after the final chime.

  And then the house fell silent again. So silent, in fact, that it was hard to believe the city was still outside. She heard only an occasional rumble as a bus passed in the busy street.

  Although she wanted to go back to the chair and continue reading, Jennifer found herself loitering in the doorway for a moment longer, enjoying the absolute peace and quiet all around her. This was, she realized, quite possibly the first time she'd been alone in silence since arriving in London. Everywhere else there was noise and the hustle of the city in the background, but right now she felt as if she was almost in a completely separate world. She knew the busy roads were still out there, of course, but somehow the sound failed to really penetrate the house, and Jennifer – who always hated loud noises anyway – couldn't help thinking that it must be wonderful to live in the heart of the city but not to have to hear so much noise.

  Not that she'd ever be able to afford such a house, but still, she felt it couldn't hurt to dream. As a child she'd dreamed of being rich and living in the most glamorous parts of London, but she'd shed those dreams as she'd grown up. Now she just wanted to survive, although as she made her way through to the hallway she couldn't help wondering what it would be like to own and live in such a fine house. She looked up at the chandelier that hung high above, and then she turned to look at the huge oil paintings. Figuring that she'd never again have the chance to experience such a place, she closer her eyes and breathed in deep, before opening them again and spotting her reflection in a full-length mirror next to the front door.

  No.

  Just no.

  She looked wrong, she saw that now. She looked completely out of place. The realization wasn't even particularly shocking. As she stared at herself for a moment longer, she felt as if she could never, ever belong in such a grand house.

  She turned to go back through the library, although she stopped when she saw the door leading through to some kind of office. She'd resolved earlier not to snoop, but now she wanted to at least take a quick look, so she made her way cautiously into the room, marveling at the grandeur of the place.

  The office, she couldn't help noting, was five or six times larger than her entire apartment. After a moment she spotted a familiar face in one of the framed photos on the wall, and she stepped closer to see a picture of Mr. and Mrs. Diebold smiling on the steps of the house, with a newborn child in Mrs. Diebold's arms. She felt a shiver of pity as she looked at the desperately happy smile on the woman's face, and then she spotted the baby's tiny, crumpled face with its eyes tight shut. In the bottom-right corner of the image, someone with very neat, very precise handwriting had noted the date as January 7th, six months earlier, which she figured meant that the baby must be poor little Ivan. She felt a twist of sadness at the thought that just a few days after this photo was taken, the little boy had died and the couple's happiness had been taken away.

  Looking at the next photo, just below the first, she saw that it once again showed the Diebolds holding a baby. She assumed the child must be Ivan, although when she looked at the scribbled date she realized that this photo had been t
aken a couple of years earlier, which meant it had to be a different child. Peering closer, she saw that this baby appeared to be a little fuller in the face, and perhaps a little larger all over. Below this photo there was another just like it, and this time the date was from four years ago and the child was once again a little different. In fact, as she examined the rest of the framed photos, Jennifer began to realize that the Diebolds seemed to have had many children, each one welcomed to the house by the proud parents and then, she assumed, somehow lost. It was hard to believe that such a great tragedy could have occurred so many times, yet the truth was right in front of her.

  “Poor woman,” she whispered, as she looked at the picture of Mrs. Diebold in each photo. Suddenly Vivian's proud smiles seemed more frantic and forced, and Jennifer began to understand what must have happened. It hadn't been the loss of one child that had driven Vivian out of her mind, it had clearly been the loss of several. Judging by the number of photos on the wall, the couple seemed to have brought at least twelve children home over the past twelve years, yet evidently none of them had survived. She couldn't help wondering whether Vivian had reacted the same way to each death, refusing to believe it could be true until the next child came along.

  All that was left now was a large, empty, silent house in the heart of the city.

  Feeling as if the whole situation was utterly tragic, Jennifer turned and made her way back across the office. As soon as she stepped out into the hallway, she stopped as she felt a little breathless. She'd promised herself that she wouldn't snoop, and now she couldn't shake a sense of guilt at having poked about in the couple's private life. In fact, the sense of guilt was growing by the second, as if it was creeping through her gut.

  Finally, taking the bundle of cash from her pocket, she realized she couldn't possibly accept it. The old man had seemed so desperate, and she couldn't shake the feeling that she was in some way taking advantage of that desperation. No matter how much she could use the money, she knew she could get by without it, especially if she found a job soon. Figuring that she could just about scrape along and still pay her rent on Monday, she headed over to the dresser and tucked the money behind a lamp. That way, by the time Mr. Diebold found it, she figured it would be too late for him to argue, and she'd be able to go home with a clear conscience.

  Now her sense of guilt, at least, was fading again.

  Glancing over toward the foot of the staircase, for a moment she considered venturing up to the next floor to take a look around. The opportunity to explore such a grand house felt too good to pass up, but at the same time she reminded herself that she shouldn't snoop. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the framed photos behind the desk and felt another flash of pity. The Diebolds seemed locked in a kind of constantly repeating tragedy, one that had pushed Vivian, at least, to some kind of madness. There was a part of her that wanted to leave immediately, to get out of the house and pretend she'd never learned about the Diebolds, but at the same time she felt she couldn't possibly do such a thing to the poor old man. Turning, she began to make her way back through to the library.

  And then, suddenly, she felt it.

  Creeping up through her chest and over her shoulders, Jennifer was filled with an intense rush of curiosity, almost as if something was calling to her. She told herself that she was imagining the whole thing, yet still she couldn't help turning to look back across the hallway and watching the staircase for a moment. She knew she shouldn't go snooping around, but at the same time she felt almost compelled to at least explore the next level of the house. Stepping forward, she looked up at the huge chandelier that hung high above, and she realized that most likely this would be the only time in her life when she'd have the opportunity to spend time alone in a mansion. Although she still felt that it would be wrong to poke about, the sense of curiosity was overwhelming now and she figured she'd regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't at least see how other people, rich people, lived their lives.

  Glancing over at the dresser by the wall, she saw the bundle of money she'd placed there a few minutes earlier, and she told herself that if she wasn't going to accept cash as payment, she could at least allow herself to take a look around. She wouldn't touch anything, she wouldn't move anything, she'd just spend some time exploring. After all, Mr. Diebold had told her she could do just that. He's specifically told her to look around, he'd even warned her that she might get lost in the maze of corridors.

  Slowly, cautiously, she began to make her way up the staircase. Every time she made a noise, whether it was a foot on a creaking step or a hand brushing against the bannister, she felt somehow wrong, as if the house itself preferred absolute silence. When she got to the top, she looked along the gloomy, green-wallpapered corridor and saw the door to the nursery at the far end. She was sure she remembered Mr. Diebold closing that door earlier, but now it was wide open again. Figuring that it must simply have swung open by itself, she looked around the corridor for a light-switch but, finding none, began to make her way along to another door, which had been left shut. Trying the handle, she pulled it open and found herself looking into a large, beautifully-decorated and neat bedroom, complete with a four-poster bed that looked to have arrived straight out of a fairytale. Telling herself that she absolutely couldn't go poking around in the couple's bedroom, however, Jennifer was about to turn and leave when she spotted a set of dummy heads arranged on a table in the corner, each topped by a wig.

  Again, it was as if something in the house was overriding her other senses and compelling her to explore.

  Unable to help herself, she made her way across the bedroom. The wigs on the dummy heads were all very much like Vivian's own hair, and sure enough one of the heads was bare, as if its wig had been chosen for the night. Stopping in front of the table, Jennifer looked at the large round mirror and saw her own face staring back, and she felt a flash of sympathy at the thought of Vivian sitting here, carefully putting one of the wigs in place.

  Heading over to the window, she looked out at the busy street and watched for a moment as buses and cars flashed past. Again, she found it strange that the house was so well sound-proofed, to the extent that even now she could barely hear more than a dull roar from the vast city outside. Peering down at the pavement below, she saw the steps and remembered herself standing down there a few hours earlier, staring up at the house, and she allowed herself a faint smile. Taking hold of the window's latch, she gave it a turn and then tried to get it open so that she could remind herself of the sounds outside, but she quickly found that the window seemed to be stuck. She tried for a moment longer, before accepting defeat and moving the latch back into position. Just as she was about to turn away, however, she spotted a series of scratch-marks at the base of the frame, and she leaned down to see that something appeared to have frantically gouged the wood around one of the panes.

  Termites, she figured, although she wasn't entirely sure that termites could cause that particular type of damage. A long-gone pet cat, maybe.

  Making her way back across the room, she stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Again she looked toward the nursery, and again she saw the door still wide open. Part of her wanted to go and take another look at the empty crib, but at the same time she felt the whole situation was desperately sad and that she'd only end up teary-eyed again. Heading to another door instead, she tried the handle and pushed it open, only to find another bedroom, this time much more bare than the first and with just a basic single bed over by the far wall, along with some uncharacteristically cheap-looking furniture. Telling herself that she must have found a guest-room, she was about to pull the door shut when she noticed that one of the wardrobe doors had been left open, revealing a row of suits. Making her way into the room, she noted a distinctive smell of aftershave, and slowly she began to realize that whereas the first bedroom had been Vivian's, this was her husband's, which meant that the couple slept separately.

  Somehow, this simple fact seemed to underline the sa
dness of the house to an even greater degree. Jennifer knew, of course, that there were plenty of practical reasons why a couple might choose to have separate rooms, and she also knew it wasn't her place to judge, but still she felt she was starting to see more and more hints of great sadness in the lives of the Diebolds. Feeling a faint twinge of pain in her belly, she made her way to the window and tried to get it open, only to once again find that it seemed to have been firmly held shut. When she glanced down at the bottom of the frame, she saw that here too there was a set of scratch-marks, this time deep enough to have carved through the white-painted wood, exposing the brown and slightly rotten-looking marrow of the frame beneath. Reaching down, she ran a fingertip against the grooves.

  Suddenly a jolt of pain shot through her guts. She gasped and stepped back, doubling-over for a moment as the pain seemed to twist around the lower part of her spine and then rippled up to her ribs. The sensation quickly passed, but she felt shaken as she stepped back and sat on the edge of the creaking old bed. Trying not to panic, she waited to make sure that the pain was gone. She swallowed hard, but her guts still didn't feel quite right, as if they were still settling after the brief flash of pain. Wincing, she began to take deep, steady breaths in an effort to stay calm.

  “What the hell?” she whispered under her breath.

  Even though the pain had already subsided, she still felt its echo in her belly and chest, and she waited in silence for a few more minutes before getting to her feet. Heading back out into the corridor, she pulled the bedroom door shut and then waited a moment longer, just to be absolutely certain that the sensation was over. Still feeling a little dazed, she stumbled along the corridor, heading toward the top of the staircase so she could go back down to the library. After a moment, however, she bumped into the edge of an open door and stumbled, before turning to see that somehow she'd been walking the wrong way and was now outside the nursery. She was so certain she'd been heading toward the top of the staircase, and she couldn't quite understand how she'd ended up going the wrong way.