It was shameful that common men had the freedom to lay their hands on the master of Knowehead House. The world was gone topsy-turvy.
The deputies had another swig from their jar, doing it openly in front of the ministers, who complained to Brice Blan.
“Aye,” says the Constable, mild enough once my master was trussed up, “that’s sufficient for now, lads. Put it away, and let’s finish what we started.”
This didn’t please the preachers, who wanted him to chastise instead of cajole.
All eyes returned to the coffin.
“They took a hammer to it, but they had trouble pullin’ the nails out of the coffin lid,” reported Mercy. “It looked as if they’d have to use a pickaxe to break it up. But the nails give way in the end, an’ the lid slid off. Every man and woman in the graveyard stretched their necks for a closer look. A smell rose out of thon coffin that was enough to make you boke. Like rottin’ meat, it was. The doctor steps up, a handkerchief pressed to his nose an’ mouth, an’ bends over the remains. I managed to squeeze in right an’ close, and had a sight of what he was studyin’. Should I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget it.” Shoulders hunched, she folded her arms.
“Would you a knowed her?” I asked.
“Not at all. It could a been anyone. Sure the body was swollen up twice its size. She had her windin’ sheet wrapped roun’ her still. But you could see the face, hands and feet. And tell you no lie, you’d rather not see them. The skin had cracked and bust open, and the raw flesh underneath was on show. It was a kind of greeny blue instead of red. Any skin left on her was covered in big blisters. The doctor, he lifted one of her hands with a stick – I cannae blame him not wantin’ to touch her – an’ when he did, a nail fell off. He looked at it, as if debatin’ would he let it lie, but then he scooped it up with a piece of slate lyin’ on the ground, an’ set it back in place. But he must a pushed down too hard, because the flesh on the hand fell apart like a piece of fruit gone rotten.”
“What about her face, Mercy? Would you a known Mistress Haltridge by her features?”
“Ach, you might and you might’n. The eyes was sunk in an’ the teeth stickin’ out, twice the size they looked to be when she was alive. The on’y lifelike thing about her was her hair. There was masses of it. Sawbones started maitherin’ on, things nobody could make head nor tail of, and still with that blessed hankie over his mouth, mufflin’ what he said. But I tried to mind the most of it. Somethin’ about the pressure of gases burstin’ through the skin. And how it was part of the natural process, which varied dependin’ on the time of year the corpse went into the grave. If you ask me, doctorin’s a funny callin’. Anyhow, the long an’ the short of it was he says your master’s mother – or what’s left of her – looked to be normal. Normal! If that’s what’ll happen to me, I’d rather go in a bonfire and be turned to ashes.”
“My poor master, havin’ to see his own mother like that.”
“Aye, he took it sore. I may as well tell you, he was unmanned be the sight. Blubbed like a babby.”
“Who can blame him, when all’s said and done? Bad enough to see someone you love buried – but to watch them unburied must be beyond tholin’.”
“Frazer Bell come along while the doctor was spoutin’ away. He had Mister Haltridge’s dappled grey tied to his saddle – it bolted after your master was pulled off it. When he saw how Mister Haltridge was bound hand and foot, he tried to get the Constable to unbind him. But Blan would’n budge. ‘Haltridge was crazed,’ says he. ‘He was like a man possessed.’ But Mister Haltridge was well quieted down by then. Except the tears were trippin’ him. Great big silent tears. ‘She’s been reduced to a side of meat,’ says he. ‘My mother’s a carcass.’ ‘No, James, don’t say such a thing about your mother,’ says Mister Bell. Well, they put the lid back on the coffin an’ into the grave it went, an’ Mister Sinclair got stuck in with his prayifyin’. Frazer Bell, he kept on at the Constable to release his friend, an’ finally he consented to let him go, an’ Mister Bell took him away.”
He must have brought him to his own house, to tidy him up before the mistress clapped eyes on him, because it was some hours later before the two rode up to Knowehead. There was nothing Frazer Bell could do to mask the master’s black eye from his tussle with the Constable’s men, which left him looking like a hooligan. The mistress let out a wail and asked him if he’d been in the wars. He grunted as I helped him pull off his boots, and grumbled about her making a song and dance about a wee bruise.
To keep the peace, Frazer Bell told the mistress there was a happy outcome to the day’s proceedings: her mother-in-law was cleared of witchery. “Her body would have been preserved if she was a witch,” he said. “The putrefaction was unsavoury to behold – but it puts Mistress Haltridge beyond suspicion.”
“I’ve a right mind to go to law with Mayor Davies over it,” said my master. “He smeared my mother by his actions.”
“No, James, he exonerated her,” said the mistress. “Let bygones be bygones.”
“So the hunt for Mistress Anne goes on,” said Frazer Bell.
* * *
The next morning, the master had Noah Spears harness his grey stallion to the trap lying idle in the stable all winter, after the other horse was sold. He was set on going to Belfast to collect the young master and missie. I watched him oversee Noah, and wrung my hands wondering should I speak to him. If he refused to listen to the mistress, why would he pay heed to me? But I couldn’t help myself.
I ran out to the yard. “Master, I know it’s not my place to tell you your business. But would you not think on? The childer are best off where they be. Just for now.”
“You’re right. It’s not your place.”
“Forgive me, sir. I’m just afeared for the bairns. They’re on’y wee.”
“Knowehead House is their home. Nothing can harm them here.”
“Whatever you say, master.”
His black eye was bloodshot, and he was in a foul humour. I knowed before I said a word that he wouldn’t take kindly to me questioning his decision. But I had to try.
* * *
Jamesey and Sarah were full of chatter and importance about their daddy arriving out of the blue for them. Their happy shouts and kehoes brought the house to life. Even Mary Dunbar brightened to see their flushed wee faces, though they backed away when she went to take their hands. But Peggy McGregor didn’t come back to Islandmagee with them. She had taken a turn and could not be moved.
It was no time at all before a mockery was made of my master’s decision to fetch them home. It was me heared their cries, as the light was fading, on their second day back at Knowehead. My master was outside with Noah Spears, talking livestock (I always knowed where my master was – it was just something came natural to me) and I was bleaching his linen. This was work that should have been sent out, by rights, but I wanted to do it for him. A commotion sounded upstairs and my first thought was Mary Dunbar, taking another turn. But then I minded seeing her with the mistress in the parlour. I picked up my skirts and took the stairs two at a time. The noise was coming from behind Mary Dunbar’s door – but it was the bairns’ voices calling out.
“What ails yiz?” I said, and their shouts redoubled. I clattered the handle, but the door wouldn’t budge. “Open up. Let me in.”
“We can’t. We’re locked in,” cried Jamsey.
“The lock’s on the inside,” I said. “Come on now, unbolt it.”
“We’ve tried. It won’t move.”
“The bolt must be stuck. Give it a right, hard tug.”
“I am tugging. It makes no differ.”
Sarah burst into sobs. “My guts are being squeezed. It hurts!”
I dundered on the door. “Jamesey! What’s goin’ on?”
“Make it stop!” Sarah bawled.
I put my shoulder against the door and pushed, hoping to force it, but the solid Irish oak held firm. “What’s the matter, chicken? What’s bein’ done to you?”
“My belly’s strangling me.”
“Jamesey? Is there somebody in there with you?”
“No. Yes. I’m not sure. I can’t see anybody. But I think something’s here. Something bad. It’s hurting Sarah.”
“Have another go at the bolt, Jamesey. It’s at the top of the door. Can you reach it?”
“Aye, I have my hand on it now.”
“Pull it open, there’s a brave lad.”
“I can’t. I’m trying my hardest.”
“Try some more. Do it for your sister.”
“I’m doing my best. Nothing’s happening. Sarah, what’s wrong? She’s lying on the floor, Ellen, she’s rolled up in a wee ball.”
Sarah was whimpering rather than wailing now. “Mama. I want my mama.”
“Her eyes have gone funny. They’re like glass. I don’t think she can see me any more.”
I was beside myself. For the first time in my life, I felt anger towards my master. He should have known better than to bring the children back into such a house as this. But he wouldn’t be told. “Sarah, chicken, I’ll get you out of there, I promise. You’ll be with your mama shortly. Jamesey, try the casement, see if you can open it.” His footsteps moved away from the door, and I could hear him rattle the window frame. A creak and a sliding sound told me he was successful. “Good man. Now see if you can get Sarah over as far as the casement. You’re a big strong lad, so you are. Pull her if you’re not able to lift her. But Jamesey, go easy on her, remember the poor mite’s sore.”
“Up you come, Sarah.” Through her moans, I could hear him helping her to her feet. “That’s right, lean on me.”
I flew downstairs and round to the back of the house. Below their casement, I could see his anxious face peering down at me. “Jamesey, I’m away for the ladder. You be ready to help her up on the ledge as soon as I give you the word.” I raced to the barn for the ladder, scattering hens, yelling for someone to give me a hand.
My master appeared from the stable. “What’s the matter?”
“Help me with the ladder. We have to get the childer out through Mary Dunbar’s casement.”
“What’s wrong with the door?”
“Locked. Quit your dawdlin’.”
Without raising an eyebrow at the way I spoke to him, he took an end of the ladder to carry it to the back wall of the house.
“Daddy,” cried Jamesey as soon as he saw us. “I’ve got Sarah but she can’t stand up on her own!”
The wee missie wasn’t fit to make a sound by this stage, and seemed uncommonly floppy from what I could make out.
“Well done, son. Do you think you might be able to keep a hold of her till I get up the ladder?”
“I’ll try. But she’s getting heavy.”
“Good man. I’m on my way.”
The lassie was only half-awake and not able to work with her brother, and he struggled to keep her upright. But my master lost no time in springing up the ladder, with me holding tight to the bottom. He leaned in through the casement and managed to pull wee Sarah through. Then, holding her against his shoulder, he carried her down one-handed.
Once outside the room, Sarah roused, and was less poorly.
“What happened, sweetheart?” Her father stroked her hair.
“I was being squeezed, Daddy. Something mean was inside me, squeezing.”
My master lifted her and brought her in to her mother, before going upstairs to inspect the locked door. I followed him. The door opened without any trouble. Standing inside the room, I felt a prickle steal across my skin. It was a room I was in and out of often, emptying the chamber pot, making the bed, and seeing to other chores. Now, something felt wrong about it.
The air crackled with a presence. I groped for an understanding of what it might be, and it struck me like a hammer blow. Malice. The room was alive with it. Shivering, I backed away. Outside in the passageway, I rubbed my hands over my arms, but the chill had taken hold. My teeth chattered.
“Nothing wrong with this door,” said Master Haltridge. He seemed insensible to the presence in the room, intent on opening and closing the door and testing it. He clicked shut the bolt, unlocked it, shot it again. I stared at him. Could he really be untroubled by what was in the room? He leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets. “What was all that about?”
“Sir, the door would’n budge. I tried. Master Jamesey tried. It was locked tight.”
“From inside?”
“Aye, from inside. Ask Jamesey if you don’t believe me. Why would I go harin’ off for the ladder if there was no need?”
“I’m not doubting you. It’s odd, that’s all. Jamesey!”
The lad mounted the stairs, but shrank from setting foot inside Mary Dunbar’s bedchamber. He stayed beside me in the passageway, where I slipped my hand into his.
“Son, what happened to Sarah?”
“She got pains in her belly. I thought she was going to die.”
“Did she get aches like that when you were with your grandparents in Belfast, Jamesey?”
“No, I never saw her like that before.”
“Were you picking berries? Or eating something you shouldn’t have been?”
“It’s too early for berries. We only ate the same as everyone else. Porridge and milk. Mutton. A gingerbread square.”
My master footered with the lock again, trying to find a reason for the door to stick. “What were the two of you doing in here anyway? This is Mistress Dunbar’s private room while she’s our guest.”
“We heard a whispery voice calling us, Father. It said our names. The door was lying open. As soon as we went in, it slammed shut. And then the voice started laughing. It was coming from the trunk.” His eyes flicked toward the wooden chest, sitting there like a giant spider, and slid away again. He shuddered. “That’s when Sarah’s bellyache started. I was scared, sir. There was something in the chest. Something cruel.”
My master flung it open, revealing a pile of Mary Dunbar’s belongings. “Is it still here?”
“I don’t think so, Father.” He took a few paces forward and peeped towards it. “No, there’s nothing now. But I don’t like it here. Can I go now, please?”
My master scratched his head. “We’ll all go downstairs.”
He led us to the parlour, to where the mistress and her cousin were making a wee pet of Sarah.
“Mary, have you any idea why the children should believe they heard a voice inviting them into your bedchamber?”
“It must be the witches, James.”
“But all the witches are locked up.”
“All save Mistress Anne, the wickedest one of all.”
“I see. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give Mistress Anne a message from me.” His eyes flashed fire. “Tell her to leave my family alone if she knows what’s good for her.”
He strode out and I followed him into his study. I couldn’t let it rest after what happened in the bedchamber – my mind was full of the danger faced by the bairns.
“Master, what if it be the house and not witches?”
He presented his back to me. “You have been too much in my wife’s company. She surrenders herself to imaginings about Knowehead, too.”
“’Tis a house like no other.”
“It’s made of stones, like any house.”
I dared to press on, though I was shaking inside. “But it’s where it’s built that counts, master. Some say it never should a been built. Not here.”
“Don’t make an empty vessel of yourself, blethering about matters you don’t understand.”
His words put me in a temper, so they did. I wasn’t daft, whatever else I was. I tilted my chin up and answered him back right and bold. “There’s none so blind as them that will not see.”
“You mind your manners, girl.” He started to say something else, but thought better of it. Instead, he passed a hand over his forehead, and dropped down into an armchair. “Bring me some brandy. These have been a trying few days.”
/> When I returned and placed the decanter and glass on a table at his elbow, he attempted to make amends. My master never liked to be on ill terms with anyone – not even a servant. Which was all I’d ever be to him, though my conceit fooled me to the contrary at times.
“Just a minute, Ellen. Don’t go yet.” He filled his glass and drank deeply. “Peggy was asking after you when I collected the children.”
“Oh aye? What did she say?”
“That there was nobody like you for watching and weighing things up. It’s a compliment – don’t look so cross. I expect she’s fond of you, after all these years. We all are.” He gave me a look he’d never have chanced if the mistress was near-hand. “I was sorry to leave Peggy behind, and the poor soul so unwell. But she couldn’t be moved. Strangely enough, she was in no hurry to come back to Knowehead House – you’d think she’d be eager to return to us, rather than lie among strangers. You know, something’s just occurred to me. I wonder if Sarah might have picked up her stomach ailment from Peggy? That could explain her attack in the bedchamber.” He finished off the brandy in his big balloon of a glass, looking relieved to have solved the mystery. “Pour me another.”
The House Where It Happened Page 27
