The Lady and the Lake

by Rosemary Smith

  ‘What a delightful room,’ I said with honesty.

  ‘Thank you, and please call me Alice.’ As she replied, Alice lay the tray on the bed. ‘Please join me as you must be hungry after your journey.’

  So we sat on the bed sharing Alice’s afternoon tea in almost a companionable silence while looking out over the lake and gardens, the sun shining through the window on us both. Suddenly all fanciful thoughts of gloom and foreboding left me and I felt quite relaxed.

  ‘Why are you here as a companion?’ Alice’s gentle voice cut into my revelry.

  I looked at her for some time before I spoke. ‘I needed the post as much for myself as the wage,’ I said quietly, my hand toying idly with the teaspoon on the tray.

  ‘And what of your parents?’ Alice questioned further.

  ‘Both dead,’ I said with a firmness and finality which I felt. ‘My mother died of diphtheria when I was nine, I went to live with various aunts and uncles as my father was a seafaring man.’

  ‘Was?’ Alice reiterated.

  ‘Yes, he died some three months ago from an illness of the lungs, and I’ve been looking to secure a suitable position since then,’ I replied wistfully.

  ‘You’ve not thought of marriage then?’ Alice asked with interest.

  ‘No, unfortunately not, no man has totally appealed to me, a fair few have had different qualities, but I seek one with them all.’ I looked at Alice and laughed. ‘You?’ she hesitated for a moment before replying.

  ‘There is someone I truly love with all my heart.’ Here she stopped and I felt to press her further would be folly for she suddenly seemed back in her own little world.

  I thanked her for the tea and as I went to leave turned back to her an intriguing question hovering on my lips.

  ‘Why does Mrs Kershaw wear a veil over her face?’ I asked.

  ‘Some accident in the past causes her to hide her scars from the world,’ Alice replied vaguely and I realised that to ask her anything else today would be futile.

  ***

  It took me some time to find my way to the lower floor and locate the servants’ entrance, but a kindly young maid in a white mop cap named Maggie showed me the way out. As I stepped outside once more I knew I was at the far side of the house for I could see the tower at the opposite end.

  Slowly I walked to the back of the building savouring the warmth of the sun. Reaching the back of the house I marvelled at how different it was from the front. Wisteria flowered on the walls and the glorious scent of roses pervaded my nostrils. A path wound its way to the lake which I proceeded to follow, quite overawed by the beauty of it all.

  As I walked along the path I could see the figure of a young man walking ever nearer towards me. He wore no hat on his dark tousled hair and was tall and as I slowed my step I could almost feel the ground move beneath my feet and my heart started to beat faster, why he had this affect on me I could not say, all I knew was I’d never experienced such a feeling before.

  ‘What a pleasant day!’ he called out in a strong low masculine voice.

  ‘Why yes, indeed it is,’ I managed to utter. As we drew nearer to each other I could see that the stranger had startling blue eyes, very similar to Antony Kershaw’s, but while Antony Kershaw’s were cold, his were smiling and bright.

  ‘I’m Thomas Craddock,’ he said with a slight nod of his head, he smiled displaying his white teeth which were even more prominent because of his tanned skin. ‘And you are?’ he questioned.

  ‘Abbey Sinclair,’ I uttered, all the while being held by the startling blue of his eyes. ‘I arrived today to be companion to Mrs Kershaw.’

  ‘Aunt Henry, well I wish you luck, she can be a real tartar,’ he admitted his eyes twinkling.

  ‘Why do you call her Henry?’ I queried solemnly. ‘She told me she hates pet names and insists on calling me Abigail.’

  ‘Does she indeed, I’ve always called her Henry since I was a child, I’m the errant nephew, by the way.’ He laughed as he spoke.

  ‘And do you live here Mr Craddock?’ I asked him.

  ‘Only temporarily, I’m here to catalogue the paintings in the long gallery. And please call me Thomas or Tom would be even more to my liking. Shall we take a seat?’ As he spoke he indicated a small wooden bench quite near us on the path.

  ‘Why yes,’ I agreed like someone in a trance. I warmed to this young man and felt that I had known him for a long time.

  ‘Where do you normally live?’ I asked, more for something to say than any real desire to know the answer for I was quite happy that he was at this moment resided at Kerslake Hall.

  ‘I have a small house, Tidwell Cottage near Whitby which is about seven miles from here. Do you know it?’

  ‘The cottage, no,’ I replied foolishly, for some reason not knowing what I was saying.

  ‘Whitby, I mean!’ he said laughing.

  ‘No, I’ve lived most of my life in Portsmouth and London, I’m newly arrived here today.’ My cheeks flushed as I spoke and I prayed he would not look on me as some dizzy person who didn’t know what she was talking about. His next words sent warmth through my whole body.

  ‘Then I shall take you to my humble home and to see the beautiful fishing town of Whitby. Saturday perhaps?’ he asked quite seriously. As it was only Monday today I felt as if I could hardly wait.

  ‘Why yes, I’d really like that,’ I replied with honesty for I felt strongly that I could trust this man with the laughing blue eyes.

  ‘I shall look forward to our outing, Miss Sinclair, and shall think of it while I’m working.’ As he spoke he rose from his seat. ‘Apologies, but I must go now. My cousin, Antony, is a hard task master.’ So saying he took my hand in his and bending over it left a gentle kiss which sent my pulses racing.

  As he made to walk off he looked back at me. ‘Don’t take Aunt Henry’s manner to heart, she’s quite a softy really.’

  As he walked away I could scarcely believe my good fortune, and sat for a while recalling the whole of the conversation several times. My heart seemed to be singing and when I did get to my feet I practically skipped along the rest of the path around the lake, now and then picking a small pebble up and throwing it in the water as I’d done so many times as a child.

  Eventually I reached the far end of the lake and the high wall which surrounded the Hall. On the moor beyond which seemed to stretch endlessly, sheep grazed amongst the heather then I looked back at Kerslake Hall and could see it in its entirety from end to end. The round tower looked forbidding and as I looked I could pick out the window of my room and that of Alice’s too.

  My attention was arrested by some movement in the upper window of the tower. I closed my eyes then looked again, but whatever it was had gone. I knew I’d not imagined it for my eyesight was sharp, even at this distance and as I pondered over what it might be in my haste to retrace my steps I fell over something at the edge of the path near to the water, luckily falling on to the ground and not into the water itself.

  Picking myself up I looked down at the offending object which was a small wooden plaque, engraved in brass the words, Phoebe Kershaw Rest in Peace.

  I looked at it for some time trying to work out who Phoebe was and why a plaque in her memory should lie at the edge of the lake. No doubt at some time all would be revealed and the answer to the mystery would become apparent to me. As I walked back to the Hall I put the incident from mind and thought instead of the blue eyes and the smile of Thomas Craddock.

  ***

  That night tucked up in bed in the darkness I recalled the events of the day, the veil covering my employer’s face, the child Emily, my encounter with Tom and the mysterious plaque by the water. I had just drifted off into a peaceful sleep when I was awoken by a piercing, heart wrenching scream seeming to come from behind my bed.

  Trembling I got out of bed, looking at the small clock on the table, it was one in the morning. I made my way to the window my legs like jelly. I parted the curtains a little and looked into th
e window of the tower. Silhouetted by the light of a candle was a woman dressed in white with long hair cascading down her back.

  Swiftly I drew the curtains together and climbed back into bed pulling the covers over my head. If it wasn’t for Tom, on the morrow I would be leaving this ghastly place.

  After some time I did drift off to sleep but not before I’d asked myself the question, who was the woman in white?

  3

  When I awoke next morning after a fitful sleep, I realised how terrified I had been in the early hours of the morning. So much so, that I hadn’t given much logical thought to the incident. In the light of day, things didn’t seem so bad and my sensible head told me that it had been a maid in the tower, but that didn’t explain the blood-curdling scream which had awoken me.

  I drew back the pale blue curtains and looked at the tower. There was no movement in any of the windows this morning, maybe I’d dreamt it. As I stood there looking, I thought to walk to the tower from the inside and find the entrance to it which surely must be not far from my own door.

  Stepping into the corridor, I looked left and right. No-one was in sight although I could hear Emily’s voice coming from Alice’s room. Walking swiftly to the right and to the end of the corridor, I soon found the sturdy wooden door which must lead to the upper floor of the tower. I needed to climb three stone steps to turn the huge black handle which would raise the latch. I tried to turn it to no avail, the door was shut fast.

  ‘Can I help you, Miss Sinclair?’ Mrs Grafton’s voice startled me somewhat as I turned guiltily towards her, my one hand still on the latch.

  ‘No, Mrs Grafton. I thought to see where this door leads,’ I stammered, negotiating the steps as I spoke.

  ‘The door is no longer used. It leads to the upper floor of the tower, but it is unsafe now.’ Did I believe Mrs Grafton’s words or my own experience during the night? I thought to believe myself as Mrs Grafton had a sly way with her and I felt that she was annoyed that I had tried to open the door. It remained to be seen what happened during my second night at the Hall.

  ‘I came to ask where you wish to partake of breakfast. I’d be grateful if you’d let someone know the evening before in future,’ Mrs Grafton’s voice admonished me. I didn’t care for her manner and wondered if Mrs Kershaw’s abominable attitude had rubbed off on her housekeeper.

  ‘In the kitchen as I did last night and will do in future, if this is acceptable. Thank you.’ I found it difficult to remember my manners when dealing with this woman.

  ‘That will be quite acceptable, Miss Sinclair. Now I suggest you run along as it is nearly seven-thirty,’ she replied in a bossy manner which I loathed. It was as if she were speaking to Emily and not me, a twenty-five-year-old woman.

  ‘I’ll do that, Mrs Grafton,’ I said with some sarcasm. ‘Could you tell me please when Mrs Kershaw requires me?’

  ‘The mistress sleeps in until twelve o’clock. If you are required this afternoon I will seek you out.’ So saying, she turned her back on me and without ceremony entered Miss Hay-ward’s room.

  I made my way down to the kitchen feeling much more familiar with the layout of the house. As I approached the door, I could hear the murmur of voices, but as I stepped into the large room, all six at the table were silent, each turning to look at me.

  I seated myself at the long wooden table next to Maggie who glanced at me, smiling her sweet smile before continuing with her stodgy porridge.

  ‘Please don’t be silent and stop talking on my account,’ I addressed them all.

  ‘Would you like some porridge, Miss?’ asked Cook who was a rounded homely looking woman. I’d learned the previous evening her name was Ada. I glanced down at Maggie’s dish.

  ‘No thank you, toast would be very nice, please,’ I said politely.

  ‘And a nice strong, hot cup of tea, I’ll be bound.’ As she spoke, Ada busied herself at the large black kitchen range, pouring tea into a large white mug from the largest black china teapot I’d ever seen.

  ‘What were you talking about before I came in?’ I looked from one to the other. ‘I can keep secrets, I assure you.’

  ‘It’s no secret,’ said Maggie.

  ‘Maggie, I’ll thank you not to speak unless spoken to,’ said Cook sharply, looking at me with keen eyes obviously weighing up the situation.

  ‘You have an honest face, Miss,’ she said at length, handing me the mug and a plate of toast. ‘So I’ll tell you for you’ll surely hear it anyway. They dragged another young woman out of the lake this morning. Young Gladys White from the village, pretty bairn she were, only sixteen years old.’ Ada sighed and I looked at her with some astonishment.

  ‘When you say another, I take it you mean she’s not the first,’ I questioned, my breakfast quite forgotten.

  ‘Aye, she’s the second in the past six months, apart from...’ Here she stopped and took a deep breath.

  ‘Apart from who?’ As I asked the question, I felt I knew the answer.

  ‘Young mistress, but it’s not for me to say.’ Ada shrugged her shoulders and walked back to the range, conversation over.

  As I left the kitchen, I mulled all this over in my mind. Two young women from the village, plus I assumed Antony Kershaw’s wife. Were they all accidents or of malicious intent? To think I’d walked around the lake yesterday and marvelled at its beauty. I shuddered at the thought; and perhaps this would explain Harry’s reticence to bring me to the Hall on my arrival, quite a mystery.

  As it happened, it wasn’t Mrs Grafton who sought me out, but Antony Kershaw. He stopped me as I made my way back to my room, intent on seeing what was happening at the lake.

  ‘Miss Sinclair.’ His voice startled me.

  ‘I wonder, could you help out at the schoolroom in the village for a couple of days?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I stammered, bemused at his request. ‘But what of your mother?’ I asked with some alarm, thinking of the indomitable Mrs Kershaw.

  ‘Do not worry. I shall instruct the housekeeper to tell the mistress where we are. I just need to show you the schoolroom today. It is tomorrow you are needed as schoolmistress. Miss Anderson has to visit her sick mother for a couple of days.’

  I watched him as he spoke, his blue eyes were startling but cold. His clothes today were brown not grey so that was another fanciful thought on my arrival that everyone wore grey and I wondered what the lovely Alice Hayward wore today.

  As if in answer to my question, Alice appeared dressed in blue which caused me to feel very dowdy in comparison. Emily ran to her father who embraced her and then put her from him as she eagerly asked if he would walk with her.

  Not today, Emily. I have to take Miss Sinclair to the village,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Can I come, please?’ pleaded Emily.

  ‘You have your lessons. Maybe we can walk this afternoon. Now go with your governess.’ At his words, Emily looked downcast, but she took the hand of Miss Hayward who had been watching the scene in respectful silence.

  As they walked away, Antony Kershaw addressed me once more. ‘I’ll meet you in the hall in half-an-hour, Miss Sinclair, and we’ll make our way to Beckmoor.’ With which words he was gone.

  ***

  Hastily I made my way to my room to change my dress, for I felt really drab, but before I removed my grey attire, I looked out of the window. There was one policeman by the lake, guarding a bundle covered with a blanket. Quickly I turned away, wondering who had found the poor unfortunate Gladys. I was to learn later that it had been Thomas.

  Dressed in a pale green day dress with my straw boater in place, I made my way to the hall. How different it looked this morning I thought. Sun streamed through the glass panel above the door and the two windows each side of it. I could now see all the highly polished furniture set against the walls, including a beautiful tall hat rack by the door. I looked quickly into the mirror set in the middle of it.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll do, Miss Sinclair.’ Antony Kershaw’s voice came to
me from some little distance away and my cheeks flushed.

  ‘I do hope so,’ I countered with some embarrassment. For some reason I felt uncomfortable today in this man’s presence and was not looking forward to the journey with him.

  A pony and trap had been brought to the front and once more I stepped on to the gravel path. Mr Kershaw helped me into the trap beside him. I needn’t have worried. He was silent all the way while I looked around at the scenery which was unchanging until we reached the small village. A row of white thatched cottages cut their way defiantly through the surrounding moor.

  I observed a blacksmith’s and a communal tap where a couple of women were filling large buckets. As we approached, they turned away, for what reason I could not understand. But very soon I was to find out. I was somewhat surprised when the trap pulled up beside the village church.

  ‘But I thought we were to go to the schoolroom,’ I uttered.

  ‘Come, you will see.’ As he spoke, Mr Kershaw helped me alight. We walked through the lychgate and along the path flanked either side by many grey moss covered tombstones.

  In one corner I could see a large mausoleum which I was keen to look at closely. I followed Mr Kershaw through the church door and stepped on to the slab floor. It felt cold in here and smelled damp despite the warmth of the early morning sun and I wondered why he had brought me here.

  On the right hand side of the church entrance was a low wooden door. My companion lifted the latch and I followed him up the stone steps which led us into a small room.

  Here the sun did shine through a window and five small children sat cross-legged on the wooden floor, slates and chalks in their little hands and the girls wearing white starched aprons over their dresses.

  In the corner, writing on a blackboard, was a schoolmistress dressed in black, the braids of her fair hair entwined into a knot at the back of her head with a white lace cap covering her head. I gasped in surprise.