The Lost Ones

by Anita Frank

  We made our way upstairs, past the stained-glass window, the moon casting faint and fragmentary light upon the steps. As we reached the landing, I was surprised but relieved to find economy had been relaxed on the first floor – glowing wall lights lit the way to our bedroom doors.

  ‘It’s such a comfort, having you here in this house with me,’ Madeleine said at last as we stopped beside her room.

  ‘I can see what a trial these last few weeks must have been for you. I’m sure Lady Brightwell has her merits, but ease of company is surely not one of them.’

  ‘One gets used to her.’ She hesitated. ‘The nights here are the hardest.’

  ‘I can see that,’ I said. ‘At least during the day you can find reasons to avoid her company, but you’ll always have to suffer her at dinner.’

  By the funny look she gave me I realised we had been speaking at cross-purposes – she had not been alluding to Lady Brightwell at all.

  ‘I hope you manage to sleep well, Stella. Goodnight.’

  Before I could respond, she closed the door against me. I was a little taken aback by her abrupt behaviour, but I dismissed it as acute tiredness and let myself into my room. I kicked off my shoes and padded to my dressing table to begin unwinding my hair.

  It didn’t take long to disrobe and pull on the nightdress that Annie had left neatly folded on the bed. I turned off the main light, leaving only the bedside lamp glowing from under its fringed shade. Weary now, I threw back the covers.

  Lying on my sheet was a toy soldier.

  It was surprisingly heavy given its diminutive size. Puzzled, I turned it over in my hand, studying its perfectly painted red tunic, white belt and black trousers, a red stripe down their sides. The facial features were worn but the detail of its domed bearskin was still discernible, perfect in miniature, while the rifle that rested proudly against its shoulder was slightly bent at the end. Its black boots were soldered onto a small square of lead, painted a vivid green.

  My breath lodged in my throat as Gerald’s face sprang into my mind’s eye. I stood perfectly still, my skin prickling as a flare of hope quickened my pulse. Was this a message for me? A poignant sign from beyond the grave?

  ‘Gerald?’ I whispered.

  The only response was silence. Unable to surrender the blissful fantasy, I turned around to peer into the inky corners of my room. There was nothing there. I was completely alone. Cold reality reasserted itself once again. The soldier was nothing more than a child’s toy after all.

  Mocking my own absurdity, I turned it over in my hand, noting as I did so the letters L and B crudely scratched into the base. I set it down on the bedside table, wondering how it could have found its way into my bed, but then I recalled Maisie’s mischievous glint and I wondered whether she had left the soldier, as some sort of jest.

  Still bristling with self-contempt, I decided to pay no further thought to the toy’s puzzling presence. Instead, I settled myself amongst the damply cold sheets and turned off the light, gratefully succumbing to the gradual creep of slumber.

  Chapter Eight

  The sound of a match being struck woke me. A thin cord of light edged the curtains, hailing the arrival of a new day. I propped myself up to observe Annie, on her knees leaning into the grate, attempting to bellow the flames with her own gentle puffs. She settled back on her heels and watched the newspaper curl, char and crackle, before hungry flames began licking at the lumps of coal and kindling.

  ‘Morning, Annie.’ My voice was croaky. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Seven o’clock, miss.’

  ‘Draw me a bath, would you?’

  Having a bathroom attached to my bedroom was a luxury I didn’t have at home, and I intended to make the most of it. Sir Arthur had been insistent his guests should stay in comfort and his servants be better employed than in the transportation of water. Some saw such expenditure on indoor plumbing as extravagant but having spent years scurrying up and down freezing corridors to avail myself of the lavatory in the middle of the night or to take a bath on a bitter winter’s morning, I thought it a most worthwhile investment.

  Hearing the squeak of taps and gushing water, I pushed back the thick covers and swung my legs from the bed. I yawned and stretched with feline indulgence.

  ‘All ready, miss. What clothing would you like me to set out?’

  ‘Oh, my black dress …’ I realised all the dresses I had brought were black. ‘The one with the scooped collar,’ I clarified. ‘And the lavender cardigan too.’

  When I emerged from the bathroom Annie was standing beside my bed, closely examining the toy soldier clasped in her hand.

  ‘Annie?’

  My sharp tone jolted her from her reverie. The figure flew into the air and landed with a soft thud on the carpet. Unabashed, she bent to retrieve it.

  ‘I don’t suppose you know how that came to be left in my bed, do you?’

  She carefully set it down upon the table. ‘No, miss.’ There was something in her bland expression that led me to suspect she was being less than forthcoming.

  ‘I don’t appreciate being the butt of anyone’s joke.’

  Her eyes flickered up to meet mine. ‘I’m sure you’re not, miss.’

  ‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you could have a quiet word with Maisie and make sure she understands that too.’ I picked up my undergarments and began to dress, taking her assistance where required. ‘Is Mrs Brightwell up?’

  ‘I believe so, miss.’

  I dismissed her, reminding her she was at Mrs Henge’s disposal and so should strive to make herself useful. Once she had gone, I fastened my locket and went to turn off the bedside light. I don’t know what compelled me to pick up the lead soldier, but I did, slipping it into my cardigan pocket before I left the room.

  Receiving no reply when I tapped lightly on Madeleine’s door, I surmised she must already be taking breakfast so I hurried to join her.

  I descended into the gloom of the hall, quickly crossing the chilly cavern into the bleak corridor beyond, the echo of my footsteps softening as marble gave way to polished wood. I had only proceeded a short way when a rapid swishing of skirts revealed I was being pursued. My heart leapt into my mouth as Mrs Henge called my name.

  ‘Goodness! Mrs Henge, you quite startled me!’

  Her face remained impassive. ‘Miss Marcham, I did not mean to alarm you.’

  I laughed at my own skittishness, but she met my self-deprecatory humour with a flicker of disdain. I flushed.

  ‘Was there something you wanted?’

  ‘I merely wished to check that you had settled in and have everything you need.’

  ‘I do indeed, thank you.’

  She expressed her satisfaction with a slight nod. She folded her hands before her. ‘If I may be so bold, Miss Marcham, may I say how pleased I am to have Mrs Brightwell with us. I very much hope she will, in time, come to see Greyswick as her home and feel some fondness for it.’

  ‘You make it sound as if Mrs Brightwell doesn’t like it here.’

  ‘Sometimes, it seems, Mrs Brightwell is not – comfortable – here.’

  I could see how Madeleine might struggle to feel ‘comfortable’ in the house her mother-in-law continued to reign over like a grand matriarch, but I found it interesting that Mrs Henge had also detected Madeleine’s disquiet. For the first time, I had a proper opportunity to study Greyswick’s housekeeper, now she was finally out in the open and no longer draped in shade. She was not as ancient as I had first perceived, though I suspected her late middle years were calling. The heavy set of her features, her Roman nose and broad chin suggested she had never enjoyed great beauty. Her hair was a uniform grey and her skin had long lost the suppleness of youth. It sagged now, weary lines fanning from her eyes, while deep channels carved down the sides of her mouth. The one extraordinary feature she did possess, however, were her eyes. They were the clearest grey I had ever seen, like thick sheets of pond ice, with only the merest hint of colour in their transparenc
y. I wondered what treacherous depths they concealed.

  ‘My sister tells me you have been with the family for a long time, Mrs Henge.’

  Her lips quirked in a way that felt strangely measured, practised somehow. ‘I have indeed, miss. I was with Sir Arthur from the time he was a young man just starting to make his way in the world. It has been an honour and a privilege to serve in such an esteemed family for all these years. I hope I may continue to serve long after the next generation arrives.’

  ‘An old retainer is a highly valued asset.’

  I thought of how I cherished dear Brown and Mrs Scrivens. I so often took their service for granted, and yet I knew they were completely irreplaceable, and much loved. Swelled with tenderness, I laid my hand on Mrs Henge’s arm, but she flinched at the unanticipated touch, and I quickly withdrew it, somewhat embarrassed.

  ‘They are very lucky to have you, Mrs Henge,’ I said, hoping to mitigate for any discomfort I may have caused.

  ‘Annie is being most helpful, miss.’ I think both of us welcomed the change of subject. ‘She’s a queer sort, if you don’t mind me saying, but she’s a good worker, I’ll give her that.’

  ‘Well, it’s a strange house to her, Mrs Henge, and she is not the most experienced of girls, but I’m sure she’ll do her best.’ I thought of Mrs Scrivens’ concerns. ‘She has a few foibles, but we all have our idiosyncrasies after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hoping to catch my sister at breakfast.’

  ‘Mrs Brightwell is indeed still in the dining room, Miss Marcham. Lady Brightwell and Miss Scott have already left for the day.’

  ‘What busy lives they lead,’ I observed dryly.

  It was impossible to read the housekeeper’s leaden expression. She offered a courteous dip of her head and turned back to the hall. I remembered the toy soldier and was about to call after her but then decided not to. It was probably nothing more than a foolish prank by the housemaid, and I had no desire to get the girl into trouble. Perhaps I would have a quiet word with her myself, if Annie was disinclined to do so, or indeed if I found myself in receipt of another such bedtime gift. I pressed on to the dining room.

  Madeleine shuffled round in her chair to beam at me as I entered.

  ‘There you are at last! Did you sleep well? I slept wonderfully – I knew I would rest better with you here.’

  She caught my hand as I leant down to kiss her and brought it to her lips. I was heartened to see her restored to her usual humour. She chattered merrily as I helped myself to bacon, eggs and kidney. Deciding to indulge, I slipped a muffin onto my plate.

  Madeleine was very keen to visit the local town as there were a number of purchases she needed to make and required my advice. I was quite happy to fall in with whatever plans she had and we decided to take the omnibus, as Lady Brightwell had already commandeered the car.

  I was full to bursting by the time I popped the last morsel of jam-slathered muffin into my mouth. Madeleine had been fidgeting to be gone for the last five minutes, and the moment my lips closed she pushed back her chair.

  ‘Come along, Stella, we simply can’t miss the ’bus.’

  Still chewing, I got to my feet, and as I did so, I felt the weight of the toy soldier pull at my pocket.

  ‘Oh! I almost forgot, I had the most peculiar bedfellow last night.’

  Madeleine burst out laughing. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  Grinning, I ceremoniously stood the figure on the table. The smile froze on Madeleine’s face as the spark faded from her eyes. The edges of her mouth relaxed until her lips were pressed into a thin line.

  ‘Where did you find him?’

  I fought a sense of foreboding as I offered my response. She nodded distractedly, before flinging her napkin onto him.

  ‘I can’t stand the things.’ She turned on her heel, her movements taut as she strode for the door. ‘Anyway, we’d best hurry. That omnibus won’t wait for us.’

  I made several attempts to broach the subject of the soldier throughout the course of the morning, but Madeleine was always quick to change the subject. Her demeanour remained cheery and light, but I couldn’t help noticing a strain about her eyes and a tension to her smile, that hadn’t been evident before the figure’s appearance. I found the whole situation most curious.

  It was late afternoon before we clambered down from the ’bus and began the long walk up the drive to the house. Madeleine grew quieter as we approached the grey mansion.

  Mrs Henge must have been watching for us – she hauled open the front door before we reached the top step. She stood in patient attendance as we unburdened ourselves of hats, coats and parcels.

  ‘I am quite worn out from all that,’ Madeleine confessed. Her subdued manner was reflected in her pale cheeks and dull eyes. ‘I think I might take a lie down for a while. Will you come up with me?’

  We used the last of our reserves to climb the vast staircase, too drained even for conversation. As we entered the corridor leading to our rooms our steps faltered to a standstill. Annie Burrows was crouched outside my bedroom door. There was a furtiveness about her which immediately aroused my suspicion. It appeared I was not alone: Madeleine tensed beside me.

  Noticing our arrival, the young maid shot up. She dipped a brief curtsy, before scuttling past us, her right hand clenched by her side. We watched her disappear through the servants’ door concealed in the panelling of the landing.

  ‘I wish you hadn’t brought that girl here. This house is unsettling enough without her gracing its corridors.’ Madeleine shuddered and turned, her pace quickening as she continued to her room. I had to hurry to catch up.

  As we reached her bedroom door, she swung round and gave me a fierce embrace that quite knocked the wind from me. ‘Oh, ignore me! I’m sorry if I’ve been a little off. I’ll feel much better after a nap.’

  ‘It’s been a tiring trip. Get some rest. I might even catch a wink or two myself,’ I confessed. The prospect of sleep was quite alluring now that my bed was within easy reach, but I found myself hovering in her doorway. ‘Madeleine, the toy soldier – I dismissed it as a prank by the housemaid. I failed to mention it to Mrs Henge when I had the opportunity – was I wrong to do so?’

  ‘Telling Mrs Henge wouldn’t have helped.’

  ‘But …’ I struggled to believe the housekeeper would tolerate such behaviour if she were made privy to it. ‘I know it’s a harmless jest, but it’s not appropriate. Someone needs to say something to the girl. I take it Maisie has left them for you too?’

  ‘It’s not Maisie, Stella – Maisie’s a good girl. Please, don’t let’s say any more about it, there’s no need to trouble yourself.’ She began inching the door to. ‘We both need some rest. Come and get me when you’re ready, we’ll go down to dinner together when it’s time.’

  Try as I might, I could not understand Madeleine’s reluctance to resolve the matter. It appeared there was an underlying nuance to the whole situation that I was missing completely.

  I closed my bedroom door behind me. It was a relief to cast my shoes from my aching feet. I removed my dress, not wanting to crease it, and draped it over the bedroom chair. I held my breath as I yanked back the bedcovers, half-expecting to find another toy figure. I was relieved to see nothing but a crisp expanse of white sheet. I lay down, hoisting the covers over my shoulders, wondering whether I should set my alarm clock. I soon regretted not drawing my curtains against the bright sky, but I couldn’t be bothered to heave myself out of bed now that I was settled. So I closed my eyes and ignoring the vibrant glow beyond my eyelids, I concentrated on slowing my breaths.

  Just as my consciousness was ebbing, the image of Annie’s furled fist came back into view. It was then I realised what I had failed to see.

  A slash of scarlet wrapped in the cream skin of her palm.

  I awoke with a start, my hand flying to the side of my head, my hair roots tingling. I almost expected to knock someone’s hand aside, so vivid was the impression of my hair being stroked – but
my fingers merely dug into thick hanks. My heart raced as I scrambled upright. The room was unchanged: my dress still lay folded over the back of the chair and the curtains were still drawn from the window, though the sky outside was smothered with cloud now and the room felt heavy without the lift of yellow sunlight. Only the steady ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece and my own ragged breaths punctured the dense stillness. I pressed my palm to the side of my head, confused. The sensation of the gentle touch had seemed so real, yet I must have imagined it.

  My breath caught. The door was wide open.

  I scrabbled from the bed and stood shivering in my slip, staring at the opening. The door had been shut when I had taken my nap, I was sure of it. I snatched up my wrapper and pulled it on. Had someone been in while I slept?

  My breath shuddered from me as I crossed the room, the carpet soft under my stockinged feet, until I stood on the threshold. My attention was immediately caught by creaking wood. I looked up the corridor. Annie Burrows was halfway up the staircase at the end.

  ‘Annie! Where do you think you are going? Are you supposed to be up there?’

  A jerk of her head revealed a fleeting look of irritation, before her expression quickly closed. She began to backtrack, the stair treads grumbling underfoot as she descended. She stood at the bottom as I bore down on her, her head hung low, but I noticed her eyes swivel up towards the landing above us.

  ‘Were you just in my room?’

  ‘I wasn’t, miss.’

  ‘Was anyone else?’

  Her eyes skidded again towards the empty staircase before meeting mine. ‘No, miss.’

  Her curious behaviour aroused my suspicion, but I could see nothing amiss. The mahogany steps rose steeply, siding onto a wall lined with paintings, before opening out onto a short galleried landing, which hosted two doors set in the wall facing me, while the landing itself ended rather abruptly with a further half-glazed door. My damp palm cupped the newel post. I was surprised at how cold it felt. I mounted the first step, focused on the landing above. I had an irresistible urge to explore. I took another step, the wood creaking as it took my weight. An icy draught brushed my cheek sending a shiver down my spine. I took another step and then another until I reached the collection of small oil paintings that hung above me.