The Lost Ones

by Anita Frank

  ‘Stella, what are you trying to say?’

  A laugh barked out of me, coarse and abrupt. ‘I think I’m trying to say that Jim Burrows had help from a dead person that night, and I think Annie … I think Annie possesses her father’s gift.’ I confronted my sister’s amazement. ‘I think Annie Burrows can see the dead – and I’m pretty sure she saw Lucien Brightwell on the landing last night.’

  ‘What on earth makes you say that?’

  I hesitated. I needed to be careful how much I told her. I had no desire to make her more jittery than she already was, but she deserved to know, at least in part, what had happened.

  ‘Madeleine, I felt a child’s hands upon me last night – I presume Lucien’s hands. Just as he touched me, Annie cried out to stop him. Don’t you see? How could she have known – unless she saw him?’

  ‘Stella – do you think it’s possible?’

  ‘Oh, Madeleine! I drew my conclusions about Jim Burrows when I was an imaginative ten-year-old girl. I rejected them as foolish nonsense years ago – there are no such things as ghosts, how can there be? And people communicating with them? I’ve always thought it ridiculous – like dear Aunt Maud going to seances trying to contact Cousin Charlie. I always questioned the point of it all – Charlie was dead, just like Gerald. Dead and gone with so many others. But … what if …’ I trailed off, not yet brave enough to confess my fledgling hopes, not even to Madeleine. I needed to keep them to myself a little longer. I couldn’t let them distract me from the more pressing matter in hand. ‘Last night has made me question everything. It’s unearthed memories I had happily buried and forgotten. But the more I think about it all, the more it seems to be the only explanation – however absurd. Illogical, unbelievable, unlikely – but perhaps true.’

  ‘And you were trying to make Annie confess this morning?’

  ‘I wanted her to be honest with me. All those strange things people say about her at home, her quirks of behaviour, they all make sense—’

  ‘If she sees ghosts,’ Madeleine finished softly. ‘I’ve never believed in them before, but now, after being in this house, with all that’s happened – I can’t find another explanation either.’

  Looking up through the candyfloss canopy above me, I could just make out glimpses of pale cloud scudding across the washed-out sky. I sighed and shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my coat.

  ‘Well, one thing’s for sure, we won’t find any answers out here.’

  I pushed myself upright and re-joined the path. Madeleine slipped her arm through mine, tucking into my side as we retraced our steps, and soon the grey façade of the house glowered down upon us once again. Glancing up, I noticed how the gargoyles with their rain-streaked jaws appeared to be salivating over our return. The thought repulsed me.

  As we reached the parterre, I spotted a khaki-clad figure loitering by the arched gateway of the kitchen garden. Though he was some distance away, I was certain it was the same soldier I had seen at the graveyard, and I wondered what business he could have here. Curious, I watched him as Madeleine and I began to mount the steps to the terrace.

  Annie Burrows appeared through the garden gate. She started so violently at the soldier’s unexpected presence that the contents of her laden trug tumbled to the ground. She dropped to a crouch to gather up the spilt vegetables. He stood over her – rather unchivalrously failing to help.

  ‘Stella, what are you gawping at?’ Madeleine was holding open the glazed door of the orangery, waiting for me. I was so distracted I hadn’t even noticed her slip free of my arm.

  ‘Oh sorry, I saw Annie by the kitchen garden …’ But realising it was of no great interest I didn’t bother to carry on, instead I offered an apologetic smile and hurried to join her.

  We were just in the process of removing our coats when Maisie appeared, bearing a flush of excitement. ‘Oh! Mrs Brightwell, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. If you please, ma’am, Mr Brightwell is on the telephone.’

  At the mention of Hector’s name, Madeleine’s face lit up. With a joyous exclamation, she dashed after the maid to take the call in the study. I made my way from the orangery back through to the hall, doing my best to subdue the parasitic envy that writhed in my chest, aware I might never again experience the excitement of a lover’s call. It did me no good to dwell on such things.

  I decided I would await Madeleine in my bedroom. I slowly ascended the staircase, my shoes scuffing the wooden treads, my head hanging low, as I did my best to shake off my indulgent self-pity.

  I did not see Mrs Henge waiting on the landing step. I gasped when I looked up and found her towering above me.

  ‘Goodness, Mrs Henge! You gave me quite a fright.’

  ‘Miss Marcham.’ She was as stiff as ever, her expression blank, her clothing pressed to precision. The toes of her boots, poking out beneath her old-fashioned skirts, shone like polished coal. ‘Lady Brightwell was most upset to hear about last night’s events.’

  ‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have told her.’

  ‘She is my employer. It is my duty to keep her informed.’ She took a step down, deliberately crowding me. ‘It is very strange how no one else in the house hears anything.’

  I was forced to tip my head back to look at her, otherwise I would have been staring at her midriff and the gaoler’s ring of keys hanging from her brown leather belt. This overt attempt to intimidate irked me immensely.

  ‘I find it extraordinary that no one else does. It was clear as day to me.’

  She took another step down, forcing me to shuffle backwards to avoid brushing against her. My heels hung precariously over the edge of the step.

  ‘All this talk, it’s so distressing for Lady Brightwell. I think it’s a shame, if you don’t mind me saying.’

  She leant towards me and I instinctively tilted back. I gasped as I felt my heels pivot downwards and my weight shift. Just as I grabbed the banister to steady myself, Madeleine called my name from somewhere below. I swear the corner of the housekeeper’s mouth twitched as she retreated up a step.

  ‘Stella, where are you?’ Madeleine came racing into the hall. ‘Oh, there you are!’ She ran to the bottom step. ‘Oh, Stella, the most wonderful news. Everything will be all right now.’

  She clamped up as she spotted the housekeeper hovering over me like a vulture. Mrs Henge bowed her grey head, but I detected mockery in the gesture. Her black skirts swished as she swivelled on the stairs and made her ascent, before sweeping along the landing.

  Madeleine watched her go, following her departure by climbing the steps between us. When she was completely satisfied we were alone, she snatched up my hand in excitement. ‘Oh, Stella! At last, we can make everything right.’

  ‘How?’ I asked, still shaken by my encounter.

  ‘Hector,’ Madeleine beamed. ‘Hector is coming home.’

  Chapter Twenty

  The prospect of Hector’s imminent arrival brought untold comfort to Madeleine and she counted down the hours until he was expected the following morning. She was convinced he would take our side – I didn’t share her confidence, though I kept that to myself. She kissed me on the cheek when she bade me goodnight and pulled me into a hug.

  ‘All will be well once Hector is here. You must believe that, Stella dear.’

  I was not surprised that it was Maisie, not Annie, who came to assist me at bedtime. Annie was apparently ‘unwell’, but I saw through her feeble excuse. I did not press the point. She was trapped in this house and shackled to me – try as she might, she would not be able to avoid my company for long.

  As I extinguished my bedside light, I felt a twinge of fear at the all-encompassing darkness. I tried to settle, but my ears tuned in to the groans and sighs of the house as it eased itself down for the night. Cooling wood contracted with the catch of clicking joints; water coursed through pipes beneath my floorboards like blood through veins, and all the while the resonant tick, tick, tick of my mantel clock beat its steady pulse. I did not feel an
y peace descend. Instead the house itself seemed taut with anticipation, a giant sleeping with one eye open, ever watchful, waiting. Like me.

  But though I listened intently for it, I did not detect any unnatural murmur, and in the end only sleep possessed me.

  The next morning there was a buzz of excitement in the air. Madeleine was last down to breakfast, looking refreshed and lovely, wearing a particularly becoming dress in a shade of pale blue that accentuated the colour of her eyes and set off her blonde hair exquisitely.

  She was a bundle of nerves – more like a giddy girl anticipating a rendezvous with her sweetheart than a married woman awaiting the return of her husband. Lady Brightwell soon got exasperated with her spaniel-like ebullience, and she and Miss Scott retreated to the morning room to await Hector’s arrival. Madeleine spent her time flitting between me in the drawing room, and the redundant smoking room, which she insisted afforded the best view of the drive.

  In the end, fearing she would wear herself out dashing between the two, I decided to remove myself from the equation. I declared I was going to rest in my room and left her to continue her vigil in peace.

  I passed the next hour flicking through magazines, but soon tired of their frivolity and tapped out a cigarette instead. Perching on my window sill, I cracked open the sash, and sat smoking. At last in the distance, I caught a flash of sunlight glinting off the bonnet of an approaching vehicle.

  Madeleine ran outside before Hector’s car had even reached the carriage sweep. Gravel crunched beneath its wheels as it finally came to a stop before the porch. From my window above I watched a subaltern leap from the driver’s seat to open the rear door. Hector emerged just as a ray of sunlight burst through the banking clouds, looking quite dashing in his uniform. He whipped off his peaked hat as Madeleine ran into his embrace, nuzzling her face into the cleft between his jawbone and shoulder. I looked away. I used to do the same to Gerald and could still recall the tang of his aftershave and the sweet notes of pipe tobacco that clung to his skin.

  As I got up to get an ashtray, something unexpected happened. The far rear door of the car was thrown open, and much to my surprise, another passenger clambered out. The young man in question stood gazing up at the front of the house as he put on his trilby. Madeleine’s surprise was also evident. I turned back to the window, watching intently now, as Hector gestured to him. The unanticipated arrival made his way around the back of the car. He swept off his hat as he approached Madeleine and held out his hand, his face serious despite his tempering smile. The three of them began to make their way indoors. I turned away, troubled by an inexplicable sense of foreboding.

  I had intended to afford Madeleine and Hector some privacy to reacquaint themselves, but my inquisitiveness flared. I extinguished my cigarette en route to the door.

  They had congregated in the hall. Maisie stood in attendance, relieving the men of their coats and hats as Madeleine chatted with forced gaiety. My steps slowed as I reached the turn in the stairs, and Hector glanced up. Conflicting emotions flickered across his face before he called out his greeting.

  He came forward and delivered a perfunctory kiss to my cheek as I stepped from the last tread onto the tiled floor. My eyes slid over his shoulder to the new arrival, who appeared to be watching me with piqued interest.

  ‘Oh, Mr Sheers, this is my sister, Stella Marcham.’ Madeleine replaced Hector by my side. ‘She is staying with us.’

  ‘How do you do.’

  Holding out his hand, he took a step towards me, a rigid, unnatural step that immediately drew my attention. It was not difficult to deduce its cause. A man his age would only be home for one reason – he had paid his dues. Though I meant no offence, he clearly resented my unguarded reaction and by the time I took his hand his features had hardened, any initial warmth lost.

  ‘Tristan Sheers.’

  His voice was low and clipped. He released my hand as soon as he had delivered one decisive shake. It appeared he had made his evaluation and I had been found wanting.

  ‘Tristan is an old friend of mine. I thought it would be nice if he came to stay for the weekend,’ Hector explained.

  ‘Oh, you are most welcome, Mr Sheers,’ Madeleine cried with brittle enthusiasm. ‘The more the merrier! Well, shall we go through to the drawing room? I know your mother and Miss Scott are eager to see you, darling.’

  Hector and Madeleine led the way. I walked beside Mr Sheers, who was surveying the house with great interest.

  ‘So how do you two know each other?’ I asked.

  ‘School.’

  ‘The army.’

  The men’s voices collided. I saw my own surprise and confusion mirrored in Madeleine’s startled expression. Hector and Sheers fleetingly exchanged a complicit look, before Hector cleared his throat and answered for them both.

  ‘That is, we were at school together, but then became reacquainted through the army.’

  ‘Quite so,’ Sheers mumbled.

  There was something about this explanation that seemed unsatisfactory – contrived, even – and it did nothing to alleviate my foreboding, but I knew better than to pursue it, and so remained silent as we entered the drawing room.

  There was a warm and enthusiastic welcome for the returning son from both ladies. Lady Brightwell, however, made no attempt to conceal her disapproval at the imposition of an unexpected guest. Indeed, she adopted such a sour expression and responded to Mr Sheers’ polite enquiries so curtly I felt almost sorry for the man. But it soon became clear from the way he and Hector interacted that they were not at all well acquainted, despite their statements to the contrary, which only further added to the mystery of who he was and why he was here at all.

  The conversation dwindled once we had taken tea. Hector stood up and suggested Mr Sheers might like to see the house, but when Madeleine automatically rose to join them, he flushed and told her there was no need for her to trouble herself. Emitting a mew of disappointment, Madeleine sank back into her chair and, visibly disheartened, watched as the two men withdrew.

  ‘Did you know about this?’ Lady Brightwell demanded as soon as the door had closed behind them.

  ‘No, Hector hadn’t warned me at all.’

  ‘Have any of you heard him mention Mr Sheers before?’ I was not the least surprised when all three indicated they had not.

  ‘Well, it’s most unlike Hector,’ Miss Scott said. ‘Mr Sheers seems like a perfectly nice man, but I don’t see why he should need to come and stay here.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s something to do with his …’ Madeleine motioned to her leg as she trailed off.

  ‘Clearly the young man has made a great sacrifice for his country,’ Lady Brightwell bit out, ‘but I don’t see why a rare weekend with my son should be spoilt by the imposition of a stranger.’

  ‘But Hector’s so kind,’ Madeleine countered, ‘maybe Mr Sheers has been having a hard time of it, and Hector thought a weekend in the country would be a pleasant distraction for him.’

  ‘You are right, my dear.’ Miss Scott set down her tea. ‘Hector does have a tendency to a soft heart and if he saw an old school friend and fellow soldier in need …’ She shrugged lightly. ‘If he is a friend of Hector’s, we should all make him feel welcome.’

  ‘If he is a friend of Hector’s,’ I echoed, though only Madeleine seemed to catch my inference.

  She picked me up on the comment later, as the two of us made our way upstairs.

  ‘It just struck me as odd they didn’t agree where they knew each other from,’ I said.

  ‘But Hector explained that.’

  ‘If they knew each other at school, then why did Mr Sheers not offer that as his answer? It seemed strange.’

  ‘I think you are becoming overly suspicious, Stella.’

  She may have persuaded me on the matter had we not reached our rooms in time to spot Hector and the mysterious Mr Sheers in hushed conversation on the nursery landing. I felt a surge of vindication as Madeleine squeezed my arm.


  We slipped into my room without drawing their attention.

  Something was afoot.

  We idled away an hour or so, before wandering downstairs, Madeleine growing increasingly maudlin at being deprived of her husband’s company. The two men had ensconced themselves in the library, and it was all I could do to prevent her loitering outside the door.

  ‘What could they be doing in there all afternoon? I do wish Hector would spend some time with me. He’ll be gone before I know it, and we’ll have hardly spoken!’

  I encouraged her to sit with me in the orangery for a while, but she couldn’t settle and instead kept peering down the corridor to see if there was any sign of them. When at last the library door did open it was Mrs Henge who emerged – looking both smug and triumphant.

  By the time she reached us she had reinstated her reserved demeanour, her hands forming their usual neat knot.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Mrs Brightwell?’

  ‘Oh, yes, please,’ Madeleine stuttered, a nervous hand scooping some errant strands of hair behind her ear. ‘Would you have Maisie bring some tea?’

  The housekeeper nodded. The echo of her heels ricocheted down the corridor as she disappeared into the gloom. Her steps were just fading when the library door jerked open again, but this time it was Hector and Mr Sheers who appeared.

  ‘Oh! At last,’ Madeleine cried.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling, Tristan and I had much to discuss.’

  ‘Stella and I were just about to take tea. Won’t you join us?’

  ‘Well, I …’ Hector looked to his guest for guidance. Mr Sheers’ agreed tea would be a most welcome distraction, though a distraction from what, he didn’t say.

  We settled somewhat stiffly in the orangery. Madeleine dispatched a flustered Maisie back to the kitchen for extra crockery and refreshments. Hector took the wicker sofa with Madeleine, while Mr Sheers lowered himself into an armchair, his prosthetic stretched before him. I had no choice but to take the neighbouring seat.