by Alex Bell
With that he plopped himself down on the floor cross-legged, gazing up at me with a look of calm defiance.
“You silly fool,” I said. “There is nothing wrong.”
“Just this morning you said you were being sent mystery parcels by someone who wished you ill,” Henry said. “That’s enough to make a chap feel quite alarmed, Jemima.” His eyes narrowed. “Who is it? Tell me and, whoever they are, whatever they want from you, I will pay them a visit and ensure you are never bothered by them again.”
I sighed. “Henry,” I said. “I know I’ve been a bit distant since I arrived and I’m sorry. But there really is nothing wrong. The dolls were just a misunderstanding. They were actually sent by Mr Redwing’s solicitor, as was the dolls’ house there.” I gestured at it. “It was just my mind playing tricks on me.”
“But—”
“Listen to me, please,” I said. “In the last month I’ve lost my mother and my stepfather, and my home has burned to the ground. I like to think I’m a steady enough girl and you know I’ve never been prone to fits of fainting or hysterics, but it’s a lot, Henry. It’s an awful lot for anyone to have to cope with.”
Henry was on his feet again and coming towards me. “Mim—” he began.
But I took a step back and held up a hand. “As for the things we said to each other when we were children,” I said, “those were just childish fantasies. Nothing more.”
Henry stopped and I saw some strange emotion pass across his face. “You no longer care for me in that way,” he said. “That is what you are saying?”
I couldn’t look at him. “We were only children playing at make-believe.”
I fully expected Henry to bluster. To backtrack and tell me that he didn’t feel that way about me, either, that this was all a misunderstanding between us.
Instead he gazed at me with those honest green eyes of his and simply said, “My dear thing, it was never a game for me. I’ll have no misunderstandings between us on that account. The truth is that I have loved you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I love you still. But if my feelings aren’t reciprocated then I hope I’m enough of a gentleman to accept that with good grace.” He gave me a crooked smile but his eyes were sad. “We’ve been friends for almost our whole lives, Mim, and I hope you can still think of me as a friend now. I can be quite content with that. If everything is all right then I’m glad. And, if it isn’t, then just know that you can always come to me and I will do whatever I can to help you.”
In that moment I wanted nothing more than to walk over, grab him by the lapels of his shabby coat and kiss him as fiercely as I could. But what then? I still couldn’t tell him the truth about what had happened to me at Whiteladies. I couldn’t explain how I had come by my extensive collection of scars. So I swallowed the impulse down, opened the door of my bedroom and said, “Thank you for coming to check on me, Henry. You were always a good friend.”
Chapter Nine
Whiteladies – Eighteen months earlier
The white Frozen Charlotte doll stood out starkly against the dark fabric of the séance table.
“Let us begin,” my mother said.
We had taken over the parlour in order to conduct our séance. The circular walnut table in the centre had been draped with a black tablecloth; the lights in the glittering chandelier above us had been extinguished; the mirrors had been covered with shrouds, and candles had been placed on the large marble mantelpiece and throughout the room.
Once I would have felt a little thrill of excitement at this point, but not any more, for I had long since lost any belief in ghosts.
You may have the gift, Jemima, my mother had said to me many times. It passed me by, but these things can skip a generation. Your grandmother didn’t discover her ability until she was seventeen, you know. Girls of that age are more susceptible to psychic phenomena, more sensitive to the spirit world. It’s the age when ghosts are most drawn to you and your abilities are strongest…
I couldn’t help thinking that, in all likelihood, my grandmother had been every bit as much of a fraud as my mother was, even if she had believed her own performance. After conducting hundreds of fake séances with never so much as a whisper of a ghost, I was now quite sure that, wherever people went after they died, they did not linger here on earth.
“I need you all to hold hands and form a circle,” Mother said.
Redwing had invited some of his gentlemen occultist friends and there were eight of us altogether. Mother and I were sat opposite each other so I found myself holding hands with a Ghost Club member named Mr Jasper on one side and Edward Redwing himself on the other.
I was surprised by how cold and clammy Redwing’s hand was when he folded his fingers around mine. A chill crept down my back and I resisted the urge to shiver.
“I must ask for complete silence,” my mother went on. She had added some jet-black mourning jewellery to her grey dress, along with a mourning ring that she had picked up in a pawn shop. She had also powdered her face in order to make it seem even paler in the candlelight.
“Until we have successfully made contact,” Mother said, “the only people who may speak are my daughter and myself. As we know, spirits are more attracted to women because of our delicate sensitivities.” I inwardly rolled my eyes at this. “Spirits can be nervous about approaching the living – and men, in particular,” she went on. “Any sudden loud noises may frighten them away.” The candle on the table was there for the sole purpose of casting an eerie glow over Mother’s face as she closed her eyes. “We pray for protection from any negative apparitions or ill-intentioned spectres and ask that only friendly spirits join us tonight.” She opened her eyes and addressed the guests once again. “Do not break the circle under any circumstances or the psychic energy will be lost. And now, let us begin.”
She took a deep breath. “We are here today to try to make contact with Vanessa Redwing. Vanessa, are you there? If you can hear me, please follow the sound of my voice.”
I noticed the gentlemen’s eyes darting around the room, no doubt looking for some sign of a ghost – perhaps a blur in a dark window pane or a faint childish giggle or shoes protruding from beneath a curtain. The flickering candlelight cast everything in jumping shadows that made it all too easy to see signs of supernatural activity. In reality, we had near-darkness during the séances in order that we might engage in table-tipping and wood-knocking more easily.
My gaze returned to the Frozen Charlotte doll, lying cold and stiff on the table, as I waited for Mother to resume the script.
“What was that?” she asked suddenly, right on cue. “Did anyone hear that noise?”
“Yes, I heard something,” one gentleman promptly said with confidence. There was always one person at every séance who could see and hear absolutely everything.
There had been no noise, of course, and I knew that my mother was just acting, but the men glanced round at each other. It did not take much effort to create an unnerving atmosphere. Sitting quietly in the candlelight, waiting for spirits to appear from the unknown was enough to set people a little on edge. And until someone had sat silently in a dark room, they didn’t realize quite how much noise a house could make all by itself. Doors creaked, pipes gurgled, floorboards settled, the wind rattled the windows in their frames, all without any help from a ghost. Houses talked all the time, it was just that nobody ever thought to listen.
“Yes, there is someone there,” Mother went on. “Vanessa, is that you? Don’t be afraid, dear. You’re with friends. Please give us a sign to let us know you’re here.”
This was my cue to shift my leg in such a way as to rock the table, which I did automatically. Redwing’s hand tightened around mine at the movement and someone on the other side of the table gasped.
“Did one of you do that?” demanded a member of the Ghost Club, staring round at everyone accusingly.
The others assured him that they had kept perfectly still the entire time.
“Quiet, please,” M
other said before continuing with her performance. “Vanessa, dear, that was very good. Now, we’re going to ask you some questions and I’d like you to try to answer them by knocking on the table, giving us one rap for yes and two raps for no. First of all: are you Vanessa Redwing?”
My boot had been specially adapted by Henry’s mother so that it had a small wooden block concealed in the toe. Taking care not to move my upper body in any way, I kicked once against the table leg. Redwing tightened his grip on my hand even further, until it was on the verge of being painful.
“Vanessa,” Mother said softly. “I’m so sorry about your terrible accident. Your father is here, dear, and wants you to know that he loves you very much.” She looked at Redwing and said, “You can ask her a question if you like.”
For a moment he was silent. I glanced at Redwing and saw that beads of sweat had formed at his hairline. He swallowed hard, then said hoarsely, “Are you all right?”
I moved my foot and kicked once on the table leg for yes. He asked if she was in pain and I kicked twice for no. The séance continued on in this manner for some time until, finally, Mother gave me the sign to finish.
“Vanessa has left us,” she said. “The lights can be switched back on.”
Over the following months, Mother and returned to carry out several more séances at Whiteladies. We used all our usual tricks and acting ability, but none of it seemed to be sufficient to satisfy Edward Redwing that he really had spoken to his daughter.
It was, however, enough to make him take a shine to Mother for other reasons. She was quite delighted when she realized he was courting her and I was rather pleased myself. After all, professional mediumship wasn’t the most reliable work and we were often left short at the end of the month. A life at Whiteladies meant luxury, status, comfort and privilege. I would miss having all of Mother’s attention to myself, but she had spent seventeen years bringing me up, mostly on her own. My father had died after being knocked down by a carriage when I was only a toddler and then my grandmother had passed away eight years later. If a chance of love and companionship and comfort were offered to my mother, I certainly wouldn’t do anything to spoil that.
It was a sunny afternoon in March and Redwing had arrived at our lodgings to visit about an hour previously when Mother called me downstairs. I walked into the sitting room to see them standing before the fireplace together, hand in hand, and I knew at once that the proposal had been made.
“Jemima, my dear, something quite wonderful has happened,” Mother said, beaming at me with an expression of pure happiness. “Mr Redwing has asked me to marry him and I have accepted.”
I offered them my genuine congratulations.
Redwing let go of my mother and walked across the room to stand in front of me. Taking both my hands in his, he leaned forwards slightly and said, “You will, of course, join us at Whiteladies, Jemima, and live with us for as long as you wish. I want you to think of the house as your home. I can assure you that every effort will be made to see to your comfort and happiness, as well as your mother’s.”
The words were friendly and there was nothing but sincerity in his eyes as he looked at me. Everything was going to be wonderful, I thought.
But the day my mother and Edward Redwing returned from their honeymoon, I knew immediately that something was dreadfully wrong. That a mistake had been made that could not be undone.
Chapter Ten
Isle of Skye – January 1910
When I returned to my bedroom after lunch I opened the door of the dolls’ house to retrieve the Frozen Charlotte, only to find that she had moved. She was no longer in the living room where I had placed her. At first, I thought she’d disappeared altogether but then I spotted her in Edward Redwing’s study. She was lying on the floor in front of the desk, covered in a curtain, like a dead body in a shroud. Only her hands were visible, sticking up straight in front of her as if she was clawing for air.
One of the girls must have been in here playing. My mind instantly went to Estella. Of all the pupils, she was the naughtiest and the only one bold enough to come into my room like that. I glanced around, half expecting to see her hiding under the bed or sneaking out of the door, but the place was empty.
I turned back to the dolls’ house, picked the curtain off the Frozen Charlotte and carefully slid it back on to the tiny rail. Then I noticed that the cane had moved, too. Someone had put it on the desk in Redwing’s study.
Unlike all the other rooms, the study was not quite the same as the real one. The horse’s skull was missing from the wall and in its place there was a stag’s head, which I assumed was what had been there when Vanessa was alive, before Redwing had taken a rifle down to the stable and put a bullet in her beloved horse’s brain.
I took the Frozen Charlotte and put her in the dining room, lying her down on the rug in front of the fire. It felt wrong somehow to leave her in Redwing’s study.
I didn’t particularly want the dolls’ house – or to be reminded of Whiteladies. It was probably worth quite a lot of money and I supposed I could have sold it, but remembering how Bess had cried over her teddy I decided to give it to the girls instead.
I left my room and was about to go downstairs when I heard a girl humming to herself in the room next door to mine. Miss Grayson insisted on calling this the toy room although, in reality, it held precious few toys. There was a morose-looking rocking horse, a broken Jack-in-the-box and a few incomplete sewing kits.
The tune the girl was humming was one my mother used to sing for me when I was little. It was the ‘Fair Charlotte’ ballad – the story of the vain girl who froze to death in her finery.
Such a dreadful night I never saw,
The reins I scarce can hold.
Fair Charlotte, shivering faintly said,
I am exceedingly cold…
The girls were all supposed to read from their Bibles for half an hour after lunch and I knew Miss Grayson would be cross if she found one of the pupils up here so I pushed open the toy room door and stepped inside. Bess was sitting by herself in the middle of the floor. She had her back to me and was hunched over something, slicing at it with a pair of scissors.
“Bess, what are you doing in here?” I said. “You’re supposed to be downstairs with the others.”
She didn’t reply or turn round, but continued humming that irritating little tune and snipping away with the scissors. I wondered whether she might be making a dress for one of the Frozen Charlottes.
I recalled that was why the dolls came unclothed and remembered how my mother had given me scraps of fabric to make little dresses for my own Frozen Charlotte.
I strode past Bess and then gasped. She wasn’t making a dress. She was cutting up George, her teddy bear. Stuffing spilled out on to the floor as she calmly snipped off his ear and then slashed at his face, a button eye coming loose to roll along the floorboards.
“Bess, what are you doing?” I cried.
She finally looked up at me and I saw there were tears in her eyes. “The Frozen Charlottes told me to do it,” she whispered. “They don’t like the other toys.”
“Give me those,” I said, snatching the scissors away from her. “Now go downstairs and join the others before Miss Grayson notices you’re missing.”
With one last look at her teddy bear, Bess left the room. I put the scissors back in the supply cupboard with the sewing kits and then bent down to gather up the scraps of bear. She had done a thorough job – George was nothing more than a sad collection of fur and fluff. There was no chance he could be repaired so I disposed of the scraps before making my way downstairs, still shaking my head over Bess’s extraordinary behaviour. Just last night she’d seemed so desperate to retrieve George from the luggage room and yet hours later she was cutting him into shreds.
After checking that Bess really had joined the other girls, I made my way to Miss Grayson’s study and told her that I’d received a dolls’ house from my late step-father’s estate, which I would like to
donate to the school. I could see Miss Grayson didn’t much care for the idea of the girls having such a thing – perhaps she thought it would make them spoiled – but she seemed unable to come up with an objection so the house was duly placed in the toy room.
When I went to bed later, my mind was full of Whiteladies and Redwing and the agony of not knowing what had happened that night. So I was awake around midnight to hear the quiet creak of the floorboards as someone walked past my room. Thinking one of the girls must be wandering around out there, I got up, lit a candle and stepped into the corridor.
There was indeed a girl there, wearing a long, white nightdress, with fair hair spilling down her back. Then she turned round and I saw it was Estella. Her eyes were huge in the gloom and the dark circles round them looked like bruises.
“What are you doing out of bed?” I asked her quietly. “Did you have another nightmare?”
Estella shook her head. “It’s the dolls,” she said. “They’re whispering together in the toy room. Can’t you hear them?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“The dolls are bad,” Estella insisted. “Whiskers can sense it, too. He was in there earlier, hissing at them.”
“Whiskers is a silly old cat,” I said. “I wouldn’t pay any attention to him.”
“But, miss, they are talking! Talking about something terrible—”
“Estella! This is no time for games. Go back to bed, please.”
She gave me a black look but returned to the dormitory. Once she’d gone I paused in the corridor, listening. The school was quite silent.
I shook my head and went back to bed.
The next morning I awoke early and glanced out of the window to see that the school was still surrounded by snow, with fresh flakes falling. I thought it looked ever so pretty and was feeling in rather a good mood as I went downstairs.
