Stephen

by Amy Cross

  Who was Hannah?

  Chapter Seventeen

  “I don't know why you ever invite that doctor here,” Mrs. Brooks said at the lunch table, as she spread some butter on a piece of bread. “He never does or says anything useful, and the man is a frightful bore. Oh and his stethoscope is always so frightfully cold!”

  Doctor Brooks said nothing. He had seemed to be in a particularly thoughtful mood since we had first sat down, and I had noticed he was barely making eye contact with either his wife or myself. She had been complaining at length about the other doctor's visit, insisting over and over that it had been quite unnecessary, and I had noticed a slightly manic tone to her voice. Her husband, however, held his council. At the time, I wondered whether this dulling of his temperament might be related to the fact that – for the first time since my arrival at Grangehurst – Mrs. Brooks had insisted on bringing Stephen to the table.

  The dead child sat propped on a chair next to his mother, and his presence had quite stalled my plans to ask about my predecessor as governess.

  “Be glad you've never met the nasty doctor, sweetheart,” Mrs. Brooks continued, turning to Stephen. “My word, if you had to endure what I endure, you'd wonder what you'd done in a previous life to deserve such tedium.”

  She chuckled, before glancing at her husband.

  “Did you hear what I just said, Elliot?” she asked him. “I said -”

  “I heard,” he murmured, as his soup spoon scraped against the side of the bowl.

  “I said,” she continued, “that if Stephen had to endure such tedium, he'd -”

  “I heard!”

  She opened her mouth to say something, before turning to me with a faint smile still on her lips. Either she had not noticed her husband's dour mood, or she did not care. Still, she seemed momentarily at a loss, as if she felt the need to keep speaking but could not determine her best opportunity.

  “This might come as a surprise, Ms. Seaton,” she continued finally, “but some of the local people are a little on the dull side. I mean, you cannot fail to have marveled at the name of the town. Who in their right mind would want to live in a place called Bumpsford, anyway? You'd think that by now they might have changed it to something a little more -”

  “It's an old mining town,” Doctor Brooks interjected, as if he was deeply irritated by his wife's comments. “You should read the history of the place some day, and then you'd know that Bumpsford is named after the man who started the mine. Without Ebeneezer Julius Bumpsford's investment, many people would have gone without jobs.”

  “I'm sure,” his wife replied, “but -”

  “They would have starved!”

  “I know, and that would have been frightful.” She turned to me, and then she glanced at Stephen. “But if -”

  And then she froze mid-sentence, and I saw a flicker of concern cross her face. I waited for her to continue, but something appeared to have jarred in the woman's soul, and it took several seconds before she turned first to me and then back to her husband, and then to me again. Never before had I seen such concern in her features.

  “What was I saying?” she asked finally, and rather plaintively.

  I waited for Doctor Brooks to tell her, but he said nothing. I did not really think that it was my place to explain, but as the silence lengthened I realized that somebody had to speak.

  “You were talking about the history of Bumpsford,” I offered tentatively. “Begging your pardon, but your husband was explaining that it was an old mining town.”

  “Was he?”

  I paused, wondering whether this might be a joke, and then finally I nodded.

  “That's right,” she replied, although she still sounded rather uncertain. “That is what we were talking about.”

  She looked down at her bread, and then she turned toward Stephen, and after a moment I noticed that her hands were trembling slightly. The change in her temperament had occurred with extreme sharpness, coming over her in a flash as it seemed, and I must admit that I felt immediately concerned. A moment later I saw that her upper lip was curling slightly and that her brow was beginning to furrow, and indeed that her nose was twitching.

  Finally I turned to Doctor Brooks, only to find that he was still eating, and that he seemed to be paying no attention whatsoever to his wife.

  “Um,” Mrs. Brooks said, still staring at her food, “what was I... I'm sorry, you'll have to forgive me but I don't recall what we were talking about. That smell... No wait, what were we...”

  Her voice trailed off, and it was clear that her thoughts were a mess.

  She turned to me again, and she made the most pitiful attempt to smile. It was still painfully evident from her eyes, however, that something was wrong, and after a moment she turned once more to look at Stephen. This time, instead of maternal love, I saw a different expression spreading across her features, almost as if she was feeling faintly disgusted. At the same time, she seemed to be sniffing the air. And the more she stared at the child, the more I began to wonder whether she was finally making a breakthrough, whether she was finally beginning to see that same thing that we others saw.

  “Mrs. Brooks?” I asked cautiously. “Are you alright?”

  I waited, but she did not respond. Instead, she merely continued to watch the child, and it was as if she was now lost in her own world.

  “Mrs. Brooks?”

  I waited again, before turning to her husband and seeing that he was still focused on his food. Indeed, he scraped his spoon against the bowl again, as if to emphasize the fact that he was preoccupied.

  “Doctor Brooks?” I whispered finally, daring to lean a little closer to him. “I beg your pardon but... Doctor Brooks?”

  He grunted something under his breath, but he did not look at me. I glanced at his wife and saw that she was now staring at the child with an expression of utter bewilderment, as if she might be seeing something new for the first time. Turning back to Doctor Brooks, however, I found that he still had not looked up from the bowl.

  “Doctor Brooks,” I said finally, raising my voice so that he could no longer pretend not to hear, “I think perhaps your wife requires... assistance of some kind. Something seems different.”

  At this, he slowly looked at me, and then he turned to glance along the table, and at that point I saw a flicker of concern in his eyes as he recognized the change.

  We all sat in silence for what felt like an eternity, although in truth it was probably only half a minute or so.

  “Severine,” he said finally, calmly, “what are you doing? Are you feeling alright?”

  “It's Stephen,” she gasped, keeping her gaze fixed on the poor child that remained propped in a nearby chair, “Elliot, I... I think something... I think something might be horribly wrong with...”

  She fell silence, and it was a silence that once again filled the room. Her bottom lip was trembling rather a lot now, as if she was on the verge of saying something that she could not quite get out.

  “Go on,” Doctor Brooks said finally, cautiously. “What exactly are you seeing, Severine?”

  Her lips moved slightly and a whispered word emerged, but I did not catch that whisper.

  Tears were starting to run down her face now, and after a moment she opened her mouth again. I thought she was going to say something, but instead she merely let out a faint, trembling gasp of shock. I confess that in that moment, I truly believed that her delusion was coming to an end and that she had finally seen Stephen's true state. Sitting in silence and waiting, I was already trying to work out how best to help her.

  “Stephen?” she whimpered finally, her voice shaking with fear, “are you alright? Is Mummy's little boy feeling quite himself? You look...”

  She hesitated, and then she let out a sobbing gulp. Raising her right hand to her mouth, she looked for a moment as if she was about to regurgitate her food, but all that emerged from her lips now was a slow, rising whine that seemed to become louder and more persistent with each passin
g second. Then she fell still again, before making the same sound again and – this time – causing her whole body to shudder in the process. After this she fell still yet again, although it was quite apparent that some profound change had begun to take root. I felt certain that at any moment she would cry out and finally recognize her son's death.

  How will I help her? I wondered. What can I do?

  “Severine, remember yourself,” Doctor Brooks said suddenly. “You are not weakening, are you?”

  To this, he received no reply.

  He sighed, and then he shouted:

  “Severine!”

  For a moment, I felt sure that the lady was on the verge of crumbling completely. Yet still, unfathomably, she did not respond and instead continued to stare at Stephen. It was almost as if -

  “SEVERINE!”

  Her husband's roar seemed to finally snap her from her worsening state. Her head snapped around until she was facing him, her face a picture of incomprehension, and then the sorrow seemed to fade before she turned back to Stephen and hesitated again. This time, however, her silence lasted for only a moment, before her features began to relax and she finally allowed herself a very tentative smile.

  “There you are,” she stammered breathlessly, tilting her head a little as she continued to watch the boy. There were tears in her eyes now. “I am so sorry, I do not know what came over me. For a moment, I thought I saw...”

  Her voice trailed off as she stared at Stephen, and then her smile grew and became more genuine.

  “Oh Stephen,” she continued, chuckling as if she was amused by her momentary struggle. Getting to her feet, she hurried around the table and then dropped to her knees next to the dead child, where she proceeded to gently stroke his head. “You must think that Mummy is frightfully strange. I just thought for a moment that you appeared slightly peaky, but I am sure it was just the light in here.”

  “Are you certain it was that?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Doctor Brooks said darkly, “she is certain.”

  “But -”

  “She is certain, Ms. Seaton. There is no more to say on the matter!”

  I turned to him and found that he was glaring at me, as if he was annoyed by my question. He clearly wanted me to keep my own counsel, and in that moment I feared that I might be expelled from the room – indeed, perhaps even from the house itself – if I dared to so much as utter another word. Today, of course, I would not let this stop me. Back then, however, I was far too timid to do anything other than exactly what my master ordered.

  “That's a good boy,” Mrs. Brooks purred, and I turned to see that she was still stroking Stephen's head. “Don't worry about silly old Mummy. I can just be funny sometimes.” She giggled, before turning first to me and then to her husband. “Listen to him laugh,” she continued. “How is it that we have such a happy baby, Elliot? Truly we have been blessed with a child of the finest temperament! I'm sorry, you must excuse my behavior just now. I merely thought I saw something in his nose for a moment, but I was quite mistaken.” She turned back to the child. “Mummy was very silly, wasn't she? Yes she was!”

  And with that, the illusion – which had seemingly failed for a moment – was restored. Mrs. Brooks continued to play with Stephen, laughing and joking as she stroked and kissed the little corpse. Everything was back to how it had been before.

  I turned to Doctor Brooks, but he merely met my gaze for a few seconds before returning his attention to his bowl of soup. If ever a man could impose his own mood upon an entire room, that man was surely Doctor Elliot Brooks. His wife might have been immune, but I most certainly felt his steely resolve filling the air all around me and I was too young and meek – then – to push back. I would say so much today, but then I dared not.

  I was left sitting in silence, watching as Mrs. Brooks doted over Stephen, and trying to understand why her husband had seemed so annoyed by the prospect of her breaking free. Until that moment, I had assumed that her emancipation from this madness was precisely what he wanted. Now I began to wonder about his true intentions.

  Chapter Eighteen

  One of the baby carriage's wheels caught momentarily in a frozen divot. I had to lift the carriage's side a little, but I was soon underway again, pushing Stephen along a path that ran around the edge of the garden.

  Glancing at the house, I saw the stark, dark windows that permitted no view of the interior and that instead merely reflected the slate-gray sky. Mrs. Brooks, I had been told, was taking a rest after the stress of the doctor's visit, while Doctor Brooks had retired to his study so that he could work on some papers. I knew not what these papers involved, but they seemed to take up a great deal of his time and it was evident that he did not wish to be disturbed. I had been told, meanwhile, to take Stephen out but to go no farther than the limits of the garden, so I was following a track around the very perimeter.

  Looking back now, I see that I was like a caged animal exploring the extent of its confinement. At the time, however, I thought I was merely taking a walk.

  And so it was that, lost in thought, I suddenly felt the carriage catch in another section of frozen ground. This time I was unlucky and the carriage tipped onto its side, and Stephen tumbled out onto the frosty mud. I watched in horror as he bumped down a short incline, and as he came to a rolled to a halt against an old bramble bush.

  Hurrying down after him, I quickly picked him up and turned him around, and I felt a shudder pass through my chest as I saw that a patch of skin had been torn from his left cheek.

  ***

  “It's okay,” I whispered for the umpteenth time as I use a piece of cotton to remove gravel from the wound. “You will be fine, Stephen. It's nothing but a flesh wound. It's okay.”

  I dabbed at the patch of damaged skin.

  “It's just a small cut,” I continued, “no more than a...”

  My voice trailed off. Since bringing Stephen back inside, I had been trying desperately to clean him properly.

  I remember the sinking feeling in my chest as I realized that I could not disguise the injury. In his tumble against the bush, Stephen had lost a patch of skin roughly the size of an old penny, on an area of his cheek just below his left eye. For an ordinary child, this would have meant endless screams and a little blood, then a bandage, followed by a scab and eventually a full recovery. For Stephen, however, the damage had resulted in some rotten skin and flesh being scraped away, revealing a darker, slightly grayer section beneath. Worse, my attempts to clean the wound had in turn disturbed his lower eyelid, causing it to pull away from the ball and tear slightly.

  Finally I sat back and set the cotton down, as I realized that all my efforts so far had succeeded only in making matters worse, and that there was absolutely no way I could hide the damage.

  There was only one option.

  I felt absolutely mortified, but I knew that I would never be able to forgive myself unless I did the right thing.

  Getting to my feet, I stepped around the table and headed out into the corridor, and then along the corridor toward the hallway. I knew that I had to admit what I had done, and I was worried that Doctor Brooks would be furious, but deep down I was absolutely certain that I could not try to hide my actions. I suppose I was filled, too, with the righteous belief that I should be scrupulously honest. I was terrified, yes, but I was determined to own up to my error. I suppose that, at least, was rather honorable of me.

  What came next, however, was not honorable, even if it was perhaps necessary.

  Stopping at the door to the study, I expected to find Doctor Brooks hard at work, but instead I saw only an empty chair at the paper-strewn desk. A moment later, hearing a faint bumping sound from one of the rooms above, I turned and looked over my shoulder. Watching the stairs, I realized I could hear Doctor Brooks and his wife in one of the bedrooms. Even in my innocent state, I could tell that they were making love, although the whole thing sounded rather harsh and brutal.

  They must have assumed that I would be b
usy outside with Stephen all afternoon. Indeed, I now understood why Doctor Brooks had been so unusually insistent that I should take my time.

  I supposed that I should go back to the kitchen, work on fixing Stephen some more, and speak to Doctor Brooks later. As I was about to turn, however, I looked once again at all his spread-out papers, and I felt an inkling of curiosity start to creep up into my thoughts. Ordinarily I would have pushed such a compulsion aside, of course, but my time at Grangehurst had thus far already taught me that certain matters were being kept from view. Indeed, I could tell that the Brooks family had secrets, and I was just weak enough to want to know those secrets. Having fought this curiosity for so many days, I finally let myself surrender to what I now regard as nothing more than natural human interest.

  After looking back at the stairs again, and hearing that my employers' tryst seemed to be continuing, I crept into the study and made my way over to the desk. I felt dreadfully nervous, and my heart was beating faster than I had ever known before, yet still I walked all the way around the desk and then stopped to look down at the documents.

  This is a sin, I told myself, a dreadful sin. Be quick before you are caught.

  I do not wish to make myself sound like a complete fool, but I confess that I did not really understand what I was seeing. I believe the documents were of no great interest, mostly concerning property deals in the city. Subsequently, I have learned that Doctor Elliot Brooks had made a great deal of money by buying derelict buildings and renting them out to low-income families, and that some of the most appalling housing in all of London was on his ledger. As I stood in that office, however, I knew none of this, and I do recall being a little disappointed that I had found nothing of any great interest. Indeed, I spent a couple of minutes looking more closely at the documents, in the hope that I would be rewarded, before finally realizing that I was on a hiding to nothing. I had sacrificed my principles, and for what? A pile of papers that I did not even understand.