Stephen

by Amy Cross

  And then I turned to leave the study, at which point I spotted the photograph that lay resting on one of the bookshelves.

  Stepping closer, I saw the picture of a dark-haired, middle-aged woman who was looking toward the camera with a mixture of skepticism and embarrassment. Back then, of course, photographs were still rather novel and unusual, and the woman certainly looked as if she was not accustomed to having her likeness taken in such a manner. The picture was printed on a type of common board paper, which had already begun to flake at the edges. As I picked the photograph up and looked more closely, I realized that at some point it had been snapped into several pieces, only to have subsequently been glued painstakingly back together.

  The woman in the photograph was beautiful. That was the first time I ever set eyes upon Hannah Treadwell, though it would be some time before I confirmed her name, and before I learned the awful truth about what had happened to her at Grangehurst. Of course, seeing her face only piqued my curiosity further, and I fancied that I even felt a connection with the woman. Was she, I wondered, perhaps the source of the tears that I had heard in the laundry room?

  I still wonder that, to this day.

  “Can I help you, Ms. Seaton?”

  Startled, I turned to see that Doctor Brooks was watching me from the doorway. I immediately set the photograph down and hurried over toward him, although I stopped as I realized he was in fact blocking my way out of the room.

  “I am so sorry,” I stammered, “I merely came to look for you, that's all.”

  “I see.” He looked past me, toward the bookshelf, and it took a moment before he met my gaze again. “And what exactly did you want, Ms. Seaton?”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but at that moment I heard footsteps in another part of the house.

  “Well,” I managed finally, “I have... I mean to say, I need to tell you something that is rather delicate.”

  “Out with it, then.”

  “It is about Stephen.”

  “You seem to be acquitting your duties adequately.”

  “I'm afraid there has been a small moment of misfortune,” I continued, trying not to panic. “In the course of a walk in the garden, the carriage took a tumble and I'm afraid he fell out.”

  I remember seeing a flicker of concern in Doctor Brooks' eyes.

  “And?” he asked tensely.

  “It's nothing too awful,” I explained, “and I have cleaned the wound. Indeed, the cotton -”

  “Out with it!” he said firmly. “What are you trying to say, woman?”

  I took a deep breath, struggling to hold back tears. “Only that...”

  My voice trailed off. For a moment, I felt absolutely certain that I was about to be dismissed from the family's service and sent packing back to London. If only that had been the case.

  “Look at him!” Mrs. Brooks called out suddenly, her voice filled with delight.

  Doctor Brooks and I both turned to see that she had carried Stephen through from the kitchen, and that she was holding him gently in her hands. The child's face still bore the damage on his left cheek, but Mrs. Brooks was grinning as broadly and as genuinely as ever. Indeed, there seemed to be tears of happiness in her eyes, and after a moment she held the poor child even higher and spun around, laughing in the process.

  “I can tell that he likes you very much, Ms. Seaton!” she beamed, lowering the boy and grinning at him. “Don't you? Yes, Mummy's little boy is so happy today, he's clearly been having the most wonderful time.”

  She leaned close and kissed his cheek, and at that moment I realized she was not seeing the mark on his face. It was as if, in her bout of heavy delusion, she saw only a happy baby and nothing else.

  “I'm sorry, Mrs. Brooks,” I stammered, “but -”

  “No,” Doctor Brooks whispered, and I felt his hand on my arm, as if to silence me. “Not now.”

  I turned to him, and I saw a hint of fear in his eyes as he stared at me. It was quite clear, however, that I was to remain silent regarding the accident.

  “Ms. Seaton and I were just discussing some matters,” he continued, turning to his wife. “I am glad that she and Stephen are getting along. I hope that this is exactly what you needed, my dear. A chance to rest and recuperate after these past few months of difficulty.”

  “Oh, it it's exactly what I needed,” she said, still smiling as she bounced Stephen gently. “Look at him, Elliot! Look how happy he is!”

  “Yes,” Doctor Brooks replied dourly, clearly seeing not the illusion that entertained his wife but the dead baby that was in fact in her hands. “I suppose he is.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I cried out as I fell forward, but fortunately the sound was muffled by the empty pillowcase I had stuffed deep down my throat. Still, I made a tremendous banging sound as I landed, although for a I moment I was too stricken by paroxysms of holy fervor to hold myself back. Finally, as the tremors in my loins began to fade, I rolled onto my side and opened my eyes, looking across my bare and sparsely decorated stone room.

  In my mind's eye, I saw blood trickling down my lacerated back. I fancy I even felt the pain of split skin.

  Reaching up, I carefully took the scrunched-up pillowcase from my mouth and set it aside. I was utterly breathless, having spent the previous few minutes imagining myself once again striking my own back with my discipline. Even more swiftly than before, I had found myself overcome by sweeping waves of the most delirious fever. It was as if, for a few seconds, my conscious mind had been replaced by something utterly and ferociously physical in nature. And for the next few minutes, I could only remain panting on the floor as I waited for my trembling legs to become reliable again.

  Yes, it is true. I had become quite addicted to this ritual of self-punishment. Indeed, I stole away at every possible opportunity to indulge myself in a little extra ordeal.

  ***

  Taking the last dish from the water, I set it on the rack to dry and then I wiped my hands on a towel. I had spent a pleasant few hours cleaning everything in the kitchen, and now I was planning to attend to the dead ducks that still awaited my attention in the larder. After a moment, however, I realized I could hear raised voices in the distance.

  I listened for a few seconds, becoming increasingly sure that Doctor Brooks and his wife were arguing. Although I knew that I should not eavesdrop, I could not help making my way across the room, hoping to hear a little better.

  “I am sorry,” I heard Mrs. Brooks say as soon as I reached the kitchen door. “Elliot, I am so sorry, I am sorry, please, I am sorry, I -”

  Suddenly there was the sound of a slap, and I flinched as her voice fell silent. A moment later, however, I heard the faint and distant whimpering of a woman sobbing. This was not like the strange sob I heard earlier, however; no, this sob was more real and more distinct, and a moment later I heard the sound of feet scrambling across the floor of a nearby room, followed by the sound of somebody running up the stairs. It was not difficult to realize that my employers had suffered an argument, and that it had ended with Mrs. Brooks fleeing for her room.

  After that, the house felt quite silent again.

  I honestly did not know what to do. There was a part of me that felt I should keep well out of the way, but at the same time I had been employed to help Mrs. Brooks and it occurred to me that if she happened to be upset, I could at the very least take Stephen off her hands for a while. So it was, then, that I made my way through to the hallway, although I stopped when I suddenly heard a man's sigh coming from the study, followed by another, then another.

  Suddenly a glass shattered.

  I quickly set the dishcloth down on a bench, before wiping my hands clean and then hurrying out into the hallway. I wasn't entirely sure what I should do to help, but I felt compelled to at least investigate, and I felt that as governess of the house I had some duty to see whether I might be able to assist. When I reached the door to the study, however, I saw to my surprise that Doctor Brooks was already stumbling tow
ard me, trampling over a broken whiskey glass in the process.

  I froze, before taking a step back.

  “There you are!” he mumbled, before tripping and only just managing to steady himself against the jamb of the door. The wood creaked and shuddered under the impact, and I immediately picked up the strong smell of alcohol on the doctor's breath. “You've taken your bloody time, girl,” he continued, clearly struggling to focus on me properly. “What have you been doing, eh? Where have you been?”

  “I was doing some washing,” I stammered, taking a couple more steps back and bumping against the other side of the doorway. “Then I was planning to pluck some ducks.”

  “Ducks?” Doctor Brooks roared, as if he was utterly shocked by the news. “Why are you talking to me about ducks, for Christ's sake?”

  “A man brought half a dozen ducks,” I explained, although my voice was starting to tremble slightly. “He said that it was part of an arrangement that he had made with you. He said... he said you'd know what it was all about.”

  “What?” He scowled, but then he waved his hand at me. “Of course. The ducks. I remember now.”

  Stumbling forward, he almost fell again. This time he bumped against me, hurting my shoulder a little before making his way unsteadily across the hallway. It was quite evident that the man had imbibed too much alcohol, and he was muttering to himself as he began the slow job of crossing toward the foot of the stairs. He stumbled again, and this time I rushed forward and grabbed his arm, hoping to support him. Having always seen him as a calm and collected man, I was shocked to find him so unsober now.

  “No!” he hissed, pushing me away. “Don't do that! What are you doing, you stupid...”

  He lurched ahead, and I resolved to merely keep close to him so that I might catch him if he fell.

  “Severine!” he called out, so loudly that I am certain he could be heard all throughout the house. “Get back down here! I was not finished talking to you! I will not be ignored in -”

  Suddenly he slumped down against the bottom of the stairs, letting out a pained grunt in the process. He grabbed hold of the railing, as if he feared that he might topple over, and then he tilted his head back to reveal sorrowful, bloodshot eyes.

  “Sir,” I said cautiously, “I think -”

  “Severine!” he shouted, and now a vein on his forehead throbbed so hard that it looked set to burst. “Do not defy me, woman! I won't be crossed, not in my own house!”

  He waited, but there was no reply from the upper rooms, such that it was almost as if nobody was up there at all. I was quite sure, however, that his wife was cowering in some distant part of the house, terrified that her husband might at any moment storm up the stairs and tear the place apart until he found her. Her only comfort, I felt sure, would have been the sure knowledge that at that moment Doctor Brooks was barely capable of placing one foot in front of the other.

  Obviously a man has the right to control his wife and to punish her for transgressions, but at that moment I feared that Doctor Brooks – if he caught her – might go a little too far.

  “Severine!” he groaned, quieter now, almost as if he was on the verge of falling asleep. “For the love of God, where is that damnable woman? She ran from me before I could finish telling her... before I could finish telling her...”

  His head lolled for a moment, as if he was finding it too heavy, and then somehow he managed to turn and stare at me.

  “What was I telling her?” he asked. “You must have overheard. What was I saying?”

  “I'm sure I do not know, Sir,” I replied meekly, looking down at my hands as I fiddled with the front of my apron.

  “What's that?” he slurred.

  “I do not know what you were saying to Mrs. Brooks,” I said again, finally daring to meet his gaze. “I mean, Sir, that I was out of the room until just a moment ago. As I told you, I was about to work with the ducks and -”

  “Hmm!” he said loudly, lowering his head and once again appearing to be on the verge of sleep. “This isn't much of a start for you, is it?” he continued. “You've been here, what, less than one week and already you've witnessed us at our finest. What must you think of my family, Ms. Seaton, to see us like this, eh?”

  “I'm sure I don't know,” I replied, and I was not entirely lying. In truth, I felt so utterly out of my depth, I genuinely believe that I had no idea what I thought.

  “You don't know what you think?” he asked.

  I shook my head, while barely daring to meet his gaze.

  “You don't know what you think?” he asked again.

  “I'm sorry, Sir.”

  “By Christ,” he continued, “what are you made of, girl? How can anybody, even a woman, not know her own mind?”

  “I'm sorry,” I mumbled. “Truly I am.”

  “What time is it?” he asked. “It cannot be dinnertime yet, and already... I have wasted the day. I tried to speak to her, you see. I tried to tell her what is wrong, and she refused to listen. Why does she never heed a word I say? If she had just listened in the first place, none of this would have happened. That's when it all went wrong, you see. When I started listening to the women, I...”

  He hesitated, before holding his hands up and partially closing his fists, as if he imagined himself holding something. After a moment, however, he closed his fists entirely, and he seemed for a moment to be shaking with rage.

  “If they had just listened to me,” he added with an exhausted sigh, “none of this would have had to happen. And we would be...”

  He stared into the distance for a moment, before suddenly turning to me with a furrowed brow. It was clear that in his drunken state he was having trouble focusing, and I half expected him to pass out. Instead, however, he reached out and held his hand close to my face, and I – being rather unsure of myself – did not dare pull away. Finally, very slowly and tenderly, he let his fingers brush against my skin. Again, I did not think it polite to pull away.

  His eyes, meanwhile, were suddenly filled with tears.

  “Oh Hannah,” he whispered softly, “what did we do? What monsters did we become?”

  “Doctor Brooks, I am not -”

  “Every time I say your name to Severine,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to my attempts to stop him, “she is seized by the most powerful fury. It is as if, even in death, her resentment continues to grow. I cannot even fathom how so much anger and hatred can exist within one person. I keep quiet usually, but today I saw your photograph for the first time in weeks, and after that I could not put you out of my thoughts. I tried so very hard, as I have tried hard every day since that wretched moment, but still...”

  “Doctor Brooks,” I replied, “please, I am not -”

  “What did I do to you?” he added suddenly, with tears running down his face as he stared at me with a sense of wonder. “How did I let it happen?”

  I opened my mouth to ask why he had called me Hannah, but the words did not come. Instead, I let him continue to touch my face, and I watched the hint of awe in his eyes. It was as if he thought he was seeing a ghost. Perhaps, I supposed, Mrs. Brooks was not the only member of that family who was capable of delusions, even if her husband's were briefer, more transitory.

  “Can you forgive me?” he whispered. “You were supposed to save me, Hannah. We were supposed to save each other. That's why I brought you here in the first place. Instead...”

  I waited, but his voice had trailed off.

  “Instead what?” I asked finally.

  I could not help myself.

  His lips trembled, but he seemed too overcome by emotion. After a moment, another tear began to trickle down his cheek. He had been crying already, but somehow this solitary tear seemed sadder than all the others combined.

  “Instead what?” I asked again.

  I waited.

  He did not reply.

  If I wanted to know, I would have to keep trying.

  “Instead what?” I asked for the third time. “Doctor Brooks
, instead what?”

  “You were the best thing in this house,” he whispered, his voice soft now and trembling, “and I let you become destroyed. You were so very close to escaping, to making everything right again, and then...”

  Again, I waited.

  “And then what?” I asked, determined to learn what had happened to the previous governess. In truth I was fearful, and I hoped that he would assuage those fears by explaining the past. I also feared that this would be my only chance. “Doctor Brooks, what happened here at Grangehurst?”

  As he stared at me, I thought I saw a flicker of horror enter his expression.

  “What happened to Hannah?” I added.

  “Oh Hannah,” he sobbed, “I couldn't protect you from her. I just couldn't, I -”

  Suddenly footsteps rang out from upstairs, and he flinched as he turned and looked toward the stairs. Following his gaze, I saw Mrs. Brooks coming into view, although she stopped as soon as she saw us.

  “I'm dreadfully sorry,” I stammered, getting to my feet. “I was about to see if I could get him to bed.”

  “You won't have much luck,” she said coldly, staring at her husband with contempt. “Leave him there, Ms. Seaton. Let him sleep on the floor. For now, I need you upstairs. It's time for Stephen's bedtime.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “You must forgive my husband,” Mrs. Brooks said calmly as she watched me attending to Stephen. “He is a good man, and a strong man, but he has his lapses. There are times, as he demonstrated just now, when he can rather let himself go. He lacks self-control in certain areas.”

  I forced a smile, but in truth I did not know how to respond. I was busy wiping Stephen's chest with a sponge, although I had begun to notice that in places the upper layer of his skin had begun to come away. I was therefore having to be extremely careful, so as to minimize any damage that I might cause, and my efforts were hamstrung by the fact that Mrs. Brooks was watching my every move from her chair next to the window.

  “What do you do in your room, Ms. Seaton?” she asked suddenly.