by Amy Cross
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
I am being saved, I remember thinking, for that is how it seemed. In that moment, I felt certain that the Lord had heard my prayer and had sent a miracle. And that miracle had come in the form of a man named Jim.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I'm really quite alright,” I explained as Jim and I made our way along the street, heading toward the edge of town. I at least knew his name now, as he had introduced himself to me properly after saving me. “I don't want to cause trouble. The man was probably just drunk.”
“I'll go back and have words with him when I've seen you home,” he replied, and there was enough menace in his voice to make me worry that he meant to cause the man harm.
“Perhaps I should go back now,” I said, stopping and turning. “I can help the man see the light, and I can turn his face to the Lord.”
“You've got to be joking,” Jim muttered with a sigh, grabbing my arm and forcing me to keep walking.
“I was taught to never turn my back on a troubled soul,” I argued. “He seemed most troubled.”
“He tried to have his way with you!”
“He must have fallen upon hard times. Oh, let go of me at once, so I can go back and tend to him! You might have hurt him when you punched him!”
Yes, it's true. Having been assaulted and very nearly raped, I still somehow felt an urge to go and help my attacker. Perhaps I was in a state of shock, and offering help was my way of dealing with this shock. Perhaps I was simply deluded. Either way, for a few minutes I genuinely tried to go back and try to help the man, and I was only prevented from this course of action by Jim's insistence that I walk with him. I think that, truly, I did not understand how serious the attack had been. Now I do, of course, and I realize that I would have suffered excruciating pain and humiliation, such as would have scarred me for life.
There was, however, no limit to my naivety back then, although I did eventually come around to Jim's way of seeing things. It helped that he was so forceful, keeping hold of my arm and almost dragging me along the street until we reached the town's farthest limits.
“I can't stop you sneaking back some time,” he said with a sigh, finally letting go of my arm, “but I can warn you. Stay away from that lot. Whatever possessed you, anyway? Young women can't go wandering in alone to a place like the Hounds. You were asking for trouble!”
“You're the one who suggested I go!”
“I didn't think you actually would!”
“I was asking for information,” I replied. “I had no idea my very presence would provoke such a reaction.”
“You won't get much sense out of that lot,” Jim said as we strolled along the street, heading back toward the edge of town. “Not even at the best of times. When they're not drunk, they're hungover. They say whatever comes into their heads at any one moment.”
“They seem to have taken the most intense dislike to my employers,” I point out.
“Aye, well the Brooks family have never been particularly popular round these parts. And that was before the current generation took over. London, yeah?”
“Doctor Brooks doesn't make an effort?”
“Something like that.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Things were already tense, even before she started bringing that dead little thing into town. Lord knows what she was thinking, but people round here don't like that. Hell, I don't like it. Pardon my language.”
“It's a very natural thing,” I replied. “What she's doing with the child, I mean.”
“Says who?”
“Doctor Brooks, for one.”
“And you agree with him?”
I remember bristling slightly. “He's a highly educated gentleman. And a doctor to boot!”
“Doesn't make him right. Everything they do up there is perverted and wrong. You'd do well to get away before they start... I dunno, infecting you or something.”
“I happen to think that what they're doing is perfectly normal,” I replied.
Dear Lord, if I could reach back in time now, I would slap that silly girl so hard. How could I have been so blinkered? It's a wonder that Jim ever gave me the time of day again.
“Where'd you come from, before you came here?” he asked. “You don't sound like you're from these parts.”
“I came from Saint Bernadette's,” I explained. “It's a convent in London.”
“Aye?” He sighed. “Well, that's why you don't have much experience of the real world, I suppose. You've spent your whole life hidden away, surrounded by nuns.”
“I've got enough experience!”
At the time, I think I actually believed that.
“Well,” he continued, “if you think what they're doing up at that house is natural, then that reflects rather badly upon you, and upon the sisters who taught you as well.” He sighed again, and I do not blame him. He must have been utterly exasperated. “You seem like a nice lass,” he added. “A little wet behind the ears, maybe, but nice. A good person. Take my advice and clear out of Grangehurst. The place'll get to you eventually. It'll crack your soul and then crack it some more, and then -”
“Who was Hannah?” I asked suddenly, preferring to get to the point.
He hesitated, and I could see – despite his silence – that I had caught his attention.
“Was she the previous governess?” I asked. “What exactly happened to little Stephen? Do you know?”
“You won't find anyone who wants to talk about Hannah,” he replied. “Not around here. Nor'll you find anyone who'll thank you for reminding them of her name.”
“Did she hurt Stephen? Is that how it happened? I mean, was she looking after him and then something dreadful occurred, which is how he died. I'm right, aren't I?”
I waited for an answer, but I was starting to think that maybe I was getting closer to the truth. I could not possibly have known, of course, how little I actually comprehended. If I believed that I was understanding what had happened, the truth is that I had not yet fathomed the depths of the madness at Grangehurst.
“I'll not gossip about them,” Jim said, taking a step back. “There's been lots of rumors, and I wouldn't claim to know which are true and which aren't. I'll tell you again to get out of that place, though. No good'll come of you being there. If you can't handle yourself in a town like Bumpsford, you certainly can't handle yourself up there at Grangehurst. Why, I'd fancy that if you went into the cellar you'd find another set of stairs going down, then another, and another and another until you got to Hell itself. Those people are no good.”
“I have a duty to care for Mrs. Brooks.”
“You're on a hiding to nothing.”
“And you, Sir, are a judgmental blaggard!” I felt truly angry at him for what I perceived to be his very un-Christian ways. “That woman is in her hour of need, she is mourning her child, and it is perfectly natural for her to have him around while she comes to terms with what happened!”
“It is?”
“Of course it is! Doctor Brooks told me himself!”
“Then there's no helping you,” he muttered. “I'll walk you back there, and then I'll wait while you pack your things, and then -”
“You will not!” I said firmly. “I'm not abandoning my post when I'm needed.”
“They're wrong up there! They're sick!”
“So you keep saying, but you're remarkably short on the details.”
“I'm not discussing any details,” he replied. “It wouldn't be right, especially not with a woman. You shouldn't know of such things. Just let me walk you back there and then you can pack your suitcase.”
“There is nothing you can tell me,” I said firmly, “that would shock me!”
That, I suppose, was a dreadful understatement. I would come to learn later that Jim was a very proper man, and that he believed there were things a lady should not hear. I understand and respect that point of view, but I cannot help wishing that he had been a little more forthcoming on that cold day in
Bumpsford. Had he dared to tell me certain things about the Brooks family, I might have accepted the need to leave. Instead, I became rather full of myself.
“I shall bid you good day,” I told him. “I shan't need to be walked back. I can find my own way.”
With that, I set off along the road that led to Grangehurst, although I quickly realized that Jim was following me. Turning, I saw that indeed he was just a few paces behind.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I told you. I'm walking you back there, then I'm waiting for you to pack, and then I'm walking you into town again.”
“And I told you,” I replied, “that I do not need to be accompanied. I'll be fine!”
“Just like you were fine just now in that alley?”
Frustrated, I turned and marched away. I once again heard Jim walking behind me, but this time I did not look back. No, this time I continued to walk until I was well out of town. Rain was starting to fall harder than ever, causing a great rustling sound all around me, but when I finally glanced back I saw that Jim was still following, albeit staying a few paces further behind now. I did not acknowledge him in anyway, and instead kept walking until after a couple of hours I finally reached Grangehurst again.
After slipping through the gate, I turned and saw Jim come to a halt just a short way behind.
“I'll wait right here,” he told me, “and you can go in and pack your things.”
“You will have a long wait, then,” I replied, “for I shan't be leaving. Of course, you could always explain to me what is so awful about this house. That might change my mind.”
“I can't say such things to a lady,” he explained. “Mind that you're quick with your packing. We've got a long walk back, and we want to make it before sunset.”
As I headed into the house, I felt utterly frustrated by the man. I would later learn more about his character, however, and there would be times when I would marvel at his stubbornness. You see, Jim was a man who believed that women should obey men, and I am quite sure that he was convinced I would do what I was told. He did not want to get into the unseemly details of the Brooks family, and he felt that there was no need to do so. Indeed, once I was in the house and had begun to prepare for Stephen's next playtime, I noticed that Jim was still waiting outside the gate.
I thought him to be an intolerable fool, although now I rather admire him. Indeed, he waited for a good two hours, kicking the dirt, before finally he gave up and accepted that I was not coming. I stood at the window and watched him walk away, and I waited until he was out of sight.
At that moment, I perceived the man to be rough and arrogant, and terribly set against the ways of the Lord. Indeed, I truly thought that he was the most insufferable person I had ever met in my life. Given the strength of my feelings, it might strike the reader as rather odd that I subsequently married Jim, but it must be understood that he was a good man. And as he reminded me many times over the subsequent years, he had tried to warn me. He simply hadn't understood how little I already knew.
Jim is dead now, of course, and I miss him so very much. That day, as I stood at the window, I felt quite certain that I never wanted to meet the brute again in my life. Yet now, sitting here and writing this account of what happened, I miss him a great deal. We were married for almost forty years, and I came to regard him very fondly indeed.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“And where were you this afternoon?”
I froze for a moment, as I was about to slip a hat onto Stephen's head. Slowly I turned and looked across the nursery, and I saw that Mrs. Brooks was watching me from her wicker chair in the corner. She had been reading for a while, when I first began to dress her son, but now she had lowered the book and was staring at me most intently.
“I went to town for some extra supplies,” I told her.
“I saw you return. You did not seem to have anything with you.”
“The shop was shut.”
“Why?”
“I wondered that myself.”
“There was a man with you.”
“He walked me from town. For my safety.”
“Why?”
“I told him it was quite unnecessary.”
I waited for another question, but she merely stared at me, and after a moment I returned my attention to Stephen. The hat was a good enough fit, but I had noticed a few strands of his hair coming loose when I first tried to put it on, so I was being extra careful. My hands were trembling slightly, however, and although at the time I did not know why this was the case, now I know that I was beginning to sense some new quality in Mrs. Brooks. Some hint of coldness.
“He looks very handsome in his hat,” I said, hoping to make her happy. “It suits him perfectly.”
She did not reply, so I merely continued to adjust the hat until I was certain it looked right.
“There you go, Stephen,” I continued, addressing the dead child directly. “You look absolutely -”
And then I saw it.
Something was wriggling in Stephen's left nostril. Something small and pale, a few millimeters long and with a tiny black tip. I felt a shudder pass through my chest as I realized that this something was a maggot.
Glancing at Mrs. Brooks, I was relieved to find that she was now staring out through the window, watching the garden.
I quickly reached over to the table and took a pair of tweezers. Taking care not to startle the maggot back into the nostril, I reached the tweezers' tip toward Stephen's nose and then hesitated for a moment, waiting for the right moment. The maggot was still very much visible, squirming at the very edge of the nostril, but I did not want to scare it back up to where it might not be reached. I moved the tweezers very carefully, then, until I had the wretched creature in place, and then I gently squeezed.
I missed.
The maggot curled away, wriggling deeper into Stephen.
I glanced at Mrs. Brooks and saw that was, fortunately, still looking at the garden.
After taking a deep breath, I leaned down so that I could see up into the nostril, and then I slowly moved the tweezers toward the maggot again. This time I was determined to get the wretched thing out, so I was extremely careful as I began to turn the tips.
And then, suddenly, a second maggot fell from the nostril and landed on Stephen's shirt. Startled, I hesitated for a moment, before rushing at the original maggot and this time managing to catch it with the tweezers. The metal tips cut straight through the creature, killing it instantly, and then I pulled it out and set it on the floor. I collected the second maggot too, and then I used the toe of my right foot to crush them both against the floorboards.
I looked over at Mrs. Brooks.
She seemed not to have noticed my endeavors.
Leaning closer to Stephen, I peered into his nose. It was difficult to see anything, of course, but there was certainly no sign of any more maggots. After a moment I reached out and placed a hand on the side of his face. I waited, and soon I fancied that I felt something moving under the surface of his skin. In my mind's eye, I was already imagining a veritable nest of maggots writhing within the child, although I did not want to believe that such a thing might be possible.
I glanced toward Mrs. Brooks again, and this time I saw that two rather large flies were crawling across the sunlit curtain.
I looked back at Stephen and continued to feel his face some more. Indeed, I was becoming more and more convinced that I could feel something inside him, so I peered around the side and inspected his ears. I had to move the hat slightly in order to do so, and as I leaned closer I became aware of a sweeter smell than usual. It was very clear to me that something was changing inside the child, that the march of death had reached another phase, and it was then that I noticed a glistening bead of clear liquid on his cheek, right on the wound I had inadvertently caused the other day.
He was rotting.
“What are you doing there?” Mrs. Brooks asked suddenly, and I turned just as she got to her feet
.
“I was attending to Stephen,” I replied, trying to smile as I carefully tucked the tweezers out of sight. “Nothing more.”
Glancing at the floor, I saw a faint smudge on the floorboards, but I felt certain that nobody would realize any maggots had died there. After a moment I turned to Mrs. Brooks, and I watched as she knelt next to me and admired Stephen.
“Oh, he looks wonderful,” she said finally, and I felt a rush of relief. “He's so handsome. Don't you think so, Ms. Seaton?”
“I do.”
“I'm glad. I can trust you, can't I?”
I opened my mouth to tell her that of course she could trust me, but the words caught as I began to wonder why she had asked such a strange question.
“To tell me things, I mean,” she continued, while still looking at Stephen. “Anything you think I should know... I can trust you to tell me, can I not?”
“Of course,” I replied.
“Good. Very good.” She tilted her head slightly, before reaching out to adjust her son's hat. “He looks very fine today,” she added. “Very fine indeed.”
I waited, but I was beginning to notice a subtle change in her tone. Whereas usually she spoke to Stephen, now she was merely speaking about him. Indeed, as I continued to watch her, I felt that I spied a flicker of concern in her eyes. Thinking back to her change of mood that had occurred over lunch the previous day, I recalled that she had said something about seeing something on Stephen's nose. Was it possible, I wondered, that she had spotted the maggot, and that it was becoming more difficult for her to maintain the illusion that the boy was alive? Perhaps, I thought, progress was being made.
“Such pretty clothes,” she whispered finally, reaching out and brushing the back of her hand against Stephen's chest. “Never before in all the world has a little boy looked finer.”
Not knowing what to say, I remained quiet. I was still thinking about her question, about whether she could trust me, and in truth I was feeling rather unsettled.
“He's so lucky,” she said after a moment. “Some children are raised in such a frightful manner, you know. I honestly believe that the vast proportion of humanity is utterly ill-equipped to bring children into the world. Most boys and girls are raised by foul, monstrous parents who just pass on their own faults to their offspring, and the whole horrible thing repeats over and over. We are a lonely breed, we few who raise our young properly. Stephen has a perfect life. The only flaw...”
