The Room Beyond

by Stephanie Elmas

  Mrs Eden’s groans gradually decreased into whimpers until she fell fast asleep again. Miranda felt herself yawning and collapsed into the chair by the bed. A blanket appeared miraculously across her knees.

  ‘Thank you.’

  Her head flopped back against the chair and darkness rushed in. But it seemed as if only a second had passed before she felt orange brushing against her eyelids once more. The light that crept in through the flimsy curtains of the inn room was thin and watery; it was early. Two large eyes were staring back at her from the bed.

  ‘Where have you brought me?’ Mrs Eden whispered.

  ‘I’ll tell you if you agree to drink a little water.’

  She nodded slowly and Miranda drew her up by the shoulders, forcing a pillow behind her head. The action reminded her of something, an old memory that pricked like needles.

  Mrs Eden sipped at the water like a kitten, flinching as it moved across the deep red cracks in her lips.

  ‘Now tell me.’

  ‘We’re staying in a small inn near Dover. Mr Eden and I brought you here because you were in danger of losing your life. We did it secretly, at night, and as soon as you are well enough your husband will be taking you abroad to recover.’

  ‘And Tristan?’

  ‘He doesn’t know. We did it whilst he was sleeping. I think it would be best for him not to know where you are.’

  She seemed to be staring at her hands. They were clasped together, a jumble of bones and joints. They were resting on her stomach and tears began to stream down her face.

  ‘There was some medicine. Tristan gave it to me.’

  ‘Yes I know. You were asking for it last night.’

  ‘Please PLEASE find it!’

  ‘I don’t have it. I think it was a poison of some sort.’

  ‘Oh help me!’

  Her bony body began to convulse. Miranda reached towards the bed but Mrs Eden lunged back at her, her fingers screwed up like claws and her eyes bulging from their sockets like a madwoman. She grasped Mrs Eden’s wrists with all her strength but instead of having to fight her off like some enraged tiger, the woman simply dissolved beneath her touch, as weak and defenceless as a dying moth. She collapsed against the pillows and within seconds was breathing steadily, fast asleep again.

  Even in this condition Mrs Eden was still so mesmerizing; Miranda couldn’t tear her eyes away from that pale but beautiful haunted face. The door opened and Mr Eden stepped in.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Sleeping. She’s very very weak.’

  ‘I’ve brought you some food and some news as well. A nurse will be arriving from France tomorrow morning. She can take over Lucinda’s care and then transport her back across the channel with me. I don’t want anyone else in this country knowing about her, the news could easily get back to your...’

  ‘Husband.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you only need me until tomorrow then.’

  ‘You don’t have to stay...’

  ‘I will. As ugly as this situation is it soothes me somehow to know that I’ve done something right.’

  ‘But you never did anything wrong! You’ve shown more kindness and selflessness through all of this than I thought was humanly imaginable.’

  ‘Stop, before you make me cry,’ she croaked. He was smiling so kindly back at her. ‘Now you said you had some food.’

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Famished.’

  Mrs Eden slept for most of the day. Whenever her eyes flickered open Miranda did her best to feed drops of water and weak tea into her mouth. The night drew in and her breath grew deeper and steadier as she slept. Miranda lit candles, ready to see the night out in her chair by the bed. At three o’clock in the morning Mrs Eden finally woke up.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘A little hungry I think.’

  ‘That’s good. Here try this small piece of bread.’

  She bit off a tiny morsel and shifted it drily around in her mouth.

  ‘Why are you helping me?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘Do you pity me?’

  ‘In a way. Nobody deserves such treatment although your behaviour was as despicable as his at first.’

  ‘I just wanted to be happy.’

  ‘By stealing another woman’s husband? Do you know nothing of how to behave in decent society?’

  She murmured a soft laugh. ‘I am a product of decent society.’

  Miranda reached forward to take the bread away, but Mrs Eden grasped her hand.

  ‘It’s alright, I’m not going to attack you again. May I ask, do you have a mother?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She was ill. Someone gave her the wrong medicine and she died.’

  ‘So we both missed out then. Mine died too, because she was bored and lonely. I think, if I survive, I would be a rather disgraceful mother. Don’t you agree?’

  ‘It’s not for me to say.’

  ‘You would be a very good mother, Miranda.’

  She looked so beautiful again, her eyes as soft and trusting as a baby’s. Miranda stroked her dry cheek and she fell asleep beneath her hand.

  The morning came with grey clouds and drizzle. It was time for her to leave, pack up her things and put on the few fresh clothes she had remaining. In the mirror new lines had gathered like ripples in a stream around her eyes. They looked like friendly lines though; perhaps there was a funny sort of beauty to her ugliness after all.

  A short time later she heard footsteps in the corridor. Mr Eden’s familiar face suddenly filled the doorway and then from behind him a small neat looking woman with dark hair hurried in. The woman nodded courteously and perched in the chair by Mrs Eden’s bedside. Her chair. She caught at a lump in her throat and left quickly.

  Mr Eden’s broad back lead her downstairs and out onto the narrow street. She hadn’t ventured outside since their arrival and after the sick-room the cold fresh air hit her face like a sharp slap of icy water. A carriage was waiting. Her hand slid into his palm.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ he said.

  She felt her chin tremble.

  ‘I’ll take her to Paris, we have some friends living on an old farm just outside the city. But I think it’s for the best if we don’t remain in contact. I hope you understand. It’s for her safety and yours.’

  ‘Yes of course.’

  ‘One last thing. When I first came to you, looking for my wife, I gave you a sealed letter for Lucinda. It contains information about your husband’s past. Please do read it. I implore you to read it! Of course it’s your decision what to do, but I advise you to remain as far away from that man as possible.’

  He gave her a small bow and her eyes blurred as the carriage moved away. Soon she could see nothing but the shimmer of his waistcoat, radiant with turquoise and blue; just like the peacock feathers she’d once seen in his wife’s hair.

  The journey home was long and tiring. It was impossible to rest; the carriage jerked her bones about too much and her body felt cold and shivery. There was a blanket but its bristles scratched at her and it seemed to give no warmth at all. Her feet had turned into icy blocks of granite. She screwed her eyes shut and tried to summon up the memory of warmth.

  Italy. Their honeymoon. Orange trees and the sparkling sea and those delicious almond biscuits which they’d found in their hotel room. People had smiled at them when they’d arrived; she’d even taken hold of Tristan’s hand, clasping onto it stubbornly.

  Their hotel room had been smaller than they’d hoped for, but with a stunning view and the sea lapping against the rocks below. As a child she would have imagined mermaids sliding blissfully through the small triangular waves.

  ‘Shall we perhaps take a rest darling?’ she’d asked, her face turning scarlet.

  ‘No, I’m fine. This room is rather small don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, but so pretty and how wonderful to be able to look out at the
sea.’

  She’d raised her hand falteringly towards his shirt collar.

  ‘Well it’s far too small for me. There’s an empty room next door, I think I’ll go and see if I can get that one for myself.’

  ‘If that’s how you feel darling, then we’ll both move together!’

  ‘No, you seem to like it here. I wouldn’t want to spoil that for you.’

  The journey had been strained and unloving enough but she’d felt sure that things would change once they arrived. She was wrong. She’d come to Italy with nothing but the shell of a husband. The real man had stayed somewhere behind and that absence had suddenly sucked every last trace of warmth from the lovely air. She’d felt as cold then as she did now, shivering in the back of a carriage. An entire marriage of separate bedrooms and closed doors.

  ‘One day I will have a house with no doors or locks inside it at all,’ she murmured softly to herself.

  At last the carriage rumbled down Marguerite Avenue and then, once again, she was peering up at her home. Her body ached to turn around and run away.

  ‘Hello.’

  The voice seemed to have come from the direction of a cluster of charms and small coloured bottles hanging from a chain. They glinted against a backdrop of purple velvet: beads with evil eyes, feathers, a silver skull and little bottles, green and orange and blue, with delicate silver tops, all hanging jumbled together.

  She followed the chain up and up until she found a small face at the top crowned by a halo of wispy hair. Of course she knew the face well. She’d seen it enough times on its way next door, but never close-up like this.

  It was a very small face considering the extreme dimensions of the body beneath it and lined like a walnut, the eyes black pinpricks with barely any eyelashes to frame them at all. But although it was an ugly face, it was in no way threatening and it gazed down at her with a rather worried looking expression, as if she were the one who appeared to be at odds.

  ‘Hello,’ she replied. She wobbled a little and for a moment his face split into two identical twins.

  ‘Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes, just very tired. I’ve been looking after my sister, she’s ill.’

  ‘I’m so sorry. My name is Walter Balanchine. I’m a friend of Mrs Eden’s father.’

  He nodded in the direction of Lucinda’s house. The front door and windows had all been forced open.

  ‘I believe she was your neighbour,’ he went on. ‘You do live at 34?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Yes. I’ve often seen you sewing in the window.’

  He edged towards her and she found that she couldn’t move her legs. The bottles around his neck became even clearer; they contained powders and liquids.

  ‘May I ask what it is that you do?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, of course. I mend broken souls.’

  He was watching her intently, those tiny eyes of his drawing her gaze into them. She couldn’t bring herself to look away. She didn’t want to. It felt so comforting, as if he’d leaned forwards suddenly and cupped her tired head in his hands.

  ‘All those things around your neck. Are you a doctor?’

  ‘Of a sort.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can help me with something.’ The bottle of poison hugged her hand from inside her pocket. ‘Find out what this is, please.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘My name is Mrs Whitestone.’

  ‘But I shall call you Miranda.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘Your eyes told me. You clearly need some rest, it’s a long way from Dover. Go inside and I’ll come back soon.’

  ‘Yes... How did you know I came from Dover Mr Balanchine?’

  ‘It was a good guess. But please, call me Walter. Rest now, as I said I’ll come again soon.’

  With a blink he set her free and her legs felt full of blood again, strong enough to walk up to her front door, climb up to her lonely old bedroom and slide open her dresser drawer. There inside was the envelope with Lucinda written on the front in Mr Eden’s hand.

  SERENA’S STORY

  ‘Come on Beth, you’ve got to be scared of something!’ Seb exclaimed from across the dining table.

  ‘Nooo,’ she nibbled on a breadstick. ‘I can’t think of anything.’

  ‘Not even monsters?’

  ‘Or large bloody wounds oozing with blood?’

  ‘Robert! Don’t terrify the child on her birthday!’ said Arabella.

  ‘Noooope.’

  ‘As I was saying... everyone’s got a phobia,’ continued Edward. ‘Beth just hasn’t discovered hers yet. I have one.’

  ‘Do you dear?’ Arabella looked around the table with stunned eyes. ‘I never knew.’

  ‘Yes, I do: the sound of two pieces of polystyrene squeaking against each other. Makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. I have to leave the room.’

  ‘Goodness, after all these years of marriage I never knew. But does that really count as a phobia?’

  Robert smiled authoritatively. ‘I would say so. It’s not unlike the fear of fingernails scratching the surface of a blackboard. Doesn’t bother me, but spiders do.’

  ‘Boring!’ bellowed Edward. ‘Spiders, snakes, I’ve heard it all before. Anyone got something more interesting to add?’

  ‘Serena’s got a good phobia,’ said Seb quietly.

  An array of expectant faces landed on me.

  ‘Do I?’ I stammered. ‘I wasn’t aware of one.’

  ‘Yes you do: broken glass. You hate broken glass.’

  ‘Is that true?’ Edward asked.

  ‘Yes, in a way. It makes me want to cry when I see it, or be sick. I don’t know, one of the two.’

  ‘Broken glass, that is a good one,’ he mused. ‘Well you win, a round of applause for Serena.’

  They all began to clap heartily and I tried to make a gracious bow.

  ‘That’s a very pretty necklace Beth, is it new?’ asked Eva.

  Beth was wearing a delicate little Celtic cross around her neck which I hadn’t seen before either.

  ‘Yes! Raphael left it here for me for my birthday. I’ve been waiting all this time to open it. Aren’t I good?!’

  She blinked softly at us all with her innocent blue eyes and Seb began to laugh, so infectiously that in a moment we were all laughing too.

  ‘Ah! Am I interrupting anything?’ came a voice. Sasha was standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on Eva.

  ‘Can I keep my necklace on tonight?’

  I tucked the blanket under Beth’s chin. It had turned cold and I could hear rain scratching at the windows. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But take care of it. It really does look very special.’

  The pendant rested in the small cave between her two collar bones: a thin spider’s web of silver crafted into a cross with a ring around the centre.

  ‘Night night darling. Happy birthday.’

  I tiptoed down the stairs. Gladys would be sorting out the kitchen and, as we’d planned Beth’s birthday meal together, she could at least let me help her clear up for once.

  When I reached the first floor I noticed that Arabella’s office door hadn’t been shut properly. A well of light from the room scorched across the corridor carpet and up the wall, just brushing the edge of the painting of Walter Balanchine on the opposite side. Although the picture was bathed in shadow I could still detect the vivid hues of his wizard-like garments and the cluster of trinkets around his neck. The picture drew me closer.

  ‘Why do you do this Mummy? First you let that bastard in and now her! They love her you know, how are we ever going to get rid of her?’ It was Eva’s voice, coming from Arabella’s office. My feet glued themselves to the spot.

  ‘How on earth could I have known what she’d be like?’

  ‘You shouldn’t have employed anyone in the first place! I told you time and time again not to let a stranger in.’

  ‘Beth needs looking after, and some sort of an education.’

  ‘And couldn’t we have don
e that?’

  ‘Hardly. You know how busy I am and you wouldn’t have a clue. Serena’s bright.’

  ‘Well thank you very much. And you know Sasha’s at it again: threatening me one minute, his hands all over me the next. He says he’ll go to the tabloids.’

  ‘Oh dear, really? And I thought I’d been keeping him busy with my Africa stuff for once.’

  ‘Oh screw your Africa stuff! He’s been going on about Raphael again and the Burnside money. What the hell am I to do? I’m still the only one in this house who doesn’t pander to that bloody man but I don’t know if I can take much more.’

  ‘Keep them close darling. It’s the only way.’

  ‘How bloody close do you intend him to get! I can feel his breath on me MOTHER, right now. It’s so real I could vomit. And just remember, if you hadn’t kept Sasha quite so close in the first place then he wouldn’t have found out all this stuff about us.’

  There was a biting pause before Arabella spoke again, now in a slightly shaky voice. ‘I am aware of that, darling. Sometimes we cannot help but fall into our mistakes; you know that too... But even if we talk about it until we’re blue in the face, the main thing to remember is that still, after all these years, Sasha has remained perfectly blind to it all. And that’s all that matters.’

  ‘But she isn’t, which is even worse. And to cap it all you’ve asked her for Christmas! Is there no escaping her?’

  ‘Keep them close darling. God, the door’s open.’

  I heard footsteps and dived back, pressing my body into the recess of the next door along. In the corner of my eye I saw Arabella poke her head out and look up and down the corridor. She slammed the door shut and muffled footsteps moved away again.

  I waited for a minute and then made my escape, down into the light of downstairs.

  Keep them close.

  It was like that old saying: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Is that what Arabella had meant?

  My feet carried me to the kitchen but Gladys soon saw that I was no use to her there.

  ‘Go to bed, you look ill.’

  She was right. I must have looked like a zombie shuffling around behind her in a haze, putting things in cupboards and then taking them out again for no reason. I mumbled an excuse and left, taking solace in my sketchbook.