Season of Darkness

by Cora Harrison

  Something wrong with her eyes … head bursting … she could see nothing just a circle … terrible mist … all ending … she was dying … a round gleam … an eyeglass … St Peter … widening a little … gold-rimmed … Becky crying … men shouting … metal click … the circle in front of her eyes widening and widening. The stove …

  And then Mr Dickens’ voice. ‘That’s it, Sesina. Take your time. Take her arms, Wilkie. Where’s that woman? Mrs Dawson, Mrs Dawson.’

  The red mist began to roll back from in front of Sesina’s eyes. And there he was, the landlord. Looking odd. Face strange. Hands stuck out stiff as a clown, stuck out in front of him. Handcuffs. And Inspector Field with a gun. Mr Donald Diamond. Sesina thought that she would spit in his face if she had the energy.

  Mr Dickens was shouting. ‘She’s fainting. Hold her, Wilkie.’

  But she wasn’t really. It was just a nice feeling to let herself flop down on the mat in front of the stove while Mr Collins held her in his arms. Mrs Dawson, herself, putting a cushion under her head. Mr Collins, kneeling beside her, holding her hand, his gold-rimmed spectacles twinkling at her.

  ‘I thought you were St Peter,’ Sesina said to him, hearing her voice hoarse and raucous, like the voice of a stranger.

  ‘I often have similar thoughts about myself; especially after a dose of laudanum,’ he said. ‘Now just you relax, little Sesina. Nothing more for you to worry about.’

  It all seemed a little strange, a little misty still. She watched the landlord being dragged out of the room by the police inspector. Mr Dickens went too. Little Becky came and sat down on the mat beside her and touched her hand.

  ‘Was it yourself, Becky, making that row with the bells?’ Sesina had a lump in her throat. Didn’t know whether she was going to laugh or to cry. Becky stared at her wide-eyed, startled by the hoarse and husky voice. Mr Collins went over and got her a mugful of water.

  ‘Prefer gin,’ she croaked and he winked at her. But she was glad to swallow the water down. Gin would have burned her throat.

  ‘Why did he do it?’ Sesina managed to get the words out after the water. She thought that she would prefer to hear voices than to find her mind wondering what might have happened if the policeman, Mr Dickens and Mr Collins hadn’t been upstairs and if Becky had not rung those bells.

  ‘Isabella had found out that he was the partner of her father,’ explained Mr Collins. ‘They were partners out in America. Made tons of money, Sesina. Poor Isabella should have been very rich, but Mr Diamond kept all of the money that was due to her.’

  Dirty, rotten monster. Hope they hang him high and that he burns in hell. Sesina took another sip of water and decided to stop thinking about it. Would there be a reward? she wondered. She shut her eyes for a moment and then opened them. Mrs Dawson was looking upset. Red as a turkey-cock. Needed a swallow from the gin bottle. Opening and shutting her big mouth like a stranded fish. Hands on hips, too. Oh, well, just spit it out, missus! Sesina closed her eyes and then opened them again. Might as well let her get matters off her chest while Mr Collins was here to smooth her down.

  ‘And, I know what it will be like, Miss Sesina,’ said Mrs Dawson, trembling with rage. ‘You’ve got our landlord arrested and now these houses will be sold or something and none of us will have jobs.’ She applied the corner of her apron to her eyes and wept piteously as she got herself out of the room. Becky looked on with eyes filled with apprehension.

  ‘Don’t worry, Sesina,’ said Mr Collins. ‘I’ll look after you and Becky. I’m sure that my mother can employ you both for the moment and soon I plan to set up some rooms for myself and I will need someone to keep me in order. Thinking of turning over a new leaf, Sesina. I have all sorts of plans. You and me will get along fine.’

  Making all sort of plans; she knew where that would lead, thought Sesina. She’d be working herself to the bone, doing all the cleaning and the cooking and the lighting of fires. He’d be having little dinner parties and expecting her to do the food and the serving. And to turn up with his breakfast and his hot water in the morning. And that wouldn’t be all, she guessed. You know what men are like; you’ll end up with a baby under your apron. She could just hear Isabella say those words. She knew what men were like. No thank you, she thought.

  Still, she had a soft spot for him and his funny little glasses so she’d let him down easy.

  ‘You’re very good, sir,’ she croaked, ‘but I don’t think that I can desert Mrs Dawson. I’d better stay here.’

  They’d have a lawyer to manage the house while Mr Diamond was in prison, she guessed. And afterwards the houses might be sold. The house would go on having lodgers and taking it all in all, it was a good place to work in. She gave Becky a wink. They’d have a good time here, the two of them. She’d persuade Mrs Dawson to send the washing out, make that a condition of staying put. Strike while the iron is hot; that’s what Isabella used to say and she was right. Once Mr Collins was gone, she’d have a chat with Mrs D.

  Anyway, she had a nice bit of privacy here in Adelphi Terrace. Becky would be no trouble and she’d train her to stand up for herself. Make Mrs D. keep on that scrubbing woman. And a boy to do the coal in the morning. That would give her a little more time to herself. She thought that she would like to write a book. Mrs Morson had told them that Mr Dickens sold 34,000 copies of the first number of Bleak House, each one of them costing one whole shilling. Imagine having a bag with 34,000 shillings in it! Sesina shut her eyes and began to plan her story.

  London. November. Fog everywhere. Dead tide. Two men. And one very beautiful girl.

  ‘Sesina,’ says one of the men. ‘We need your help. We have a mystery to unravel.’