The Curse of Wetherley House

by Amy Cross

  All around us, birds are chattering in nearby trees, as if to welcome me with their chorus.

  And then I hear a faint gasping sound.

  I turn and look at Robert, but he's still busy with the horses. Stepping around to the other side of the carriage, I realize that there's a groan emanating from somewhere in the long grass at the side of the road, and a cloud of flies is buzzing in the air.

  Perhaps I should be more wary, but I cannot help wandering toward the source of the sound, worried in case somebody is injured. Sure enough, I quickly spot a human figure slumped nearby, and as I get closer I realize that the figure is an elderly woman, naked and bloodied. She's in a shallow ditch than runs alongside the road, as if she has been tossed aside.

  “Are you alright?” I ask cautiously.

  She lets out another groan, and I step a little closer until finally I'm able to see her face. I must admit, she's so painfully thin and sick-looking, I instinctively freeze for a moment. Horrified, I watch as the woman tries to raise a hand toward me, but her arms look far too thin to support the weight of her hands. There are even maggots crawling in her flesh. It's quite clear already that this poor woman is starved to the bring of death, and I watch for a moment as she tries but fails to rise from her position slumped in the ditch. At the same time, I suddenly realize I can see the white of her eyes staring at me from behind matted clumps of hair.

  I should do something.

  I have to help her.

  And yet, although I feel the urge to step closer, the sight of this woman is too frightful. It is clear that she must be diseased, although I know my lord and protector would never forgive me if I turned my back. I hesitate for a moment longer, before finally realizing that it's my human duty to help this poor creature.

  Despite my swollen belly, I start clambering through the long grass and into the ditch, while waving away the thick flies that are buzzing all around me.

  “Marguerite, no!”

  Robert grabs my arm, holding my back. When I turn to him, I see an expression of pure horror in his eyes.

  “Leave her!” he says firmly.

  “But -”

  “She's beyond help,” he continues, staring past me and clearly disgusted by what he sees. “Look at the poor wretch. There's nothing anyone can do for somebody who's that far gone.”

  “She's in agony,” I point out, with tears in my eyes. “We can't just leave her like this.”

  “We can and we must.”

  I look back at the woman. She's still trying to get up, but her painfully thin frame is obviously too weak.

  “Besides, she could be carrying any number of sicknesses,” Robert explains. “Look further along, my dear. Others have died down there. It happens sometimes. These peasants get thrown out of their towns and villages for one reason or another, usually something criminal that they've done, and they end up wandering the countryside until they can no longer manage for themselves, and then they end up like this.” He pauses for a moment, as the dying old woman lets out a faint gurgle. “You cannot tell me, in all honesty, that such things do not also happen in France.”

  “I'm sure they do,” I reply. “It's just that I have never witnessed them.”

  “There is no need for you to witness this.”

  “But charity is -”

  “The Lord will protect this woman if he sees fit,” Robert says firmly. “Although it appears the decision has been made already.”

  Placing a hand on my shoulder, he guides me away from the roadside and back around to the other side of the carriage. I know he is right, and that as his wife I should accept his decision without argument, but still I bristle at the thought of abandoning another human being.

  “I'm sorry you had to see that,” he continues. “I just need to adjust a buckle on one of the horses, and then we're ready to get going again.”

  I nod, although I hesitate as I'm about to get back up onto the carriage.

  “Please, put her out of your mind,” Robert adds. “Creatures such as that hag are of no concern to the likes of us. Once we're at Wetherley House, you shall never see such horrific things again. That, I promise you. Wetherley is a paradise, a beacon of calm. You will soon forget that there is any meanness or cruelty in the world at all.”

  He helps me up onto the carriage, where I take a moment to settle my nerves as I wait patiently for my husband to finish with the horses. I cannot help glancing over toward side of the road, but it's impossible to see anything now through the thick branches and the overgrown grass. I can only hope that the woman's suffering is over soon, although I still feel that perhaps Robert could have allowed me to do more. After a few moments of further contemplation, I turn to my husband and see that he's almost done with the horse's buckle. And then, quite suddenly, I realize to my surprise that the birds have stopped chattering in the trees, and the entire world around us seems to have fallen quiet.

  I turn to look along the road.

  The birds are still in the trees, standing on the branches and silhouetted against the gray sky.

  Watching.

  Suddenly a figure lunges at me, scrambling over the side of the carriage. Startled, I see that it's the old woman from the ditch, and I'm unable to pull away before she grabs my swollen belly. I cry out, trying to push her back, but she slips one of her bony, dirt-encrusted hands under my dress and I feel her filthy flesh against mine.

  “She'll be taken from you!” the woman gasps, leaning closer and bringing with her a foul stench. “You left me to die and now a child will be taken from your family, so that I can live again and -”

  Before she's able to finish, the side of her head explodes and her body slumps to the side. As she crashes off the carriage and hits the ground, I'm left shaking and startled on my seat. After a moment, I realize that blood has sprayed not only across my dress but also against the sides of the carriage. There are little white pieces in the blood, too, which I can only suppose are from the woman's brain or skull.

  Finally, looking over my shoulder, I see that Robert still has his pistol aimed at the spot where the woman was standing, although he lowers the weapon after a moment.

  “Are you okay?” he asks breathlessly. “Did she hurt you?”

  I hesitate, before shaking my head.

  He steps over to the woman and looks down at her body for a moment, before kicking her head to make sure that she's dead.

  “Disgusting filth,” he mutters darkly. “We must get going. I'm sorry you were exposed to this, Marguerite, but I assure you that I will never again let anybody frighten you in such a manner.”

  He kicks her several more times, rolling her body until she tumbles back into the ditch. As he takes a moment to wipe blood from his boots, and then to clean the side of the carriage, I cannot help looking down and seeing the old woman's pale arms still poking out from deep in the long grass.

  Marguerite

  One month later

  “Are you ready?” the photographer asks, once he's finished adjusting his apparatus. “Remember to keep very still.”

  “What was that?” I mutter, feeling something brush against my shoulder. Turning, I see no sign of anyone behind me.

  “You must stay still, my dear,” Robert says from my other side. “Have you never had your photograph taken before?”

  Turning back to the camera, I cannot help but feel uneasy as I stare into its dark lens. Still, I know Robert is very keen to have a family portrait taken, so I offer my best smile and try to ignore the sensation of a hand touching my belly. I suppose such things are simply by-products of the photography process, which I do not understand at all.

  “Okay,” the photographer continues. “Here we go!”

  I force my smile even wider, although the sensation of a foreign hand persists on my belly.

  ***

  “Do you feel it?” I whisper a short time later, once the photographer has left, as Robert's hands rest on my swollen belly. “You must.”

  “It's like a big sw
ollen bag,” Robert replies with a smile.

  “But do you feel it kicking?”

  “I -”

  He hesitates, and as soon as he looks up at me again I can see that something has changed. For the first time, I see him not only as a husband, but also as a father.

  “There!” he continues. “Something -”

  He looks back down at my bare belly, his eyes filled with shock.

  “She's kicking,” I explain with a smile. “She's been doing it a lot lately. It seems she's a feisty one.”

  “Or he,” he points out.

  I shake my head, while he continues to feel my belly.

  “It's a girl,” I tell him. “Don't ask how I know. I just do. A mother can sense these things.”

  “I'm not sure a doctor would agree with you there,” he replies, finally getting to his feet and then placing a hand on the side of my face, brushing a finger against my cheek. “We'll know soon enough. Next week, with any luck. And I honestly don't mind if it's a boy or a girl. After all, it might be our first child, but I don't think it'll be our last. I intend for us to have a whole brood to fill this house, and we might not even stop there. The making is, itself, a rather enjoyable endeavor.”

  “Is Doctor Forbes aware of the date?”

  He nods.

  “And he'll be ready to come out here to the house?” I continue. “Are you sure we shouldn't go to the hospital instead?”

  “The journey would be a risk for you,” he explains, heading over to table and picking up his cup of tea. “Besides, Doctor Forbes and Miss Jacobs have delivered many babies in the past, so you'll be in the best possible hands. I've already seen to it that a lad from the town will come out here to Wetherley House and be ready to run back to Doctor Forbes at a moment's notice, to alert him when the time comes. I have spare no expense.” He takes another sip, before turning to me. “Everything is taken care of. You have to trust me on that.”

  “I do trust you,” I tell him. “It's just -”

  Before I can finish, I hear loud footsteps from the room above the dining room, and those footsteps swiftly head to the stairs. I know I should be more open-minded about Robert's family, but I can't help flinching whenever I know that one of them – especially his sister Eve – will be joining us shortly. When I turn to Robert again, I can already tell that he senses my displeasure.

  “She wants to help,” he points out, as Eve makes her way down the stairs.

  “I know.”

  “Just give it time,” he continues. “She -”

  “And how is the mother-to-be?” Eve asks loudly as she enters the room. “My dear Marguerite, I hope you're not overdoing things. In your condition, rest is the only sensible option. Aren't your knees at risk of buckling under such a weight?”

  “I'm being very well taken care of,” I reply. “Thank you.”

  “So polite,” she says with a laugh, stopping and kneeling in front of me. “Your English is very good, my dear. Much better than my French will ever be, that's for sure. I was never much good at languages. Now let me feel my pending nephew.”

  Without waiting for me to say anything, she reaches out and places an icy hand against my belly. I flinch and almost pull back, and I see a faint flicker of a smile on her lips as she moves her hand across the dome of tight flesh. A moment later, I feel another kick from the baby, although in truth I would prefer that she keeps still when the hands of others are searching for her.

  “He seems strong,” she suggests.

  “Marguerite thinks it's going to be a girl,” Robert tells her.

  “Nonsense.” She looks up at me. “I know a boy when I feel one. A mother's judgment is clouded during pregnancy, but as the child's aunt I enjoy a very clear perspective. Trust me, Marguerite. You're carrying a boy. A girl could never kick so hard.”

  “We shall see,” I reply, not wanting to get into another argument.

  “There!” she continues. “He kicks again! Why, I shall not take it personally, else I'd be convinced that he doesn't like me. Of course, that'll change one he's out. He'll swiftly come to realize that I'm the best aunt any child could possibly want. Oh, I am going to enjoy teaching him as he gets older. I have so much to offer a child!”

  “Well,” I reply, “I think -”

  “It feels like a big sack of worms!” she adds with evident glee, and while her hand continues to rest on my belly, her eyes are fixed on my face. I fear she's trying to upset me again, and this time I must not fall into the trap. “It feels, dearest sister-in-law, that you are carrying hundreds and hundreds of worms inside you, and they're all jostling for position and trying to gain an advantage over one another. Worms or maggots, anyway.” She pauses for a moment. “Obviously I know that's not the case. I'm just telling you how it feels.”

  “I think I should go and rest,” I reply, starting to lower the front of my dress so that she'll hopefully get the message and remove her hand.

  She does not, however. In fact, she seems to be challenging me.

  “I'm so very tired,” I continue, before looking over at Robert in the hope that he might help. “I shan't sleep. I merely wish to rest on the bed.”

  “Of course,” he replies, “and -”

  “Men understand nothing of what you're going through,” Eve continues, suddenly taking my hands in hers, as if after all this time she suddenly wishes to be my friend. “Dear Marguerite, my brother can no more guess how you are feeling, than you or I can guess what it is like to be a star in the night sky. And even by the standards of his gender, Robert is especially -”

  “How would you know anything of womanly matters?” Robert asks, fixing his sister with an angry stare. “How many of those feeble things in your belly have resulted in more than a few specks of blood and a fleshy knot to be thrown out with the bath water?”

  Eve immediately tenses, and I can see the fury in her eyes. I do hope they're not going to have one of their very loud arguments again.

  “Your husband has given up trying to bring an heir from between your legs,” he continues, stepping toward me and reaching down, taking my hands and slipping them free of his sister's grip. “Come, Marguerite. If you wish to rest, you should rest. I accept that I know little of what you are going through, but I hardly think my barren sister has any greater insight. She has miscarried five children in five years, and that's just the ones I know of. I'm sure she slipped several others out and threw them away, when nobody was watching.”

  Getting to my feet, I allow Robert to lead me toward the door, although after a moment I can't help glancing back at Eve. For all his wickedness and jealousy, and despite all her attempts to make me uncomfortable since I arrived in England and married Robert, there are times when I feel desperately sorry for the poor woman. Now, as she remains kneeling on the floor in front of the now-empty chair, with her back to us, I realize that this is one of those times when I feel for her. There was no need for Robert to be quite so harsh, and this is not the first time I have noticed that Eve reacts terribly badly whenever her barrenness is brought up.

  “Perhaps you should have been more tactful,” I whisper as we reach the hallway and Robert begins to lead me up the stairs. “She is your sister, after all.”

  “She's a wretched creature,” he mutters, “with a blackened and twisted excuse for a soul.”

  “But -”

  “I shall send her back to her husband next week,” he continues. “The man was foolish enough to marry her. He should be forced to endure her presence at least some of the time.”

  “I believe they do not speak very often.”

  “Then they can become reacquainted, can't they?”

  “Robert -”

  “I don't care what they do,” he adds, as we reach the door to the master bedroom and he leads me inside. “You are my family now, and our soon-to-be-born child will make us whole. Then Wetherley House can come alive again, and my sister can take her leave.” He helps me onto the bed and then fusses a little, pulling the sheets back so t
hat I can settle. “I won't have Eve interfering. It's bad enough that she has been here for so much of your pregnancy.”

  “Don't be too harsh on her.”

  “I must go into town and run some errands,” he explains, tucking me carefully into the bed. “Did I tell you that I'm going to invest in old Mr. Trin's new business? He wants to set up a glass factory, and I think he has the necessary experience to pull the venture off. He needs some money, though, to get started, and that is where he has need of a partner. I honestly believe that the business will grow, and that eventually we shall earn great riches. Not just for us, my dear, but for our unborn child. And for all the other children yet to come.”

  “I am sure you're right,” I tell him. “I just -”

  Before I can finish, I feel something brushing against my shoulder. I turn, but there is nobody there. Since we arrived at Wetherley House, however, I have noticed this sensation several times.

  “Upon my return,” Robert says calmly, I shall see to it that Eve leaves us alone for the evening. She can sit and rot in her room, for all I care. Perhaps that will help her get the message that she's not welcome here.”

  “But she's your sister and -”

  “The matter is settled.” Leaning closer, he kisses my forehead, and I instantly feel as if all is well with the world again. “Nothing is going to stand in the way of our happiness, my dear. I promise. And now, if you'll excuse me, I must go and ready the horses for my errands.”

  Once he's gone, I remain in the bed and listen to the silence that fills the room. Although I confess to feeling sorry for Eve, I shan't be sorry when she is gone, and when our first child arrives. Resting my hands on my belly, I close my eyes and let thoughts of motherhood lull me into a much-needed sleep. I hear a couple of creaks outside the room, as if someone is on the other side of the door, but I suppose that is just the nature of this old and remarkable house.