by Amy Cross
Jobard continues to be very busy, working every hour of the day and often through the night as well. He assures me that he plans to take a holiday at some point, but in truth I am not too worried. He is a great man, and great men are always consumed by their work. The important thing to remember is that everything is perfect here at the Lakeforth and nobody could ever wish for a more perfect home. I know I am blissfully happy.
That said, I am considering coming to visit you for a few weeks soon. Please reply by return of mail, advising me if you are amenable to putting me up next weekend. Do not delay. In fact, I might just set off anyway. I'm sure you'll be pleased to see me.
Yours with the greatest love,
Mrs Ellen Nash
August 18th, 1945
***
“Just a week,” I stammer, trying to force a smile even though I feel sick to my stomach. “Two at the most. You could spare me for two weeks, could you not? I just feel that, after last week's events, I should rather get away for a while. I'm sure you'll understand.”
I wait for a reply, but Jobard doesn't even look up from his papers. I know I should remain silent until he's ready to speak to me, but I'm still feeling rather restless, and it is only twenty-four hours since I dared rise from my bed again. I feel certain that I shall be much better once I have been away from the Lakeforth for a few weeks, but first I need Jobard's permission to travel and he seems resolutely determined to keep me here. I suppose he simply doesn't understand my suffering.
“Jobard, please -”
“Is this because of that business last week?” he asks suddenly, setting his pen down and looking up at me.
“Jobard -”
“Because if it is, I must caution you that you're being utterly weak. When Silas found you screaming at the foot of the stairs, you had simply been overcome by the stresses of your recent routine. You were gabbling away about some frightful vision you believed you'd encountered, but I'm sure by now you must realize you were entirely mistaken.”
“Jobard -”
“Entirely mistaken,” he says again, much more firmly this time, while fixing me with a stern gaze. “There was not a jot of truth in the whole thing!”
“Of course,” I reply, affecting a degree of certainty that I honestly do not possess. “I was just being weak and foolish, and -”
“So there is no need for you to go and visit your parents,” he adds, interrupting me. “Whatever would people think, Ellen, if they learned that you had left the marital home just a few months after your arrival? You must consider how these things appear to the outside world, and you must remember that one of your duties as my wife is to stand by my side, no matter what. You know that I am too busy to entertain our guests at the moment. Therefore, you must be here to take my place and show them that we are good hosts.”
He hesitates, before looking back down at his papers.
“I simply cannot spare you at the moment,” he continues, and it's clear from the tone of his voice that he will brook no further argument regarding the matter. “Now, if there's nothing else, I would ask you to leave my office. This paperwork grows tiresome, yet it never seems to end.”
“Of course,” I reply meekly, taking a step back. In my heart of hearts, I still want to beg him to let me leave, even for a few days, but I know I have no right to do so. I must stay here, by his side, and put any superstitious thoughts out of my mind.
“And don't forget,” he adds, “that we are having our portrait taken later.”
“Of course,” I say again.
Taking a deep breath, I tell myself to stay strong.
Still, when I reach the doorway and step out into the empty corridor, I suddenly flinch at the thought of walking all the way to the stairs without anybody to accompany me. I have rather expertly avoided being alone over the past week, ever since I encountered that frightful little girl, while I have taken pills to thoroughly knock myself out every night. Now, even though I can hear voices in the distance as guests make their way across the reception hallway, I shudder at the thought of walking alone even for thirty seconds or less.
“Shut the door after you,” Jobard mutters. “There's a good woman.”
Since I cannot possibly argue with him, I do as I am told, and then I find myself standing alone in the corridor.
All alone.
I turn and look over my shoulder, but there is no sign of anyone behind me. Too scared to move a muscle, lest I might cause a disturbance and perhaps summon that terrible spirit one more time, I hesitate for a moment before telling myself that I must simply stop being so silly. Why, my nerves are getting so bad, I fear I am actually starting to break out into a cold sweat.
Taking a deep breath, I finally hurry along the corridor, walking faster and faster as I make my way toward the top of the stairs. I feel certain that the girl is right behind me, that I shall see her if I turn, or that I shall feel her cold, wet hand on my shoulder. Each step I take feels as if it lasts a thousand years, and by the time I reach the stairs I am quite sure that the girl is directly behind me. Turning, I see no sign of her, but that only means she is trying to fool me. Looking down the stairs, I see several guests near the main desk, and finally I breathe a sigh of relief.
The girl cannot come to me now, not when I am in the company of others. Of that, I am quite sure. With that thought in my mind, I hurry down to join them.
***
“Are you ready?” the photographer asks cheerily, peering through the lens of his device. “Smile for the camera, please!”
“You must smile,” Jobard whispers, nudging my arm. “Ellen, you look terrified.”
“I have never had my portrait taken before,” I reply. “I have never been photographed at all.”
“You know how to smile, do you not?”
I try to smile, but deep down I still feel dreadfully out of sorts and afraid. I can't help looking past the photographer, toward the doorway at the far end of the dining room. That wretched girl could appear at any moment, and I am sure I can feel her presence somewhere nearby.
“Stay still now!” the photographer instructs us. “I'm about to start!”
“Smile!” Jobard hisses.
Doing my absolute best, I force a smile that feels utterly unnatural. I can only hope that I am a better actress than I realize, because I feel sure that no smile in all the world could hide the horror I feel in my chest. Then again, perhaps a camera cannot pick up such things. A smile is a smile, and so long as I appear happy in the portrait, that is all that matters.
***
“On the contrary,” Major Barton says with a haughty laugh, “I am quite sure of it. There shall never be another war, not like these last two. The human race has learned its lesson. And if I am wrong, then we deserve everything we get.”
With that, he takes a swig of wine, and the other men at the table murmur in agreement while the ladies all remain silent.
Glancing over my shoulder, I look back across the patio and toward the doors that lead into the dining room. Once again, Jobard has failed to come down from his office, leaving me to entertain our guests this evening. I suppose I should not be in any way surprised, and I am certainly accustomed to playing the role of host, but tonight I do wish he might have shown his face. I do not quite understand what he does up there every evening, but as I look up toward his office window, I see that the light is still on and that his shadow is still visible against the closed drapes.
Are his shoulders becoming a little more hunched these days?
“And what about you, Mrs. Nash?” Mrs. Dawley asks suddenly. “Do you think our sons and daughters will one day have to go off and fight again?”
Turning to her, I feel momentarily startled by the question.
“No,” I stammer, “I mean... Yes, no, I...”
Hesitating, I realize that the others seem terribly amused by my indecision. In fact, I have evidently become the center of attention, with all the faces at the table turned to me. Swallowing hard, I resolve
to give a firmer answer.
“I should hope not,” I continue. “So many died over the past few years. Surely, we are due a period of peace?”
“Not in the age of the machine,” Mr. Plum mutters darkly, sitting at the far end of the table. “The machines need to be fed, and they won't eat other machines.”
“What will they eat, then?” his wife asks, affecting a bright, amused giggle.
“Soil,” he replies. “And mankind.”
“You must excuse my husband,” Mrs. Plum says, turning to each of the rest of us in turn. “He takes a frightfully pessimistic view of the world sometimes.”
“Mark my words,” he continues. “One hundred years from now, machines will rule the world. In the year 2045, the human race will be reduced to the role of scurrying, pathetic vermin, while the machines will make every decision, implement every plan, and redesign the world so that it better suits their needs. Why wouldn't they? The day the first machine gains an understanding of its own nature, is the day the human race begins its inevitable slide into oblivion. And the crowning irony will be the fact that we are the ones who will create the machines in the first place.”
As Mr. Dawley offers a counter-argument, I rather start ignoring the conversation. I feel a strange, unsettled sensation creeping up my spine, and a moment later the hairs on the back of my neck seem to shift slightly. Reaching back, I scratch the affected patch of skin, and then I glance around to make sure that nobody is watching me from the darkness at the edge of the patio. In the back of my mind, I suppose I expect to see that wretched girl again, although I keep telling myself that she won't appear while I am with others.
Sure enough, there is no sign of her.
Yet that unsettled feeling persists.
Turning the other way, I look past the far end of the table, but all I see is darkness. I know the forest is out there somewhere, and the lake beyond, but I feel certain that something is watching me right now.
Watching, yet unseen.
“Are you alright?” Mrs. Walsh whispers, nudging my arm. “You look rather pale, Ellen.”
“I'm fine,” I reply, trying to smile even though I feel sick to my stomach. I continue to look around for a moment longer, before turning to her again. “Please, pay me no attention. Lately, I have simply allowed myself to be overcome far too easily. That's all.”
“I know the feeling,” she mutters, as the others continue to talk. “Married life is never easy, especially at the beginning. One must simply fumble along as best one can, mustn't one? Until one gets into a rhythm, I mean.”
I nod, supposing her to be right, and then I try to force myself to focus on staying calm. Taking a deep breath, I look at the others around the table, before glancing back up toward Jobard's office window.
And then I freeze, as I see that there is now a second shadow cast against the drapes. Jobard's hunched shadow is where it should be, writing at the desk, but next to him there is another, shorter shadow, as if a young girl is standing next to the desk and watching him.
Staring for a moment, I keep telling myself that the girl must simply be a trick of the light, yet still she persists.
“Ellen?” Mrs. Walsh says after a few seconds, nudging my arm again. “What is it?”
“Do you see that?” I ask, unable to stop watching the window.
“See what, my dear?”
“At the window! Up there! Do you see a little girl?”
“Well... Yes. Of course. I mean, I think so. It's rather difficult to be sure from here. I'm afraid I don't have my glasses with me.”
Getting to my feet, I keep my eyes fixed on the window. Jobard appears not to have looked up from his desk, but the shadow of the little girl is just a few feet from him. I want to call out, to scream so loud that he'll hear me and realize that something is in the office with him, but at the same time I worry that the girl might do something awful if she realizes that she has been spotted. Torn by indecision, I can only manage to watch the window with a mounting sense of horror.
And then, quite suddenly, the girl steps toward Jobard and reaches out, and the shadow of her hand falls upon the shadow of his shoulder.
“No!” I shout, rushing around the side of the table and hurrying across the patio, heading back into the building. I honestly have not a single sensible thought in my head, but I know I must get to the office at once and warn my husband that some spirit or creature of the next world has materialized in his presence.
Almost tripping as I start making my way up the stairs, I push past a couple of guests who are coming down the other way, and I'm quite sure that they must be disturbed by my wild, frantic rush.
“What's wrong with her?” an unimpressed voice mutters behind me. “Why's she racing about like a madwoman?”
“Jobard!” I shout, unable to hide my desperation a moment longer. “Jobard, get out of there!”
Reaching the top of the stairs, I hurry along the corridor until I reach the door to his office, which I immediately fling open as I throw myself into the room. As soon as I do so, however, I see that Jobard is sitting quite alone at his desk, still working at his papers, although he quickly looks up at me with a hint of irritation in his eyes.
“Ellen?” he says cautiously. “Whatever is wrong with you?”
“She was here,” I stammer. “Did you not feel her touch? She placed her hand on your shoulder!”
“I beg your -”
“She was right here!” I hiss, hurrying over to the desk and then stopping to look around at the rest of the room. The girl is not here now, but this time I know what I saw and I refuse to let anybody tell me I'm crazy. “You must have at least sensed her. Even a spirit cannot pass through a room without leaving some trace of her presence.”
Turning to him, I see that he clearly has no idea what I mean.
“She was right here!” I scream, with tears rolling down my cheeks as I point to the spot next to him. “I saw her shadow from the patio! You can't possibly tell me that you weren't aware, not when she was standing right next to you!”
Rushing around the side of the desk, I place my hand on his shoulder.
“There!” I shout. “You feel that, do you not?”
“Ellen -”
“So how could you not have felt her?” I sob, dropping to my knees as I feel great, convulsing waves of horror bursting through my chest. “Tell me, Jobard! How could you not know that the horrid little creature was right here in the room with you? Did you not hear the water running from her mouth? Did you not feel the air getting colder? Please, tell me you've seen this girl!”
He says nothing. All I see in his eyes is a sense of utter bewilderment.
“Why am I the only one?” I whimper, collapsing in a heap as I hear Silas hurrying into the room. “Why does she appear to me, but to nobody else? Why must I be haunted by that pale, rotten little face?”
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Mother and Father,
I shall be on the train that arrives at noon tomorrow. You must excuse the suddenness of the visit, but it cannot be helped. I look forward very much to seeing you both again.
Yours with love,
Mrs Ellen Nash
August 21st, 1945
***
“And what did Jobard say when you told him you'd be coming back to us for a few days?” Mother asks as she brings a cup of tea into the parlor. “I'm surprised he was willing to let his young wife leave the marital home so swiftly.”
“He was surprisingly amenable to the idea,” I reply, forcing a smile even though I feel sick to my stomach. “He agreed that it might be for the best, since...”
My voice trails off.
Since what?
There is no way to adequately explain my sudden departure from the Lakeforth. I have told Mother and Father that I simply wished to come and check on them, but I can tell that they're not entirely persuaded by that argument. Fortunately, they are far too polite and respectful to press me on the matter, so they have focused inste
ad on making sure that I am comfortable.
I wish I could say the same for Eve, however. My younger sister is watching me like a hawk, and I know that she'll press me for details as soon as she and I are alone together.
“You'll be heading back after the weekend, I assume?” Mother says as she sits in her usual chair by the window. “You can't leave a married man alone for too long, Ellen, or he'll start regressing into bad habits. Men are like dogs, you know. They need training, and they need repetition.”
“I shall go back to the Lakeforth very soon,” I tell her. “You mustn't worry about that. Are you not pleased to have me home?”
“Of course we are,” she replies, getting to her feet and heading to the door. “I forgot the sugar. Just wait right here.”
I almost get up to go with her, but at the last moment I decide to remain seated. That quickly proves to be a mistake, however, as I realize that now I am alone in the room with Eve, and it's quite clear that she has many questions. I might be able to pull the wool over the eyes of my parents, but Eve knows me far too well. Besides, she always seems to take a devilish delight in asking questions that she knows will irritate me.
“So?” she says finally.
I turn to her. “So what?”
“So what's the real story?” she continues, keeping her voice low. “The way you rode off to your wedding, I didn't think you'd ever set foot in this house again. And now here you are, clearly upset by something. If I didn't know better, I'd be wondering whether you ran away from the hotel. Did Jobard hit you?”
I shake my head.
“Are you with child?”
Again, I shake my head.
“Have there been arguments?”
“It's nothing,” I tell her. “I have simply been missing home a little, that's all. Can't you believe that I wanted to see all of you again?”
“Honestly?” She eyes me with suspicion for a moment. “No, I can't believe that. Something happened at the Lakeforth, something that sent you scurrying back here. You'll return to the hotel, of course, because you know you have no choice, but you're dreading it. The only question in my mind is about what could have upset you like this.”
