I followed in astonishment, both amused and disturbed by her grown-up manner. She waited until I had sat down on a long sofa before taking her place in an armchair opposite me, as if she was mistress of Gaudlin and not the daughter of the house. Eustace hovered between us but then chose to sit at the very end of the sofa, staring at his toes.
“Your parents are home, aren’t they?” I asked, sitting opposite her, beginning to wonder whether this entire position was some elaborate ruse, designed to fool a grieving young woman for no apparent reason. Perhaps the family was comprised of lunatics.
“They’re not, I’m afraid,” she said. “There’s just Eustace and me. Mrs. Livermore comes in every day to take care of various things. She does a little cooking and leaves meals for us. I hope you like overcooked meat and undercooked vegetables. But she lives in the village. And you’ve met Heckling, of course. He has a cottage out near the stables. Dreadful man, don’t you agree? He reminds me of an ape. And doesn’t he smell funny?”
“He smells of the horses,” said Eustace, grinning at me, displaying a missing front tooth, and I could not prevent myself, despite my disquiet, from smiling back.
“He does rather,” I said before turning back to his sister. “I’m sorry,” I said, my tone expressing my confusion. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No.”
She frowned and nodded, waiting the longest time before replying. “How rude of me,” she said. “My name is Isabella Westerley. I am named for one of the great Queens of Spain.”
“Isabella of Castille,” I said, remembering my history.
“That’s the one,” she replied, apparently pleased that I knew to whom she was referring. “My mother was born in Cantabria, you see. My father, on the other hand, was born here. In this very house.”
“So you’re half English, half Spanish?” I said.
“Yes, if you want to talk of me in terms of fractions,” she replied.
I stared at her, then looked around. There were some interesting paintings in the room—forebears of the current inhabitants, I assumed—and a rather lovely tapestry on the wall that faced out towards the courtyard, and it crossed my mind that I would enjoy studying these in more detail the following day, in sunlight.
“But you don’t,” I began, wondering how to phrase this. “You don’t live here alone, surely? Just the two of you?”
“Oh no, of course not,” said Isabella. “We’re far too young to be left alone.”
I exhaled a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens for that,” I said. “Well, if your parents aren’t here, then who is? Could you call for the adult of the house?”
To my astonishment, without moving even slightly on her seat, Isabella opened her mouth and let out an extraordinary and chilling scream. At least, I thought it was a scream until I realized that she had, in fact, simply called my name. Eliza Caine.
“What on earth?” I said, placing a hand to my breast in fright. I could feel my heart thumping in my chest. I glanced across at Eustace but he seemed unperturbed, merely staring at me, the whites of his eyes appearing very clear in the candlelight.
“I do apologize,” said Isabella, smiling a little. “But you asked me to call for the adult of the house.”
“And you called my name. You screamed it, in fact.”
“You are the adult of the house,” she insisted. “Now that Miss Bennet is gone. You’ve taken her place. You’re the only responsible adult here.”
“Ha!” said Eustace, laughing a little and shaking his head, as if his sister’s statement was not one that he entirely believed. He was not the only person who seemed astonished. I could make no sense of this.
“But the advertisement—” I began, exhausted by now from explaining this.
“Was placed by Miss Bennet,” said Isabella. “I told you that. You’re her replacement.”
“But who takes charge of things? Who, for example, settles my accounts due?”
“Mr. Raisin.”
There was that name again. Mr. Raisin, the lawyer. So Heckling had not been entirely deceiving me.
“And where is this Mr. Raisin, might I ask?”
“He lives in the village. I can show you tomorrow if you like.”
I glanced at the grandfather clock, beautiful piece, that was standing in the corner of the room. It was already past ten o’clock at night.
“Mr. Raisin settles everything,” continued Isabella. “He pays the governess, he pays Mrs. Livermore and Heckling. He sees that we have our pocket money.”
“And he reports to your parents?” I asked and this time Isabella shrugged her shoulders and looked away.
“You must be tired,” she said.
“I am rather,” I agreed. “It’s been a very long day.”
“And hungry? I’m sure there’s something in the kitchen if—”
“No,” I said, shaking my head and standing up abruptly. I had had enough of this for one night. “No, the motion of the carriage has unsettled my stomach a little. Perhaps it would be for the best if you just showed me to my room. A good night’s sleep will settle things and then tomorrow I can find Mr. Raisin and get to the bottom of this business.”
“As you like,” said Isabella, standing up. The moment she did, Eustace stood too and clung close to her. She smiled at me, that mistress-of-the-house expression on her face once again. “Won’t you follow me?”
We made our way upstairs. It was such a grand and elaborate staircase that I could not resist running my hand against the marble balustrade. The carpet beneath our feet was of a very fine quality too, although like everything else in the house it did not look as if it had been changed in a number of years.
“Eustace and I sleep here on the first floor,” said Isabella, indicating a couple of rooms towards the end of a corridor; difficult to see in the darkness now for only Isabella was carrying a candle. “You’re on the next floor up. I hope you’ll be comfortable. Truly I do.”
I looked at her, wondering whether she was trying to be funny, but her face bore a stoic expression and we ascended together, Isabella with her candle three steps in front of Eustace; Eustace three steps before me. I glanced at his bare feet. They were tiny and he had two cuts on his heels, as if he had been wearing shoes that were a size too small. Who looked after this little boy, I wondered, if there were no adults around? “This way, Eliza Caine,” said Isabella, making her way along a corridor before opening a large oak door and stepping inside. Entering a few moments later, I appreciated the fact that she had used her own candle to light three more in the bedroom and I looked around, able to see a little better now. It was a rather nice room, large and quite airy, neither cold nor hot, and the bed looked comfortable. My sense of unease dissipated and I felt goodwill towards the children and this place. Everything would be all right in the morning, I decided. Things would become clearer then.
“Well, goodnight then,” said Isabella, heading for the door. “I hope you sleep well.”
“Goodnight, Miss Caine,” said Eustace, following his sister, and I smiled and nodded at them both, wished them a good night’s sleep and told them that I would look forward to our getting better acquainted in the morning.
When I was alone, the first time I had been alone since leaving my home that morning, I sat on the bed for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked around, uncertain whether I should burst into tears at how bizarre this day had been or laugh out loud at the absurdity of it all. When I finally unlatched my suitcase I decided against unpacking and setting my clothes away in the wardrobe and bureau just yet. That, I decided, could wait until the morning. Instead, I simply took out my nightdress and changed into it, glad to relieve myself of my wet clothes, and performed a few ablutions in the bowl that was laid out with a water jug on a side table. I pulled the curtain aside to examine my view and was pleased to see that my room was situated at the front of the house, overlooking the lawns. I tried to open the tall windows to breathe in the nig
ht air but they were sealed fast and no pressure that I put on the handles would make them open. I could see the driveway that Heckling and I had rode along streaking off into the distance, and a half-moon illuminated some of the estate that was entirely empty now. Relieved, I climbed into bed, satisfied by the spring of the mattress and the softness of the pillows. Everything will be all right, I told myself. Everything always feels better after a good night’s sleep.
I blew out the last remaining candle on my bedside table and pulled the sheets up about my shoulders, closing my eyes and allowing a great yawn to escape my mouth. In the distance I could hear a rather unpleasant cry and wondered whether it was Winnie settling down for the night, but then I heard it again and it was not the sound of a horse, I could tell that much, and decided that no, it must be the wind in the trees, for it had grown even more blustery than before and the rain was starting to pound against my window. It would not keep me awake though, I decided, despite how horrible the sound that wind made, more like a woman being choked to death than anything else, for I was tired and weary after my day’s journey and the confusion of the three residents of Gaudlin that I had met so far.
I closed my eyes and sighed, stretching out my body, my legs digging down deeper under the covers, and I expected that at any moment my toes would touch the wooden bedstead, but they did not and I smiled to realize that the bed was longer than I was, that I could stretch out as much as I wanted, and I did so, pleased to feel my aching limbs loosen up as they reached as far as they could, the toes dancing beneath the sheets, a sensation of the most delightful pleasure, until a pair of hands grabbed both my ankles tightly, the fingers pressing sharply against the bone, as they pulled me down into the bed and I gasped, dragging myself back up quickly, wondering what kind of terrible nightmare I had fallen into. Throwing myself from the bed, I pulled the curtains across and ripped the bedspread away but there was nothing there. I stood, my heart pounding. I had not imagined it. Two hands had gripped my ankles and pulled me. I could feel them still. I stared in disbelief, but before I could gather my thoughts the door flew open and a sharp light filled the corridor, a white, ghost-like figure standing before me.
Isabella.
“Are you all right, Eliza Caine?” she asked.
I gasped and ran towards her and the comfort of the candle. “There’s something …” I began, uncertain how to explain it. “In the bed, there was … I could feel …”
She stepped forward and held the candle over it, examining it up and down from pillow to base. “It’s entirely empty,” she said. “Did you have a bad dream?”
I thought about it. It was the only sensible explanation. “I must have,” I said. “I thought I was still awake but I must have drifted off. I’m sorry for waking you. I don’t … I don’t know what came over me.”
“You woke Eustace, you know. He’s a light sleeper.”
“I’m sorry about that,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow, as if she was considering whether or not she could find it in her heart to forgive me, but settled for a polite nod instead and left me, closing the door behind her.
I stood by the side of the bed for a long time, until I could convince myself that it must have been my imagination playing tricks on me, and then finally, leaving the curtains open to allow the moonlight to pour in, I climbed back into the bed, pulling the sheets around me, and slowly, very slowly, allowed my legs to stretch out once more, where they encountered nothing other than the soft sheets of the bed.
I closed my eyes, convinced that I would never sleep now, but exhaustion must have overtaken me, for when I woke again, the sun was streaming through the windows, the rain and wind had dissipated, and a new day, my first at Gaudlin Hall, was upon me.
Chapter Seven
IT CAME AS A relief that my first morning at Gaudlin should be a bright and sunny one, but also a surprise that a night of heavy rain could give way to such a fine aftermath. I knew nothing of Norfolk weather, of course, and this might have been a typical response to an overnight storm but I could not recall when I had last awoken to such clear skies and pleasant conditions. In London, there was always the murk of a prodigious fog in the air, the smell of burnt coal, the sensation that one’s body was being surreptitiously coated with some infamous parasitic residue that would seep through the pores and sink beneath the skin, an assassin lurking, but here, looking through the large windows across the grounds that surrounded the house, I felt that if I were to run outside and fill my lungs with good, honest country air, then all my traumas of the past week would begin to dissolve and threaten my spirits no more.
It was this optimistic sensation that lifted my mood when otherwise it might have been deflated by apprehension and loneliness. To my surprise I had enjoyed a good night’s sleep and the various unpleasant businesses of the previous day—my brush with death at the train station, my difficulty in conversing with Heckling, the uncertainty regarding my employers, that ridiculous nightmare when I went to bed (for nightmare, I was now certain, was all it could have been, a fantasy born of exhaustion and hunger)—all of these things seemed remote to me now. I was determined that today, the first day of my new life away from London, would be a good one.
The smell of cooking led me directly through a series of connected rooms on the ground floor, the odour growing stronger in each one. The drawing room where I had sat with the children the night before, a rather ornate dining room with a table that might have seated twenty, a small reading room that was filled with marvellous light, a corridor whose walls were decorated with watercolours of butterflies and, finally, the kitchen. I did not know where the Westerleys ate in the mornings for I had not yet received a thorough tour of the house but felt certain that if I followed my nose then I would find the entire family enjoying their breakfast and preparing to welcome me. Surely all this nonsense about Isabella and Eustace’s parents would be sorted out then.
To my surprise, however, the kitchen was deserted, although the aromas in the air made it clear that someone had been there not long before, preparing breakfast.
“Hello,” I cried, stepping towards the pantry in search of the cook. “Is there anyone here?”
But no, there wasn’t. I looked around; the shelves were well stocked. There were fresh vegetables and fruit lying in baskets, and a cold store that, when opened, revealed cuts of beef and poultry encased in glass containers. A bowl of brown eggs sat beneath the window next to a loaf of nut-infused bread that had been delivered of several slices already. Pausing for a moment, wondering what I should do next, my attention was taken by the rather fine arched Romanesque window and, looking through, I observed a portly, middle-aged lady wearing what appeared to be a maid’s uniform marching along the gravel in the direction of Heckling’s stables, a deeply filled bag in her left hand, a coat and hat adorning her ample frame, and I wondered whether this was the Mrs. Livermore to whom Isabella had referred the night before. I had failed to ask who she was at the time, assuming that she was some type of housekeeper, but the ensemble that this lady was dressed in suggested otherwise.
I stepped across to the pantry door but struggled with the key in the lock, which was stiff and unwilling to turn, much like the windows in my bedroom which, when tried again in the morning, had proved impossible to open. I forced the door, however, and finally emerged into the grounds just as the lady turned the corner of the house and disappeared from sight. I called out, expecting her to hear me and retrace her steps, and when she did not, I followed at rather a good pace, determined to catch up with her, but when I turned the corner myself a few moments later she had vanished entirely. I looked around in astonishment—there did not seem to be anywhere that she could have gone, nor could she have made her way to the far end of the perimeter in such a short time, but the fact remained that she had been there one moment and had disappeared the next. I glanced to my left, through the clump of trees; the horse, Winnie, was standing patiently outside the stables, staring at me, fixing me with a look tha
t unsettled me. Confused, I could think of nothing else to do but turn round and make my way back to the pantry door.
To my frustration it had closed and locked itself from the inside—how it could possibly have done this I did not know, as I had left the door wide open and there was absolutely no breeze to push it shut again—and this left me with no choice but to walk round to the front door of Gaudlin Hall, which was mercifully unlocked, and make my way back through the house to where I had begun.
I sat down at the kitchen table and frowned, wondering what I should do next. Was I to prepare my own breakfast? Had the children eaten? Were they even awake or was I expected to rouse them too? I had almost decided to go back upstairs and knock on Isabella’s door when, to my horror, a pair of hands grabbed my ankles from beneath the table, much like the wicked creature in my fantasy had the night before, but before I could scream or leap from my seat, a small boy appeared from beneath and he scampered out with a mischievous grin on his face.
“Eustace,” I said, shaking my head and holding a hand to my chest. “You gave me a fright.”
“You didn’t see me under there, did you?”
“I didn’t,” I replied, smiling. It was impossible to be angry with him. “I thought I was alone.”
“You’re never alone at Gaudlin Hall,” he said. “Miss Harkness used to say that she would give a month’s salary for a day’s peace and quiet.”
“I prefer company,” I told him. “If I’d wanted solitude I would have stayed in London. But look at you,” I added after a moment, standing up and taking him in from head to toe. “Don’t you look smart!”
It was true; he looked very fine indeed. He was dressed in a neat pair of white trousers, a white shirt and tie and a blue serge jacket that made me want to reach out and stroke the fabric in much the same way that Mr. Dickens’ waistcoat, a week earlier, had also made me long to experience the sensation of such expensive material against my fingertips. He had washed too; I could smell the rich scent of carbolic soap that emanated from his body. And his hair was neatly combed, parted at the side and held in place with a little pomade. He might have been going out on a family visit or attending church services, such was his respectable appearance.