My missus. My poor, dear missus!
Half an hour later, master James and the doctor returned. I had spent the preceding thirty minutes in my room, curled up on the bed, in an agony of sorrow, anxiety, guilt and rage. Sorrow, because it seemed like I had lost missus for good and the thought was too much to bear. Anxiety, because I didn’t know what to do for the best. And guilt and rage, because I blamed myself. After all, it was in revenge for what she had wrote in her book that I’d begun the haunting. And it seemed that my false ghost had set her off on the route of madness. Moreover, I had failed to notice how much she had deteriorated, ever since the so-called apparition had appeared in her room. Right enough, I had barely seen her these past weeks since the doctor got involved. But to my mind, that was no excuse.
Of course, I knew now that there was no apparition. It was all in her head. And the Nora that I had seen at about the same time was just a dream, caused by my spooky thoughts. I had also been completely wrong about the walk. Far from feeling guilty about it, missus made no connection between Noras demise and that particular experiment. But then of course, missus no longer believed that Nora was dead.
I had made a right porridge of everything. With all my heart, I wished that I could go back to the beginning and start all over again at Castle Haivers. If only it could be so. Right from the very first, I would have behaved differently. For starters I wouldn’t have dug around in the grate to look at that burnt book, which had turned out only to have belonged to Morag but which had set me off on a suspicious note in the house. I would never have gone into missus desk and read her
Observations.
And I certainly wouldn’t have embarked upon my stupid path of revenge with the haunting.
So many things I would not have done. But it was too late. Missus was too far gone in her illness, beyond my powers to help her. And besides, I was scared of making things worse. Some other person had to take responsibility. Some person better educated and with a wiser brain and more common sense.
And so that is why, upon hearing master James and the doctor return, I went to the study and told them everything, right from the beginning and leaving nothing out.
I need not give a blow-by-blow account of what took place in that room. Suffice to say, I relayed all what missus had just tellt me and gave them my opinion—that she was gone mad and that it was my fault entirely. I confessed about the haunting I had inflicted on her and told them that I’d done it because of what I’d read in her book. I told them exactly what I thought. That because of her grieving for Nora, coupled with my interference and mischief, her mind had become confused and she had confounded her own experiments with a delusion about this imaginary figure Mrs. Gilfillan. And when they wanted to know about
The Observations,
I explained what they were.
I’ll say this much for the two gentlemen, they heard me out without really interrupting my testimony (for that is what it felt like I was giving). There was no exclamations or instant dismissals, no outraged behaviour, no storming about or throwing up of arms. Master James did chew his nails rather a lot whilst I was speaking and he looked quite surprised at a few of the things I revealed but the doctor, true to type, remained the least expressive of men, you could have set fire to his whiskers and he wouldn’t have blinked an eyelid. When I had finished they turned to each other and exchanged a glance. The doctors gaze dropped back to the bowl of his pipe. Master James rose to his feet. He stepped to the fireplace then turned and looked me in the eye.
“That is quite a story, Bessy,” he says. “I am not sure how much of it to believe, just at present, until we have had a chance to investigate further. You certainly give the appearance of speaking honestly, particularly since some of what you say, if true, is likely to result in your immediate dismissal from this house. Most specifically, I cannot see why on earth you would admit to pretending to be a ghost, unless you had indeed done so.” He glanced, perplexed, at the doctor as though expecting his intermission but McGregor-Robertson only continued to smoke placidly with downcast eyes and so master James addressed himself once more to me. As for the rest, for this story of sinister plots and an evil proprietress and of secret experiments and books being written by my wife when I am not at home—at the risk of understatement, might I say that it all sounds
a wee bit far-fetched.“
“Believe me, sir,” I says. “It is all true. I wish it weren’t, but it is.”
He nodded. “Perhaps you would leave us for a moment, Bessy. I would like to speak to the doctor alone. Don’t stray too far, we may need you in a little while.”
I made them a curtsey and stepped outside. As soon as the door closed, they began talking in low voices but I did not eavesdrop as I might have done in the past. Instead I wandered about the hall touching the furniture, the hat-stand, letter table, banister, those things that I had dusted many times, I put my hands on their surfaces, it was as though I was saying goodbye to them all. For several minutes the voices in the study rose and fell. Then suddenly the door flew open and the two gentlemen strode out.
Master James approached me and with a glance upstairs spoke quietly. “This book you mentioned. Suppose you tell me where it is kept.”
I hesitated, thinking of missus. Such a long time I had guarded her secret! But then I thought about the mad glint in her eye and all the guff she had come out with.
“It is in her desk, sir,” I says. “But she keeps the drawer locked and the key is usually hid in her pocket.”
He had already swivelled on his heel and was making for the staircase with the doctor in pursuit. I waited a few moments and then— since they had not told me to do otherwise—followed. As I sped upstairs I heard them enter the missus chamber. There was a muffled exchange of words I couldn’t quite make out and then a metallic clatter as though the fire irons had overturned in the hearth. Just as I reached the head of the stairs, I heard missus gasp and cry out.
“No!”
There was a scream, followed by sounds of a struggle and someone falling, then a repeated banging of metal on wood. Someone screamed again, louder this time. When I hurried into the room, I seen that master James was bent over the desk, wielding the poker as a lever and the doctor was grappling with missus on the floor. She kicked and thrashed as he pinned her down. When she caught sight of me, a look of wild and dreadful pleading came into her eyes. She was like a helpless animal, brought down by a predator.
“Stop him, Bessy! Stop him! They’re with Gilfillan!! They’ll take my results!!”
“It’s all right, marm,” I tellt her. “They’re here to help you. Dont worry”
But she only screamed and kicked harder.
Just then from the desk there was a groaning, wrenching sound and then a great snap! as the wood split. Master James staggered backwards. A broken section of the drawer clattered to the ground.
He reached inside and began pulling out the contents. First off, he produced
The Observations
itself and then, one after the other, out came the maids notebooks. There must have been dozens of them all told, for they littered the desktop. Ledger upon ledger, the diaries of many maids.
Missus went limp and began to weep softly. Realising that she had ceased to struggle, the doctor got to his feet and went to join master James at the desk. While missus continued to weep on the floor, McGregor-Robertson picked up
The Observations
and began to read aloud from the first page.
“Had we an account of the nature, habits and training of the domestic class in my time and details of particular cases therein, no history could be more useful.”
He cast a glance at missus, then continued reading, this time silently.
I crouched down beside her and tried to stroke her head but she flinched and looked at me suspiciously. “Do not pretend to be my friend,” she says, tears in her eyes.
“But I
am
your friend, marm,” I says. “Your very best friend.”
She glared at me for a moment and then it appeared she decided to trust me, for our eyes locked and she lowered her voice to a near-whisper. “What about Nora?” she croaked. “Is she safe?”
I opened my mouth to speak, though I wasn’t sure what to say but master James saved me the effort. He turned from the desk and addressed his wife harshly.
“Arabella! As you are well aware, that girl Nora is
dead
!”
At these words, missus looked stricken. Her eyes grew huge with panic and her hand flew to her throat. “Dead?” she says. “Really dead? Dead really and truly?”
Aye,“ he says. ”For God sake, you must remember. It was on the railway line.“
She cocked her head to one side. “The railway line? Yes, yes, I remember now.” She turned to me. “But what about the little one?” she says. “What about her little one?”
I just looked at her. “What?” I says and was about to add “What little one?” when the two gentlemen descended on us and the words were wrenched from me, as master James hauled me to my feet while the doctor knelt down in front of missus, shielding her from my view. Master James steered me in the direction of the door.
“Now, Bessy,” he says. “We are all a little overheated and your mistress is not herself, as you well know. She is not making sense. I think it would be a good idea if you left us alone with her. We need to speak to her to find out if what you claim is true. In any case, I want you to run down to Snatter and bring back some—some—”
“Ale,” says McGregor-Roberston, looking up coolly from his position on the floor. “For pitys sake let it be ale, for I would certainly like a drink this night after all that has taken place.”
Master James looked relieved. “Yes, ale!” he says. “I’d like some myself.” He began patting his pockets. “Er—Douglas, have you a few coins on you?” The doctor reached into his pocket and handed him some money, which master James pushed into my hand as he manoeuvred me onto the landing. Once there, he looked at me sternly. “Now not a word about this to anyone,” he says.
“No sir.”
“I have no desire to see you drunk but similarly I do not wish to see you back here for the next hour or so. Buy yourself a drink and make it last. The doctor and I will see if we can get any sense out of your mistress. As for you—” he looked at me sternly. “I haven’t yet decided what course of action I will take. I shall think about it overnight. Until I have come to a decision, Bessy, you may continue in my employ—but only on a strict warning.”
He went back inside the chamber and closed the door with a thud and then I heard the key turn in the lock.
19
I Lose Hope
Down at Janets the porch was empty but the hatch was open. There was a smell of burning fat in the air. I peered through into the taproom and seen with dismay that Hector was sat there with his feet up on the table. Janet was stood at the stove, I supposed she was cooking for some customer that had lodged upstairs. Neither one of them noticed me which was just as well for of a sudden I realised that I couldn’t face anybody. I stepped behind the door and pressed myself into a dark corner where it smelled of dust and spilt beer, old wood and piss and mould. I kept on seeing the broken desk,
The Observations
exposed and missus laying on the floor of her room, gazing up at me all helpless, with that trusting look in her eyes. Trusting me still, when I had done the dirty on her, and more than once!
I pressed myself harder into the corner, the wooden slats of the wall was uneven and split, I pushed my back against them. The sharp end of a nail jabbed into me and I dragged my shoulder across it on purpose, it ripped my frock and sliced into my skin. Just then, two men stepped in, they looked like miners from the village. I froze, ready to make some excuse for why I was hid behind the door but they went straight to the hatch and stood with their backs to me. Janet filled their bottles then returned to the stove, her eyes never once strayed in my direction and the two men left the porch without seeing me. Perhaps that should be my fate, I thought. To stand forevermore in a cold clatty corner, invisible to them that came and went, clutching empty bottles to my chest and cutting my back open on an old nail. For flip sake, that was
better
than I deserved.
Just then, Janet turned and set a dinner plate of chops and potatoes beside Hector. “Nip up the stair with that, would ye?” she says.
Hector, who had been cleaning his fingernails with a knife, came over all offended at the request. He considered the plate with some disdain then
slowly
got to his feet. He stretched and yawned, he scratched his head, he took note of a hole in the front of his waistcoat, he examined it, picked at it, stuck his finger through it. Finally, as if it was an afterthought, he lifted the plate and carried it upstairs, whistling “Anything for a Crust‘.
Since I was in no mood for Hector this was as good a chance as any to be served. I stepped up to the hatch, thinking Janet would notice me but she turned away, it seemed I really was invisible. I had to cough to announce my presence and then she span around.
“Och flip me!” she says. “I didnae hear you come in there.”
She wasn’t to know I’d been there near 20 minutes already! I sank the glass she poured me while she filled the bottles. Then I asked for another.
“I’ve no seen you in a wee while,” she says. “They keeping you busy?”
“I suppose.”
She threw me a glance. “Whit’s wrang, ma honey? Yer face is tripping ye. Are they no treating you right? Huv they no give ye your wages yet?”
“I am quite well,” I says shortly and paid her. Janet went back to the stove and began wiping it down. I thought about leaving but then something occurred to me.
“Remember last time I was here,” I says. “You were talking about that girl Nora.”
“Oh aye,” says Janet, looking interested.
Just then Hector came skyting downstairs with the plateful of chops and spuds in his hand. My heart sank as he caught sight of me and grinned. He gave the plate back to Janet.