“
Yes
,” I says.
“He thinks that he is Napoleon Bonaparte,” says missus quietly. She opened her eyes and surveyed the group on the lawn. “Do you see the man walking away from him?”
“Yes,” I says.
“He thinks that he is the Lord,” says missus. She looked at me, with wide eyes. “Not the
laird,
mark you. What I mean is, he thinks that he is Jesus Christ our Lord and Saviour. Isn’t that remarkable?”
I gazed at the tall man once again. He looked an ordinary enough cove to me, if a bit on the stringy side. I had barely enough time to think about it before missus had addressed me again, out the corner of her mouth.
“That lady over there,” she says. “I have no wish to point but she is in a grey dress, seated in a group of four ladies, under the Scots Pine tree.”
“Oh yes,” I says.
“She believes that there are little people living on her shoulders. Yesterday afternoon, somebody bumped into her by accident. Youve never seen such a fuss. All the little people were knocked to the floor, don’t you know. We had to help her pick them up! Of course there was nothing there. But we humoured the poor dear. We put them back on her shoulders. She was in tears. Those are the most interesting patients, Bessy, those who believe outlandish things. Most of them, bless them, are just rather melancholy or have strange fears of things that are not at all frightening, like corners for example. There is one man who is afraid of corners.”
I looked at missus. She seemed excited, almost thrilled. Careful to keep my voice conversational, I says, “And have you seen Nora since you got here?”
“Oh no,” she says. “Nora is gone.”
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that there was nobody close at hand. The old man that had opened the gate was clipping a hedge at the far end of the rose garden, but he was too far away to overhear us.
“That is what I wanted to talk to you about,” says missus. She clutched my hands. “I am so glad you’ve come, Bessy! You see, Nora and I—well, you know that we planned to get rid of Mrs. Gilfillan and her henchman, so that Nora could be free?”
Not knowing what else to do, I nodded.
Missus shook her head and rolled her eyes. “There are some strange things that I have to tell you, Bessy,” she says. “First of all, you should know that I met with the woman herself. Believe it or not, I met Gilfillan! I knew her right away, as soon as I saw her. It was quite a stroke of luck. I had been looking for her everywhere—even though it was difficult to achieve as I myself had certain reasons to keep out of sight. I happened to have found my way to the Station road and was in a garden there, peering out from behind a hedge to see if the coast was clear when all at once there she was, just up the road, emerging from the Railway Tavern! The very same person that I had seen lurking at Castle Haivers, the one who had been watching us all that time. It was her, to the life!”
I felt sick with dread,
1/2
desperate to know what missus might say next and
1/2
horrified of what she might reveal.
“What happened?” I says.
“Well,” says missus. “I could not let this opportunity pass me by. And so I stepped out of the hedge and hurried after her. She had disappeared around the side of the Tavern and I caught up with her just as she stepped out from behind a stack of barrels. I promptly introduced myself and engaged her in some light conversation, about the terrible weather. She seemed suspicious of me at first but after we had spoken for a few moments she appeared to let down her guard somewhat. I asked her to accompany me, saying that I had something of interest to show her. And as we walked we had a very interesting conversation. We did not go far, only to the bridge—where I drew her attention to the low wall there. I don’t want to say too much about it. But let’s just say that with the application of a little pressure, I persuaded her to reconsider her position.”
She gave me a mysterious smile. I thought of my mothers severed body, lying beside the railway tracks, not
1/2
a mile from the bridge. It was true then. What I had suspected was true!
Missus squeezed my hands. “But Bessy, you must know, the most incredible thing about it, I still have to tell you. You won’t believe it.”
“What?” I says faintly.
“You see, it wasn’t
Nora
that the woman wanted after all.”
“No?”
Missus shook her head. “No, dear,” she says. “It was you! She was going to take
you
to Glasgow. Why—she pretended not to have heard of Nora! But when I mentioned your name, and said what a wonderful maid you had proved to be, she became very animated. And then we had a disagreement. Horrible woman! She really was a monster! And then—well, I have said enough. I persuaded her to leave you alone. Just rest assured, dear, she won’t be bothering you. You are quite safe now.
She stroked my cheek and looked into my eyes. “Dear Bessy,” she says. “What are you thinking of?”
I shook my head, blinking away my tears. “Nothing, marm,” I says. “Nothing.”
She smiled. “Do you know, dear, I have come to a conclusion about you. And Nora agrees with me. I consulted her and she told me that I was quite right.”
“What—what conclusion is that, marm?”
“That you really are the most loyal, courageous and true friend a person could ever wish for. I am blessed to have found you.”
And with that, she turned back to watch the cricket match. There was a pause in play. Napoleon was berating another member of his team. Meanwhile, Jesus performed a cartwheel and was applauded by the ladies. They all looked blurry to me.
After a while, missus spoke again. “This place is most intriguing, don’t you think?” she says. “I have spoken to Doctor Lawrence about it and he agrees with me. I don’t know how long I am going to be here, Bessy, but while I am, I intend to make good use of the time. All that work I did on servants and obedience! Now that I am out in the world, I see that there are far more interesting subjects. The lunatic! What could be more pertinent than that for our age? It is my new preoccupation. They have given me pen and paper. I am not making a public announcement about it at this stage. But just between you and me, I have begun to write another book.”
She turned to me. “You shall have to help me think of a title,” she says. “What was it you called my other book?”
“
The Observations
, marm.”
She sat back with a smile. “That’s right,” she says.“
The Observations.
Well, if you don’t mind me saying, Bessy, it’s not a very good title is it? No, we shall have to think of something better this time.”
I was going to start a fresh chapter, telling all about what has happened since then. But I don’t like goodbyes and from hereon in, it is only goodbye that I would be saying. So I will keep it short and sweet.
It had been my intention to stay in Foulburn for a while, so that I could visit missus more than once. That afternoon, I took a lodging at the village inn and later I went back to the asylum for tea. It was quite strange to see how properly everything was run, with all the patients four to a table and the lady patients doling out scones and slices of bread and butter. I even met Jesus and Napoleon. Jesus was all right but Napoleon was frosty-faced. And the man who had a fear of corners kept cringing at all the little triangles of bread.
In the evening, I returned to my lodging and it was upon undoing my bundle to unpack that I came across
The Observations,
wrapped up in my clothes. I had forgot all about putting them in there, it seemed like a lifetime ago. I wondered whether Dr Lawrence would have any objection to me returning the book to missus. It didn’t look or smell too pretty, now it was burned. I flipped open the cover and seen that the scorching had reached inside. The corner of the black and white label ex-bibliotheocastel-haivers had burned away and the lady and her maid had lost their slippered feet.
And then I noticed that something was poking out from behind the label. Another sheet of paper. I drew it out and seen that it was not one piece but a few pages, folded together. A note. I opened it up and recognised at once the neat copperplate hand as belonging to Nora. One edge of all the sheets were uneven, as if they had been cut. Here, at last, were the missing pages.
In fact, it was the letter that Nora had wrote to missus, the one master James had tellt missus to destroy. Nora must have cut the pages out her journal herself, lacking notepaper. And missus had disobeyed her husband and hid them under the label in her book.
It was a private letter so I will not quote from it here at any length. Suffice to say, its main purpose was to exempt missus from all blame. In the final paragraph, Nora wrote,
My dear lady, I know how difficult it was for you to dismiss me but I also know that it was not really your doing. Please do not despair! We had the best of times together, did we not? My life from now on would not be worth living, given what has happened. Only misery awaits me were I to go on. I am sorry to put you through this but do not be sad. Pray for me instead, for who is there to do so but your own sweet self Be happy for me. I am setting out on a grand new adventure. Fear not, you and I shall meet again one day.
I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen
That Nora was a bit Holy, it has to be said.
But in the end, I think I might have got to like her. She was more similar to myself than I had ever cared to admit. And dear missus! I hated to think of the grief and dread that must have overcame her when she came across this note. So help me God, she may not always have been in command of her wits but one thing was for sure, she did care about us. All us girls blown like chaff across the water. We settle here, we settle there. We pass through. And when we quit this earth for good we leave little or no trace, nothing to say where we have been. But missus had hung onto that last note from Nora and she’d made sure she had a headstone. Above all, she had kept us in her heart.
I folded up the pages and slid them back underneath the label. It was a provoking thing that note, that book. I worried that it could be too upsetting for missus. I didn’t know whether it would be better to give it to her or not. And so I decided that before I left Foulburn, I would hand
The Observations
over to Doctor Lawrence, so that he could be the one to decide what should be done with them.
The following morning, I happened to be on my way up to visit missus when I passed the shop in Foulburn. It was one of those places where they kept notices in the window and I saw one that was headed up “URGENT, Kitchen Maid Wanted‘. Of course, it attracted my attention since at the time it was on my mind that I would have to get on me and find work sooner or later. When I looked closer, however, I was even more intrigued to see that the position to be filled was at none other establishment than the asylum! Now here was a turn up for the books! Over the next few days, I gave the matter some private consideration and then I raised it with missus. How would she feel about me taking such a post? Well, she could think of no better idea! For then we could see each other every day, for as long as she was there. I was worried that being acquainted with one of the patients might go against me, but as it turned out that didn’t matter at all. Mrs. Robertson was the person to be applied to and she practically got on her knees and begged me to take the job. I soon realised that—pleasant though conditions were at the asylum—it is difficult to find staff to work in such places. Nobody likes the thought of loonies. But to be honest I have found great solace in it and satisfaction, and a fair few laughs as well.
I began that very week in the kitchens and within a few months was promoted to attendant, which post I have now fulfilled for over three years. It was Doctor Lawrence himself that did ask me to write this history of missus and how we met and all that, for he thought it would be an interesting and useful document for him and his colleagues to read since they are still intrigued by her case. I began writing the first chapter not long after I came here but my hours of leisure are scarce and it has took me all these years to reach the end. I do believe my style may have improved as the months went by but I am aware that there are still some mistakes for unless I keep my wits about me I tend to write as I speak.
Missus has been here all this time, and with every day that passes, is more fascinated by her fellow patients. Always she is watching, watching, watching them and asking questions of them, just as she used to of me when I was her servant and she was writing her
Observations.
Now, her great work is on the subject of insanity. I asked her last week when it would be finished. She just looked at me and says, “Bessy it is barely begun.”
As for
The Observations.
Well I should say that the manuscript is in my possession and a very good read it is too. I have been trying for some while to find a suitable publisher. No success as yet but it can only be a matter of time as there has already over the past few years been a good deal of interest. Indeed, with the exception of some early refusals
The Observations
has met with tremendous approval everywhere it has been sent.
For instance, upon receipt of my introductory letter, Mr. R—of the eminent publishing house William R—and Sons did ask
immediately
to see the book and the very next week—although he had decided that the content was “not quite‘ to his taste—he did not hesitate to suggest that it be sent elsewhere—and does this prompt and helpful response not surely prove that the work has merit? Beyond a shadow of a doubt it does.
Very encouraged, I sent it off to Mr. W—of Harold W—and Co. Now here was a different response. This Mr. W kept the manuscript for so long that I eventually became convinced that he intended to steal it and sneak it out to great acclaim under a different title without telling me. But in the end, after many months and several letters requesting a response, he returned the work saying that although it was “quite well done‘ his firm wouldn’t be publishing any books that year which seemed to me a strange way to run a business and I wrote and told him as much. Since his lack of enthusiasm was due only to his companys peculiarities (and in the end, they must have took my advice because to my certain knowledge they did in fact bring out several books in that year!), I was not daunted in the least and sent the manuscript off forthwith to Mr. G of G—, B—and T—.