Frost Hollow Hall (14 page)

Then Gracie spoke like she was halfway through a thought. ‘No, I honestly can’t think of one boy I’d trust with a confidence.’

Dorcas smiled. ‘Sounds a bit dramatic.’

‘Well, it’s true. They all think we’re half-wits.’

‘Are we still talking about Peter, then?’

‘He’ll do for starters.’

‘What do you think, Tilly?’ said Dorcas.

I reckoned this Peter looked a fine one to be calling anyone else a half-wit.

‘I know girls I’d not trust, never mind boys,’ I said, thinking of Eliza.

Gracie rubbed a spoon furiously. ‘I’ve given up on boys. I swear I have.’

Dorcas tried not to smile. ‘Until Peter wins you over again. It’s always like this with you two. You fall out, make up, then fall out again.’

I tried to picture how Peter might win anyone over with his baby-fine hair and great gangly legs, and gave up.

‘Not this time,’ said Gracie.

‘Maybe you should try your luck with that butcher’s boy, Will Potter, instead? He seems a nice sort,’ said Dorcas.

My face went suddenly hot.

‘I wouldn’t count on it!’ I said, a bit too quickly. ‘All the girls like him . . . well . . . most of them, anyway.’

But Gracie was busy scowling at Dorcas.

‘I don’t need no matchmaking, ta very much. And anyway, what would
you
know about having a sweetheart?’

Dorcas’s hand went to the pocket of her apron. ‘You’d better mind your manners,’ she said, coolly.

An uneasy silence fell over us. It was almost half past four by now, and very nearly dark outside. Shadows lurked in the corners of the room. The fire hissed and spat. Any good cheer I’d felt had gone. And despite the hot tea, I was suddenly chilled to the bone. I moved my seat closer to the hearth; it didn’t stop dark thoughts returning.

Something was very wrong with this house. A spirit haunted the back stairs. Above stairs was a queer shrine to a dead boy. The place was so full of secrets. Even the servants seemed to have them, for flip’s sake, so goodness only knew what Lady Barrington was keeping to herself.

A service bell rang, and someone out in the passage shouted, ‘Her Ladyship! Front parlour!’

As Dorcas glanced my way, I felt the colour drain from my cheeks.

‘I’ll answer it this time,’ she said, reading my look. ‘You two finish this cutlery off.’

I thanked her.

‘Save your thanks. You’ll have to face her again soon enough.’ She swapped her plain pinny for a lace one and tucked the letter up her sleeve.

Once Dorcas had gone, Gracie said, ‘I bet that letter’s from her sweetheart.’

‘Dorcas is very pretty,’ I said. ‘She must have men queuing up.’

Gracie shook her head. ‘Only one. He writes every week, but she’s cool as anything. She’s got
plans
.’

‘Oh?’

‘To be housekeeper of a big fine house. She don’t want to get married.’

It struck me as a sad thing, to choose a job over love. Maybe Dorcas didn’t love her sweetheart enough, or maybe she just wanted her dream more. And a thought came to me, so quick it made me catch my breath.

Pa chose his dream over me.

Anger rose up in me, hot and strong. Never mind what Eliza had done. Pa was supposed to love me. He was on my side. He did have a heart.
Didn’t he?
And yet he’d wanted his dream so badly, he couldn’t take me with him. He couldn’t even say goodbye.

Such thoughts would drive me mad. By now my eyes were full of tears but I wasn’t about to sit here and blub. Heck no! A quick dab of my face and I turned to Gracie, hopeful she might cheer me up.

‘Go on then, tell me, what did you and Peter fall out over?’

‘Well,’ said Gracie, smoothing her hair behind her ear. ‘See, it’s about that back-stairs business.’

My heart sank. This was hardly likely to cheer me.

‘Tuesday breakfast I told Peter what was happening, about the funny feeling on the stairs, and the broken plates and that.’

‘What did he say?’

‘He said all girls have these stupid fancies, and what I needed was a cold bath and a really long walk. Reckoned it always worked on his sister.’

‘Really?’ I said, not exactly warming to Peter.

‘But I told him it weren’t no fancy. I said I’d seen plates spinning through the air clear as day.’

‘Bet he didn’t believe
that
.’

‘No he didn’t. And the stupid clot told Samuel Ketteridge. So then he started on at me, saying they’d think I wasn’t right in the head and they’d send me away if I wasn’t careful.’

‘Oh Gracie!’ No wonder she couldn’t be civil to Peter. I felt guilty now that we’d teased her. Rather than asking him to stay for tea, we should’ve told him to sling his hook!

‘And by the time breakfast was finished, I was so upset, Mrs Jessop said I was fit for nothing and made me go back to bed.’

Of course!

Tuesday was the day we’d got done trespassing and Mrs Jessop was one maid down. So it was because of Samuel Ketteridge’s teasing that I’d got my foot in the door here. It was hard to be glad of it though, when I felt so sore for poor Gracie.

We fell quiet to our thoughts. The polishing was nearly done now, but for a few fiddly-looking forks. I reached for one and held it to the light.

‘So you’ve broken off with Peter for good?’ I said, squinting at the fork.

‘Oh yes. It’s finished. I trusted him with a confidence and he blabbed it. No true sweetheart does that.’

I looked at Gracie. ‘What if Peter
had
believed you?’

‘But he didn’t, did he?’

‘Sometimes people surprise you, and believe you when no one else does.’

She glanced at me sideways. ‘You thinking about a sweetheart of your own? I can see you are!’

I shook my head. ‘No, I’m not.’

And I wasn’t, neither. I was thinking about Will Potter in an almost kindly way. Because compared to Gracie’s Peter, Will was a flipping saint. When I’d told him about Kit, he’d listened. And for this I was mightily grateful.

22

Broken China

Evening came and still no one collared me about letting Kit’s fire go out. I’d been expecting it; Mrs Jessop had eyes like a hawk. Then, just as we were clearing away the supper things, she appeared in the kitchen doorway, notebook clutched to her chest. The look on her face turned me proper cold.

Oh God
, I thought.
This is it! Lady Barrington’s told her everything.

I held my breath as her eyes slid over me. Then she opened the notebook and started flicking through the pages.

‘It seems we’re rather light on china. I counted out sixteen plates and sixteen side plates, and yet only twelve of each have made it back to the cupboard.’

China?

I breathed again, though Gracie started looking shifty.

‘I’ll check, Mrs J., and let you know,’ said Cook, quickly. ‘They’re probably on the drying rack still.’

‘See that you do,’ said Mrs Jessop, and wrote something down in her book. Looking up again, her gaze rested on me.

‘You’ve used the ointment for your hands?’ she said.

‘Yes, Mrs Jessop.’

I caught Cook’s eye. She had the strangest expression on her face. Cook glanced at Mrs Jessop and back at me, then whistled under her breath.

‘What?’ I mouthed, thinking I’d done something wrong.

Cook shook her head and went back to cleaning the range. Her hand moved slowly like she was thinking hard about something.

‘I’ll be in my office,’ said Mrs Jessop. ‘Send Tilly to tell me when the plates have been accounted for.’

Once she’d gone, I turned to Cook. ‘What did I do?’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘Just then with Mrs Jessop. You was looking at me funny.’

‘I weren’t,’ she said.

‘Yes, you was.’

‘Leave it, Tilly, and get on with clearing up.’

‘But Mrs Jessop’s always looking at me too and I don’t know why.’

‘That’s enough. Don’t go making trouble for yourself.’

Which made me think there
was
a reason for it. And no one ever stared at Gracie like that.

‘Well, it sets me right on edge,’ I said.

Cook stopped cleaning and took me to one side. ‘If you must know . . . well . . . it’s probably because you look like someone.’

‘Lady Barrington reckoned so, too. Who is it?’

Cook hesitated. Looking over her shoulder, she dropped her voice. ‘Someone very dear to Mrs Jessop. Someone she used to know.’

‘What d’you mean,
used to
?’

‘It was a long time ago, and the girl was about your age, poor soul. And I wonder if when Mrs Jessop sees you, she in’t just thinking . . . what if . . .’

Something smashed to the floor behind us.

We both spun round. Gracie was stood by the table. Her mouth hung open in horror. At her feet, broken plates littered the flagstones.

‘Not again!’ cried Cook. ‘This time it’ll be coming out of your wages, young lady. We can’t cover up for you any more, not now Mrs Jessop’s noticed.’

Gracie sobbed. ‘But I didn’t drop them, honest I didn’t.’

‘Then who did? The Duke of flaming York?’

Gracie looked to me. ‘Tilly, you believe me, don’t you?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see nothing,’ I said.

‘Please, it’s not me. It’s something else doing it . . . something mean . . .’

The gas lights on the wall suddenly hissed then dipped low, casting an eerie, underwater gloom about us.

‘Oh heck!’ said Cook. ‘That’s all we need, to be clearing the dishes by candlelight.’

But she made no move to find any candles. Like the rest of us, she stood stock still, looking warily about her. The room felt different, somehow. Familiar things like the table and chairs now looked queer and stark. I began to feel uneasy.

‘What is it? What’s going on?’ cried Gracie.

Cook put a finger to her lips. But the quiet was worse. It stretched tight, like a breath held too long. Abruptly, the air changed. Now it was bitter, bitter cold. It set my teeth chattering. A sense of dread spread through me. Then I smelled it, that sweet honey smell. It was close by me. Too close.

‘Oh no!’ whispered Gracie. ‘Look! It’s happening again!’

She gazed transfixed at the pile of clean china on the table. One small white cup began to move. I couldn’t quite believe what I saw. My brain wouldn’t allow it. For cups didn’t move by themselves. Someone must have touched it. But it wasn’t any of us; we were stood too far from the table. The cup swayed from side to side, like it was about to tip over. Then it lurched forward to the table’s edge.

No one moved. Our eyes stayed fixed on the cup. It seemed almost to
tremble
, like it was a living breathing thing. I watched in growing terror, quite unable to look away. Slowly, shakily, the cup lifted up off the table. For one long, awful moment, it hung in mid-air. Then it whizzed over our heads with shocking force, and smashed against the wall behind us.

‘Great heavens alive!’ Cook breathed.

My heart beat hard in my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at the damage, for before us on the table a whole pile of plates now moved towards the edge. They were just plates; normal everyday things. Except they weren’t. They were moving
by themselves
, and had become something terrible.

Gracie rushed forwards, arms out to catch them. The plates stopped. Gracie froze. As if in spite, the plates lurched again, toppled over and clattered to the floor. Some smashed to pieces, others spun off in all directions about our feet.

The gas lights flickered, then grew bright. The last plate came to rest over in the corner. A strange stillness settled over the room.

I was shaken to the core. No one had touched those plates, I’d swear to it, at least no one
human.
This was Kit’s work, wasn’t it? His spirit was here making trouble, and I’d not the faintest idea why.

Gently, Cook eased my fingers off her arm.

‘Get yourselves to the servants’ hall,’ she said. ‘I’ll clear up this lot.’

As she grabbed her broom and started sweeping, I went to Gracie. She hadn’t yet moved. Her arms were wrapped round her waist like she was hugging herself. Her eyes were glazed with shock.

‘Let’s go,’ I said and took hold of her hand, which felt clammy and cold. I bet mine did too.

We stopped in the doorway. Rapid footsteps came towards us down the passage. Mrs Jessop appeared, skirts flying, her face flushed. She still had her notebook in her hand.

‘What an infernal racket! What on earth is going on?’

No one answered.

What was left of the teacup lay at Mrs Jessop’s feet. As she stepped forwards, it crunched beneath her boot soles. Her eyebrows shot up. She bent to pick up a shard of china, and held it up so the light shone through it. I saw at once how fine and fragile it was.

‘One of our best teacups, it seems.’

‘Please, Mrs Jessop.’ Gracie dropped my hand and started twisting her apron. Her lip quivered.

‘And these plates?’ Mrs Jessop pointed to the floor. She looked clearly horrified.

Cook spoke first. ‘Now look, we all makes mistakes sometimes, Mrs J., and I think . . .’

Mrs Jessop turned to face Cook. ‘Are you saying that this is
your
doing?’

‘No,’ she stuttered. ‘Well, not quite . . . you see . . .’ Cook wasn’t often lost for words. I didn’t like where this was heading.

‘Only it seems to me that what’s happened here tonight has happened on other nights this week,’ said Mrs Jessop, coldly.

I shot a look at Gracie, who’d started sobbing quietly and was staring at the floor.

‘Well . . .’ said Cook.

‘HASN’T IT?’

I flinched.

Cook’s face was red. ‘Now just a minute! I in’t the one been throwing china about the place!’

‘Then you’d better tell me who has.’ Mrs Jessop turned to Gracie. ‘Was it you, then?’

‘No! Please, I never . . .’

‘For pity’s sake! I keep records of everything!’ Mrs Jessop shook her notebook at Gracie. ‘Every night since Sunday, something has been broken!’

Since Sunday?