This House is Haunted (11 page)

“I can’t say,” was the rather disappointing answer he finally gave me. “Miss Caine, you do like children, don’t you?”

“What?” I asked, astonished by such a question. “Yes of course I like children. I was a teacher of small girls in London.”

“And you like the Westerley children? I know you’ve only just met them, but you like them?”

I thought about it. “They’re a little unusual,” I said. “But very bright. The girl is a study. The boy is a charm. I’m sure we’ll get along famously in time.”

“Then all I ask is that you take care of them, Miss Caine. That is what you are hired to do. To take care of them, educate them a little if necessary. The boy, anyway. As for the rest …” And here he opened his arms wide as if to suggest that there was nothing more that he could do. I wondered for a moment whether he expected me to throw myself into them. (And, as
ridiculous as it might sound, I had half a mind to do that very thing.)

I sighed. The interview had been entirely unsatisfactory and I felt no closer to understanding my situation than before. But there seemed little choice but for me to leave. Out on the street I felt a great sense of frustration but, on the journey back to Gaudlin Hall, this began to dissipate and I told myself that it didn’t matter, I had established myself with Mr. Raisin and I could pay another visit in the future, and another if necessary, to learn more about my responsibilities. I would make an appointment. If I had an appointment for half an hour, say, then he could hardly eject me on to the street within five minutes.

Alfred Raisin. I thought it a beautiful name.

The journey back to the Hall was more difficult than the one to the village, which surprised me rather for it was neither uphill nor downhill either way; the road was for the most part perfectly flat, like so much of the Norfolk countryside. I made my way through the large gates that marked the beginning of the property, the same spot where Heckling had paused for a moment the night before to afford me a view of the estate through the trees. I felt a great wind begin to rise suddenly, despite the fact that it was still a sunny morning. As I steered towards the house, this wind grew stronger and stronger, pushing me backwards, until finally I had no choice but to give in, disembark and wheel the dandy-horse by hand the remaining distance.

In the courtyard, struggling to open my eyes fully with the force of the gale blowing against me, I noticed that the front door was ajar. I made my way towards it, besieged by the wind,
which seemed determined to keep me from the house, and as I ascended the three steps that led to the entrance, it slammed hard in my face. I gasped. Was there someone behind there, one of the children perhaps, playing a game with me? Eustace had hidden himself behind the door the previous night; was he at this nonsense again?

I reached for the bell but my arm could not fight through the growing storm. How is this possible, I wondered, when I am so close to the wall? I should be sheltered from the wind, not being bullied by it. I forced my hand forward but it was too strong and seemed angry with me now, for it lifted me off my feet entirely, pushing me away from the house, and I fell backwards, tripping over the steps, stumbling to prevent myself from falling over as it pushed and pushed and pushed, and it was all I could do to stay erect until finally it lifted me once again and I tumbled over, my right leg dragging along the stones until I could feel the skin being lifted from my knee, at which point I let out a great cry, a scream, which in turn coincided with the sound of the front door being opened and the wind suddenly, as quickly as it had started, dissipating, dying down, fading away.

“Eliza Caine!” cried Isabella, walking towards me, her younger brother following her a few feet behind. “Why are you lying there like that?”

“Look at all the blood,” said Eustace in a hushed, reverent tone, and I stared down at my leg, which was very bloody indeed around the kneecap, although I knew immediately that nothing was broken, that it would only need to be cleaned up, the wound washed and bandaged, and all would be well. But still I was shocked by what had happened, particularly by the fact that the air had entirely changed now and there was not so
much as a breeze to be felt, let alone the near tornado that had pushed me away from Gaudlin Hall and tried to force me as far from the building as possible.

“The wind,” I said, staring at the children, who did not have so much as a hair out of place. “The wind! Couldn’t you feel it, children? Didn’t you hear it?”

Chapter Nine

O
VER THE DAYS
that followed, matters at Gaudlin Hall appeared to settle down and, to my relief, no further disturbing incidents took place. I remained unsettled by how little I knew about the Westerley family and why I was being left alone with Isabella and Eustace for so long, but put my disquiet to one side as I began to forge a relationship with the children. True to his word, my wages were made ready for me at Mr. Raisin’s office the following Tuesday, counted out and checked by the clerk, Cratchett, who seemed to have taken against me entirely, but when I asked for another appointment with his employer I was informed that Mr. Raisin was away from Norfolk on business and that it was beyond Cratchett’s abilities to place an appointment in the book without that man’s prior agreement. Throughout this exchange, because of the manner in which Cratchett’s eyes kept darting back and forth to the door behind him, I grew convinced that Mr. Raisin had not in fact left the county but was instead seated behind his desk in the next room, unwilling to see me, a source of great disappointment to me. However, as I could not possibly have challenged what he said without sounding like an hysteric, I simply informed
him that I would be back, that I could not leave matters as they stood, and left, frustrated.

I made several attempts to track down the elusive Mrs. Livermore too but to no avail. If I rose at eight, I would see her with her coat on and her bag in her hand marching down the driveway away from the house; if I rose half an hour earlier she would leave half an hour earlier. She appeared to have made it her business not to engage with me in any way, although I had no doubt that she knew full well there was a new governess on the premises. On the one occasion when I happened to look out the kitchen window and see her nearby I ran outside, but, just as with our earlier encounter, she turned a corner and apparently vanished into nothingness, leaving me wondering whether or not I had imagined her presence. At moments like this, I began to ask myself whether the Norfolk air was playing tricks with my mind.

Despite all these concerns, however, I found that I was beginning to enjoy life at Gaudlin Hall. Naturally, I still thought of Father frequently and, on occasion, particularly at night, alone in my room, his memory would move me to tears, but I was growing accustomed to the loss and learning to cope with my grief. Long walks in the gardens that surrounded the house helped with this. I consoled myself with the knowledge that he had, for the most part, led a happy and intellectually stimulating life, and had known true love twice, once from his wife and once from his daughter. When I returned, my lungs filled with clean air, my legs a little tired from the exercise, my spirits always seemed improved and I experienced a sense of optimism for this new life in which I found myself.

As much as I enjoyed the comfort of my new surroundings, however, I was frustrated by the musty air in my bedroom and
my continued inability to open the window. It was tall with a pointed arch at the top, much like a lancet window only wider, separated from both floor and ceiling by no more than about three feet and divided down the centre into two halves which, in theory, should have opened to allow the room to be aired. Seeing Heckling making his way through the courtyard one afternoon, his dog, Pepper, scampering around at his heels, I decided to tackle him about it.

“That window don’t open,” he told me, shrugging his shoulders and looking at me indifferently, as if he could not quite believe that I would have the stupidity to think it might.

“But of course it opens, Mr. Heckling,” I said. “There are two handles, waiting to be turned. But nothing I do can make them budge. Perhaps they need a little oil?”

“Mr. Westerley sealed that window shut,” he told me, chewing something abhorrent, the disgusting sounds of mastication making me want to put as much distance between him and me as I could. “Poured hot tar into the lock, didn’t he? So as no one could ever open them again.”

I stared at him, uncertain whether or not he was playing me for a fool. “Why on earth would he do such a bizarre thing?” I asked.

“He said it were too draughty. He did it to half the windows in the Hall. Check if you don’t believe me. It don’t cost nothing to heat a place that size, you know. And money don’t last for ever. Them as has it likes to spend it, don’t they?”

I sighed. It seemed a ridiculous thing to do, particularly frustrating now that the air in my room was beginning to grow so stale. I didn’t like the idea of leaving my door open—I preferred my privacy and did not want the children to believe that they had free run of the place; I was only too aware that children
liked to rummage in other people’s possessions—and simply wanted to ventilate it daily. My sleep had been unsettled and I believed that the staleness of the atmosphere was contributing to this.

“Your wages are being paid correctly every week, Mr. Heckling?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to ask him a few more general questions, for whenever he saw me approaching, he would turn his back and walk in the opposite direction. On one occasion he had even mounted the horse, Winnie, and charged away; extraordinary behaviour. He narrowed his eyes, chewing his lip and thinking about this before nodding.

“Aye,” he said. “Worried about that, were you?”

“Not at all,” I replied, blushing a little but looking him in the eye; I was determined not to be intimidated by this man. “Of course, Mr. Westerley leaves all these matters in the hands of Mr. Raisin, doesn’t he?”

“Aye. So far as I know.”

“Do you think we’ll be seeing him any time soon?”

“Mr. Raisin?” he asked, shrugging. “No special reason why we should. If you want to see him, you should—”

“Mr. Westerley,” I said, correcting him, even though I was certain he knew exactly whom I had meant. I thought for a moment that he was going to smile, a rare thing, but he clearly thought better of it. He looked down at Pepper, who was sitting on his haunches now, his head turning from one of us to the other as we conversed. The thought occurred to me that I might get more sense out of the dog than the man.

“I should think it unlikely,” he replied eventually. “I best get on, miss. Pepper needs his run or he gets belligerent.”

“He must be very preoccupied if he cannot even return to see his children,” I remarked. “And as for Mrs. Westerley, well,
I cannot imagine how she could stay away from them. They’re such treasures.”

He barked some type of laugh now and spittle hit me in the face, forcing me to rear backwards in disgust as I wiped it away. Naturally the brute didn’t even think of apologizing.

“Treasures,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.” He laughed again; he was clearly tickled by the notion.

I watched him as he made his way down the driveway, picking up the occasional stick and throwing it for the dog to run after and retrieve. I made a pact with myself that I would not turn away until he vanished from sight, and finally, perhaps aware that I was watching him, he paused at some distance from me and turned round, his eyes fixed on mine, and we watched each other, two employees of this house, waiting to see who would give in first. He was too far away for me to read his expression but when he picked up another stick, a larger one, and held it aggressively in his hand, the dog jumping up and down in anticipation, I felt a chill run through me and, turning away, cursed myself for my inability to stare the brute down.

Chapter Ten

T
HE CHILDREN AND
I ran our daily studies from the schoolroom, which was situated at the end of the second-floor corridor and up a small flight of steps. It was a bright room with a magnificent view over the estate and contained a blackboard on one wall, an enormous desk for me with a multitude of drawers, and two smaller ones for the children to sit at side by side.

“How many girls did you teach at your school in London?” Isabella asked me one morning, seated behind her desk and dressed immaculately as always, her pencils laid out in a neat line before her.

“My classroom held about thirty,” I said.

“And were they my age or Eustace’s age?”

“Closer to Eustace’s,” I said, a remark which made him look up and smile. He had a lovely face, I thought then. Where his expression was usually guarded and almost frightened, when he smiled, all those things disappeared entirely and he seemed like a different boy. “A little younger, in fact. They were known as the small girls.”

“And were they trouble?” she continued.

“Trouble?”

“Did you ever have to discipline them?”

“Occasionally,” I said. “But very rarely. You must understand, Isabella, that the school I was employed in was not something out of a fiction. The teachers did not seek any opportunity to flog their unfortunate charges or to make them wander the courtyards carrying a board that said,
Take care of him: he bites
. Nor were there any Mr. Brocklehursts at our establishment. No, we treated our girls with kindness and in return they showed us respect and interest in their work. Most of the time.”

“I should like to go to a school with other girls,” said Isabella thoughtfully. “But Father said that we must attend to our studies here.”

“Private tuition is the privilege of every wealthy family,” I explained. “It is only the poorer classes who must be educated together. The truth is that most of my small girls would have left our school by the time they turned twelve or thirteen.”

“And what would happen to them then?” asked Eustace. “Would they get married?”