The Memory of Midnight (26 page)

Four months she had been married, and already Nell was expert in the signs that she had done something wrong. There was always something wrong, because if there wasn’t, Ralph would not be
able to punish her in the great bed at night, and if he couldn’t punish her, he couldn’t get hard enough to get his satisfaction with her.

In the chamber was a long chest, heavily carved, bigger even than the one in the closet. Ralph opened it one night barely a week after they were wed, and without thinking, Nell flinched.

Immediately, he was alert to the possibilities. She corrected herself straight away and stood perfectly still, but Ralph was like a cat at a mouse hole, scenting its victim, gleaming with
anticipation.

‘What is it?’ he asked her.

‘Nothing.’

But he was looking between her and the chest and the bone-white teeth showed in a smile of pure understanding. ‘You are frightened of being shut in the chest,’ he said, nodding,
pleased to have a riddle solved so easily. ‘That day you climbed in as a child, that has marked you.’

‘No,’ said Nell, knowing she must not show him any weakness, but he knew anyway. He sensed it. He had a gift for it.

‘Prove it,’ he said.

‘There is no need.’ Nell moved away, pretending disinterest. She picked up her hairbrush and began brushing out her hair, hoping that he could not see how her hands were shaking.

Ralph wasn’t fooled by her nonchalance. ‘If you are not afraid, get in the chest.’

Her heart was ramming into her throat. The jabs, the slaps, the pinches, the blows . . . she could bear those if she had to. But this she could not bear. To lie in the stifling darkness; to feel
the blackness press down on her. She would not be able to breathe. She would die, and wretched as her life was with him, Nell was not ready to die.

‘It was you that day, wasn’t it?’ The words were out of her mouth before she realized. She lowered the brush, turned to face him.

He didn’t even try to pretend that he didn’t know what she was talking about. He laughed. ‘You were such a reckless little thing. You had no right to go in the closet and you
knew it, didn’t you? I watched you tiptoe in. I could not resist. The ledger was there, just heavy enough to stop you getting out. I imagined you in there, realizing too late what a mistake
you had made.’ He chuckled, as if remembering the antics of a puppy. ‘Such a pretty little thing you were, but you only ever had eyes for Tom.’

His face changed at the mention of Tom. ‘It was always Tom, wasn’t it?’ he said savagely.

‘Tom would not have trapped me in a box,’ she said, her voice quavering in spite of her efforts to keep it steady.

‘That is because Tom has no imagination. He has no idea of how exquisitely we feel when we are at the edge of our capabilities. Can you tell me you do not appreciate the pleasure more when
the pain is past?’

‘You were not in the box,’ she pointed out. ‘I was frightened. I couldn’t breathe.’

‘That is the whole point!’ he cried. ‘Was not that first lungful of air the sweetest breath you ever drew?’

Nell was backing away from him. ‘I was a
child
,’ she said even as she wondered why she was trying to reason with him.

He laughed, a high titter that made her skin prickle with disgust. ‘You were old enough to know that you didn’t like me. You didn’t even
try
to like me.’ His
voice was pettish now. ‘You deserved to be punished. So sweet you were, insisting on taking Tom’s punishment for him! Your little hand outstretched . . . how those lashes must have
stung!’

‘They did,’ said Nell, hoping that she could distract him from the chest now. She was edging her way towards the door. If he tried to make her get in the chest, she would run. She
would scream for the servants. Janet slept above. She would come and help her mistress.

‘Get in the chest.’ Ralph’s voice was silky smooth. He was watching her, coming at the door from the other side of the chamber. He knows, she thought. He knows. ‘Show me
that you are not afraid.’

‘Ralph – husband – do not make me do this.’ To her dismay, Nell heard her voice tremble.

‘You lied to me, didn’t you?’

‘No!’

‘Yes, you lied. You
are
afraid. I told you before not to lie to me, Nell.’

Nell dropped the brush and whirled for the door. The latch was in her hand when Ralph dragged her back and knocked her with the back of his hand clear across the room. She banged her head
against the floor as she landed, and she lay, stunned and helpless, as he stood over her and dragged her up.

‘No . . .’ she moaned. ‘No, please no . . .’

‘You lied to me and I won’t have it,’ he said, twisting her hair in his hand until she sobbed with the pain of it. With his other hand, he scooped the clothes out of the chest
to make room for her.

Nell struggled then. She opened her mouth to scream and shout, but he banged her head again on the edge of the chest until it rang. Then he was bundling her into the chest and slamming down the
lid, trapping her in the blackness where terror licked its greedy lips and reached for her.

Nell screamed and screamed as she hammered frantically on the lid. Ralph must be sitting on it. There was no air. She had to have air!

‘If you scream, I will not let you out,’ Ralph said conversationally, and at the same time she heard the sound of knocking on the chamber door. ‘Master? Mistress? Are you all
right? We heard shouting.’

‘Go back to bed,’ Ralph shouted. ‘Your mistress was having a nightmare.’

‘Help me!’ Nell gasped but she was weakening, and they did not hear. The blackness was swallowing her, chomping at her like a vagrant on a snatched pie, and the chest had turned into
an abyss. She was falling into it, twisting and turning in the terror, and just when she was about to smash into the bottom of it, the lid was wrenched open, and Ralph was staring down at her with
affection in his eyes.

‘Poor little Nell,’ he said as she sucked air into her raw throat, too rigid with fear to even move. ‘You don’t like it, do you?’

‘No.’ Her voice was hoarse.

‘Then you must never lie to me again. Come.’ Almost tenderly, he lifted her out of the chest and laid her on the floor, pushing up her shift so he could have his way with her. He
pumped briskly, elated by his victory, and Nell lay, legs splayed, utterly defeated, the tears running silently down her cheeks.

After that, Ralph only had to look at the chest to make her do whatever he wanted. She was bruised and battered the next day, and he insisted she lie abed. He had forgotten himself so far as to
hit her face and a great yellowy black bruise blossomed on her cheek. She told Janet that she fell and hit her face on the chest, and Janet seemed to believe her. Why should she do otherwise? Ralph
was hovering attentively, making sure that wine and delicacies were brought to tempt her appetite. He was always charming with the servants, who blushed and fluttered whenever he teased them. They
thought he adored her.

So when Janet exclaimed at her bruise, all Ralph had to do was flick a glance at the chest, and Nell looked at Janet. ‘I hope I did not disturb you last night, Janet,’ she said
obediently. ‘Such a foolish dream I had.’

And that was that.

The Hutchinsons’ chest was all it took to bring back the bitter memory. Nell could feel Ralph’s smile like a smear. In spite of herself, she glanced back at the chest, but there was
something odd about it. It was rippling, and she blinked at it again, certain she must be imagining it. But no, it was shifting, changing shape, and now it was a round table with two strange
straight-backed chairs on either side. What was happening? She looked at the others to see if they had noticed, but Elizabeth had gone. John Hutchinson had gone too, and so had Ralph. In their
place was a hatless man with keen eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

‘Who is Ralph?’ he asked.

‘Ralph is my husband,’ she whispered fearfully. She felt disconnected from everything, as if she were floating above the room, looking down at herself, except it wasn’t her. It
was an older woman with cropped dark hair and peculiar clothes. She wore no cap, no gown, and her face was haunted.

‘Tess?’ said the man.

Tess?
Tess
. She was Tess. Tess slammed back into her body and she jerked back in the chair, her eyes wide and shocked, her hands flat on the table to steady herself.

‘It’s OK,’ said Luke. ‘Just breathe.’

Breathe.
A good idea. Tess drew in a breath, let it out slowly. In, out, in, out, while her racing pulse slowed. A waitress was standing by the table and Luke was talking to her, but
Tess just kept her eyes on her throbbing hands and concentrated on making each breath slower and deeper than the last.

‘I’ve ordered you a latte,’ said Luke when the waitress had gone. He leant forward and covered her hands with his own. His touch was warm and incredibly comforting. ‘Are
you okay?’

He knew. Tess nodded and moistened her lips. ‘How long was I . . . like that?’

‘Not long. A few moments. You were looking round the room and you started to talk about Ralph. It was as if you were there, but not there at the same time.’ His smile was a little
crooked. ‘I don’t mind telling you, the hairs went up on the back of my neck! What happened?’

‘You won’t believe me.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ he asked reasonably.

‘Because I hardly know whether I believe it myself. Everything I’ve ever studied tells me that it’s impossible, that I
don’t
believe it, but it’s real
– it’s happening.’ In spite of the pain, she twisted her hands together on the tabletop and looked at Luke. ‘But if it’s not real, I’m losing my mind, and that
scares me even more.’

‘Tell me,’ he said.

So she did. She told him everything, from that first memory of hiding in the chest in Mr Maskewe’s closet to making love with Tom by the Foss, and her eyes slid away from his then as she
remembered how she and Luke had also made love with the same awkwardness and exhilaration and giddy pleasure.

Luke didn’t interrupt her. He didn’t gasp or shake his head or try to tell her that she was talking nonsense. He just listened until the waitress brought their coffee. He waited
until she’d gone, and Tess had wrapped her hands around her cup for comfort.

‘What’s wrong with your hands?’ he said, noticing her involuntary wince.

‘I don’t know.’ Tess wasn’t sorry to be diverted from her story. She took one hand away from the cup to turn it over and look at it. ‘My fingers are sore. It comes
and goes. I think it must be some kind of rheumatism. I can’t see anything wrong with them.’

Luke nodded. ‘Go on then,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me it all.’

She told him about saying goodbye to Tom. About Ralph and the way he had used her father’s obligation to him. About the wedding and the chest, and the hatred and fear of Ralph that now
settled like a stone in her gut.

And when she had finished, her face was burning with shame at how easily Ralph had vanquished her spirit.

‘Tess, it wasn’t you,’ said Luke.

‘It feels as if it was me,’ she said. ‘Listen to me. I started off talking about Nell because I wanted to make her something separate from me, but I ended up talking about what
I
did and what
I
feel.’

She sounded crazy. Maybe she was crazy. But she had proof, didn’t she?

The cup rattled against the saucer as she put it down, eager to show Luke that she wasn’t making the whole thing up. ‘I’ve still got the bruises from last night,’ she
said, pulling her sleeve up her arm to show him where Ralph had pinched and twisted her tender flesh. Only that morning her breasts and the insides of her arms had been covered with livid purple
bruises, but now she stared in disbelief at her smooth skin.

‘I don’t understand . . .’ Frantically, she pulled up her other sleeve, but that arm was as unblemished as the other. ‘They’ve gone,’ she said blankly.
‘They were there this morning, and now they’ve gone.’

Slowly, she raised her eyes to Luke. ‘What’s happening to me?’

He looked back at her thoughtfully. ‘What do
you
think is happening?’

‘I think I’m regressing. I think I’m possessed and that Nell is taking over my mind.’ There, she had said it. Tess was simultaneously relieved and terrified, and a tide
of colour rose in her face.

‘Why are you blushing?’

‘Because I can’t believe I just said that!’ Tess dropped her head into her hands and dragged her fingers through her hair, biting back another wince.
Her
hair. She had
had it cut when she left Martin, and now it bounced choppily around her face. Nell’s hair fell to her waist, and it was a rippling brown, while hers was dark. They were completely
different.

‘It’s embarrassing,’ she muttered after a moment. ‘Trained historical researchers don’t run around seeing ghosts or talking about travelling through time.
It’s crazy.
I’m
crazy.’

‘What other explanation is there?’ asked Luke, so reasonably that she was taken aback. She would have thought it was obvious.

‘My mother would tell me that I was hysterical or making it all up for attention.’

‘Supportive of her.’ His lip curled.

‘You remember what she was like.’ Tess sighed. ‘But what if she’s right? What if I’m having some kind of breakdown?’ Twisted in her hair, her fingers dug into
her scalp. ‘What if I’m losing my mind? That’s what a doctor would say, I know. They’d chuck me into Bootham Park Hospital and then what would happen to Oscar?’

‘Now you
are
sounding hysterical.’ Luke’s brusqueness cut across her rising voice. ‘Wouldn’t it be better to work on the assumption that Nell is real, and
deal with that?’

Tess lifted her head to gape at him. ‘You believe me?’

He lifted his shoulders, non-committal. ‘I can’t see any reason
not
to believe you,’ he said. ‘That’s twice now I’ve seen you come round from an
episode – or whatever you want to call it – and it’s been clear that for a few moments you’re just not there. There’s someone else behind your eyes and your voice is
different . . . it’s creepy, if you want to know the truth.’