The Lady and the Lake (6 page)

‘Then
I
shall
take
you
to
my
humble
home
and
to
see
the
beautiful
fishing
town
of
Whitby.
Saturday
perhaps?’
he
asked
quite
seriously.
As
it
was
only
Monday
today
I
felt
as
if
I
could
hardly
wait.

‘Why
yes,
I’d
really
like
that,’
I
replied
with
honesty
for
I
felt
strongly
that
I
could
trust
this
man
with
the
laughing
blue
eyes.

‘I
shall
look
forward
to
our
outing,
Miss
Sinclair,
and
shall
think
of
it
while
I’m
working.’
As
he
spoke
he
rose
from his
seat.
‘Apologies,
but
I
must
go
now.
My
cousin,
Antony,
is
a
hard
task
master.’
So
saying
he
took
my
hand
in
his
and
bending
over
it
left
a
gentle
kiss
which
sent
my
pulses
racing.

As
he
made
to
walk
off
he
looked
back
at
me.
‘Don’t
take
Aunt
Henry’s
manner
to
heart,
she’s
quite
a
softy
really.’

As
he
walked
away
I
could
scarcely
believe
my
good
fortune,
and
sat
for
a
while
recalling
the
whole
of
the
conversation
several
times.
My
heart
seemed
to
be
singing
and
when
I
did
get
to
my
feet
I
practically
skipped
along
the
rest
of
the
path
around
the
lake,
now
and
then
picking
a
small
pebble
up
and
throwing
it
in
the
water
as
I’d
done
so
many
times
as
a
child.

Eventually
I
reached
the
far
end
of
the
lake
and
the
high
wall
which
surrounded
the
Hall.
On
the
moor
beyond
which
seemed
to
stretch
endlessly,
sheep
grazed
amongst
the
heather
then
I
looked
back
at
Kerslake
Hall
and
could
see
it
in
its
entirety
from
end
to
end.
The
round
tower
looked
forbidding
and
as
I looked
I
could
pick
out
the
window
of
my
room
and
that
of
Alice’s
too.

My
attention
was
arrested
by
some
movement
in
the
upper
window
of
the
tower.
I
closed
my
eyes
then
looked
again,
but
whatever
it
was
had
gone.
I
knew
I’d
not
imagined
it
for
my
eyesight
was
sharp,
even
at
this
distance
and
as
I
pondered
over
what
it
might
be
in
my
haste
to
retrace
my
steps
I
fell
over
something
at
the
edge
of
the
path
near
to
the
water,
luckily
falling
on
to
the
ground
and
not
into
the
water
itself.

Picking
myself
up
I
looked
down
at
the
offending
object
which
was
a
small
wooden
plaque,
engraved
in
brass
the
words,
Phoebe Kershaw Rest in Peace
.

I
looked
at
it
for
some
time
trying
to
work
out
who
Phoebe
was
and
why
a
plaque
in
her
memory
should
lie
at
the
edge
of
the
lake.
No
doubt
at
some
time
all
would
be
revealed
and
the
answer
to
the
mystery
would
become
apparent
to
me.
As
I
walked
back
to
the
Hall
I
put
the
incident
from
mind
and thought
instead
of
the
blue
eyes
and
the
smile
of
Thomas
Craddock.

***

That
night
tucked
up
in
bed
in
the
darkness
I
recalled
the
events
of
the
day,
the
veil
covering
my
employer’s
face,
the
child
Emily,
my
encounter
with
Tom
and
the
mysterious
plaque
by
the
water.
I
had
just
drifted
off
into
a
peaceful
sleep
when
I
was
awoken
by
a
piercing,
heart
wrenching
scream
seeming
to
come
from
behind
my
bed.

Trembling
I
got
out
of
bed,
looking
at
the
small
clock
on
the
table,
it
was
one
in
the
morning.
I
made
my
way
to
the
window
my
legs
like
jelly.
I
parted
the
curtains
a
little
and
looked
into
the
window
of
the
tower.
Silhouetted
by
the
light
of
a
candle
was
a
woman
dressed
in
white
with
long
hair
cascading
down
her
back.

Swiftly
I
drew
the
curtains
together
and
climbed
back
into
bed
pulling
the
covers
over
my
head.
If
it
wasn’t
for Tom,
on
the
morrow
I
would
be
leaving
this
ghastly
place.

After
some
time
I
did
drift
off
to
sleep
but
not
before
I’d
asked
myself
the
question,
who
was
the
woman
in
white?

3

When
I
awoke
next
morning
after
a
fitful
sleep,
I
realised
how
terrified
I
had
been
in
the
early
hours
of
the
morning.
So
much
so,
that
I
hadn’t
given
much
logical
thought
to
the
incident.
In
the
light
of
day,
things
didn’t
seem
so
bad
and
my
sensible
head
told
me
that
it
had
been
a
maid
in
the
tower,
but
that
didn’t
explain
the
blood-curdling
scream
which
had
awoken
me.

I
drew
back
the
pale
blue
curtains
and
looked
at
the
tower.
There
was
no
movement
in
any
of
the
windows
this
morning,
maybe
I’d
dreamt
it.
As
I
stood
there
looking,
I
thought
to
walk
to
the
tower
from
the
inside
and
find
the
entrance
to
it
which
surely
must
be
not
far
from
my
own
door.

Stepping
into
the
corridor,
I
looked
left
and
right.
No-one
was
in
sight
although
I
could
hear
Emily’s
voice coming
from
Alice’s
room.
Walking
swiftly
to
the
right
and
to
the
end
of
the
corridor,
I
soon
found
the
sturdy
wooden
door
which
must
lead
to
the
upper
floor
of
the
tower.
I
needed
to
climb
three
stone
steps
to
turn
the
huge
black
handle
which
would
raise
the
latch.
I
tried
to
turn
it
to
no
avail,
the
door
was
shut
fast.

‘Can
I
help
you,
Miss
Sinclair?’
Mrs
Grafton’s
voice
startled
me
somewhat
as
I
turned
guiltily
towards
her,
my
one
hand
still
on
the
latch.

‘No,
Mrs
Grafton.
I
thought
to
see
where
this
door
leads,’
I
stammered,
negotiating
the
steps
as
I
spoke.

‘The
door
is
no
longer
used.
It
leads
to
the
upper
floor
of
the
tower,
but
it
is
unsafe
now.’
Did
I
believe
Mrs
Grafton’s
words
or
my
own
experience
during
the
night?
I
thought
to
believe
myself
as
Mrs
Grafton
had
a
sly
way
with
her
and
I
felt
that
she
was
annoyed
that
I
had
tried
to
open
the
door.
It
remained
to
be
seen
what
happened
during
my
second
night
at
the
Hall.

‘I
came
to
ask
where
you
wish
to
partake
of
breakfast.
I’d
be
grateful
if
you’d
let
someone
know
the
evening
before
in
future,’
Mrs
Grafton’s
voice
admonished
me.
I
didn’t
care
for
her
manner
and
wondered
if
Mrs
Kershaw’s
abominable
attitude
had
rubbed
off
on
her
housekeeper.

‘In
the
kitchen
as
I
did
last
night
and
will
do
in
future,
if
this
is
acceptable.
Thank
you.’
I
found
it
difficult
to
remember
my
manners
when
dealing
with
this
woman.

‘That
will
be
quite
acceptable,
Miss
Sinclair.
Now
I
suggest
you
run
along
as
it
is
nearly
seven-thirty,’
she
replied
in
a
bossy
manner
which
I
loathed.
It
was
as
if
she
were
speaking
to
Emily
and
not
me,
a
twenty-five-year-old
woman.

‘I’ll
do
that,
Mrs
Grafton,’
I
said
with
some
sarcasm.
‘Could
you
tell
me
please
when
Mrs
Kershaw
requires
me?’

‘The
mistress
sleeps
in
until
twelve
o’clock.
If
you
are
required
this afternoon
I
will
seek
you
out.’
So
saying,
she
turned
her
back
on
me
and
without
ceremony
entered
Miss
Hay-ward’s
room.

I
made
my
way
down
to
the
kitchen
feeling
much
more
familiar
with
the
layout
of
the
house.
As
I
approached
the
door,
I
could
hear
the
murmur
of
voices,
but
as
I
stepped
into
the
large
room,
all
six
at
the
table
were
silent,
each
turning
to
look
at
me.

I
seated
myself
at
the
long
wooden
table
next
to
Maggie
who
glanced
at
me,
smiling
her
sweet
smile
before
continuing
with
her
stodgy
porridge.

‘Please
don’t
be
silent
and
stop
talking
on
my
account,’
I
addressed
them
all.

‘Would
you
like
some
porridge,
Miss?’
asked
Cook
who
was
a
rounded
homely
looking
woman.
I’d
learned
the
previous
evening
her
name
was
Ada.
I
glanced
down
at
Maggie’s
dish.

‘No
thank
you,
toast
would
be
very
nice,
please,’
I
said
politely.

‘And
a
nice
strong,
hot
cup
of
tea,
I’ll be
bound.’
As
she
spoke,
Ada
busied
herself
at
the
large
black
kitchen
range,
pouring
tea
into
a
large
white
mug
from
the
largest
black
china
teapot
I’d
ever
seen.