The Observations (22 page)

Tuesday 22nd December

A few nights ago master James near ate the head off missus because she was yattering on about her shoes being mysteriously polished, like as if the ghost had done it. He shouted at her that she was being foolish and that he didn’t want to hear another word on the subject OR ELSE! And so she has not talked about it in front of him ever since.

Having said that, these past few days have been very quiet and once more I was beginning to believe that we were returning to normal at Castle Haivers when something happened today to make me think otherwise. The morning started ordinary enough with me going about my chores as usual and missus sorting through the linen upstairs. About 1/2 past 10 down she came to the parlour to get on with her sewing and I took her in some tea at about 11, it was as I was setting down the tea tray that I noticed something under the bureau. Look, marm, I says. Something has fell here. I reached down beneath the bureau and pulled out the object it turned out to be a metal hair clasp painted with blue flowers like daisies. How did that get here? I says and turned to look at missus. Well I have never seen the colour drain from a face so quickly. Whatever is the matter, marm? I says. Is it your clasp? And I held it towards her. She shrank back moaning and covering her eyes. Take it away take it away, get it out my sight! she goes. But what shall I do with it? I cried. I don’t care, wails missus. Just get rid of it. So I ran out the room with the clasp and made sure to put it in a place that missus will not see. It is a mystery to me why a hair clasp should cause anyone to be so upset but it is none of my business. In any case I trust that missus has good reason as she is not one to get upset over nothing. We were not to have a special bird for Christmas as master James does not want too much fuss on the day. But lucky enough a fox ripped the wing right off a goose over on the farm and it has been killt and will go on the festive table, I do hope there is some left for me.

Friday 25th December

Christmas Day is here and we have had a quiet time of it as missus has not been feeling quite her usual self. She hardly ate one pick of her goose at dinner. It is not a good meat to serve cold because of the fat but we will have to make do with it for the next while or give it to the cat. Missus smelt lovely of honeysuckle perfume, it must be a Christmas gift from the master. Tomorrow is Saint Stephens, I am hopeful.

Saturday 26th December

Missus gave me a book for my gift it is about a servant girl what is kidnapped by her master because he has took a fancy to her, I do be thinking the girl is feeble, she keeps writing letters to everybody about her predicament which is as much use as a sick headache what she should do is beat the lard out him. Master James told me that they do not really believe in giving gifts just for the sake of it but that after some consideration he had decided to give me a handkerchief (plain). I cannot express how grateful I am at his generosity. Such a useful present! For everyone always needs a snoot cloot. From now on every time I blow my nose I will think of him.

I was also surprised to receive a gift from Hector a bag of Parma violets, he said he remembered I was eating them the first day he met me walking along the Great Road and so he knew I liked them. It was a kind thought and I felt bad I had not got him anything. He has been better behaved of late, he is only young what can you expect.

Later in the day, missus called me into the parlour and asked me if I had took to wearing scent. No marm, I tellt her. For it is a fact I do not have any perfumes, only my natural odour! Missus came up and sniffed my neck and wrist, but she did not smell anything she seemed most perturbed. Then she started walking about the room, sniffing the air. Can you not smell it? she goes to me. I did as I was bid and sniffed but could smell nought. No marm, I says. What is it you can smell?

Honeysuckle, she says. I looked at her. Marm, I says. Did master James not give you a honeysuckle perfume for Christmas. No, she says. He gave me no perfume. Well that is strange, I says. For I thought I smelt you wearing honeysuckle perfume yesterday and I noted it. Because normally you wear your Roses. Yes, she goes, my Attar of Roses. I do not wear honeysuckle. And then she looked very strange and says, But I know someone who did.

Who was that, marm? I asked her, but she just shook her head.

Let me know if you ever smell honeysuckle about the place, she says. And fetch me immediately. Then she left the room sniffing the air like a hound dog, I note it down here so that I am sure to remember to tell her if I ever smell the honeysuckle again.

Thursday 31st December

After more unexplained noises last night I ventured to make a suggestion to missus this morning. My suggestion was this. That we should in the daylight hours go up to the attic and make an inspection of it from top to bottom. To put our minds at rest that there is nothing up there. At night you imagine all sorts of horrors because of the dark. But who knows in daylight we might even find the nest of whatever vermin is causing these disturbances or perhaps the hole where they are getting in. Master James would only pour scorn on our activities he says he will not countenance any more claptrap about ghosts and so we waited until he had left for the day before arming ourselves with two lamps to illuminate dark corners and then we climbed the stairs. Missus began at one end of the attic and I took the other and we scoured the place from top to bottom. Neither one of us discovered anything out the ordinary. Though I did find an old canvas trunk that seemed to merit further investigation but when I drew missus attention to it she told me just to leave it be. After about ten minutes or so we met in the middle of the attic beneath the skylight and confirmed to each other that we had found nothing.

It was then that I happened to glance upwards towards the light and noticed that some person had traced something in the dirt on the window pane. Look here, I says to missus. Someone has wrote on the window. We both strained upwards on tiptoe to see more clearly. What does it say? says missus. I can’t see, she says. I peered hard and read it out to her. It says, something something My Lady. Wait a moment, yes I see now, it says Help Me My Lady.

And that was when missus fell to the floor in a dead faint she just crumpled at the knees and dropped like a flower scythed at the stem. I tried to revive her and shouted for help but nobody came and so it was on my own that I had to carry her downstairs and put her to bed. Which is where she has been ever since.

PART THREE

12

I Get Another Shock

And that was when missus fell to the floor in a dead faint.

Well that is what I wrote in my journal. Because I thought she would probably read it later as she always did and there were certain things I did not want her to know.

But wait till I tell you, what really happened that morning was a flip sight worse, even now remembering it all these years later, the skin on me crawls. I can shut my eyes and in a moment put myself right back there in the attic with her along side of me.

There she is. Flushed from the exertions of our search, her head tilted back as she peers upwards. A strand of hair is come adrift, it hangs at the side of her face next her dimple. My hair is also falling down—for what am I after doing but walking slap bang into a flipping cobweb. I just about leapt out my skin and then had to spend ten minutes shaking out my hair in case the spider was on me. I am still a little breathless from this encounter. Both me and missus have put down our lamps. Rain pitter-patters against the glass as we strain on tiptoe to see the window more clearly. The light is not good and missus leans against me to get a better view.

“What does it say?” she goes. “I can’t see.”

I let on I can’t make it out. “It says something something, My Lady,” I tell her. “Wait a moment. Yes, I see now. It says Help Me My Lady”

At this point, missus gasps so she does and clutches my arm, just above the elbow. “Thus do lambs nuzzle the slaughtermans hands.” (Nobody said that, it was more of a thought in my head). Clutch away, madam, is what I am also thinking, for I suppose she has simply took fright and caught a hold of me for support. As for me, I am still acting my arse off pretending to peer at the “ghostly‘ writing. Then the noises start to bubble up in her throat. The first no more than a cough, a clearing of the passages. But then she begins to gag. Much as if she has swallowed a spider or fly and is trying to hawk it back up. I turn to look at her and the sight that greets me draws chills down my back. She is staring at the skylight, but her phiz shows not the mild alarm that I have been expecting, instead it is as though something has took ahold of her, as though she is in some kind of horrific Trance.

“Missus?” I says.

Her mouth flaps but not a word emerges. Then as I watch, her head hangs to one side. Her tongue juts out and moves in spasms, the gagging sound in her throat now has the threat of boke behind it Jesus Murphy she is in convulsions. Her fingers grip my arm but she no longer seems aware of my presence. Her shoulders jerk back and forth as the low gargle begins to rise in pitch and volume higher and higher until she is screaming, screaming at the top of her lungs, it makes my ears buzz. Her mouth froths, her eyeballs roll back in their sockets and at the highest note of the scream her eyes snap wide open. She stares straight at me her mouth agape, her wild gaze locked onto my horrified one. And still she screams. The sound travels right through me, my whole body prickles, it is as though she is Electrified. Yet can I prise her fingers off my arm, can I buckie. If only I could break away from her grasp then she might stop. Yet how? I consider giving her a skelp but this does not seem forceful enough and so instead (may God forgive me) I punch her as hard as I can, a good old biff square in the jaw.

Her head snaps back, her fingers lose their grip, she staggers away from me. Then she crumples at the knees and drops, drops like a flower scythed at the stem. She tumbles sideways, there is a thud as her head hits the floor. Dust rises, floating to the rafters, and all around her spread the soft petals of her skirts. For a minute I stand there petrified, my fist still raised. Missus has landed on her side, one arm outstretched the fingers curled. Blood trickles from her lips. Apart from that her face is drained of colour. Her eyes are shut her mouth sags, tugged down at the corner like somebody dead. She looks completely lifeless.

I do be thinking that I might be in a spot of bother.

Not least, I might lose my job. Either for punching her or if it is discovered that the haunting has been my doing.

At worst she is killt and I am a murderer, bound straight for Everlasting Flames.

I do believe I panicked. It is my impression that I lifted her up and got her downstairs, that I laid her on the bed and ran outside for help, that I found Hector nearby (he was malletting stakes to repair a fence) and that I sent him haring off to Snatter for the doctor. All these I realised later but not at the time from anything I felt or knew. In my distress, I was aware of nothing at all until I was back in the chamber and seen her laying there and the sight of her insensible form and whey face cut me to the heart.

Cobwebs clung to her skirts. I started to brush them away and then thought catch yourself on for who cared about cobwebs when she might not even be alive. Would I be able to wake her and what if I couldn’t and what the flip would I say to master James and Oh Jesus Murphy would I really go to Hell? And if I am honest, there was another thought in the back of my mind, one that I pushed aside—what would I do without her?

Drops of blood from her mouth had trickled down her neck onto the bolster-cover, they made a crimson stain the size of a plum. And still she had not come out her Trance. Hoping to feel the warmth of her breath on my cheek I bent down so that my face was next hers, but felt nothing. I leaned in closer until her lips were almost touching mine. No breath came from them.

So it was true—I had killed her!

In my minds eye I seen my own form swinging from the gallows, my mother in the crowd leading the cheers.

And in that same moment, in a flash, missus opened her eyes and grabbed my arm. I near lit out my skin and shrieked and made to pull away but she held me fast and close.

It’s you,“ she says, very quiet and slow. ”I knew it was you.“

Oh Jesus Murphy, I thought. She has found me out.

“Right from the start,” she says. “I knew.”

Tears began to spill out her eyes and wet her cheeks. Ate up as I was with anguish and guilt, I supposed that I had disappointed her, and that she was sorry to have to dismiss me, yet I could not help but notice that she was staring at me strangely. It was as though she was waiting for me to say something, perhaps to make an excuse or attempt a lie. But I couldn’t. Couldn’t do it.

“Please forgive me, marm,” I says.

“Forgive?” She blinked, as though astounded. “What is there to forgive?”

I took this as her being satirical, like as not she was even angrier with me than I had thought. But then she says something else.

“Dear girl, it
is you
who must forgive
me
.”

I just looked at her. More tears welled up in her eyes.

“It was
my
fault,” she says.

What in Gods name was she on about?

“I should never have—” Here, she sobbed and moaned. “Oh Nora dear, it was all my fault. And now you are dead and gone. I’m sorry, Nora. I’m so sorry, dear.” Whereupon, she broke down and wept in my arms.

I stood there, hunched over, embracing her. It was a most uncomfortable position but I dared not, could not move. I stroked her back and shoulders. Beneath the taffeta, she was burning with fever.

What in the name of God had I done? She was out of her mind!

“Shhh,” I relit her. “It’s all right, Arabella. Everything is going to be all right.”

After a short while she fell insensible again and when I set her down she did not lie still, but thrashed around like a fish on the shore. Somehow I undressed her and got a clean nightgown on her and lifted her into the bed. She weighed no more than a bolster. (Even though I was after carrying her down from the attic I’d been in such a panic that I’d failed to notice how thin and frail she had become.) I wiped the blood and tears from her face and then sank down into a squat wicker chair to watch over her until the doctor came, my legs weak and my mind racing.