The Observations (32 page)

In the remaining portraits the couple had been dressed in extravagant costumes. Here was master James for instance in pirate togs with a cocked hat on his head and a sabre in his hand. Here was missus hardly recognisable as a dark-skinned princess of the Orient, draped in a robe with a sash at her waist and a pitcher balanced on her hip. And in the final portrait the couple appeared together. Master James looked very regal, stood behind a draped lectern his robes trimmed with fur and hung with golden chains. And missus was crouched at his feet dressed up as an old-fashioned maid in apron and mob cap, her sleeves rolled up and her head bowed as she offered a goblet of wine to her master.

I believe it was this last photograph that most caught my attention, perhaps because it was strange to see missus all tricked out in maids duds and acting the servant.

“We went to Henderson, on Princes Street,” missus was saying. “He has done them well, has he not? Have you ever had your likeness taken, Bessy?”

“No, marm,” says I. (Not strictly true, I had been took once or twice in what might be called “classical‘ poses at least that’s what the man said they were.)

Next time I go to Edinburgh,“ says missus, ”you must come with me and we shall go back to this shop. I should like him to take you in your working clothes. That would make a lovely portrait.“

She continued to arrange the pictures on the table, pointing out details here and there to bring them to my attention. Apparently she’d had to rub a yellow paste on her face in order to look dark for the Oriental portrait. The goblet was not real but made of painted card. And although the fur-trimmed robes looked impressive they had stunk of camphor.

While she prattled on I caught up with my own thoughts. I was fairly sure that I had put
The Observations
and Noras journal back in her desk but could I remember if the key was in the lock, no I could not. I did not really want to pretend I had found it in her absence for she might worry that I had looked in the drawer and by flip I didn’t want that.

“If you’ll excuse me, marm,” I says, anxious to get up to her room before she did. “I’ll take your bags upstairs.”

I hurried out to the hall, expecting to find two portmanteaus however there was only one, the one that missus had taken. I glanced into the study but found it to be empty. The rest of the house was that silent you could have heard a spider fart. I went back to the kitchen. Missus was still at the table, admiring the likenesses. I stared at her for a moment.

Then I says, “Did master James take his own bag up, marm?”

Hmm?“ she says. ”Oh no, I came back alone.“

She was bent over the photographs. I couldn’t see her face.

“Why, marm? What happened?”

Nothing
happened,“
she says. ”Why need something have happened? I just came back early.“ She looked up and when she seen me, she laughed. ”Oh Bessy,“ she says. ”I’d had quite enough of the town, thank you, once that dreadful dinner was done. And James didn’t really need me any more.“

She gazed at me evenly. I wasn’t sure whether I believed her or not. But before I had a chance to say anything further she says, “Tell me, Bessy—what has been going on here in my absence?”

First Nora and then my mother appeared in my minds eye. I blinked them away. Then I thought of the tumble I had took down the bank, the speeding train rushing past, inches from my face.

I says, “It’s been very quiet, marm.”

“I see,” says missus. Perhaps it was her tone of voice or the way she looked at me I don’t know but I was convinced she knew I was not telling the truth. She says, And you were not frightened to be here at night, all alone?“

“No marm.”

“Did you
see
anyone?”

“No marm,” I says. And please please
please
don’t you be worrying yourself. Like we said before, there is no ghost here and there never ever was a one!“

Missus peered at me strangely and then she gave a little laugh. “I only meant did you see Hector or any of the other farm servants.”

“Oh,” I says. “Begging your pardon, marm. No, I—I did not. Well, I seen Hector for a minute but that was all.”

And then I hared off to take her bag upstairs.

The little brass key was in her desk and the drawer was locked. I pulled out the key and flung it under the bed, just in time too, for at that moment missus came bustling in and began to unpack. I stood beside her for a moment, making a point of frowning down at the floor this way and that and clucking like billy-o.

“Isn’t it fearful dusty in here, marm?” I says.

Then I ran downstairs and returned with a broom. I began to sweep the floor. Moments later—quite by chance!—I discovered the key to her desk under the bed.

“Would you look at this, marm?!” I says, holding it up, astonished. “Here’s that key you lost! You must have kicked it under here by mistake.

I was gratified to see her pounce on the key and stash it in her pocket. How pleased she looked as she turned away! Now she could open her drawer and write up her notes or
Observations
if she so desired. I hoped she
would
do it for I knew it made her happy.

That evening we took our meal together in the kitchen like the old days. While we ate she tellt me more about the trip to Edinburgh, the hotel with its stink of gas in the room, a visit to see a Fairy Fountain powered by Electricity and the stuffy dinner she’d had to sit through watching her husband lick the hairy ringpiece of Duncan Pollock MP, (except she put it more politely).

At one point, she took my hand and squeezed it. “Dear Bessy,” she says. “I know I haven’t had as much time for you of late but all that will change. James should be going to Glasgow once this fountain is installed, perhaps for a fortnight. This time last year, he was gone for a whole month! So we will soon have plenty of time together.”

“Yes marm.”

“And I want to be more honest with you from now on,” she says. “You see, there’s something I haven’t told you. It’s a secret, Bessy. Nobody knows about it. But it was wrong of me to keep it from you.”

Funny what goes through our minds at times like these. Mine had went a little blank. I was looking at her skin and noticing how flawless it was. And that even her hair grew out her temples in what seemed a perfect way. How could anyone so lovely do anything wrong?

Missus stood up and took a few steps across the kitchen. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke.

“I am writing a book,” she says. A book about servants. Not a novel but a theoretical book about loyalty and obedience and so on. I am sure you must have guessed at something of the sort, because of certain things I may have asked you to do in the past.“

Here she paused as though expecting me to comment. But I couldn’t think what to say so I just nodded. She went on.

Now, this book is a secret. Not even my husband knows about it. « he knew I was writing this book—any book, in fact—he might tease toe and then that would spoil it. I can’t explain it any better than that.

So he doesn’t know about it. And I have taken a great risk in telling you because now you know something that you could use against me, if you chose to do so.“

Here, she paused again and gave me a searching look.

I says, “Is that all, marm?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is that the only secret? That you’re writing a book.”

She gave a little laugh. “Why—yes. Is that not enough?”

“No marm. I mean yes marm. I just thought you might be going to tell me about some other secret thing, is all.”

In fact, I didn’t really know what I meant. I was just wittering on like a great lilty.

Missus came and sat down beside me again. “Isn’t this lovely, Bessy?” she says. “The two of us back together again, with the prospect of more time alone. I cannot tell you how much I’ve looked forward to it.”

What she said sounded happy. But there was a great sadness behind her eyes. Oh how I longed to blurt out everything I knew. To tell her that I had read her
Observations.
And that I’d done the very same walk that she’d sent Nora on. And that she was just wrong to go blaming herself for the stupid girls death. But, of course, I couldn’t tell her any of that because I was feart to let her know that I’d been sniffing around amongst her things. Twice now I’d done it, wicked girl that I was. It would have to stop. I made a vow to myself. No more snooping. And I resolved to write an especially long entry in my little book (mostly made up, of course) in the hope that it might give her pleasure.

That night like the day that preceded it was cold and clear. My brain was buzzing with thoughts but I must have dropped off eventually because at some point I awoke and saw outside my window a brilliant sliver of moon suspended beneath a diamond star, both of them lit as though from within, pinned against the sky so they were, like earrings on dark velvet. Their combined light was so bright that at first I thought it had roused me—but then the silence was broke by a shrill guttural scream, a strange and wordless cry of terror that shook the house.

I sat bolt upright. The scream seemed to have come from the direction of missus room. It died away but I believe there must have been another just before it, because the sound was familiar, like an echo of something. Just as worrying was the stillness that followed in its wake. I sat there paralysed for a moment, my heart hammering raw in my chest. Then I leapt up and without pausing to dress or put anything on my feet I lashed downstairs to see was missus all right.

I had just reached the landing when her chamber door flew open and she came hurpling out towards me in her nightdress. Her hair was loose and in disarray, it seemed to stand upright around her face which was white and pinched. She fell upon me and pointed towards her room, her eyes wide with fear. She was shaking that hard she could not speak.

“What is it?” I whispered. “What’s the matter?”

“Shhh!—Shhhu!—Shhhu!” went missus at first I thought she was hushing me but then as she went on I realised she was only trying to say something.

“Shhu!—She!—She’s there! She’s there!”

I felt my oxters prickle and remembered the figure from a few nights before, hovered over the bed with that dreadful look on its face. Could missus have had the same dream as me? Or was it indeed an apparition? This time there was no doubt in my mind that I was wide awake. This time, I would be able to know for certain what it really was.

Missus clutched at my nightdress but despite her attempts to drag me back, I prised myself free and dashed across the threshold of her room.

Inside, I had expected to find all in darkness but was surprised to see a candle burning by the bed and the curtains drawn back to admit the moonlight. I looked at once to the place where Nora had “appeared‘ to me, but saw nothing. And a glance around the rest of the chamber proved fruitless. There was nobody there.

Missus had crept in behind me and now she stood near the doorway, still trembling, as I took up the candle and searched behind the curtains and then in the press and under the bed. Nothing, nothing, nobody. I stood up.

“There’s no-one here, marm,” I says. “Nothing to worry about.”

Her eyes were wide and glassy. “Are you sure, Bessy?”

“You were only dreaming, marm.”

She took a deep breath and then let it out again. “Oh but you see,” she says. “I wasn’t asleep.”

I had just glanced away to set down the candle but on hearing
that I
turned back to look at her. She took a few steps and sat upon the bed. A book lay on the counterpane. She picked it up and showed it to me.

“I was reading,” she says. “The moon was so bright, even though it’s on the wane—did you notice?—and I had drawn back the curtains for more light. I couldn’t sleep, you see. I must have read for an hour or so. And then all at once, as I turned a page, I became convinced that someone was watching me. I had this overwhelming sense of being under observation. It was not a pleasant feeling. Quite oppressive, in fact. I glanced up—”

Here, she looked towards the corner of the room, to a spot near the press. I followed her gaze. There was nothing there, just as before. Even so, I shivered.

“I glanced up—and there she was!”

Missus froze in her attitude of looking across the room, as though she still saw what had been there before. In the moonlight, her face seemed made up of nothing but shade and hollows. Staring eyes, open mouth, the dark holes of her nostrils, her sunken cheeks.

“Who, marm?” I says. “Who was it?”

She turned towards me. “Now don’t be cross, Bessy,” she says, “but I saw her as plain as you are standing there. It was Nora Hughes. Just as she was in life.”

The room seemed to tilt. There was an old tapestry stool beside me and I lowered myself onto it. Missus began to smooth down her hair, all the while gazing at me. After a moment, I was able to speak. I tried to make my voice light and undisturbed.

“Well, I am sure it was only a dream, marm,” I says. “But what— what did she do?”

“Nothing at first,” says missus. “She just stood there, looking at me.

“Was she angry?”

“No—not angry. She looked rather sad than angry. Dreadfully sad.”

“Her lantern. Did she have it raised thus?” And I lifted my arm in the same threatening attitude Nora had adopted the night before.

Missus frowned. “Lantern?” she says. “She had no lantern.”

This flummoxed me since I had expected her dream to be the same in every detail as my own.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite certain,” she says. “Because she did this.” Missus stopped smoothing her hair and reached out towards me in a beseeching gesture. She held the pose for a few seconds, then dropped it. And her hands were empty, do you see? I remember that most clearly“

Every detail at odds with what I expected.

“Well—was she in night clothes?” I says, at last.

“No. She wore a print frock, in plaid. I believe it was the one that she may have been wearing—when she died.”

The candle guttered. Missus turned and stared into the flame.

“Did she approach the bed at any point?” I says.

Missus shook her head. “No, she simply made that one gesture. And then—I think I may have covered my face with my hands for when I looked again, she had gone.”