The Observations (33 page)

“Is that when you screamed?”

“Did I scream?” Missus moved her hand to her throat. The fingers were trembling. “I know I was frightened but I thought I’d been struck dumb. I had this suffocating feeling, do you see? I couldn’t breathe. You saw me, on the landing. I couldn’t speak.”

“But I heard a scream. It near took the roof off. Why d’you think I came running?”

“I don’t know,” says missus. “Perhaps it was
Nora
who screamed, do you think? Perhaps
she
wanted you to come.” She smiled at me. Her eyes glittered. It was a look that I recognised, a hint of the old fevered distraction.

I think it was
you
that screamed, marm, but you just didn’t know it because you were fast asleep. You cried out while dreaming.“

Missus stood up abruptly. She glared at me. “But I just told you, I was awake!”

“Marm,” I says, getting to my feet. “Look around you. There is nobody here. There
was
nobody here. You
must
have been dreaming. We’ve all had dreams like that, at one time or another. I had one myself, just the other night.”

Missus had begun to pace the floor, in great agitation, but now she span around to face me. “You did? What happened?”

“Nothing, marm. I was dreaming is all. Just like you were. You must have fell asleep while you were reading.”

“No,” she insisted. “I was wide awake.”

It was hopeless, there was no reasoning with her. I felt the energy drain from me.

“Listen here to me,” I says. “Our minds are filled with this nonsense about a ghost. And that’s all it is, marm. Nonsense. We are imagining things because—” I bit my lip and held my breath, but found that there was nothing would stop the next words coming out. They tumbled from me, one after the other, like so many buttons spilled from an overturned jar. “It was
me,
marm, all the time. It wasn’t a ghost. It was me made the noises in the attic and me that put gloves on your bed and I polished your shoes and all the other things that happened. Even the writing in the window. I did that. It was
me.
I stood up on tippy-toe to write it. D’you hear me? There never was a ghost. And so you didn’t see one tonight.”

Once I had started, it was easy. And as the words came out relief flooded in to take their place. Missus seemed paralysed, she stood on the spot staring at me her mouth
1/2
open her arms at her sides. Only her fingers moved, softly clenching and unclenching like a sea creature I had once seen in a rock pool.

“You must believe me,” I says. “I don’t know why I did it, marm. It was just I thought you didn’t like me any more and I—I wanted your attention. And you see, I must have done it well because I even scared myself. But there is no ghost marm. I am the ghost. And you can dismiss me now, if you wish. Only don’t hold it against me. I would not hurt you for all the world and I’ll never forgive myself for what I done. But it has to end here.”

Very slowly, missus reached up and took hold of her own nose as though she was about to plunge into water. She remained like that a moment. Thinking, frowning, her eyes still watching me darkly. Judging me. Hard to tell what was going through her mind. And then all at once she let go her nose and laughed out loud.

“I see what you are up to,” she says. “I
almost
believed you there, just for a moment. You are a very sweet and clever girl, but I am afraid your little subterfuge—inventive though it is—doesn’t work.”

“Marm, I—”

She held up a hand to silence me. “Bessy, I know what I saw. She was there! Standing over there, as plain as I see you now. I
wasn’t
asleep. You say you did all these things, the writing in the window and the gloves and so on. But are you going to tell me that you dug Nora up and dressed in her clothes and crept down here and appeared to me?”

“No, marm, of course I—”

“Of course not. Because you
didn’t.
It wasn’t you. It was Nora herself. And it always
has been
Nora.”

She was looking at me in a fond indulgent way, I had an urge to skelp her.

“Of course,” she says. “I appreciate that you don’t want me to be alarmed, Bessy. But you don’t have to make up stories. I am not alarmed any more.”

“You’re—you’re not?”

“No,” she says. “I’ve been thinking. There’s no need to worry. It was that look on her face, do you see? I’ve realised now what I should have seen all along. She means us no harm. Of course not—she’s Nora. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Come here, Bessy, look.”

She turned me so that we were both reflected in the looking glass. I seen missus, her smooth hair, the calm solid curves of her cheek and jaw, she seemed righteous and completely at ease. And then I noticed my own countenance, the colour drained from it the lips drawn back the eyes glaring and alert the hair in disarray.

“Do you see?” missus says. “
You
are the one that is disturbed, Bessy.”

Indeed, she was not mistaken. I looked absolutely horrified.

And then I gasped—for in the glass I had glimpsed a dark cloaked figure looming in the doorway. Missus dropped my hand and whirled round.

“What are you doing!” she snapped. “Creeping about like a house-burglar! You gave us a fright.”

Master James (for it was he) pulled down the scarf that covered the lower part of his face. He gazed at us crossly and then glanced around the room, as though he expected to see somebody else lurking there. Upon finding that we were the sole occupants, he seemed to relax a little. When he spoke, he never once took his eyes off missus, even while he was addressing me.

“There was no cab and I was obliged to walk from the station,” he says. “I approached the house on foot and came upstairs as silently as I could in an attempt not to disturb you. I see now that my precautions were unnecessary. You were already awake. But I wonder what the two of you can be doing, burning candles at this time of night. Bessy, you are not in your own room. No doubt you have an explanation.”

“Yes sir,” I says, desperate to think of one that would protect missus, but all I could come up with was, “I had a bad dream, sir.” And as soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake.

“I see. A bad dream. And this dream caused you to get out of bed and walk down the stairs in your sleep and to waken your mistress. A strange sort of dream, I must say.”

“No sir,” I says. “What happened was I was frightened and came down to check that all was well with missus. That’s all.”

“An interesting story,” he says. “No doubt you would corroborate it Arabella.”

All this while, he had not took his eyes off her and she had returned his gaze steadily. Now, she smiled.

“I am afraid I cannot,” she says. “You see, Bessy is very sweetly at-tempting to prevent us from worrying. However the truth is James that there has been someone in my room this night.”

Master James breathed in sharply “Someone,” he says. His gaze flicked around the room. Then he turned back to missus. “Be so goo as to tell me what you mean, my dear.”

Missus spread her hands. “I am not an expert,” she says. “All I can say is that Nora was here tonight.”

“Nora,” repeated master James, slowly. Perhaps he couldn’t remember who she was. This must have been how missus interpreted his response for she looked cross.

“The maid,” she told him. “As was. Before Morag.”

“I am perfectly aware who you
mean,”
says master James. “I am simply digesting the information.”

“It was definitely her,” missus continued. “I looked up from my book and there she was, over there.” She pointed to the spot. “I watched her for a moment. She made a pleading gesture, thus, and then she disappeared. I think she has come back, James. She does not rest easy and she has come back.” She clasped her hands and calmly awaited his response.

Master James nodded. “Remarkable,” he says. “Truly astonishing. And I do wish to hear all about it. But perhaps it can wait until morning. The hour is late and I am footsore and weary. Arabella, my dear, you must get some rest.” He flicked a glance in my direction. “Bessy, you may go.”

You may go. Would to God I had a pound for every time somebody told me that, I could have put my mother on a flipping boat to Australia.

But I had to do as I was tellt. Reluctant though I was to leave missus, she was dutifully getting between the sheets and snuffing out her candle and so I had no choice but to leave the room. I hoped she would be all right. Poor love! I hated to think of her laying there all night alone, in case she took fright again. I would have walked a hundred mile on hot coals just to be able to watch over her.

16

I Get a Fright

Master James must have been up at the scrake of dawn so he must. When I took morning water to missus he was already there in her room, talking to her in a low voice. I tapped at the door and called out as usual, “Good morning, marm!” but when I tried to go in he intercepted me by leaping to the threshold, bad cess on him. I was dreading this moment for I knew he was most likely furious about all this ghost business.

“Good morning, Bessy,” he says, that chilly it would have took your nose off.

He prised the water jug from my fingers and set it on the floor, then he fished a letter from his waistcoat pocket and pressed it into my hand.

“I need you to run down to Snatter,” he says. “And deliver this.”

My blood went cold when I seen the addressee was McGregor-Robertson. I tried to see beyond him into the room. “The doctor, sir? Is missus all right?”

“Och yes,” he says. “I simply feel that he should have a quick look at her. One can’t be too careful. Our trip to Edinburgh may have been over-taxing.”

“Really sir?” I says. “What’s the matter with her? What happened in the night?”

“Nothing
happened
, Bessy,” he says. “I simply need you to fetch the doctor.”

And then missus voice came from behind the door. “I am quite fine, Bessy,” she says. “No need to worry. Just do as your master says-And then hopefully we will be able to proceed with the day as usual. She sounded tired and irritable but nothing worse than that.

“Very good then, marm,” I called out.

Master James gave me a tight smile. Then he shut the door and I ran downstairs and out the house and all the way to Snatter.

As it happened the doctor was not in so I left the letter with the bacon-faced girl that answered the door, her lights were dim but I think I impressed upon her that she should give it to him as soon as he returned. Then I hurried back up the road to Castle Haivers.

I was just crossing the hall on my way upstairs, when I glanced into the study and seen that master James was at his desk in the process of writing something. As I passed by, I noticed that he covered the page with his hands, as though he did not wish me to see what he was doing (though you would need eyes like a lynx to read what he had wrote from the threshold).

I hesitated at the doorway. “Will there be anything else now, sir?”

“No. That will be all.”

“I’ll take up a breakfast for missus then,” I says.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says. “She is asleep and shouldn’t be disturbed.”

“But, sir, should she not have a cup of tea and something to eat?”

“She should,” says master James. And that is why, while you were gone from the house, I took her something myself. It may surprise you to know, Bessy, that in my days as a student it was not unheard of for me to make a cup of tea unaided. Complicated and challenging though the procedure may be, I found that it all came flooding back to me.“

And when I returned to the kitchen a few moments later, I found that there was indeed great evidence of tea-making and some flooding.

The doctor arrived within the hour and the two men conferred in the study for some time before going to see missus. I crept up after them and listened at the door but could hear nought except their voices Murmuring in between periods of silence. I was on my way back to the kitchen when I noticed that master James had left the study door open. There on his desk was the piece of paper upon which he had been writing. Now normally I did not care a cocks wattles for what he might write. Only my curiosity was up because of how he had attempted to conceal the page. Perhaps he had been writing about missus, or what had happened in Edinburgh to bring her home early. And so I tiptoed into the room.

It turned out that master James was writing a letter to Duncan Pollock MP, it contained little of note but I read it just to make sure. He began by thanking the honourable member and said that he and missus enjoyed themselves prodigiously at the Assembly Rooms. Then he blabbed on about his blasted fountain for about 1/2 a century, and invited Pollock to the opening ceremony. He apologised for not having joined the MP and his wife on some walk that had been planned but explained that missus had come down with a sore head. He had now thoroughly settled it with his conscience (he said) that he should offer himself to the electors. In closing he expressed hope that expenses would not be prohibitive and enquired how much Pollock himself had laid out at the time of his own election.

All perfectly innocent. I wondered why he had attempted to hide the page. Perhaps he was not entirely proud of the fawning tone he had adopted.

I was about to replace the letter on the desk when I heard footsteps on the stairs. It seemed that master James and the doctor were descending with some haste. Indeed, they were almost at the hallway. Of a sudden I panicked and darted behind one of the faded old velvet curtains at the window, in the hope that master James would show the doctor straight out and then return upstairs to see his wife. Instead, to my dismay, I heard the two men enter the study and close the door firmly behind them.

I heard master James voice, gruff and low. “Be my guest,” says he.

There was the creak of a chair as somebody settled into it and then various scraping, tapping and rubbing sounds that I could not at first identify but which soon enough with the strike and fizz of a match revealed themselves to be pipe-related. Some puffing and sucking of stems ensued. Another chair creaked and then, after a pause, master James spoke out, more clearly this time.