The Poisoned House (9 page)

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Chapter 19

I struggled to sleep that night. I wound the watch and lay on my back, looking at the ceiling, and my high hopes sank like a soggy pudding. The following day was a Thursday, a day the doctor had said he would be at home, but the more I dwelled on it, the more unfeasible it seemed. How could I possibly get away? There’d be more chance of escaping from Millbank Jail.

As it was, an unexpected chance came my way.

A sound of retching woke me before dawn. My first thought was that Samuel had been taken ill again in the night, but the noise was closer than that. It came from across the hall. I crept out of bed and knocked on Elizabeth’s door.

‘Lizzy?’

‘Abi?’

I went in and found her kneeling on the floor, with one hand resting on the bedpost and another steadying her pot. Her skin was pale and sweating.

‘Are you all right?’ I said.

My answer was another heave of her stomach. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said. ‘Please, leave me be.’

Her words were harsh, but I could see they stemmed from embarrassment rather than anger, and so I left. Still, her condition gave me cause for unease. I had known Lizzy for three years, and never once had she fallen ill. We all shared the same meals below stairs, and although I was tired, my stomach was fine. Cook looked rosy too, though she always had a fine flush in her cheeks.

I took care of the fires and went about my other morning duties. The dining room was given special attention as we were receiving guests that evening – the Ambroses from across the Park. No more was said of Lizzy’s illness and by noon, when we set about the task of preparation together, she seemed to have recovered. She busied herself with the silver and china while I polished the furniture. We brought out the best candlesticks and made sure the lamps were filled and the wicks trimmed, and took great care over setting the table to Mrs Cotton’s satisfaction.

We were told that there would be three guests – Lord Greave’s old friends Malcolm and Esme Ambrose and their son Alexander, a chum of Samuel’s. I’d come to know Alex well when I was younger and permitted to take part in some of their games, but it had been almost two years since I had seen him. I saw that Lizzy looked up anxiously when his name was mentioned. She, of course, was thinking of the footman Henry.

It came as a surprise, though, that with three guests, we were asked to set only five places at the great mahogany table. Cook said that Mrs Cotton was dining out that evening at a friend’s house, and so wouldn’t be joining the others in the dining room at Greave Hall. It was Rob who said what we were all thinking.

‘Strange night to be abandoning the rest of the family, isn’t it? Big do like this?’

Cook, who was busy rolling pastry on the flour-dusted table, looked up.

‘Well, it’s not our business to pry now, is it?’

That shut Rob up, and he muttered about tidying up the yard, then left.

What he’d said was right though. By all accounts that night’s feasting was to be a celebration of Samuel’s convalescence, and Mrs Cotton choosing not to join in struck me as rather odd too. However, it gave me an unexpected opportunity – I had more chance of getting out of the house and away to Dr Reinhardt. But there were plenty of other obstacles: for a start, I was sure to be called upon to help at supper.

After lunch, the housekeeper left us all with strict instructions and retired to her room to prepare for her evening out. The guests were due to arrive at five o’clock, and there was still much to be done. I was walking past the library when I heard a muffled bang and curse within.

I opened the door without knocking. Samuel was leaning against a bookshelf, steadying himself. On the ground beside him lay his crutch. To my surprise he was already dressed for dinner, with a crisp white shirt and tie. He had shaved, but wore no jacket.

‘Oh, Abi,’ he said. ‘Good. Help me, will you?’

I hurried forward and picked up the crutch, holding it for him while he adjusted his position and managed to manoeuvre it back beneath his armpit.

‘Should you be up?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps we should wait for Rob to help.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said, breathing heavily. He was obviously in some pain. ‘I thought I’d take a little turn about the garden.’

‘Is that wise?’

‘Probably not,’ he grimaced, ‘but perhaps you could join me if Mrs Cotton can spare you.’

I found Mr Lock, who had a key to the French windows. He said he didn’t think it was a good idea for the young master to be going out, but Samuel insisted. And so, in lurches and painful steps, with me hovering in case of an accident, we shambled outside.

As children, we had played together in the garden many times. One of my earliest memories was climbing into the branches of the plum tree at the far end and looking back towards the house. My mother had been in the nursery, standing at the window and looking on with her arms folded and a proud smile.

Now, with winter, all the colours were muted. Tears sprang up before I could prevent them.

‘I shall be all right, you know,’ said Samuel.

I realised that he had got the wrong impression. He thought I was crying for him.

‘Oh, it’s not that,’ I said. ‘I was thinking of my mother.’

His skin coloured with embarrassment.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘How silly of me. You miss her badly?’

I missed her like an ache deep in my gut. Sadness climbed through my body like the tide sliding up a shallow beach, threatening to drown me.

‘I do,’ I said simply.

Samuel put his arm around my shoulder and squeezed. ‘I do too. She was like a mother to me. Certainly more so than my aunt.’

Rules governed everything we did, everything we said. But Samuel could puncture it all in a second. It didn’t matter that he was the master and I the servant. As we reached the end of the path and stood under the spindly boughs of the plum tree, I worked up courage to ask a question.

‘Samuel,’ I said, ‘why is it, do you suppose, that Mrs Cotton is not dining with you tonight?’

He smiled – first a puzzled twitch of his lip, then a broader grin that showed his teeth. ‘Why do you ask, Abi?’

It was my turn to blush. ‘I shouldn’t have asked.’

Silence descended over our little meeting, and a breeze shook the branches of the tree and made me shiver.

‘I asked that she absent herself,’ he said finally. His tone was so frank, so open.

‘Why?’

He ran his hands over the tree bark. ‘Do you remember when we used to climb this tree, Abi?’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘My mother always told me not to go too high, or else the branch would break and I would hurt myself.’

‘You didn’t listen though.’

‘No,’ I said, ‘and it never broke.’

I couldn’t help thinking that our conversation meant something more than either of us said. That he was trying to say something to me that he dare not speak outright.

‘It is my belief that my aunt takes liberties that she should not,’ he said quickly.

He looked as if he was about to go on, so I didn’t say anything, but my heart was racing. I longed to speak more, to tell him about the strange and terrifying events of late. For here he was, opening a door to me, giving me an opportunity to share my doubts with him about Mrs Cotton.

‘Sammy . . .’ I said.

A sudden shiver passed over my skin. No breeze had caused it, for the branches were still and the air was silent. I turned back towards the house, certain in that moment that I would see something there in the nursery window – see my mother, watching as she had watched while she was alive.

But there was nobody there.

‘Come,’ Sammy said. ‘You’re cold. Let’s go back inside.’

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Chapter 20

I saw Samuel back to the library, where he said he would take a nap before dinner, then went about my duties. I was still convinced that it would take some unlikely stroke of luck to allow me to leave the house that evening, and had largely put the idea from my mind.

With the dusting done and the coal scuttles refilled in every room, I went upstairs to change into my serving clothes. It was as I entered my own room that I heard a noise from Lizzy’s. My first thought was that she was taken ill again, so I knocked.

There was no answer.

‘Elizabeth?’ I said, peering round the door.

The room was empty.

I paused with a foot on the threshold. I had tried to forget the events in the garden, but now the image of that handprint came afresh to my mind. I crouched to look under her bed.

Only floorboards covered in dust.

Against the near wall in Lizzy’s room stood an old wardrobe, worm-eaten and scratched. I steeled myself and strode into the room to look round the side.

‘Found you!’ I said.

There was no one there.

A soft knocking came from within the wardrobe itself, as though something were butting up against the door.

My mouth was dry, my hands clammy with sweat.

‘Lizzy?’ I whispered.

The gentle thudding stopped.

Even though I knew there must be a logical explanation – that either Rob or Lizzy must be inside – I still felt reluctant to look. My racing heart told me to leave the room at once, but my mind told me that I could not. I placed my hands on the worn doorknob and pulled.

Lizzy’s clothes hung neatly within. Her shoes were lined up along the bottom, her undergarments stacked in a pile. Nothing moved. My breath burst forth in a rush.

But there, lying on top of Lizzy’s folded polishing smock, was her scarf – the gift from Henry. It took me a moment to realise that something was wrong with the frayed edge. It had been torn in half.

I picked up the two pieces in bewilderment. Had something happened to cause Lizzy to do such a thing? They must have fallen out. Poor girl! No wonder she had been acting so strangely.

‘Abi?’

Lizzy’s voice made me turn round. She was standing in the doorway, staring at me. Her eyes dropped to the scarf, and the blood seemed to drain from her face. She gave a tiny shake of her head then stepped forward. I saw her hand flash up and her palm whipcracked against my cheek. I staggered and steadied myself against the wardrobe door. My face felt as if it was being stabbed with a hundred tiny needle points. ‘How could you!’ she shouted. ‘You heartless –’

‘I – It wasn’t me,’ I said. I shielded my face as she came closer. ‘I found it like that, I swear. I heard –’

‘Get out!’ said Lizzy, the tears already forming in her eyes. She snatched the scraps of material from my hand. ‘Get out,’ she sobbed.

I tried to explain further, but she was pushing me from the room. I fell out into the tiny corridor and heard her throw her weight against the other side of the door. After a few moments came the sound of quiet sobbing.

I went back to my room and as the mark of her palm faded on my cheek I wondered what was happening in the house. How could she think I would do such a terrible thing?

For an awful moment, I thought perhaps I
was
responsible. Perhaps I had somehow washed the memory away, or replaced it with another. But no – I was in my right mind, I was sure of it.

A spirit must find its rest
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Dr Reinhardt’s words seemed to resonate now even more than they had done in the sitting room that day. But could an angry ghost tear a scarf in two? What had my mother’s spirit got against poor Lizzy?

The afternoon that had begun with such an unpleasant scene grew steadily worse. Not an hour after the altercation with Lizzy, there followed an uncomfortable reminder that even with Samuel home, things were not as they should be in Greave Hall.

I washed and changed into my serving clothes, making sure I was spick and span. I was used to serving at table, but rarely for guests. Whenever Mrs Cotton entertained her ladies, it was Lizzy who was called upon rather than me. And tonight was special: I wanted to make a good impression for Samuel.

As I reached the top of the servants’ stairs, there was a cry – Lord Greave’s voice, raised in a high-pitched wail. I went down to the landing and saw a shoe bounce down the main stairs from his rooms, landing at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, and a second spun through the air and almost hit me.

‘I told you,’ shouted Lord Greave, ‘I won’t!’

‘Come, sir,’ said Mr Lock patiently. ‘Your guests will be here soon.’

I fetched the second shoe from outside Mrs Cotton’s door. Both were polished to such a high shine that I could see my face in the toes.

‘Damn my guests!’ shouted His Lordship.

He appeared at the top of the steps, pushing Mr Lock aside. He was wearing only an undershirt and a pair of socks, and his white knees were sticking out. I looked away at once.

‘Forgive me, sir,’ I said. ‘I was only –’

I was bustled away by Mr Lock, his face flushed.

‘Is His Lordship all right?’ I asked.

‘Of course,’ he said in an exasperated tone. ‘Please, go about your business.’

He returned upstairs as quickly as his creaking body would allow. I heard Lord Greave’s laughter, not happy or content but manic. ‘Did you see her face, my boy? A picture! A picture!’

He was clearly a long way from fine.

Shortly after, Mr Lock marshalled us in the hallway to receive our guests. Lord Greave, I was pleased to see, was now fully dressed and stationed himself beside Samuel in the front sitting room. His son looked every inch the gentleman in his clean dragoon’s uniform. The clock was still chiming the five strokes of the hour as the doorbell rang.

Lizzy and I straightened up beside each other as Mr Lock made his way ponderously to the door. She hadn’t spoken to me once since the incident with the scarf.

The door opened to a draught of cold air.

Lord and Lady Ambrose stood there stiffly, their son Alexander a step behind them.

‘Greetings, Lock,’ he said.

‘Sir,’ said Mr Lock, bowing low and standing aside to let them enter. I saw their carriage in the road beyond, and wondered why they had bothered to use it – they only lived across the Park. Perched on the front seat was a footman wearing a woollen hat pulled low. Lizzy’s eyes were turned that way too. The magnificent Henry, I guessed. Rob went out to guide the horses round into the yard.

‘Best get that door closed, Lock,’ said Alexander, ‘before Jack Frost decides to make himself at home.’

He was a tall young man – the whole family were, heavyset with very black hair. His father was much the same, though slightly stooped and with bulk turned to a great roll of fat that strained at his middle. Esme Ambrose was perhaps an inch shorter than her husband and wore a green dress with a scarf of dark red around her shoulders. Her eyes seemed to look straight through me, but that was often the way with visitors. It was improper to notice the staff.

Lizzy and I took our guests’ outer garments – Lady Ambrose’s a fine fur coat – and I took their hats too.

‘Show us to the invalid then!’ said the son.

Mr Lock gave a thin smile. I wondered how much Alex knew of Samuel’s convalescence. The butler led them through to the sitting room and I heard the muffled sounds of warm greetings. Lizzy and I went to the closet beneath the stairs, where we hung the coats and hats.

‘I swear to you that I didn’t damage your scarf,’ I said.

She turned her back on me without a word.

Lizzy’s spirits were shortly to be lifted by an unexpected visitor.

Mr Lock remained upstairs to serve drinks in the sitting room, while the rest of us bustled around the kitchen. I was warming plates over the range and Lizzy was helping Cook put the finishing touches to the fish course – a huge poached salmon with caviar jelly.

The back door opened and in walked Rob alongside the Ambroses’ footman, Henry, who quickly pulled the hat from his head and held it shyly in front of him. On his hands were fingerless gloves.

‘Evening, all,’ he said.

‘Let me get you a cup of ale,’ said Rob.

‘I should be glad of it,’ said Henry.

We made our introductions briefly, and I saw his eyes linger on Lizzy longer than was proper. It made me worry for her. If Mrs Cotton had been there, she would have been sure to note the flicker of attraction between the two of them and snuff it like a candle.

Henry seemed a nice enough young man as he supped his ale, and gradually the colour returned to his cheeks. Like his master, there was always a smile on his lips. He told us a little of himself – that two of his brothers were in service too, though another was apprenticed to a cobbler, that he had been with the Ambrose family for two years and that they were good to him. Lizzy hung on his every word, though I’m sure she’d heard it all before.

Shortly afterwards Mr Lock came down to tell us the diners were seated. It was time for us to take the soup upstairs. I carried the bowls and Lizzy the tureen. We crossed the hall and Mr Lock opened the dining-room door for us.

A fire was blazing and the lamps were all lit. The room was brighter and hotter than the rest of the house and straight away a light sweat pricked across my forehead beneath the starched hat. Lord Greave sat at the head of the table, with Samuel at his right side. Alex was beside his friend and his parents sat opposite. Only half the table was being used.

‘. . . read about in the papers,’ Alexander was saying. ‘It sounded hellish.’

Lizzy placed the tureen on a trolley by the near wall, and I held the first of the bowls as she ladled it in. We had done this so many times, we didn’t spill or splash a drop. I served Lady Ambrose first, then her husband.

I was carrying the third bowl to their son. He moved aside to let me place it before him, but two things seemed to happen in the same moment. I felt a cold breath on the back of my neck, which sent a tingle right along my spine, and the bowl tipped out of my hand. I looked on in horror as the scalding liquid splashed into Alexander Ambrose’s lap.

He screamed in pain and pushed back from the table.

‘Abi!’ said Samuel.

I grabbed a napkin from the table and held it out to Alexander. ‘Sir, I apologise. I don’t know what happened. I –’

Master Ambrose was hopping from foot to foot as though it was the ground that burned him, not the soup that dripped from his crotch and all over the carpet.

‘You stupid girl!’ he said, snatching the napkin and holding it to his nether regions. ‘What are you? An imbecile?’

What could I say? I wanted to run out of the room and not look back, or crawl under the table and hide. Only Mr Ambrose had stood up – the rest remained seated. I took in their aghast expressions, wishing to be anywhere but there. Even Lizzy looked appalled.

‘I’m dreadfully sorry, sir,’ I said, imploring Lord Greave with my eyes to intervene. But he wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the fire, as if he could see something there that no one else could.

It was Samuel who broke the silence.

‘Miss Tamper,’ he said, with sudden formality, ‘you are excused. I will bring Master Ambrose’s garments to you for washing and you will make sure they are cleaned and dried by morning.’

I couldn’t tell if his tone was for the benefit of his guests or because he was truly angry. His face gave nothing away.

‘Of course, sir,’ I said.

‘Alex,’ he said, ‘Lock will show you to the library. You will find some of my clothes hanging there. Please take what you need.’

‘They’ll be ruined,’ muttered Lady Ambrose, not looking at me.

‘I’ll get them clean, ma’am,’ I said. She turned to me with a look of disgust.

‘I told you to go,’ said Samuel.

I left the room, passing Samuel and Lizzy, my cheeks burning.

As I closed the door behind me I caught a final glimpse of Lord Greave, still gazing at the hypnotic flames in the grate. Had he sensed it too – the presence that I had felt at my back just a second before the bowl fell?

I waited at the top of the servants’ steps until Mr Lock brought me a pile of soup-stained clothes. ‘Make sure these are spotless,’ he said. He was about to go, then added, ‘What came over you, my girl?’

‘I don’t know,’ I replied. ‘I must have slipped.’

Mr Lock left me, shaking his head. If he was baffled, then he wasn’t alone.

I carved some soap shavings into a bucket of hot water and dropped Alexander’s clothes in. Lizzy would have to deal with service for the remainder of the evening, and I thought she might enjoy it more without me there anyway. She had wanted me to spill, and spill I had, but I couldn’t blame her.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ I said to the empty laundry.

The soup came out easily and by the third rinse there was no sign of it. The kitchen was too thick with cooking fumes to hang the clothes beside the range, so I ran them through the mangle to get rid of most of the remaining water and took them up to my own room. With all the fires burning downstairs, the warmth had risen pleasantly through the house. With luck, they’d be almost dry by morning.