We Have Always Lived in the Castle

Constance was laughing. “Uncle Julian will never get his breakfast if I listen to you,” she said. She took up the tray and went into Uncle Julian’s room. “Hot tea coming,” she said.

“Constance, my dear. A glorious morning, I think. A splendid day to work.”

“And to sit in the sun.”

Jonas sat in the sunlit doorway, washing his face. I was hungry; perhaps it would be kind to Uncle Julian today if I put a feather on the lawn at the spot where Uncle Julian’s chair would go; I was not allowed to bury things in the lawn. On the moon we wore feathers in our hair, and rubies on our hands. On the moon we had gold spoons.

“Perhaps today is a good day to begin a new chapter. Constance?”

“Yes, Uncle Julian?”

“Do you think I should begin chapter forty-four today?”

“Of course.”

“Some of the early pages need a little brushing up. A work like this is never done.”

“Shall I brush your hair?”

“I think I will brush it myself this morning, thank you. A man’s head should be his own responsibility, after all. I have no jam.”

“Shall I get you some?”

“No, because I see that I have somehow eaten all my toast. I fancy a broiled liver for my lunch, Constance.”

“You shall have it. Shall I take your tray?”

“Yes, thank you. And I will brush my hair.”

Constance came back into the kitchen and set down the tray. “And now for you, my Merricat,” she said.

“And Jonas.”

“Jonas had his breakfast long ago.”

“Will you plant a leaf for me?”

“One of these days.” She turned her head and listened. “He is still asleep,” she said.

“Who is still asleep? Will I watch it grow?”

“Cousin Charles is still asleep,” she said, and the day fell apart around me. I saw Jonas in the doorway and Constance by the stove but they had no color. I could not breathe, I was tied around tight, everything was cold.

“He was a ghost,” I said.

Constance laughed, and it was a sound very far away. “Then a ghost is sleeping in Father’s bed,” she said. “And ate a very hearty dinner last night. While you were gone,” she said.

“I dreamed that he came. I fell asleep on the ground and dreamed that he came, but then I dreamed him away.” I was held tight; when Constance believed me I could breathe again.

“We talked for a long time last night.”

“Go and look,” I said, not breathing, “go and look; he isn’t there.”

“Silly Merricat,” she said.

I could not run; I had to help Constance. I took my glass and smashed it on the floor. “Now he’ll go away,” I said.

Constance came to the table and sat down across from me, looking very serious. I wanted to go around the table and hug her, but she still had no color. “My Merricat,” she said slowly, “Cousin Charles is here. He is our cousin. As long as his father was alive—that was Arthur Blackwood, Father’s brother—Cousin Charles could not come to us, or try to help us, because his father would not allow him. His father,” she said, and smiled a little, “thought very badly of us. He refused to take care of you during the trial, did you know that? And he never let our names be mentioned in his house.”

“Then why do you mention his name in our house?”

“Because I am trying to explain. As soon as his father died Cousin Charles hurried here to help us.”

“How can he help us? We’re very happy, aren’t we, Constance?”

“Very happy, Merricat. But please be pleasant to Cousin Charles.”

I could breathe a little; it was going to be all right. Cousin Charles was a ghost, but a ghost that could be driven away. “He’ll go away,” I said.

“I don’t suppose he plans to stay forever,” Constance said. “He only came for a visit, after all.”

I would have to find something, a device, to use against him. “Has Uncle Julian seen him?”

“Uncle Julian knows he is here, but Uncle Julian was too unwell last night to leave his room. He had his dinner on a tray, only a little soup. I was glad he asked for tea this morning.”

“Today we neaten the house.”

“Later, after Cousin Charles is awake. And I’d better sweep up that broken glass before he comes down.”

I watched her while she swept up the glass; today would be a glittering day, full of tiny sparkling things. There was no point in hurrying with my breakfast, because today I could not go out until we had neatened the house, so I lingered, drinking milk slowly and watching Jonas. Before I was finished Uncle Julian called Constance to come and help him into his chair, and she brought him into the kitchen and put him by his table and his papers.

“I really think I shall commence chapter forty-four,” he said, patting his hands together. “I shall commence, I think, with a slight exaggeration and go on from there into an outright lie. Constance, my dear?”

“Yes, Uncle Julian?”

“I am going to say that my wife was beautiful.”

Then we were all silent for a minute, puzzled by the sound of a foot stepping upstairs where there had always been silence before. It was unpleasant, this walking overhead. Constance always stepped lightly, and Uncle Julian never walked; this footstep was heavy and even and bad.

“That is Cousin Charles,” Constance said, looking up.

“Indeed,” said Uncle Julian. He carefully arranged a paper before him and took up a pencil. “I am anticipating considerable pleasure from the society of my brother’s son,” he said. “Perhaps he can fill in some details on the behavior of his family during the trial. Although, I confess, I have somewhere set down notes on a possible conversation they might have had…” He turned to one of his notebooks. “This will delay chapter forty-four, I suspect.”

I took Jonas and went to my corner, and Constance went into the hall to meet Charles when he came down the stairs. “Good morning, Cousin Charles,” she said.

“Good morning, Connie.” It was the same voice as he had used last night. I got further into my corner as she brought him into the kitchen, and Uncle Julian touched his papers and turned to face the doorway.

“Uncle Julian. I am pleased to meet you at last.”

“Charles. You are Arthur’s son, but you resemble my brother John, who is dead.”

“Arthur’s dead, too. That’s why I’m here.”

“He died wealthy, I trust? I was the only brother with no knack for money.”

“As a matter of fact, Uncle Julian, my father left nothing.”

“A pity. His father left a considerable sum. It came to a considerable sum, even divided among the three of us. I always knew my share would melt away, but I had not suspected it of my brother Arthur. Perhaps your mother was an extravagant woman? I do not remember her very clearly. I recall that when my niece Constance wrote to her uncle during the trial, it was his wife who answered, requesting that the family connection be severed.”

“I wanted to come before, Uncle Julian.”

“I daresay. Youth is always curious. And a woman of such notoriety as your cousin Constance would present a romantic figure to a young man. Constance?”

“Yes, Uncle Julian?”

“Have I had my breakfast?”

“Yes.”

“I will have another cup of tea, then. This young man and I have a great deal to discuss.”

I still could not see him clearly, perhaps because he was a ghost, perhaps because he was so very big. His