She was putting it into her handbag before she realized she had been spotted. A finger was pointed, and silence spread outwards from where she sat until the hall was full of waxworks with every head turned her way.
'But I was only helping her to buy her tickets,' she said, and the silence deepened.
Outside, Mrs Berry said, 'Get on the bus and shut up.' She made Miss Jervis sit next to the window and sat beside her to wedge her in and prevent her getting to the aisle. 'I don't want you flinging yourself off of this bus and making more trouble for everybody.'
Miss Jervis's voice had almost gone. 'I was only going to give her some change for her tickets,' she whispered. Her throat hurt.
'Just stay quiet.' Mrs Berry was smoking hard. 'Nobody wants to hear you.'
There had been a lot of chatter and laughter on the bus going out. Now the sound of voices barely rose above the rumble of the wheels, and all the women watched in silence when it drew up at the waterside and Mrs Berry and Miss Jervis got off.
'You look a bit tottery.' Mrs Berry, leaning on her stick, took pity on her. 'Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?'
'No thank you, Phoebe.'
It was dusk, but the air was still warm. Mrs Berry tried to make conversation. 'Lovely evening,' she said. 'Lots of midges, though.' They could just be seen above the pale surface of the water, dancing in congregations. Before long they would be invisible. Miss Jervis watched them but said nothing.
'Don't worry about it,' said Mrs Berry. 'It won't seem so bad in the morning.' She breathed heavily, as though kindliness cost her an effort. 'None of us is perfect.'
Miss Jervis murmured good night, and Mrs Berry watched until she had trailed slowly across the road to her front door, fumbled for her key and let herself in.
Mrs Berry walked painfully away. 'Stupid bloody woman,' she grunted. 'Looks as if she wants to do away with herself. Well, she shouldn't have done what she done in the first place.'
Miss Jervis did, in fact, have death in mind. How could she face anyone ever again? She put on her nightdress but did not go to bed. Instead she sat by the empty fireplace until the daylight had washed itself out of the sky, and then she opened her front door and went barefoot across the road to the waterside. She had unpinned her hair, and the grey strands hung loosely. It no longer mattered.
She went carefully, out of habit, down the grassy bank, and before her toes touched the water she leant over and looked down. The movement allowed her unpinned hair to brush her face, and saved her life.
The touch of her hair swinging against her face made her automatically lift her head to brush it away, and it was then she saw the midges. Phoebe Berry was right; there were clouds of them. As they gyrated they made shapes as wispy as bubbles on the point of bursting. If creatures so flimsy continued to exist, why should she die?
Miss Jervis turned away, and slipped. She should have known how treacherous the bank was because it was here she had weighted Rosemary for the eels. But now she had let both feet slide into the water, and she had to struggle before she managed to get a tight enough grip on the grass to crawl up the bank.
The edge of her nightgown was wet and clung to her ankles as she crossed the road, and as soon as she was indoors she changed it.
'Now a nice hot cup of tea, Miss Jervis,' she said, lecturing herself, 'and no more nonsense.'
The sound of her own voice made her feel stronger. She would go to bingo again and brazen it out. She would be generous, so generous that they would all be overwhelmed with guilt for accusing her. And then
'Because you stand for something in this village,' she told herself, 'and always will.' She dried her feet vigorously. 'Now off to bed with you.'
Despite the rubbing, her feet and ankles remained cold so she took a hot water bottle with her. The bed was soon luxuriously warm, and her mind was at rest.
She slept so soundly that she awoke with cramp down one side and nothing would ease the pain until she moved about her room. It was still dark, and she pulled aside the curtains, as she had so often done, to look at the water and be certain that nothing was disturbing Rosemary. That worry was done with forever.
It was a summer's night and enough light filtered from the sky to show the smooth face of the river, and even the track of bent grass she had left in the verge. And her wet footprints still led to the door.
'The sun will be my friend,' she said. 'All will be dry soon.'
She slid back into bed. The water bottle was cold and she pushed it to one side, but its coolness lingered. She thrust it further away and gasped with annoyance. It must have burst because a cold wetness was on her feet. She sat up and reached down. The chill rubber was clammy. Slimy. It slipped under her fingers as though it was moving. She flung it out of bed. It slapped the floor, but she had used too much violence because she heard it slither further.
'Damn!' Miss Jervis never swore, but she was angry. The water bottle would be leaking all over the floor, and she also had to change the bed. 'Damn!'
She threw aside the bedcover, but the damp sheet had twisted around her feet. She was reaching down to untangle herself when her heart thudded. She was not alone in the room. Silhouetted against the window was a shape.
Fear had made Miss Jervis cringe backwards, but suddenly she leant forward, and now her heart was pounding with anger. The silhouette was human. But it was neither tall nor broad. It was a child. One of her pupils. Some stupid prank.
'Get out!' It was a classroom order. 'Get out at once!'
The child, however, came forward, slowly and heavily. Its footsteps dragged as if with a great weight.
'I'll see you pay for this!'
Miss Jervis gathered herself to lunge, but her feet would not obey her. They would not move. She reached down. The bed was wet and cold, but it was not the sheet that had trapped her feet. Something slippery had coiled itself around her ankles. And it was moving. She felt something slide between her toes and tenderly begin to stroke her leg.
'No!' she cried. 'No!'
Feverishly, trying to pull back at the same time, she reached down. Her fingers plunged into a nest of eels.
Miss Jervis screamed. She flung her hands to the bedrail to haul herself free. She struggled. The cold grip tightened and held her legs still. She could not move.
She was whimpering as the child came closer. Its footsteps slithered and squelched and it brought the darkness of deep water into the room. It stopped by the bedside, and a hand reached out to hold hers. If it was a hand. Miss Jervis never knew.
The child's fingers writhed and were slimy. And the child's head, when it bent over her, had many damp tendrils of hair that, eager and slippery, reached out to busily caress her face, loving her.
When the sun came up and filled the room with warmth, Miss Jervis lay quite still. Her nightgown, however, heaved with a life of its own.
9/ Bram Stoker - Jonathan Marker's Journal
I suppose I must have fallen asleep; I hope so, but I fear, for all that followed was startlingly real - so real that now, sitting here in the broad, full sunlight of the morning, I cannot in the least believe that it was all sleep.
I was not alone. The room was the same, unchanged in any way since I came into it; I could see along the floor, in the brilliant moonlight, my own footsteps marked where I had disturbed the long accumulation of dust. In
