“Did you have a look at it?”
She shook her head. “I couldn’t. Please sir, I don’t want Mrs. Cleary to find out what I said. I don’t want to make a fuss. I know what happens to us if we make a fuss. The government, they sent my brother to an Australian penal colony. I’ve no one else in London, now.”
Maurice had heard of Irish outlaws being transported on British convict ships. Some of these poor souls were sent away for the pettiest crimes.
“I’m sorry to hear of your brother. It must have been hard for you.”
“He didn’t mean to steal. He only wanted to get a warm coat for me. We’d no money. We’re not bad people, Mr. Leroux. He just didn’t want to see me cold. But they called him a thief and sent him to Australia.”
Ellen was on the verge of tears.
“That’s quite alright. I don’t think for a moment that you’re a bad person, Ellen. I’m sorry to hear of your brother’s fate. Listen, you’ve done nothing wrong. We don’t need to tell Mrs. Cleary anything you’ve shared with me. I promise you. Now tell me again. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone in the room that night? It might have been someone else that grabbed your arm. Perhaps it was Alfred? Or even Gerard?”
“Oh no, sir. Mr. O’Malley wouldn’t. And it was not Alfred. It felt… repulsive and so cold and… At first, I struggled but it kept holding on to my arm. It wouldn’t let go. I shut my eyes, wishing it to go away. I thought perhaps it would kill me. And then all of a sudden, Willy stopped barking. Then everything went quiet. I felt it slide off my arm and then…”
“What?”
“I heard the door shut. When I opened my eyes, it had gone.”
“And you didn’t see anything?”
“Not this time.”
“There was another time?”
Ellen’s lips were quivering.
Maurice felt far from France. How deeply he seemed to have sunken into the superstitious English countryside. Ellen was so malnourished that she had reached a state of hysteria. He’d often seen delusions of the sort back home.
“I’m sure it was nothing, then,” waved Maurice, hoping she would reveal more. “Nothing to be afraid of.”
Ellen looked pale. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke up. “There was, sir. About a month ago. I’d taken Willy for a walk by the road. I returned to the house. I looked up and…”
“And what?”
“I saw a greyish face by the window. It was in Mrs. Nightingale’s bedroom. It was…horrible.”
Maurice frowned. “You saw a face? Well, it might have been Mrs. Cleary’s.”
“Oh no, sir. Mr. Nightingale had that room locked up since his wife died. Besides, it was not that kind of face.”
“Well what sort of face was it, then?”
“Something quite evil. Wrinkled and dark. It was too far so I couldn’t see it very well. I mean, yes, it had eyes but… it looked nothing like you or me. I can’t… I can’t describe it…”
She reached for the glass of milk and gulped it down.
Maurice had been frustrated up to the point where Ellen described the face in Calista’s bedroom. He thought back to Mrs. Cleary’s own admission. Two women in the house, who seemingly had never revealed their fears to each other, had each confided having seen a ghostly apparition in the house.
Maurice crushed the last of his cigar in the ashtray and stared at his notes. Something about Ellen’s account had drained him.
“Don’t concern yourself, Ellen. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Can I go, sir?”
“Yes, you may. Please send Mary through.”
Mary
MAURICE sat alone in the study, drinking tea. He was perplexed to realise that none of the staff he had so far spoken to and who slept at Alexandra Hall possessed the large black and blue eye he had seen through the keyhole overnight. This left Mary and the new maid. Though he could not imagine that the new girl would have dared to come knocking at his door in the middle of the night.
The study door opened and Mrs. Cleary marched in.
“Mr. Leroux,” she began. “There is something else I should have mentioned.”
“What is it?” said Maurice, looking up.
“It’s about Mary, the maid you’ve asked to speak to.”
“Yes, please bring her in.”
“Well I think you ought to know a little bit about her.”
Maurice took out a file he’d been given by Mr. Wilson and summarised it as he read. “Mary is an orphan. She arrived at Alexandra Hall shortly after your appointment. From the information I’ve been given, the young girl has a sleep condition and the presence of the dog ensures she does not harm herself while sleepwalking. I believe it says here that she’s also a far removed cousin under your charge. Was there anything else Mrs. Cleary?”
The housekeeper eyed him sternly.
“You’re well informed,” she replied. “But that is not why I wished to speak with you.”
She neared the desk and lowered her voice. “She’s a simpleton. Do please be careful how you speak with her. And don’t let the girl lead you astray. Mary is easily impressed. She confuses everything and makes things up.”
Mrs. Cleary went on to describe Mary’s limitations. At fifteen, Mary’s tasks consisted in folding clothes and collecting dirty linen, sweeping and mopping the floors, and running errands around the house for Mrs. Cleary.
“You must understand,” continued Mrs. Cleary, “I see to it that her tasks are of a less urgent nature. Mary cannot not do anything fast. She’s not a reliable sort. If you get my meaning.”
“Very well, Mrs. Cleary. Please show her in.”
It could have been his imagination but he glimpsed a
