Where this door had been ajar at the time he had fallen asleep – for Maurice feared closed in spaces – now it was shut. He could hear the engaging clicks of a metallic lock. Once. Then twice. For reasons he could not imagine, Mrs. Cleary had locked him inside his own bedroom.
It had to be Mrs. Cleary. No one else in Alexandra Hall possessed a set of keys to the rooms. Did she not trust a Frenchman?
“Mrs. Cleary?” he called out. Alarm seized him as he stared in disbelief at the locked door. Confused, Maurice pondered over the housekeeper’s strange behaviour, until at last, overcome by the day’s efforts, he succumbed to sleep with the welcomed afterthought that he might solve this mystery in the morrow.
Stillness enveloped the room. The door remained shut. Night clouds rolled across the sky, unveiling the moon whose light soon bathed Maurice’s face. Close to midnight, a persistent rattling at the door’s hinges stirred Maurice. He opened his eyes. He could see that the brass handle had shifted from its resting position. Someone was attempting to pry open his bedroom door. He held his breath, wondering why Mrs. Cleary would seek to open a door she had locked herself, hours earlier. Forceful, but in vain, the furious grip worked at the handle until at last, it gave up.
The room fell silent once more. Maurice pulled the coverlet up to his chin and turned to his side, determined to sleep. Alexandra Hall plunged once more into silence. The portraits in the parlour lay motionless. The clock on the parlour mantelpiece ticked on. The embers in the fire blackened to cinders. Nothing stirred on the grand staircase.
Fewer than ten minutes had elapsed since the attempt on Maurice’s door, when out of the darkness, the clank and clatter of copper and brass pieces resonated from the kitchen. Tentative at first, then in violent outbursts, the sound intensified, rising to thunderous proportions.
The sound of shattered glass reached Mrs. Cleary’s bedroom. The housekeeper’s eyes snapped open, dull and bloodshot. She awoke in gasps. A look of dread distorted her features as she heard the malignant presence downstairs. She had guessed its nature long ago.
She leapt from the bed. Her eyes were wild with fright, and her lips moved as though in a trance as she uttered a prayer beneath her breath. There was no order, or resolve in her movements as she felt for her robe in the dark. The haggard housekeeper resembled nothing of the well-do-do figure she cast in daylight. Trembling with fear, she wrapped the robe round her thin shoulders and pushed her feet into slippers.
Under her claw like fingers, the door swung open and Mrs. Cleary stepped outside, lamp in hand. She stared at Maurice’s door across the stairs. It lay shut. She hoped dearly that he remained fast asleep and heard nothing.
The sound…she had to make it stop. A shrewd expression lit her eyes which were so inflamed that it seemed she might weep blood. Yanking her robe tight around her, she descended the staircase, a thin figure, propelled by a devilish force that belied her sixty years.
She’d reached the landing but the sound, far from ceasing, seemed louder and more menacing. Mrs. Cleary felt faint. She crept towards the kitchen, her heart pounding in her chest. Then, fearful of what lay within, she stopped short, three feet from the entrance. She could not bear to see what might be inside the room. And as the malevolent clamour continued, Mrs. Cleary reduced to a pitiful state. A terrifying notion that she had been right all along, robbed her of her breath.
Behind the kitchen’s French doors, an unstoppable being smashed pots against the windows. It hurled utensils overhead and they flew across the room in all directions. Mrs. Cleary clasped her mouth, suppressing a desire to scream. At last, unable to bear it any longer, she let out an agonising plea.
“Stop it, please! Please, leave us alone!”
And then all at once, the noise ceased.
In disbelief, Mrs. Cleary dared a horrified glance inside. She could make out nothing. Her lamp shone through the French doors and onto the back wall. She caught a movement, both monstrous and inhumane. A shadow and nothing more, but its demonic shape unfolded and grew in size as the figure came forth.
Mrs. Cleary’s courage failed her. She gave a horrified yelp and dropped her lamp. Within seconds, she had fled upstairs. Behind her, the French doors burst open. But Mrs. Cleary had reached her room and bolted herself inside.
Chapter 4
Tuesday
“I THOUGHT we might give you breakfast outside today,” voiced Mrs. Cleary. Behind her, an attractive maid carried a tray of freshly baked oat scones.
Despite her cheerful disposition, Mrs. Cleary looked as though she had not slept. Maurice observed ghastly dark circles beneath her eyes while her delicate complexion seemed ruddy even under the gentle autumn sun.
The maid lay the platter before him, together with strawberry jam, a little butter from the ice cellar, and a pitcher of heated milk. She sported an audacious smile on her lips and seemed to linger a while, as she arranged cutlery along the porcelain cup and saucer.
“That will be all, thank you Madeleine,” cut in Mrs. Cleary. A touch of cynicism flitted across the maid’s face but she nodded and hurried off. Mrs. Cleary began to serve Maurice and he noted with surprise that her hand shook as she poured the milk.
He still brooded over why he’d been so rudely locked up during the night. At eight this morning, he had found the door sensibly unlocked. Maurice cleared his throat, preparing to confront Mrs. Cleary but instead, seeing her
