Frost Hollow Hall (13 page)

Wait
.

This was the window, the very spot, where yesterday that figure had watched me arrive. It had slipped my mind completely, but now I shrank back from the glass, shivering.

So someone
did
use this room. Or maybe it wasn’t a person at all, but that
thing
that’d followed us up the stairs last night. The
thing
I struggled to believe was Kit.

I looked nervously over my shoulder, wishing that Gracie would hurry up so we could get back downstairs again.

But I still had the fire to do. I went to the hearth and got down on my knees, just like Dorcas had done. There was still plenty of heat in the coals, so I added more and swept out the ashes. The sight of a good fire cheered me a little. Once I’d gathered up the brushes though, the flames had died down and the grate suddenly filled with smoke. I cussed loudly, blew on the fire, took off the extra coals, added a few sticks. Nothing worked. Soon it was dead as a doornail. And I was up to my elbows in soot.

The one task I’d been left to do, I’d messed up. I started to panic. I had to get this flipping fire going. As I crouched down, I sensed the door opening behind me. It closed again softly. Something told me it wasn’t Gracie. I turned round dead slow, almost too scared to look.

20

A Kind of Spell

A stranger stood before me. She was slender as a reed, with pale cheeks and dark curled hair. Her eyes were tight shut like a person in a trance. What a beauty she was! I hardly dared take a breath for staring. She was dressed from head to toe in black. Her frock, a high-necked thing with narrow skirts, was well cut but plain, set off only by the gold brooch at her throat.

Something stirred me.

These were full mourning clothes. What a person wore for a loved one newly dead. Yet set against the woman’s white skin and lovely face, the effect was not just sad, but
tragic
.

She opened her eyes, and turning towards the hearth saw me.

‘Goodness!’ she cried, clutching her chest. ‘You gave me quite a fright!’

Same here
, I thought.

Her eyes were dark and huge, and gazed at me closely.

It dawned on me then who she was. I felt sick to my very boots.

‘Lady Barrington . . .’ I scrambled to my feet. ‘I won’t be a minute, your Ladyship, if you’ll excuse me.’

‘My, you
have
been busy, haven’t you?’ she said, smoothly.

I glanced at my black hands and even blacker cuffs, and quickly hid them from view, hoping to God she couldn’t see the cold grate behind me.

‘You must be Matilda, the new housemaid.’

I nodded.

‘Mrs Jessop tells me we’re lucky to have you.’

I was taken aback. Wasn’t
I
the lucky one, getting work here after being caught trespassing?

‘It’s such a job to find decent staff these days,’ she said.

Which made sense to me now, stood here in this creepy room. Maybe they
were
lucky, in a way, for Gracie was right; this place really was all about the dead.

Lady Barrington seemed to lose interest then. She went over to the window and turned her slender back on me to look out over the lawns. I wondered what she was staring at. From the tilt of her head, she seemed fixed on a certain point, way beyond the trees.

The lake. Of course.

Did she do this every day, like some sort of vigil? My heart turned at the thought.

‘So Matilda,’ she said, gazing on out of the window. ‘Tell me about yourself. I do so like to
know
my staff.’

I was unsure how much to say, and uncertain how to address a grand person’s back.

‘Um . . . well . . .’

She stepped away from the window then, easing herself into a chair and beckoning me to stand before her. I was glad, since it meant she still faced away from that shameful fire, though I couldn’t hide it for ever.

‘Tell me about your family,’ she said, as I stood in front of her.

I’d have been happier telling her how fast I could scrub a pot.

‘I live in the village,’ I said.

‘
Lived
,’ she corrected me. ‘This is where you live now. And your parents? Are they well?’

‘You could say that.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, your Ladyship . . .’

‘Come closer, so I can see you properly,’ she said, smiling warmly.

I inched forward. Close up she was even more lovely. Her hair was held up at the sides with little combs, the rest fell in thick curls about her neck. Her hands, smooth white lady’s hands, were folded neatly in her lap.

And those eyes.

Fine things they were, but blank, somehow. It made me think of my ma now Eliza had gone. Her eyes had that emptiness too.

I knew it wasn’t proper to stare, but I couldn’t help it, and found myself studying Lady Barrington’s brooch. It was round, gold-edged, with a pale woven pattern of flowers in the middle. What a pretty thing it was.

She noticed my interest. Her fingers went to her throat. ‘Isn’t it lovely?’ she said. ‘It’s very dear to me. The flowers are made from his hair, can you see?’

His hair? Oh Lord!

I fought the urge to back away, instead making myself lean in close to look at the brooch, knowing exactly whose hair was inside it. And it was just as pale and fine right here in the daylight as it was in the dark of my dreams. Her Ladyship studied my face. I dreaded to think what she saw there.

‘Remind me of your parents’ surname?’ she said, suddenly.

I straightened up. ‘Higgins, your Ladyship.’

This seemed to please her. ‘You look familiar, that’s all. So then, tell me about your family.’

And she was so sweet, so warm, I felt myself fall under a kind of spell.

‘My sister and my pa are on their way to America as we speak,’ I said.

‘How thrilling!’

‘Not really. They didn’t tell us they was going. It came as a proper shock. And my sister nicked stuff from us too. Money and . . . all sorts.’

I stopped, wondering if I’d been too free with myself and spoken out of turn. But her Ladyship seemed keen to keep me talking.

‘How dreadful for your mother,’ said Lady Barrington. ‘ Is she bearing up?’

‘I reckon her heart’s been broke.’

Something caught her fancy in this and she sat forward in her seat. ‘Oh? And has it been hard for you?’

‘It in’t been easy,’ I said, carefully. ‘See, they never said goodbye.’

Lady Barrington breathed in sharp. ‘
Such
a tragedy,’ she whispered, turning so grave, so drawn, I thought she might faint.

‘Your Ladyship?’

‘Give me a moment, please,’ she said, and took a tiny bottle of salts from her skirts and sniffed delicately. The colour came back to her cheeks.

‘Are you all right?’ I asked.

She gave me a most beautiful smile. ‘Quite well. And as I have you all to myself, there’s something else I need to ask you.’

One look at her face and I reckoned I’d tell her anything.

‘Are
you
recovered?’ she said.

‘Pardon?’

‘From your ordeal on Sunday. It must have been frightening for you.’

So Mrs Jessop really
had
filled her in. When I went to speak, the words seemed to stick in my throat. ‘Yes, your Ladyship. I am . . . I mean . . . It
was
. . . Um . . . thank you.’

‘A young man saved you, am I right?’

The words wouldn’t come. My eyes seemed fixed on her brooch. If it were mine I’d have pulled it apart, just to touch Kit’s hair again. But it wasn’t mine. And she was waiting for an answer.

‘Yes, your Ladyship,’ I said. ‘He did. I . . . I was lucky.’

‘You were, Matilda.’ Her chin trembled. ‘And the name of your rescuer . . .?’

I hesitated. The spell was broken. There was plenty I couldn’t tell her. Heck, I couldn’t even meet her eye.

‘Will Potter, your Ladyship.’

‘Ah yes, the butcher’s son. Clearly, you owe him your life.’

‘Yes, your Ladyship.’ And it wasn’t such a lie. Will did bring me in from the cold, after all.

I prayed this was the end of it, that she’d heard enough and wouldn’t bring up the trespassing part of things.

Sure enough, she rose from her seat and moved towards the bed, where she spread her hands over the pillow, like I’d almost done myself. It felt private, somehow. I didn’t like to watch.

‘Please, get on with your work now,’ she said over her shoulder.

I didn’t need telling twice. At once, I crossed the room and knelt at the hearth, hoping to block her view. I had to get this blasted fire lit again. My hands shook as I stirred the ashes. Then the door opened behind me. It was Gracie with a steaming jug of water.

Alarmed, I glanced at her Ladyship. She was still leaning over Kit’s bed in a kind of daze.

‘Quick!’ I hissed to Gracie. ‘Help me get this fire lit before her Ladyship sees!’

Gracie’s face fell. ‘You in’t let it go out, have you?’

‘Not on purpose, no! Now get in here and help me!’

We only had seconds. In a flash, we’d emptied the grate and started again. Every brush, every scrape felt ear-splittingly loud.

‘Come on, come on!’ I muttered under my breath as the flames licked the paper.

Gracie laid the sticks on top then added on some lukewarm coals. A small, feeble fire began to take. Quickly, I swept up and emptied the ash into my bucket. It would be hours before the room was properly warm again.

Lady Barrington straightened up, drifting back to her place at the window without so much as a glance at us. I breathed out. We’d done it! The fire was lit.

Then I dropped the pan. I flinched as it clattered against the hearth.

‘Sorry!’ I whispered to Gracie.

‘Are you
quite
finished?’ said Lady Barrington, a new edge to her voice. She turned from the window. Her gaze slid past me to the wretched fire I so desperately didn’t want her to see.

She let out a cry. ‘What on earth . . .? This isn’t a proper fire! This won’t do at all!’

Flying across the room, she barged past me so I stumbled sideways into a table full of books. She fell to her knees at the hearth and scrabbled around in the coal bucket like a mad thing. In no time, her fine white hands were black with dust. Her hair came unpinned, falling across her face and down her back. The sight was sickening.

‘Your Ladyship, please . . .’ I said, trying to stop her.

She took no notice, muttering over and over, ‘Don’t worry, my darling, we’ll keep you warm.’

I was horrified. Gracie had begun to cry.

‘Get Dorcas quick!’ I said to her. I didn’t know what else to do.

Gracie legged it out of the room.

I turned to Lady Barrington and crouched beside her. ‘Please get up, your Ladyship. You must let me do the fire. You’ll ruin your frock.’

‘We’ll get you warm . . .’ she kept saying, her face wet with tears. ‘You’ll be better, once you’re warm.’

It was no good trying to talk sense to her; I might as well have spoken to the wall.

I got to my feet, legs shaking. That moment, the door flew open. Dorcas’s face was stern.

‘Get downstairs, Tilly,’ she said to me. ‘I’ll deal with this now.’

I couldn’t seem to move.

‘For goodness’ sake, just do it!’

She stepped aside to let me pass. ‘And don’t say a word about this to Mrs Jessop,’ she said in a low voice. ‘We keep it to ourselves, understood?’

I gripped the banister all the way down the stairs. My legs could barely hold me. Somehow I found my way through the felt-covered door, and once I was below stairs again, all the shouting and banging brought me back to myself.

‘’Bout time an’ all,’ said Cook, when she saw me. ‘Blimey, you look a funny shade. Wash your hands, then come and stir this sauce for me.’

It was the simplest task I’d had all morning. Honest to God, I was glad of it.

21

Sweethearts

After luncheon, we set to cleaning the silver cutlery. I was thankful for the chance to sit quiet, away from Mrs Jessop’s beady eye. If she got wind of what’d happened up in Kit’s bedroom, then we’d all be for it. But I was the one who’d let that blasted fire go out; if anyone got flayed alive, it’d be me. Yet we didn’t speak of it between ourselves. Instead, we worked in silence, sitting close to the hearth, and drinking hot sugary tea like people who couldn’t quite get warm.

Mid-afternoon, when the light was fading, Peter the under-footman came in. There were tiny flakes of snow all over his smart woollen coat.

‘Post’s been,’ he said, taking off his hat.

He was a great tall thing, all arms and legs and with fine blond hair which now lay flat to his forehead. In truth, he looked a bit of a lummox. And as he hovered by the fire to warm his hands, Gracie turned suddenly sulky.

‘Dorcas, this came for you,’ he said, handing her an envelope which she stuffed in her apron pocket without as much as a glance.

‘Thank you. Can I fetch you some tea? You look in need of it.’

He shot Gracie a pleading look, but she stared hard at the fork she was cleaning, leaving him to dither like a spare part. I couldn’t help but smile.

‘Tell him to sit down, then,’ I said.

‘He can do what he likes,’ she muttered. ‘I in’t his mother.’

Dorcas frowned. ‘Now come on. That’s no way to speak to Peter.’

‘Go on, Gracie,’ I said. ‘Be a good sort.’

Huffing loudly, she jabbed her fork at Peter. ‘Take it down the other end of the table, then. We’ve got work to do here.’

Peter’s mouth opened like he was about to speak, then he thought better of it. He pulled himself up to his full height and strode out of the room.

‘Well,’ said Dorcas. ‘I hope you’re pleased with yourself.’

‘Can we change the subject?’ said Gracie, irritably.

No one said anything for a while. The fire hissed as snowflakes blew down the chimney and the clock on the wall ticked lazily. I began to feel almost sleepy.