The Girl in the Attic

by Wendy Reakes

  As she watched Porter cross the square to the opposite side, Celia looked toward the seamstress’ house before her eyes went to the pub and counted three cottages along. According to Marley that was where the locksmith’s lived; Marley’s uncle.

  Marley had informed her that if the cart at the back was gone, it meant her uncle was out doing work and that she’d be free to slip into the cottage and take the money. Celia could feel her heart pounding like a knocker on a door and her hands were shaking so bad she thought her gloves would drop right off.

  She took a long look around her, observing the villagers going about their day. Mr Porter was nowhere in sight. Right then, she decided, if God was on her side, she could do what she needed to do without another moment’s hesitation. Resolute, she walked with her back as straight as a plank of wood, aware of everything about her, the dirt beneath her feet, a fly buzzing around her bonnet the smell of horse manure and straw. Her senses were so in tune with her surrounding she wondered if she was actually dreaming the whole thing and that any minute now she’d wake up in bed next to her mama.

  She walked around the back as Marley had instructed. A quick glimpse at the yard with no horses or cart to worry about, she faced the wooden door. She reached out and turned the knob and then with forced fervour she pushed open that door and stepped into the house.

  It was practically pitch black inside since the only window at the front had been boarded up to keep out the summer heat. Celia could hardly breathe as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She quickly surveyed the room until her eyes rested on a rickety old dresser next to the blackened range. She bowed her head to look beneath it and there, as if it was protruding for all to see, she spotted a single loose brick. She stepped forward before she heard a voice.

  “Hello.”

  She was a pretty young woman. Older than Celia, wearing a grey cotton dress with her sleeves rolled up and a stained wet apron draped over a small round mound. Celia’s felt like her heart was going to burst from her chest at the suddenness of her arrival.

  “Can I help you, Miss?”

  Celia gasped and coughed her embarrassment for being caught it the act. “Oh, eh, um…”

  The young woman stared, waiting for Celia to speak. She reached up and with a pin, and secured a loose strand of her pretty blond hair.

  “I…I was looking for the seamstress’s house. I came into the wrong one, I think.” Celia wondered how convincing that sounded. Not at all, she reckoned.

  “Mrs Gateshead lives in the cottage next to the pub.”

  “Oh I see. Thank you.”

  “Would you like me to show you?”

  “Oh, no. I’m sure I’ll find it just fine.” Celia’s face was coated red. Any minute now, flames would burst out of the top of her head. “I’m sorry I came into your house uninvited.”

  “It’s alright. But it’s not my house. It belongs to the locksmith.”

  Celia looked down at the mound of her belly and suddenly she felt nauseous. Oh, that cruel man, Celia thought. First, he prostituted his niece and now this poor girl. Marley was right not to come back.

  The girl pulled down her sleeves. “I’ll take you there. You shouldn’t be alone without a chaperone, miss.” She went towards a room at the other end of the parlour, buttoning her sleeves as she went. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  When the door closed, Celia, like a rampant rabbit fell to her knees and reached to the brick underneath the dresser. She gave it a pull and worked it out, all the time not breathing one single breath. When it came loose she reached inside and pulled out a small wad of leather. She stuffed it into the pocket of her dress and returned the brick to its hole. She stood up just as the girl came out, taking no heed of the beads of perspiration on Celia’s brow.

  She went to the back door and ushered Celia out of the gloom of the house and into the alley. As they walked, the girl asked Celia if she was from Wilbury House since she’d never seen her in the village before.

  “Yes, I’m the daughter of the housekeeper.”

  “I’ve never been up there. I hear it’s a grand place.”

  “Oh, yes. It’s certainly grand.”

  They walked past the pub and a man came out. He looked inebriated even though it was only midmorning. “What you up to?” he demanded of the girl.

  “I’m just showing her the way to Mrs Gateshead’s cottage, uncle.”

  Celia’s eyes rounded to the size of penny farthings. Uncle!

  “Well hurry up will you, girl? Our Brent is bringing back the cart at midday.”

  Celia walked aside the girl as they passed the pub and left uncle going the other way back to his own abode. “Here we are,” she said.

  She knocked on the door and the seamstress shouted ‘come in.’

  Sitting in the buggy on the way back,Celia thought about the gossip that Mrs Gateshead had divulged to anyone in the shop who’d cared to listen. One of them had been Celia.

  “Was that young Peggy, I saw you with, miss?”

  An elderly lady leaned on the counter where an array of cloths were laid out for her to inspect. Celia would have liked to have stayed and rummaged through all the beautiful laces, ribbons and threads. It was a haberdashery paradise.

  “I don’t think I caught her name, ma’am,” Celia had said hoping the seamstress would extend her curiosity and divulge more about the girl called Peggy.

  “That baby must be coming soon. She shouldn’t be out walking the streets like that. What do you think, Mrs Lakely?”

  The other woman pouted. “Ooh, no. She shouldn’t be doing that, Mrs Gateshead.”

  “Poor girl. Having to do all that work when she’s so far gone. She’s the only female in that house. No mother you know?”

  “Wasn’t there another girl living there once?” Celia had asked, interested to know what people thought about Marley’s disappearance.

  “That will be Marley,” Mrs Gateshead said.

  Holding a length of pale blue linen in her arms, the other woman piped up “Drowned she was.”

  Mrs Gateshead nodded solemnly. “A tragedy that were, weren’t it, Mrs Lakely?”

  “Ooh, it was. Never found the body, you know? Just her shoes, down by the river. They say her body must have been washed out to sea by the current.”

  Celia could hardly take it in, as she thought about Marley alive in the attic of Wilbury House.

  “Her poor brother was so distraught. Weren’t he, Mrs Gateshead?”

  “Ooh, he was. Went and got married within a fortnight, he did. Now, that young Peggy has stepped into Marley’s shoes.”

  The other woman gasped at Mrs Gateshead faux pas. “Well, I don’t mean her actual shoes. No good to anyone those raggedy old things.”

  Going home in the buggy, holding a pile of sheets wrapped in muslin, Celia wondered about the girl called Peggy and how Marley was going to react when she told her how everyone thought she was dead.

  Chapter 18

  I unwrapped the leather cloth and held the contents in my hand. Six shillings! Enough to get away from the house and to escape to Taunton where I could start my life over with my dearest Rain.

  Celia had been so brave, firstly getting into uncle’s house and then being accosted by that young girl Peggy. So, Brent had got married and now his wife was having a baby too. It all seemed so remarkable how all their lives had changed so much in just one year.

  It had been difficult listening to Celia relate the story of her visit to Mells. I had suddenly felt lost, as if I really was dead after all. Dead! Drowned by all accounts. And how on earth did those old shoes get themselves out of that river. A quandary I’d probably never find the answer to.

  Still, better they all think me dead instead of them searching and maybe even finding me one day. No, I was better off that way. No one could hurt me now, not uncle and certainly not that black-haired lout.

  Celia told me about Old Porter and his wooden leg and the field he’d eventually inherit from the master. He sounded like a
good man; certainly, not the type of man to take in an unwed girl and her baby. The scandal would be enough to get him sacked for good and I wouldn’t want to be responsible for that. It was good of Celia to think of it, but no, the situation would never work.

  It was almost July and the attic had heated up so much that the baby and I slept atop the bed, leaving the big glass doors open to the black sky and stars. Lulled by the gentle cooing of the pigeons perched on the balustrade and the smell of wheat and dying bonfires and fresh cattle dung, I would lie awake most of the night, going over in my head my plan for leaving as soon as the family had left.

  Rain had grown so much in such a short space of time. She was the bonniest baby with her black hair and dark blue eyes. Celia reckoned her eyes could eventually turn colour since all baby’s eyes started out blue. She was smiling a lot now, still not making a noise, but she kicked her feet and thrashed her little arms as if she wanted to run like the wind, just like her mama used to do before she’d become trapped in the attic. Well, I was adamant that one-day Rain would run and the happiness that notion brought me kept me awake half the night.

  Celia was worried about leaving to go abroad with the family. “How can I leave you here all alone? I won’t be able to say goodbye?” she cried.

  “We can say goodbye before you leave, Celia. Don’t worry about me. I’ll only be here for a few days after and you’ve done enough worrying for one lifetime.”

  “I’ve enjoyed every minute.”

  “I’ll write, I promise.”

  Then we both cried as we realised soon it would all come to an end.

  Finally, the day arrived.Celia would have no opportunity to see me before the family and its household left, so we’d said goodbye the night before. We’d held back our tears, both of us knowing we had to be strong for the other. When she kissed Rain goodbye, she’d hugged her so hard she awoke from her sleep. Celia had kissed her on her forehead and passed her back. After, she could hardly look at Rain for fear of her heart breaking further.

  After Celia had bid me farewell and when she’d walked along the path through the forest of furniture towards the attic door, I wondered if we would ever see each other again. I decided we would. It was the only parting I could stomach.

  Before she left, Celia told me about how things would work in the house when the family and servants were gone. “Old Porter will be here. And remember, he’ll be making his rounds of the house twice a day. At one o’clock and at six o’clock. At those times, you must stay as quiet as a mouse,” she said.

  I nodded as I digested all the information.

  We decided I should stay for a few days after the household had taken up their travels, just to let the fuss die down. “There’s always tradesman about collecting their accounts and then the groom brings the horses back. Best to leave it until everything’s calmed down.”

  I’d agreed but I was anxious to leave now that I was free to do so.

  She’d brought enough food for me to eat for a few days and some extra for the journey. It had been an easy task since a lot of food had been discarded and no one missed a few morsels here and there. She’d already purchased my train ticket, so that I wouldn’t have to be seen too much at the station before the train left. “The ticket is for next Tuesday at 5 o’clock,” she said. “Don’t miss it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Well, it’s before Porter makes his rounds, so you’ll have plenty of time.”

  She really was the best of friends.

  The days went by uneventfully,until the very last.

  I’d taken some time to go down to the servant’s quarters to have a bath. A burning candle illuminated the darkness as I placed Rain between by knees and bathed her in the cold water. Despite the cold, she smiled and thrashed about like a good ‘un. I thought that perhaps, one day she would run very well.

  I’d used my time wisely over the weeks since the baby had come, making myself a summer frock along with a fine dark blue velvet cloak fashioned from a dressing robe once belonging to George. I was proud of the pieces when I’d completed them. I’d tried on the cloak over my new dress made from a bolt of cream coloured calico normally used to line curtains. I’d taken a long look at myself in an old broken mirror. It was the first time I’d seen myself for a long time and I was surprised at how my body and my face had changed. My figure had become shapelier and I boasted a fuller bust making my small waist seem more defined. With the newly fitted dress I didn’t appear so waif-like anymore, even though my diet were a strange one. Not one for self-appreciation, I still had to admit that motherhood agreed with me.

  The only thing missing from my runaway outfit, as I’d so named it, was a receptacle to carry my few measly belongings and some pins for my hair so that I could pile it atop my head like a proper young lady. And an essential pair of boots.

  Celia had brought me a carpet bag, abandoned by the cook who’d run off with Mr Culpot. It was kept in the pantry and used for storing shallots ready for pickling. Celia had transferred the baby onions into an old potato sack, given the bag a good shake outside to get rid of the excess onion skins and then she’d brought it up to the attic for me. I gasped when I saw the bag and commented on how it was much too good to hold any sort of veg, let alone onions. Celia had collected twelve pins for my hair. “I’m always finding hair pins lying around on the floor,” she’d said when she handed me a bundle of twelve, wrapped in a blue ribbon.

  The boots were the hardest item for her to salvage. She’d enjoyed pondering over the mystery of acquiring a pair, but in the end, she had been forced to resign. “The only thing I can think of is to steal a pair from the mistress’s closet,” she’d said.

  I had been mortified at her suggestion. It was one thing to steal from the household, but quite another to take something belonging to such a fine lady as the mistress. Already she’d provided me with untold hospitality so it was difficult to condone Celia’s idea of taking a pair of boots.

  “I can’t think of anything else,” Celia had said. “The servants only have two pairs each. One for working and a pair for best. My mother would certainly notice if my best pair went missing.”

  Finally, with great delight, like the clever sleuth she had become, Celia discovered a solution. “There’s a store near the stables,” she’d said with a whisper. “Inside are old liveries and a box of old boots. They are very old, but if we can find a pair to fit you, they’ll get you to Taunton where you can perhaps purchase some new.” She’d frowned. “There’s just one problem. I can’t get inside. The store is locked and the key is kept by Old Porter.”

  My heart sunk at yet another problem. I couldn’t go anywhere barefooted, that was without question. “What about the key cupboard downstairs in the servant’s hall? Would there be a spare there?”

  “I don’t know. It’s always kept locked.”

  I thought about that for a minute. “But it was unlocked when I came in that fateful night.” I remembered how I’d sneaked around like a deceitful wretch and taken a key to open the kitchen door.

  Celia pondered the locked key cabinet, then her eyes brightened when she had the whole matter deduced. “Porter probably leaves it open when the family is away, because there are no servants around to take any keys he doesn’t want them to take.”

  Then she silently thought things through. Celia was the most wonderful ally a girl could have.

  Now, tonight, Monday, the day before I would catch the train to freedom, I had one more secret task to fulfil. I had to sneak, once again, to the bottom of the house, find the key, go outside, find the store and steal myself a pair of boots.

  On top of all that, I was scared as a rabbit in a field full of lions.

  Chapter 19

  Porter carried out his rounds at precisely six o’clock. I could hear him from where I rested on my bed with the baby asleep next to me. He was banging around, opening and closing doors and when he tried turning the knob on the attic door, my heart bulged from my chest, as I forgot t
o breathe for all those seconds.

  Then, confident the door was locked, I heard his footsteps go down the five steps, back to the servant’s quarters.

  When I was sure he was gone, I made myself a cup of tea. I would wait until midnight to go and take that darn key.

  The house was blackwhen I sneaked down. I had lain Rain on the bed and covered her up with the white shawl, once belonging to William. I’d decided to take the delicate woollen wrap with me to Taunton. It was stealing, I knew that, but my baby needed it more than persons long dead.

  I had already returned George’s precious things. His silver cup and his wonderful gadget for lighting a flame, his combs and brushes and his foldable pair of silver scissors. I had returned the fishing rod to its place in the corner along with the oars and the painting easel and the sewing items; all the things I had used to make my survival in that attic more productive. They had been very useful, but now I had no use for them anymore.

  I used the same back stairs I had used before. Without any daunting episode, other than the fear of getting collared, I arrived at the bottom to the little place next to the kitchen where I had once entered without invitation. I could see the glass wall cabinet as I descended the final wooden steps, and when I walked towards it, I wondered if it was locked this time.

  The silence was stifling but it was a great comfort to me. I thought about Rain, asleep upstairs in my attic parlour, alone, and I prayed she wouldn’t wake to find me gone. Rain had remarkable instincts for a child so young.

  I took a hold of the little lever on the front of the cabinet and I turned it towards me. The glass door opened silently and I expired a long drawn out breath. I rummaged through the many hooks and at the far end, tucked into a corner was a bunch of three large keys. I read the tag. Outside stores. What fortune. What marvellous fortune! Celia would be very happy to know I had acquired the little beggars.