I don’t quite know what I was looking for - I think it was mainly just a way for me to reconnect to Bella somehow. Perhaps a way to assuage my guilt. Or maybe just a way to understand there was a world outside this one.
It was an odd thought.
I read through a couple more letters, not finding much of interest. Gradually, I came to recognise that Bella’s life and woes in London were alien to me. I could barely remember our Hampstead house. I could not think of my study there or my books or the desk where I had begun to write the novel which had brought me, so frustrated, to Tarbert.
I can’t live in London, I just can’t.
Ceit’s voice; her strange language, so loud in my ear that I shook my head, trying to free my thoughts.
I can’t live in London, I just can’t.
I looked up towards the locked door, Bella’s letter open on my lap.
The door handle jiggled. The sound of the key turning, scraping in the lock made my heart leap; more so, because the only key to that door was in the lock on my side and was still.
I shook my head again, wide-eyed, unable to take my gaze off the door. I folded the letter into tiny squares and tucked it into my pocket, my hands trembling.
The handle danced again, more persistently this time, rattling and shaking, increasing in force as if the demons from hell were outside.
Once, I would have jumped up and pulled the door open, challenging anyone who was there. Now, however, I cringed. I shuffled along the edge of the bath, as far from the door as I could go. The handle rattled and shook and the key began to move up and down. I pressed myself into the wall, praying to a God I no longer believed in for a deliverance I was no longer sure I deserved.
Then my prayers changed.
Please God. Let it be quick. I am ready. Let it end.
I sat up straighter, terrified yet welcoming the horrors beyond that door. If it were demons, then let them come. Let them rip me apart. Let them bay for my blood. Let them—
There was a crash; the sound of splintering wood.
And the door flew open.
I screamed, cowering despite my wishes of a moment ago and closed my eyes to await my fate.
But then – there was silence.
The silence seemed to drag on and on, but in reality it must have lasted only a few seconds. Then there was the soft rustle of wings; the flapping sound of bats or owls soaring up into the sky beyond me and I opened my eyes.
I was lying on the terrace outside, Ceit leaning over me, stroking my hair away from my forehead. Her dear face was creased and tear-stained and I felt sure that if she could, she would have been murmuring soothing words to me.
Poor Ceit. She must have felt so powerless.
I struggled to a sitting position and she stood up, away from me, allowing me the freedom to move and regain my senses.
‘The letters!’ I cried. ‘My sister’s letters! Where are they? I had them.’
Ceit frowned and shook her head.
‘I found them. In the wardrobe. In the Blue Bedroom. Hidden away from me. Were they hidden, Ceit? Did you put them there?’
I realised I must have grabbed her at some point. I was holding onto the top of her arms, my fingers pressing against her white flesh. Tears sprang into her eyes and she shook her head again, trying to get away from me, pulling and tugging, clearly terrified.
Releasing her, I scrambled to my feet and hurried away, towards the Blue Bedroom. I was convinced that Ceit was on my heels; yet somehow when I flung the bedroom door open, she was in front of me. I halted momentarily confused, as I saw and smelled fresh flowers blooming in jugs around the room and a bowl of rose petal pot pourri on the mantelpiece, part of me remembering the dankness of the room only a little while before.
I dashed over to the wardrobe and pulled every time of clothing out, tossing it behind me, not caring of the consequences. A strangled cry and a soft thud told me that Ceit had fallen upon the clothes and was trying to salvage them and restore order, but still I pulled the items out.
Only when the thing was empty and I was on my hands and knees, having searched every nook and cranny, was I sure the letters weren’t there. My next target, therefore was the bathroom – or more precisely, the interior of the roll-top bath where I had discarded one letter after another.
The bath was shiny and clean, fresh soap and towels out ready for use – but the room was devoid of anything to prove I had been there and thrown piles of letters into the enamel shell.
Ceit was beside me again, tugging at my sleeve, silently begging me to leave that room and return downstairs with her.
I held up my hand, stopping her momentarily, then patted my pockets down, wondering if the letter I had put there was still in place, tangible proof that I had been reading my sister’s messages. But my pockets were all empty and I felt the familiar panic seizing me again. I turned my gaze to Ceit and raked my fingers through my hair.
I had nowhere else to turn, nobody else to ask.
‘What’s happening to me?’ I whispered. ‘Am I going mad?’
Ceit did not answer. She simply looked at me – as did the madman whose eyes I caught in the mirror beyond her shoulder.
Ceit snuck her little hand into mine and squeezed it. She led me out of the bathroom and shut the door smoothly behind us. I felt Ceit’s strength flood into me again and the idea of Bella’s letters being up here, in this neat, perfect bedroom was ridiculous.
There was not a thing out of place – the room was tidy and cosy, the wardrobe door shut, the bed made.
I did not resist as Ceit guided me out of the room and took me downstairs. Before I knew it, she had settled me into the chair at my desk, pressed a measure of whisky into one hand and a pen into the other; then she closed the tall French doors onto the darkening evening and sat on the chaise longue watching me.
Write, she told me. It’s the only way to escape the mysteries of this life.
So I did as I was bid.
***
Chapter Twenty One
April blew in on the wings of March, and we were into full-blown spring before I had a chance to catch my breath.
One more novel and a collection of poems had been sent to my publisher, but Ceit had declined to come into the post office store with me and it did not surprise me. The bustling town of Tarbert was no place for her. She sat, huddled up in her black cloak, waiting for me to come out of the building and welcoming me with a smile so beautiful it lightened my heart.
The castle?
Unspoken, the words hung between us, her eyes pleading with me to take her there. However, Mrs Mackie in the post office had presented me with a letter - in my sister’s handwriting, addressed to me, care of the post office.
‘I received this, Mr Howard,’ she said. Her sharp little eyes took in my appearance in one sweep. ‘It’s from Miss Howard, I think. She’s worried her letters aren’t getting through to you.’ Then the good lady blushed and lowered her eyes. ‘At least, I think that is the reasoning behind it. Far be it from me to comment upon the situation. Each to their own, I say.’
‘Of course, Mrs Mackie,’ I had replied pleasantly. The day was bright and cheerful and the mood reflected upon me. We both chose to ignore the fact the envelope was torn open a little – just enough for the good lady to peer inside, see the signature and the tight little comment I trust this letter arrives safely, even if no others have done!
‘I am sorry, Ceit, but not today,’ I said, lifting the reins. I needed to get home and read the letter from Bella. It still bothered me what had happened to her other letters – the ones I was certain I had read. It all seemed rather dream-like now, and frankly it did concern me. I tried to push it to the back of my mind, to lose myself in my work – but the thoughts sometimes came back and whispered unpleasant suggestions in my mind. The Groom, certainly, had looked at me even more askance when I asked him to make the landau ready. He had ceased to ask questions and only did as he was bid. I never saw the man from one trip to th
e post office to the next. I feel it suited us both well. He might have seen myself for what I dreaded I was becoming.
Then, just as quickly as these dark imaginings came to bother me, they left and I was happy with Ceit. It was an odd sort of life, but not unpleasant on the whole.
My written work was extraordinary, it seemed. People could not buy enough of it. I was the talk of Society and carriages often drew up in front of my Hampstead home to stare inside, hoping to catch a glimpse of me. Or so my publisher told me; Bella had complained apparently, at the intrusion to her privacy. My publisher laughed it off in his letters – he said the likes of Byron and Shelley and Keats had all dealt with the idea of celebrity and popularity, and it was a blessing not a curse. Despite the fact they didn’t live long enough to see the entirety of their success! he wrote - comically, I think - in one letter; which came with another fat cheque and a contract. Ceit had found it and brought it to me, excited. I remembered the day fondly – I had never been compared to so many wonderful authors in one day before!
It was true though – these men were the Greats. Uncle Ruairí had idolised them and now it was my turn to experience living the dream.
Charles? Ceit tugged on my sleeve, bringing me back to the present. The castle.
She pointed towards the direction we should have turned in order to reach the castle, but again I shook my head. ‘No, my love,’ I said, thinking of Bella’s letter. ‘Not today. I have to do something when we get back and it’s rather important—’
Ceit shocked me then by smacking the wooden seat next to me, then hitting me, quite violently, in the thigh.
The castle, Charles!
‘Ceit!’ I cried as the horses veered towards the ditch. ‘No. I’ve told you. I don’t know why it’s so important to you—’
An animalistic howl, and Ceit leaned over and grabbed the reins from me. She was remarkably strong and the horses reared and whinnied.
She brought the landau to a standstill and, dropping the reins, grabbed my face, pulling it towards her.
I shrank back from the anger in her eyes – it was a Ceit I did not recognise.
You want to know why I need to go to the castle?
My head was pounding, as if she had screamed the words directly into my brain.
You must walk in my shoes. You must experience your world as I do. Then that will show you. I need to go to the castle. We will go to the castle.
My ears began to ring, then suddenly the world was silent. It was all still going on around me – the birds were wheeling above us squawking; the carriages were rushing by us, the horses’ hooves thundering on the ground. The waves were, I was certain, crashing on the shore beneath the castle – but there was nothing there. I tried to speak – I thought I was speaking, but I could not hear myself. I tried to raise my voice until I felt I was shouting. But I heard nothing. I clapped my hands over my ears and stared at her.
I thought I asked her “why?”
She just smiled at me and took the reins.
***
Chapter Twenty Two
I was terrified. I have no other words.
I hung onto the side of the carriage, staring at the world we passed. Dizzying waves of nausea carried me away with them and I looked around, feeling the wind whipping past me but not hearing the noise of the wheels turning. The horses danced and jumped. They raised their heads, whinnying, no doubt, at the unbridled joy of cantering along. But all I experienced was seeing their huge, black heads nod up and down.
God knows what I must have looked like had we passed anyone on our journey - a helpless object who could not even drive a landau, his eyes wild and staring.
Please, Ceit. Why?
My mouth moved. I think I was shouting, but I cannot say for certain.
She looked at me, a sidelong glance that was triumphant and horrifying at the same time. But she did not answer.
We flew along that road as if the Devil himself was behind us. She had turned the carriage around, and we came back into Tarbert. She pulled the horses up and sat outside the post office. She nodded toward the building.
She seemed to be encouraging me to go in. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t communicate with anyone. Even if my voice was alive, how could I have a conversation?
She looked down at my hands – then back up to my eyes.
Speak with them. Speak with your hands.
She signed the words to me.
I understood. But nobody else would.
You only have me now.
She was right. There was only her in my world. This, then, was what she was trying to tell me.
Deprived of the means to communicate, I didn’t want to be here. I had to be somewhere I could lose myself. Somewhere I could hide.
Do you understand?
I nodded.
The castle?
I nodded again, feeling foolish. Was my life to be reduced to nods and shakes of the head? Another wave of panic and nausea swept over me.
Good.
She turned the landau around and took us to the road that led to the castle at a far gentler pace.
I do think that was more frightening than the speed we had originally been travelling at: I had longer in the carriage to realise what I could not sense any more.
***
We reached the bottom of the hill and Ceit laid the reins down. She clambered out of the carriage and came around to my side. She held her hand out and I felt a shift in our relationship. She was in charge. She was guiding me now. I was in her debt.
We climbed the hill slowly until we were beside the castle, and she gestured for me to sit. I did so, watching her intently for instruction, feeling powerless.
‘Isn’t that better?’
I blinked. I had heard her!
‘Your voice!’ I said. ‘You can speak!’ I know my lips moved, I knew I spoke, but the words felt unfamiliar to me, the shape of my mouth different.
‘Here I can,’ she said. ‘Here is my world. Your world is difficult for me. That’s why I need you.’ She sat down beside me and held my hand. ‘Can you hear the sea, Charles? Can you hear the music of the waves, the wind in the mountains? I can hear it all. But down there,’ she gestured to the town, ‘it is different. ‘
‘I don’t understand,’ I said, still delighting in her voice and the sound of the gulls above me.
She took my pocket watch from me and flipped it open, studying it. ‘Half an hour, Charles. Maybe more - I would say no more than one hour, though. That’s how long you lived like I do.’ She closed the watch and tucked it back in my pocket. ‘Do you know how long I’ve lived in silence, in your world?’
I shook my head, wanting her to go on. Her voice! It was exactly as I knew it from my dreams.
‘All my life. All my very, very long life.’ She looked out at the sea, pulling her knees up and hugging them. ‘It’s tiring, Charles.’
I thought back over that last hour. She was right, it had been long enough. But I still didn’t understand.
She seemed to lose interest in the conversation about the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’, and instead turned to me, smiling. ‘Don’t make me do that to you again, Charles. Indulge me with my whims and fancies. Or you will lose me and everything you hold dear. I can make it happen.’
I had no doubt that she could. ‘But now we are here,’ I said, ‘talk to me. Tell me more. Tell me about yourself and about your life.’ A rational man would have wondered why he was sitting beneath a ruined castle, in a meadow filled with summer flowers, having a conversation with someone who generally had no words – but I didn’t. I only knew her voice was like music – and yes, there it was again – that faint melody I’d heard the first time.
Ceit seemed to hear it too: she tilted her head towards it and smiled. ‘I’ve told you enough,’ she said. She turned to me and laid her hand on my forehead. I felt the dark waves of sleep pulling me under and could not resist. My eyelids fluttered closed and the music faded and I slept.
***
Chapter Twenty Three
When I next became conscious, we were in the landau. I was driving it back to Howard House and everything was as it should be.
Ceit was watching the world go by, her hand resting on my leg. The horses were snuffling and breathing, the wheels turning on the ground. Gulls were squawking and the wind was gusting past me. It was wonderful. I was invigorated.
‘Did I sleep long?’ I asked, joyous at the sound of my own voice.
Ceit continued to stare at the passing world, oblivious to my words. I touched her hand and she jumped. She turned to me and looked at me searchingly.
Happy?
She had lifted her hand from my knee and bounced one palm off the other. My question about sleep was clearly not one to be answered.
‘Yes I’m happy,’ I said. ‘Are you?’
I am now, was her response.
I don’t know why I felt a little shiver of apprehension just then. Maybe it was the knowing little half-smile she gave as her gaze drifted towards the countryside again.
I touched her hand and she turned to me again.
‘Did we go to the castle after all?’ I asked.
She looked at me curiously.
She shook her head.
No.
She turned her gaze back to the countryside as I frowned and guided the horses home.
***
I sat straight down at my desk, trying to put into words what had happened. It looked ridiculous, laid out in front of me.
I sighed and crumpled up the paper, throwing it into the grate. I must have been dreaming or off on a wild, whimsical journey in my mind. My visits to the town were so infrequent now, that the idea of so many people and so much interaction was anathema compared to my quiet life at Howard House.
‘The curse of the creative mind,’ I said. That was a comment my sister often muttered if I was particularly forgetful at home. I did have a tendency to get carried away with my work. Was it too much to believe that forgetfulness would bleed into my daily life? That I could imagine things that had not happened? I sat back in my chair and linked my arms behind my head. It was an interesting theory.
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