Dark Places

by Dawson, H A

  Now, as Sam watched Michaela depart from the house, having just seen the way she clutched her phone , it worried him. He understood that she was a private person in many ways, often refusing to discuss her fears, yet he wished, just this once, she would open up. Something bothered her. Was it the pregnancy? Was it the little girl’s death? Was it Catherine? Sam had to find out more.

  Catherine must be a past occupant. Hoping that the house deeds had information, he climbed the stairs, entered one of the spare bedrooms, and scanned the few boxes stacked in the centre. The one he required was at the top. He lifted it to a lower stack of boxes, a fine coating of dust covered his hands, as he began his search.

  The folder was thick and the writing almost indecipherable. He flicked through the first few flimsy sheets, but as he scanned the scrawls, the papers slipped and scattered across the floor. Huffing, Sam gathered the documents and continued with his search, unaware a sheet of paper had floated under the old wooden wardrobe. Having placed the papers back in a stack, he soon discovered that the Coopers had been resident for over a century. However, without knowing the name of Catherine’s husband, he could not determine when she had lived in the house. He strained his brain, desperate to find a lead. Their solicitor had no further information, and the locals were fixated with gossip and rumours. One option remained. Sam would have to contact Judith, Michaela’s mother.

  Brushing aside doubts of deception he picked up the telephone. Their conversation was brief and Judith did little to resist the invitation to visit, triggering Sam’s curiosity. Why would Michaela give the impression her mother had no interest, and why would she be so reticent to speak to her? He had always found her mother approachable, yet he had also noticed Michaela’s withdrawal when they were together. Her words became guarded and her expression turned serious, an unfathomable replacement to her bubbly personality.

  Sam gulped. What would Michaela say when she discovered her mother was going to visit and it was due to his invitation? With guilt etched into his face, he exited the house and returned to his job in one of the smaller outbuildings, determined to find a distraction.

  Like the barn, the junk was stacked high. Where had it come from and why would anyone fail to dispose of it? Baffled, he continued with his task of throwing the rubbish into the skip and soon exposed the stone floor.

  Time passed, and his mind wandered to his kitchen dilemma. He was keen to replace the copper pipes so he could begin work on the kitchen, but he had been unable to find anyone to do the work. Terry, who had been helping with the roof and windows was involved in a new build and wouldn’t be available for weeks. He had also looked for someone else; regrettably, no one was available. It was a concern, especially since Michaela’s pregnancy had created a tight deadline.

  Pondering his options, he decided that his plans had to change and that he would have to discard his desire to complete the kitchen as his first task. If he could get an electrician, he could progress the work in a living room and a bedroom. At least then, Michaela and the baby would be able to stay in a safe clean environment.

  Mentally charged, Sam started making plans. He thought of his budget, he considered lifting the floorboards for the new wiring, and he contemplated adding telephone cables and sound cables around the entire house. He loved managing the big task and saw each stage as a fulfilling challenge. It was different to his day job, and despite his initial reservations, he was finding it rewarding.

  Renovating a house was not something Sam had ever considered doing, although he did have some experience with building work as a boy, as it had been his father’s profession. Sam had often accompanied him during school holidays, assisting with whatever task was in hand, and he found the work satisfying. Regardless, it was not enough to trigger a desire to build a career as a builder. He loved his day job and the freedom it provided.

  Grunting, he prised away a solid block of cement from near the wall. Despite having handled new bags during building work, the weight surprised him and he strained as he shifted it into a wheelbarrow. Once removed, and once he had settled his laboured breathing, he continued to dispose of an assortment of objects, from an old-fashioned poultry incubator to a large plastic washing basket.

  Space was clearing rapidly. Sam reached down to retrieve a large frame leaning against the whitened brickwork. It was approximately forty centimetres by twenty-five and had a wooden structure and fabric back. He picked it up and turned it over, and whilst dust on the cracked glass obscured the picture, the frame was clear to see and comprised of raised shell and floral decoration.

  Keen to see the faint image underneath, he grabbed an old rag from near his feet and wiped away dust. He exposed a faded yellow image of a woman in wedding attire seated on a chair and holding a bouquet of flower. A man stood by her side. They did not smile; their expressions were vacant, a typical sight on portrait photographs in Victorian and Edwardian times.

  Sam scanned the extremities. There were no names and no dates on either side. Disappointed, yet eager to share his find, he looked to Michaela who was taking water from the garden tap.

  ‘Come and see this,’ he called. ‘I’ve found something that’ll interest you.’

  Eager, she hurried across, stretched out her arm and touched the frame. She jerked, and then her arms dropped, her eyes glazed, and her body stilled.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Sam asked.

  Silence.

  Michaela?’

  She did not reply and appeared to be in a trance.

  Suffering from rising panic, he positioned the frame onto the ground, leaned it against the wall, and placed his hand upon her arm.

  Startled, her body jerked, her face whitened, and her knees buckled. She leaned against the wall for support, quivering and speechless.

  ‘What is it?’

  She shook her head.

  He studied her face and glimpsed at the photograph resting on the ground. He urged her to speak, but all she could do was open and shut her mouth in rapid succession. He waited until her quivering stopped and words flowed.

  ‘That’s Catherine.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  She shook her head. ‘I saw her. She was happy Sam.’

  Bewildered, he watched Michaela flee to the house.

  Chapter 7

  1904

  The book flopped onto Catherine’s lap and her gaze drifted across the landscape. Drawn to the sky, she scanned for scattered scraps of vivid blue that had been common earlier in the day; instead, she saw storm clouds darken as they gathered. Turbulent in nature, they sped across the Cornwall landscape from the southwest, eager to offload their burden and drench the parched ground.

  The draught by the window chilled Catherine’s exposed skin as she reached for her woollen shawl. As she did so, a photograph caught her eye. It was an image of herself and her beloved, Jack Cooper, taken on their wedding day. It was a celebration of their love and commitment to each other, a day for extravagance.

  Blessed with good fortune, she stepped across the room to the wall and touched the fine frame with her fingertips. Jack was from a wealthy family, he always had a smart appearance and he provided well; yet, most of all, he was the man she loved. She knew compared to many, she was lucky, but her appreciation swayed; her happiness had come at a price.

  A twinge of sadness loomed over each day as Catherine struggled to adjust to married life. No longer did she spend her days with other female family members, nor did she find herself able to share private thoughts with her closest sister, Amelia. Instead, Catherine was often alone, living in a house far removed from the village hubbub.

  Hovering by the fireplace, she forced herself to remember the day of the wedding ceremony, occurring a few weeks previous. As the wedding party proceeded to the church, driven by the sound of bells, her eyes had flitted across the sun-drenched landscape and her nerves had jangled. Aided by her father, she had entered the church, beautifully decorated with an elaborate arrangement of evergreens and blossoms. Wit
h her heart pounding, she searched for her beloved. He was waiting at the front

  Wearing her white wedding dress and holding a large trailing bouquet of ferns and flowers, she approached, moving in tiny steps. The dress reflected the fashion of the era. The lower sleeves were full and droopy, the corseting was tight and exaggerated her curves, and the neckline was high. Catherine gazed at her image in the photograph and recalled the pain she had to endure to achieve a fuller figure. However, when she had seen Jack’s appreciation, her discomfort had evaporated.

  Overwhelmed with love and pride, Catherine had nursed her plain gold wedding band before she strode down the aisle with her husband. Careful not to look left and right, as it was considered bad taste to the acknowledge family and friends, they stepped into the wedding carriage and proceeded to the reception at her family home. The decorations were elaborate, with a profusion of white and pink flowers adorned the fireplaces, balustrades, doorways and windows.

  Catherine held her hands close to her heart as memories of the feast and honeymoon surfaced. She recalled the love that twinkled in Jack’s eyes when they spent their first entire day as a married couple, and she thought of her own passion, a sensational experience. Blushing, she strode back to the window and looked into the murk.

  The vista was bleak, dark and blustery. Bored, she wandered through the downstairs rooms of the house, searching the lane for her husband and eager for him to return early from his day at the copper mine. She longed for the tingling sensation in her heart and the ripples to pass across her skin as she welcomed him home, but most of all she was desperate to share her happy news. She imagined the joy etched into his face and his skin oozing vapours of pride. It was going to be an evening to celebrate.

  Reaching for her embroidery, and erasing a sense that she needed to exercise her voice, she watched the storm pound the windows. Like arrows the water droplets crashed into the windowpane and dribbled down the glass, obscuring her view, and lightning ripped across the sky. Holding her arms close to her stomach, she restrained her jerking body and listened to the rumbles of thunder echoing through the house.

  Much to Catherine’s relief, it only lasted for a short while and the sun was quick to emerge. Craving the freshness of the dehumidified air and feeling lost and alone, she stepped outdoors and gazed at the fresh pools of water on the stony ground. Droplets of water slid from the leaves, splashing in tiny puddles, and the small blades of grass shimmered, freed of the summer dust.

  Following a path to a garden bench in the small orchard, her favourite spot, she drifted between loneliness and completeness. She loved Jack dearly. He was a kind man who deserved a good wife. He was her main priority, her solitude she must bear. She must predict his every need and desire, and she must cultivate his happiness. Only then could she be happy. That was her duty; that was her pledge.

  Her task would be easy. Catherine was born to be a wife and mother and was well educated on such matters. Ever since her days with her governess, she had dreamed of having children. Five or six would be adequate, two or three more a bonus. They would be the perfect family, an envy of the other parishioners. They would walk to church on a Sunday and raise funds for charity; her daughters would marry wealthy men, and her sons would become successful in business.

  In the meantime, she must learn to adjust to the remoteness of her dwelling and banish emerging doubts. She must busy herself and not ponder the negatives, and she should show her gratitude to Jack on a daily basis.

  Returning to the house, keen to blank out her dark thoughts, Catherine glanced along the lane, once again hoping for Jack’s return. It was a regular habit, an infantile yearning, and she chastised herself for her behaviour. But this time, someone was there and her pulse quickened. Standing motionless, she strained her eyes, and when she realised who it was, her eyes twinkled and her mouth broadened. She rushed to greet Amelia.

  They exchanged cheek-to-cheek kisses. ‘It’s so good to see you,’ Catherine said.

  ‘And you too. I’ve missed you.’

  Linking arms, they walked back to the bench in the small orchard. Catherine listened as Amelia shared news of their family and then gossiped about the villagers. It was wondrous to converse and her happiness surged.

  ‘Enough about me, ‘Amelia said, ‘tell me your news.’

  Catherine averted her gaze and her eyes danced, her secret edging closer.

  ‘What is it? Do tell.’

  ‘I do not have any news.’

  ‘Oh, well. Never mind. I have enough for the both of us.’ Their eyes locked. ‘You look radiant. Jack must be treating you well.’

  ‘He is wonderful. Marriage is everything I expected and more.’

  Amelia had a glint in her eye. ‘Does he sweep you off your feet every night and carry you to bed?’

  ‘Amelia!’

  ‘Oh, you are such a prude. You are a married woman. It is now acceptable.’

  Catherine hid her blushes. ‘It is none of your business.’

  ‘You used to talk about it before, why not now?’

  ‘He is my husband. I cannot talk about him like that. It would feel like betrayal.’

  ‘How are you betraying him? I am your sister.’

  Catherine averted her gaze and blindly looked to the river in the distance. Amelia’s openness embarrassed. She could try to explain, but how could Amelia understand how life was different now when she remained a single woman.

  ‘Are you enjoying being the lady of the house?’ Amelia asked.

  Very much, although it is a bit quiet at times. I miss you all.’

  ‘You should visit us more often.’

  ‘Amelia, I cannot, at least not too often. I have to be here in case Jack returns. He would not like it if I spent my days away from the house.’

  ‘He would not know,’ Amelia said.

  Catherine shook her head. ‘But I would. I love him very much. He is very good to me. Jack is my life now. I belong here.’

  Amelia nodded, yet her disapproval hovered in her eyes.

  ‘When you marry, you will understand,’ Catherine continued.

  ‘I do not want to marry, at least not yet.’

  ‘You have to. It is expected.’

  Amelia gazed pensively, first at Catherine, and then at the apple tree. ‘I have met a man. He is very passionate.’

  Oh, Amelia. What is he like?’

  ‘He is handsome . . . and a good kisser.’

  The two women giggled.

  ‘Do I know him?’ Catherine asked.

  ‘No. He is from the next village. His name is Thomas.’ Amelia glimpsed at Catherine. ‘His sister, Florence, fights for women’s rights. A lot of what she says makes sense.’

  Catherine frowned.

  ‘We should not be treated as possessions of men,’ she continued, ‘and in the least, we deserve the vote.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. I don’t know enough about politics.’

  ‘Women in Australia have the vote.’

  Catherine hesitated. ‘Do they know what they are voting for?’

  ‘Of course they do. Women are just as intelligent as men are, yet we are treated more like slaves. More women should become doctors and architects and make something of themselves.’

  She shook her head. ‘Those jobs are for men.’

  Nonsense. I would feel far more comfortable talking to a female doctor than a male doctor.’

  She dropped her gaze. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘I am sure you would feel different if you met Florence. I must introduce you.’

  She stood up and glared at Amelia. ‘No, you must not do that.’

  Why ever not?’

  ‘Jack would never approve.’

  Catherine awaited Amelia’s castigation as they walked along the path back to the house, but it did not come, and the silence penetrated the strained atmosphere. They stepped into the hallway, passing under a ceiling decorated with leaves and flowers, and they headed into the parlour. The fireplace was the central featur
e, with two armchairs facing the warmth and a decorative chest to the rear. There were two small tables, each holding a potted plant, and there were many pictures upon the brightly papered walls.

  Drawn to the image of her husband upon the wall, her heart tingled with her secret and her lips curved. She craved the comfort of Jack’s warm body, and she imagined his tender touch passing across her skin. Then, aware of Amelia’s glare, her fantasies dissolved.

  ‘Jack is a good man.’ Catherine said.

  ‘Yes, I know, and I can tell that you are happy. I just think you should broaden your expectations a little bit. The modern woman is so much more than a wife and a mother.’

  ‘But that is all I want, and I thought you did too.’

  ‘That was before I met Florence. You can be a good wife and mother, and work.’

  ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘People do it. It is not unheard of.’

  ‘That’s nonsense. A good wife dedicates all of her time to her husband.’

  There was a slight knock on the door. The housemaid, Annie, brought in the afternoon tea. She was discreet, yet Catherine still scrutinised her behaviour, searching for flaws. Annie proceeded to pour.

  She raised her hand. ‘No. Please don’t do that.’

  Annie stopped and replaced the teapot onto the tray. ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Even though it was the norm for Annie to serve the drink, she showed no irritation or confusion, and hurried out of the room and closed the door. Catherine watched her leave, eager to reprimand and assert her dominance, as her mother had advised.

  ‘You must gain control from the start,’ she had said, ‘servants can be lazy and do shoddy work. Do not allow them to set a poor precedence. Gain the upper hand immediately.’

  Catherine had listened to her mother, yet she needed no encouragement to scold her housemaid. Her underlying character was fastidious, and the standards she set were high. Sipping her tea, she pondered the occasions when she had reprimanded Annie for what she perceived to be poor cleaning. To Annie’s credit, she had been eager to please her new employer and had improved. On other occasions, Catherine hid coins in the house, determined to prove her housemaid’s dishonesty, but the coins had been presented, proving that Annie to be both trustworthy and meticulous.