by Maynard Sims
I made my way up to my room, forgetting even to mention the pain in my arm and the general malaise that accompanied it.
The bath, like everything else at Border End, was of a previous century. Cold, white, enamelled cast-iron, which made me shiver when I stepped into it despite the warmth of the water. It was small, almost a hip bath, and I was forced to pull my knees up before I could immerse myself completely. I had been spoilt by the luxury of home where a bath meant a chance to lie back and relax, a chance to daydream whilst having a good soak. This bath was purgatory by comparison, uncomfortable and cramped, without even the benefit of hot running water to atone for its shortcomings.
Thinking of home prompted me to wonder why I had received no word from mother. On my third day here I had written to her informing her of my safe arrival, and as yet I had received no reply. I had given my letter to Cartwright to post on his next visit to Pengarth, and since then he had to my knowledge made at least two trips to the village. I decided that it was quite within the realms of possibility that the chauffeur, having slipped the letter into the pocket of his uniform, had forgotten to post it. I would make a point of speaking to him the next day to find out if this was indeed the case.
I did not linger in the bath. The chill of the iron quickly cooled the water until it became slightly less than tepid. I emerged with most of the dirt thoroughly washed away, at least enough, I hoped, to satisfy Miss Tregear should she decide to inspect the results of my bath later on. I dried myself briskly and dressed in the clean clothes I had brought from my bedroom. The picture of the garden I had seen from the top of the tor still intrigued me. Surely my slight illness couldn't have brought on such a vivid hallucination?
The bathroom door swung open and Miss Tregear entered. In the time it had taken me to bathe and change my clothes she had also effected a change of attire. Whereas upon my return from the wood she had been wearing her customary tweed suit, she now wore a plain black dress, high collared but otherwise shapeless. It did not suit her, accentuating her gauntness and making her look more forbidding than ever before. My eyes bypassed the blandness of the dress and focused on something much more fascinating. Suspended by a thin gold chain about her neck was one of my aunt's lockets. She eyed me appraisingly for a few moments, then, apparently satisfied that I fulfilled her specifications of cleanliness, said: "If you have finished you shall go to your room and wait there until dinner."
I was about to say that I hadn't yet had lunch when she fixed me with one of her cold, commanding looks and said: "That is your punishment for getting filthy and suggesting that I am a liar."
I could only stare at her agape. I had purposely avoided answering the heavily weighted question she had put to me in the kitchen. Now, despite my careful reticence, I was to be punished regardless. She strode out of the bathroom and along the landing to Aunt Madeleine's room. Pausing at the door she turned and shot me a warning glance before entering the room and locking the door behind her.
Crestfallen and close to tears I crossed the landing to my room. I lay down on the bed, and tried to submerge my misery with thoughts of London. How I wished to be back there, anywhere rather than being confined under the same roof as that awful housekeeper who was successfully ruining my holiday. It wasn't long before my melancholy gave way to anger as I thought of how badly the woman treated me. What right had she to order me about? Wasn't I, after all, my aunt's responsibility and so accountable to her and her alone? While Aunt Madeleine was in her room I was totally without recourse, and Miss Tregear could behave towards me in whatever way she saw fit. My aunt, while she might be slightly eccentric, would, I was sure, support me if I went to her with a complaint about the woman.
But how was I to reach her? Miss Tregear guarded her patient closely; any approach I made would have to meet with her approval first. I knew that unless Aunt Madeleine specifically asked to see me the chances of speaking to her were remote. Perhaps if I went boldly to her room and demanded to see her, the housekeeper couldn't refuse. If she did, then surely my aunt would want to know why. I smiled to myself. Even if this action couldn't guarantee immediate access to Aunt Madeleine at least I would have the satisfaction of seeing Miss Tregear squirming in an effort to justify herself.
I slid silently from the bed and tiptoed across to the door. Opening it gently I crept outside, pulling back sharply upon seeing a figure further along the landing. My heart raced then missed a beat, before settling, when I realised that it was only Alice. She was standing outside my aunt's room with her ear pressed firmly against the door. She started visibly when she saw me approach. I was about to speak when she put her finger to her lips in a gesture of silence.
"Listen," she hissed, and beckoned me towards the door. Following her I pressed my ear against it and listened, not knowing what it was I was meant to be hearing.
It was faint at first but growing louder. When it finally reached my ears it made me shudder. Coming from within was the low, rasping sound of the most unnatural breathing. A horrible noise. Together with this was a murmured voice that I recognised to be that of the housekeeper. What she was saying was unintelligible. On and on it droned, a psalm or chant, a flat monotone, almost hypnotic in effect. My aunt's voice, amidst the breathing, was murmuring some kind of incantation, while Miss Tregear was chanting in a kind of foreign language. Suddenly I wanted to flee, to be away from the awful sounds, but as I turned away Alice held my arm.
"We must talk," she whispered. "But not here. Come to my room."
Moving as one, we edged away from the door and along the landing towards the attic stairs that led up to her room. Once inside I closed the door; had the lock possessed a key I most surely would have used it.
"Keep your voice low," she whispered, as she led me across to the bed beneath the window. "Walls have ears...and eyes too in this house." She sat down on the bed, and as she did the light from the window caught her face, glinting off small beads of perspiration that saturated her forehead.
"Jonny," she began, her voice urgent. "I'm leaving Border End and if you want my advice you should too."
"Leaving?" my voice rose in surprise. "But where will you go? And why should I leave here?"
Nervously she twisted a strand of her hair between her fingers. "I'm not sure why it's important for you to get away; all I know is that if you don't something will happen to you, Jonny, I know it will, just as it happened to the others."
"But what? You aren't making any sense. What have I got to fear?"
"I don't know, honestly I don't, but I've seen it happen before, it's always the same. First your aunt becomes ill and shuts herself away in her room; then Miss Tregear goes in there and that horrible noise starts. Tell me, have you been feeling ill?"
This question shook me. How could Alice have known about that? "Yes," I answered, and went on to tell her how the illness had affected me. When I had finished she said: "There, don't you see? It's exactly what happened the last time one of you stayed here, exactly the same. They all got ill too. It's like they drain the life out of the children."
I stared at her incredulously. "But surely the children are all right?" I thought of my sister. She had returned from Border End safely, although I had to admit she was much changed. I hadn't fully realised it before, but now that I was here I could see clearly what had been different about Ellen. It was as if she had left her childhood behind at Border End.
"You don't believe me do you, Jonny?" Alice said calmly.
I scratched my head, puzzled and confused by the events that had now completely overtaken me. "I don't know what to believe or what to think. So many strange things have happened since I arrived. So far I have tried to find logical explanations for them, but now..." My words were curtailed by a gasp from Alice. She jerked to her feet. Her mouth opened and a harrowing scream of pain filled the room as she clutched at her stomach and doubled forwards. She fell in a crumpled heap at my feet and lay there moaning, her face convulsed, her whole body twitching spasmodically as eac
h wave of pain passed through it. Like a doll that had suddenly lost its stuffing she lay whilst I looked on, frozen into immobility, watching as her fingertips took on a bluish tinge which spread quickly to the rest of her body.
I gazed upon her, curiously detached from what I was witnessing, aware more of the pain that had now begun to throb in my arm. Her breathing became more and more laboured, her eyes rolled in their sockets until finally only the whites showed; gradually her lips purpled and drained of blood. As if motivated by some unseen force I turned away from her and left the room.
I found myself outside Aunt Madeleine's room. The door was open. The pain in my arm had increased and was now a ravaging flame of agony, but the pain thrilled me with its intensity; never before had I experienced a sensation like it; I wanted to scream, and at the same time I wished the pain would engulf me completely. I walked stiffly into the room, my legs moving of their own volition. Through unblinking eyes I observed the room – the four-poster bed dominant, its hangings drawn tightly around. Miss Tregear, a million miles away in the corner, kneeling, eyes closed, hands together in a position of prayer. My legs guided me to the bed and I stood, waiting for a sign. I turned my head towards the housekeeper who gave an almost imperceptible nod. My fingers grasped the hangings, feeling the smoothness of the silk. From beyond the curtains came the sound of stertorous breathing, rising and falling in its dreadful cadence. Within moments my own breathing fell into the rhythm, and I felt myself sinking, being submerged as gradually blackness drew like a net around me. With a suddenness that ripped the silk from my fingers the hangings were pulled back.
"Come and play, Jonny."
I looked up at Ellen from where I sat on the grass. Her pale face was smiling kindly, her flowing yellow hair tumbled over her shoulders, in places merging with the patterns on her summer frock. She offered me a hand that I took and she pulled me to my feet. Over her shoulder, in the distance, I could see the watermill, its huge wheel turning, pushed round by the foaming water of the stream.
"The others will be here soon," she said as we walked across the grass to the mill. As we approached, a low rumbling sound filled the warm still air, and as we got nearer the sound became more defined, the cranking of slowly rotating cogs and the grinding of mill-stones.
A boy no older than me darted from behind the cover at the back of the building and waved. Ellen returned his welcome and bade me to do the same. "Are we all here?" she called. The boy nodded slowly. He was my age, but dressed in an old fashioned way in grey shorts and a red and white checked shirt. His face was tanned from the sun but showed the signs of freckles that were in keeping with the shock of ginger hair that sprang untidily from his head. He eyed me warily for some moments before taking a step forwards. He turned his head to one side and whispered something in Ellen's ear. "He will be, soon," she said, in answer to the question that had been unheard by me. "It's Jonny, my brother. Surely you recognise him?"
The boy shook his head. "After my time," he said, his voice betraying a Northern origin. He extended a hand. "Paul," by way of introduction.
I took the proffered hand and shook it as firmly as I could, not wishing him to get a first impression of me as a weakling. Without another word he turned away from us and ran to the rear of the mill, crossing the stream by a small neatly built footbridge.
"You'll get used to Paul. He comes from a distant strain of the family, Yorkshire, I think."
"I'm not staying. I must get back," I said, the words sounding far away.
"But that's silly, of course you're staying, you have to. There's no choice. Anyway, why would you want to go back there?"
"I must go back...Someone needs me, needs my help."
"Poppycock, Peabrain. You can't help Alice now. Come on, let's find the others." She ran to the bridge and, seeing that I hadn't moved, stopped. "Come on, you don't want to be late. By the way, do you see that boy over there?" She pointed to a boy who, although quite tall, was the same age as all of us.
"What about him?" I asked.
"He's our father."
I walked towards the bridge, to where my father as a boy was standing, the noise from the mill like distant thunder, drowning my thoughts. I had to get back. What could I say to my father? My father was dead. How could I see him as a boy?
The children clustered around the well at the back of the mill. There were many, too many to count. Although they were laughing it wasn't a happy sound. It was as if they were trying too hard to smile, too eager to beckon me to them.
The red haired boy jumped up onto the surround of the well and looked down into the water. "She's coming," he yelled. "She's coming."
There followed a confusion as the children gathered around me, their voices babbling at once. They surged forwards and I felt myself being lifted onto the wall.
"Look down, Jonny," Ellen shouted above the noise. "Look down into the water."
I wouldn't, I had to get away from here. I stared out into the distance at the wood. Tall elms and beeches wavered gently in a soft breeze. Here was my escape. If I could only get to the wood then I was sure I could find my way back.
"Hold him, he's going to run." The warning had been sounded and action taken before I could move. My thoughts had betrayed me. The children held me tightly.
I saw her then. Standing in the shadow of an ancient oak. A girl...Alice, she made a frantic beckoning motion urging me to go with her. If only I could, but the hold on me by the other children was too strong to be broken. My eyes began to lower. No! Alice mouthed the word. Lower. Crystal water lapped against the side of the well. Lower. A face deep in the water. My own? Two faces merging into one. The other face lined, old. Pale blue suns burning up at me. Closer, closer. Two hungry eyes to take from me what they needed. Coming up through the water to take me. My eyes closed, in acceptance of the inevitable.
"He's coming round." The voice, half-heard, belonged to Miss Tregear. A cold compress was pressed against my brow, the chill of it making me shiver.
"Is he over the worst?" Aunt Madeleine, concerned, anxious.
"He'll be fine now. He has passed across." A hand shook my shoulder. "Wake up, young man. Wake up."
I opened my eyes. I was in my room. The curtains were drawn, shutting out much of the light. By my bedside sat the housekeeper, on the cabinet next to her was a bowl containing water. She removed the compress and dropped it back into the bowl where it floated for a second or two before sinking.
Aunt Madeleine sat at the foot of the bed. She smiled as I looked down at her. "Are you feeling better, Jonathan?"
I was. The pain in my arm had gone and I felt remarkably refreshed, as if I had just woken from a very deep restful sleep. I tried to speak, to tell my aunt that I was feeling fine, but for some reason the words wouldn't come. Instead I nodded my head.
"Splendid, splendid. I must say, young man, you were beginning to worry us. Isn't that right, Elizabeth?"
"Yes, Madam," said Miss Tregear, taking my wrist and checking my pulse against her watch.
I continued to stare at Aunt Madeleine. In the dim, sepia light of the room she looked years younger than when I had last seen her. She was dressed in the same elegant manner, but there was a marked difference in her. Her hair, for one thing, was now stylishly coiffured, and seemed less white than before, more silver, I thought. Her face was devoid of the garish make-up, natural hues coloured her cheeks, and the flesh was fuller, skin tighter and less wrinkled, as if she had regained a part of her youth. Around her neck hung a gold locket and she fingered it absently.
I found my voice. "What happened?"
"You were taken very ill, young man, on your return from the wood the other day," said the housekeeper.
The other day! "How long have I been in bed?"
"Since Wednesday, and today is Friday."
"You have had a very bad fever," put in my aunt. "I was convinced that we should have called the doctor in again - he first came Wednesday evening but of course you wouldn't remember - but Eliza
beth persuaded me to let your illness run its course. I see now that she was right."
Alice, the name and the memory rushed into my thoughts.
"Alice," I almost shouted. "What has happened to Alice?"
Aunt Madeleine and the housekeeper exchanged a look that answered me fully. I turned away from them, burying my despair in the pillow. Alice was dead.
"It was the water from the well, Jonathan," said my aunt. "It has been unfit to drink for some years."
I turned to face her. Then she knew. About Alice, about the accident at the mill and how I tried to revive her.
"You must not be surprised, Jonathan. Did you not expect me to be aware of what happens at Border End? Oh yes, the old mill is part of the estate, and a valuable part it has proved to be in the past."
My misery was complete. The memory of squeezing that moistened cloth and letting the crystal well water trickle into Alice's mouth came back to me with awful clarity.
"You must not blame yourself," Miss Tregear said, patting my shoulder in an uncharacteristic gesture of kindness.
"No," my aunt added. "You were not to know." She stood up and crossed to the window, making a chink in the curtain and looking out. "It looks as if there may be a storm later, some black clouds are forming to the south. You will be returning home tomorrow," she said, turning back to face me. She smiled.
Cartwright loaded my suitcases into the boot of the Bentley.
"Have you got everything?" asked Miss Tregear, fussily adjusting my tie.
"Safe journey, young man," said Aunt Madeleine, putting her face down next to mine and waiting until I kissed her. "I shall see you again soon."
I climbed into the back of the car, wincing as the sun-heated leather of the seat burned the exposed skin between the bottom of my trousers and the top of my socks. Cartwright sat in the driving seat and started the engine. A moment later the Bentley eased its way down the drive, and the air filled with the shouted farewells from the house. I resisted the urge to look back until the very last minute, but then, twisting around so that I could kneel on the seat, I stared back at Border End and its occupants.