The Observations

by Jane Harris

  And then all at once it came to me—of course, it was only a dream! What a relief! In order to make my mother go away all I had to do was to wake myself up and look directly at her and then she would disappear.

  And so that is what I did (at least, that is what I thought I did). I convinced myself that I woke up and turned to face her. But when I opened my eyes, standing over me was not my mother at all but a girl, a girl I had never seen before, and yet I knew her instantly to be Nora. She was dressed in nightclothes, her hair loose about her shoulders. It was she that held the lantern, and she that leered straight down at me. I got such a fright I am surprised my heart did not leap out my chest. The most striking thing about her was her eyes, her wild staring eyes. She was insane, you could tell by just looking at her. And although I believed myself to be awake, I could not make her disappear. I stared at her and kept on staring but she just glared back at me with this dreadful look on her face. I was convinced that she wanted to murder me and that if what she held in her hand had been a knife instead of a lantern she would have plunged it straight into my heart.

  Fear pinned me to the mattress. I don’t know how long I lay there in a cold sweat. Perhaps it was minutes, perhaps only seconds. What I do know is that, eventually, after what seemed like the course of ages, I was able to move my hand and drag the bedclothes up over my head. Nora did not seem to notice she simply kept staring down at me as before. I managed to pull the covers all the way over my head without attracting her attention. Strange to say, but this felt like it would protect me from the Spectre at the bedside. For I quite believed she was a Spectre. She was there and not there. She saw me and yet she didn’t see me. She and I were in the same place and yet I had the sense that somehow we were separated by time. I was there now, but she was there in the past.

  And if that was the case who was it she thought was lying beneath her in the bed? Was it me she was looking at with that murderous intent on her phiz? Or was it missus?

  PART FOUR

  15

  An Apparition

  EVENTUALLY it felt like I fell into a stupor and I awoke some time later only to realise that it was morning. With great trepidation I poked my head out from beneath the covers. The room was empty. I slid out the bed and got down on my knees to examine the spot where Nora had stood. Not a mark not a speck, just the fibres of the rug smooth and undisturbed almost as though they had never been walked upon. Nothing to suggest that anyone had been there though as far as I knew ghosts left no trace. But was it a ghost or was it a dream? I hadn’t a baldy.

  As the day proceeded and I went about my work, I tried to forget about what had happened but the house felt desperate spooky to me and so in the afternoon I went outside to clear up the vegetable garden. As I worked, pulling weeds and raking leaves, I kept on picturing Nora, looming over the missus bed. To kill her? But why would she want revenge on missus? What had missus done to her? Once again the railway line came to mind. I imagined missus, sneaking up behind Nora, her hands outstretched, ready to push—but no. It was all daft. I did not, could not believe that missus would harm Nora. About 3 o’clock I decided to go in for a cup of tea to warm me up. Due to lack of sleep I was in a bit of a dwam so I was, barely aware of putting one foot in front of the other. I could have passed bodily through the back door for all the notice I took of it as I lifted the latch and stepped inside. It was only when I entered the kitchen itself that I was brought sharply to my senses by the unexpected sight of a figure in the room.

  A woman in a dark cloak rushing towards me. Jesus Murphy my heart all but stopped. But it was only missus. Missus! Back a day early. She grabbed my hand, apparently too excited to notice my shock at seeing her. Her eyes were shining.

  ‘Come and see!’ she says, and began to drag me towards the table.

  I tried to remember whether I had locked the drawer of her desk and put everything back in place. Was her bed made? And what had I done with the blasted key? And why were they back early? Meanwhile missus had opened a box that sat on the table and took out a number of cards in shades of black and grey.

  ‘Look Bessy look!’ she says. ‘What do you think?’

  She laid out several likenesses of her and master James. One photograph showed them stood in front of a rustic backcloth of trees with a potted fern at their feet, which gave the impression that they had paused for a moment in a woodland glade. Master James rested his elbow on a fence and stared into the distance while missus, in a strange and unnatural pose, had placed both hands on his shoulder as though she needed to lean on him for support. There was a small dog in the foreground propped up on his back legs all frisky like he was leaping. But if you looked closely you could see that the poor bucker was stuffed and mounted on a pole. On another card master James sat in a chair with his hat on, one big boot outstretched, a great long whip dangling between his legs. Then there was a picture of missus stood alone at a table, which bore a vase of flowers. She held a straw bonnet in her hand and it was all so artfully done you could have sworn that it was summer and that she had just wandered in from the garden.

  In the remaining portraits the couple had been dressed in extravagant costumes. Here was master James for instance in pirate togs with a cocked hat on his head and a sabre in his hand. Here was missus hardly recognisable as a dark-skinned princess of the Orient, draped in a robe with a sash at her waist and a pitcher balanced on her hip. And in the final portrait the couple appeared together. Master James looked very regal, stood behind a draped lectern his robes trimmed with fur and hung with golden chains. And missus was crouched at his feet dressed up as an old-fashioned maid in apron and mob cap, her sleeves rolled up and her head bowed as she offered a goblet of wine to her master.

  I believe it was this last photograph that most caught my attention, perhaps because it was strange to see missus all tricked out in maids duds and acting the servant.

  ‘We went to Henderson, on Princes Street,’ missus was saying. ‘He has done them well, has he not? Have you ever had your likeness taken, Bessy?’

  ‘No, marm,’ says I. (Not strictly true, I had been took once or twice in what might be called ‘classical’ poses at least that’s what the man said they were.)

  ‘Next time I go to Edinburgh,’ says missus, ‘you must come with me and we shall go back to this shop. I should like him to take you in your working clothes. That would make a lovely portrait.’

  She continued to arrange the pictures on the table, pointing out details here and there to bring them to my attention. Apparently she’d had to rub a yellow paste on her face in order to look dark for the Oriental portrait. The goblet was not real but made of painted card. And although the fur-trimmed robes looked impressive they had stunk of camphor.

  While she prattled on I caught up with my own thoughts. I was fairly sure that I had put The Observations and Noras journal back in her desk but could I remember if the key was in the lock, no I could not. I did not really want to pretend I had found it in her absence for she might worry that I had looked in the drawer and by flip I didn’t want that.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, marm,’ I says, anxious to get up to her room before she did. ‘I’ll take your bags upstairs.’

  I hurried out to the hall, expecting to find two portmanteaus however there was only one, the one that missus had taken. I glanced into the study but found it to be empty. The rest of the house was that silent you could have heard a spider fart. I went back to the kitchen. Missus was still at the table, admiring the likenesses. I stared at her for a moment.

  Then I says, ‘Did master James take his own bag up, marm?’

  ‘Hmm?’ she says. ‘Oh no, I came back alone.’

  She was bent over the photographs. I couldn’t see her face.

  ‘Why, marm? What happened?’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ she says. ‘Why need something have happened? I just came back early.’ She looked up and when she seen me, she laughed. ‘Oh Bessy,’ she says. ‘I’d had quite enough of the town, thank you, on
ce that dreadful dinner was done. And James didn’t really need me any more.’

  She gazed at me evenly. I wasn’t sure whether I believed her or not. But before I had a chance to say anything further she says, ‘Tell me, Bessy—what has been going on here in my absence?’

  First Nora and then my mother appeared in my minds eye. I blinked them away. Then I thought of the tumble I had took down the bank, the speeding train rushing past, inches from my face.

  I says, ‘It’s been very quiet, marm.’

  ‘I see,’ says missus. Perhaps it was her tone of voice or the way she looked at me I don’t know but I was convinced she knew I was not telling the truth. She says, ‘And you were not frightened to be here at night, all alone?’

  ‘No marm.’

  ‘Did you see anyone?’

  ‘No marm,’ I says. ‘And please please please don’t you be worrying yourself. Like we said before, there is no ghost here and there never ever was a one!’

  Missus peered at me strangely and then she gave a little laugh. ‘I only meant did you see Hector or any of the other farm servants.’

  ‘Oh,’ I says. ‘Begging your pardon, marm. No, I—I did not. Well, I seen Hector for a minute but that was all.’

  And then I hared off to take her bag upstairs.

  The little brass key was in her desk and the drawer was locked. I pulled out the key and flung it under the bed, just in time too, for at that moment missus came bustling in and began to unpack. I stood beside her for a moment, making a point of frowning down at the floor this way and that and clucking like billy-o.

  ‘Isn’t it fearful dusty in here, marm?’ I says.

  Then I ran downstairs and returned with a broom. I began to sweep the floor. Moments later—quite by chance!—I discovered the key to her desk under the bed.

  ‘Would you look at this, marm?!’ I says, holding it up, astonished. ‘Here’s that key you lost! You must have kicked it under here by mistake.’

  I was gratified to see her pounce on the key and stash it in her pocket. How pleased she looked as she turned away! Now she could open her drawer and write up her notes or Observations if she so desired. I hoped she would do it for I knew it made her happy.

  That evening we took our meal together in the kitchen like the old days. While we ate she tellt me more about the trip to Edinburgh, the hotel with its stink of gas in the room, a visit to see a Fairy Fountain powered by Electricity and the stuffy dinner she’d had to sit through watching her husband lick the hairy ringpiece of Duncan Pollock MP, (except she put it more politely).

  At one point, she took my hand and squeezed it. ‘Dear Bessy,’ she says. ‘I know I haven’t had as much time for you of late but all that will change. James should be going to Glasgow once this fountain is installed, perhaps for a fortnight. This time last year, he was gone for a whole month! So we will soon have plenty of time together.’

  ‘Yes marm.’

  ‘And I want to be more honest with you from now on,’ she says. ‘You see, there’s something I haven’t told you. It’s a secret, Bessy. Nobody knows about it. But it was wrong of me to keep it from you.’

  Funny what goes through our minds at times like these. Mine had went a little blank. I was looking at her skin and noticing how flawless it was. And that even her hair grew out her temples in what seemed a perfect way. How could anyone so lovely do anything wrong?

  Missus stood up and took a few steps across the kitchen. After a moment of hesitation, she spoke.

  ‘I am writing a book,’ she says. ‘A book about servants. Not a novel but a theoretical book about loyalty and obedience and so on. I am sure you must have guessed at something of the sort, because of certain things I may have asked you to do in the past.’

  Here she paused as though expecting me to comment. But I couldn’t think what to say so I just nodded. She went on.

  ‘Now, this book is a secret. Not even my husband knows about it. If he knew I was writing this book—any book, in fact—he might tease me and then that would spoil it. I can’t explain it any better than that. So he doesn’t know about it. And I have taken a great risk in telling you because now you know something that you could use against me, if you chose to do so.’

  Here, she paused again and gave me a searching look.

  I says, ‘Is that all, marm?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is that the only secret? That you’re writing a book.’

  She gave a little laugh. ‘Why—yes. Is that not enough?’

  ‘No marm. I mean yes marm. I just thought you might be going to tell me about some other secret thing, is all.’

  In fact, I didn’t really know what I meant. I was just wittering on like a great lilty.

  Missus came and sat down beside me again. ‘Isn’t this lovely, Bessy?’ she says. ‘The two of us back together again, with the prospect of more time alone. I cannot tell you how much I’ve looked forward to it.’

  What she said sounded happy. But there was a great sadness behind her eyes. Oh how I longed to blurt out everything I knew. To tell her that I had read her Observations. And that I’d done the very same walk that she’d sent Nora on. And that she was just wrong to go blaming herself for the stupid girls death. But, of course, I couldn’t tell her any of that because I was feart to let her know that I’d been sniffing around amongst her things. Twice now I’d done it, wicked girl that I was. It would have to stop. I made a vow to myself. No more snooping. And I resolved to write an especially long entry in my little book (mostly made up, of course) in the hope that it might give her pleasure.

  That night like the day that preceded it was cold and clear. My brain was buzzing with thoughts but I must have dropped off eventually because at some point I awoke and saw outside my window a brilliant sliver of moon suspended beneath a diamond star, both of them lit as though from within, pinned against the sky so they were, like earrings on dark velvet. Their combined light was so bright that at first I thought it had roused me—but then the silence was broke by a shrill guttural scream, a strange and wordless cry of terror that shook the house.

  I sat bolt upright. The scream seemed to have come from the direction of missus room. It died away but I believe there must have been another just before it, because the sound was familiar, like an echo of something. Just as worrying was the stillness that followed in its wake. I sat there paralysed for a moment, my heart hammering raw in my chest. Then I leapt up and without pausing to dress or put anything on my feet I lashed downstairs to see was missus all right.

  I had just reached the landing when her chamber door flew open and she came hurpling out towards me in her nightdress. Her hair was loose and in disarray, it seemed to stand upright around her face which was white and pinched. She fell upon me and pointed towards her room, her eyes wide with fear. She was shaking that hard she could not speak.

  ‘What is it?’ I whispered. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Shhh!—Shhhu!—Shhhu!’ went missus at first I thought she was hushing me but then as she went on I realised she was only trying to say something.

  ‘Shhu!—She!—She’s there! She’s there!’

  I felt my oxters prickle and remembered the figure from a few nights before, hovered over the bed with that dreadful look on its face. Could missus have had the same dream as me? Or was it indeed an apparition? This time there was no doubt in my mind that I was wide awake. This time, I would be able to know for certain what it really was.

  Missus clutched at my nightdress but despite her attempts to drag me back, I prised myself free and dashed across the threshold of her room.

  Inside, I had expected to find all in darkness but was surprised to see a candle burning by the bed and the curtains drawn back to admit the moonlight. I looked at once to the place where Nora had ‘appeared’ to me, but saw nothing. And a glance around the rest of the chamber proved fruitless. There was nobody there.

  Missus had crept in behind me and now she stood near the doorway, still trembling, as I took
up the candle and searched behind the curtains and then in the press and under the bed. Nothing, nothing, nobody. I stood up.

  ‘There’s no-one here, marm,’ I says. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  Her eyes were wide and glassy. ‘Are you sure, Bessy?’

  ‘You were only dreaming, marm.’

  She took a deep breath and then let it out again. ‘Oh but you see,’ she says. ‘I wasn’t asleep.’

  I had just glanced away to set down the candle but on hearing that I turned back to look at her. She took a few steps and sat upon the bed. A book lay on the counterpane. She picked it up and showed it to me.

  ‘I was reading,’ she says. ‘The moon was so bright, even though it’s on the wane—did you notice?—and I had drawn back the curtains for more light. I couldn’t sleep, you see. I must have read for an hour or so. And then all at once, as I turned a page, I became convinced that someone was watching me. I had this overwhelming sense of being under observation. It was not a pleasant feeling. Quite oppressive, in fact. I glanced up—’

  Here, she looked towards the corner of the room, to a spot near the press. I followed her gaze. There was nothing there, just as before. Even so, I shivered.

  ‘I glanced up—and there she was!’

  Missus froze in her attitude of looking across the room, as though she still saw what had been there before. In the moonlight, her face seemed made up of nothing but shade and hollows. Staring eyes, open mouth, the dark holes of her nostrils, her sunken cheeks.