The Body at Auercliff

by Amy Cross

  He's still screaming, but I'm now shaking him so hard, his words are becoming indistinct and mumbled, more like the cries of a child again. And finally, after several seconds during which I shake him with increasing vigor, he suddenly falls silent and I freeze, holding him in my arms and seeing something new in his eyes.

  Blood.

  The whites have begun to darken with rich, scarlet tones.

  “Now what do you have to say?” I ask breathlessly.

  I wait, but not a sound comes from his mouth. He seems utterly shocked, unable to move or make a noise, able only to breathe in and out. And even that seems an effort.

  “Perhaps you will think long and hard,” I mutter, settling him back in his crib, “next time you are minded to say such awful things to your mother.”

  Stepping back, I wait for him to react in some way, but he seems unable to do anything at all. It is as if, by shaking him, I have somehow restored his sanity, and now he simply rests in his crib like some kind of inanimate doll.

  “You shall see me anew soon,” I whisper, “I promise. Never again shall you call me a murderer.”

  With that, I turn and hurry from the room, making my way down the stairs and then out through the front door. By the time I've made it all the way across the lawn, I know exactly what I must do with the knife in my right hand, although I stop as soon as I hear Charles crying out from one of the rooms in the house.

  “Jonathan!” he shouts, his voice filled with panic. “What has that madwoman done to you?”

  “I've made him see sense,” I stammer, before turning and making my way through the undergrowth and then between the trees that lead to the river. I know Charles will start following me soon, and I must get rid of the knife so that the link to Matilda's dead spirit is finally broken. The logic of this move escapes me, but I feel absolutely certain that the knife is the key to everything. I must bury it so that it never again troubles this family.

  By the time I see the river ahead, its surface rippling in the moonlight, I'm almost too exhausted to keep running. Tripping on a tree root, I let out a sudden cry as I drop to my knees.

  “Catherine!” Charles shouts suddenly, still sounding far off. “Catherine, don't be a fool!”

  Looking down at the knife in my hands, I see dark blood still staining the blade.

  “I shall bury you,” I whisper, “and then all evidence of my crime shall be lost forever.” With that, I start digging with my bare hands, pulling mud from the ground in a desperate attempt to get the knife hidden.

  “Catherine!” Charles shouts, sounding a little closer now. “For the love of God, where are you?”

  Realizing that I have no time to spare, I slide the knife's blade into the mud and then push down on the handle, forcing the wretched thing out of sight and then pushing still further. With all my remaining strength, I drive the knife as deep as I can manage, and then I use my hands to pile more mud over the spot, hoping to keep it buried forever.

  Finally, realizing that Charles is getting closer, I scramble to my feet and take a step back.

  It's done.

  I rid myself of the awful thing.

  “Catherine!” Charles shouts as he finally reaches me, quickly grabbing my shoulder and shaking me. “Where is it, Catherine? In the name of all that is holy, Catherine, what have you done with it? And what did you do to Jonathan? He barely responds at all!”

  “I saved us all,” I sob. “It was the only way...”

  “Where is it?” he asks firmly. “Catherine, this is not the time to let your weaker aspect show. What have you done with the blade?”

  I open my mouth to reply, but no words emerge. Before I can try again, Charles slaps me hard.

  “I can only assume,” he says firmly, “that you have seen fit to throw the knife into the river, or to otherwise dispose of it. No matter, it is no loss. But our son...” He pauses for a moment, still holding my arm tight. “Catherine, what in God's name have you done to Jonathan?”

  ***

  “It is so beautiful,” I sob, standing in the hallway and staring up at my portrait as it finally hangs in its proper place. “I finally belong at Auercliff.”

  Although I'm still wearing my wet, muddy clothes from earlier, I feel strangely at peace. Jonathan is not crying, of course, and I know I must go up and check on him soon, but I am quite sure he will be fine. Charles has been attending to him, and soon I shall go up and prove that a mother's love makes everything better.

  As for Matilda, I am certain the girl's spirit is gone now.

  Hearing footsteps nearby, I realize that Charles has finally returned from the nursery. A few minutes ago, he said he faced a tough decision, but I am sure he has made the right choice. Whatever he decides, all that matters is that we are together as a family. Even as he stops behind me, however, I do not turn to him. I feel as if it is perhaps indecent of me to be standing here with my clothes in such a terrible state and – though Charles is my husband – I should like to retain at least a little decency.

  So I wait in silence.

  For his word.

  His touch.

  His command.

  All around us, the house is silent. And calm. Back to how it was before this awful mess began.

  “Something is wrong with Jonathan,” he says finally. “He barely responds to me. I fear I must take him to see a doctor in the morning.”

  “He will be fine,” I whisper, still staring up at my beautiful, almost regal portrait.

  There are so many portraits here in the hallway, but I feel as if the pictures of Charles and myself are by far the most impressive.

  “You harmed him, Catherine,” Charles says after a moment. “I know not what happened when you were alone with him last, but I see the damage in his eyes. I feel it in the way he hangs limply in my hands. He breaths, but barely more than that.”

  “He will be fine,” I whisper again. “Charles, do not -”

  “I cannot let you harm him again.”

  I flinch.

  His words sound so cold.

  “I cannot, Catherine,” he adds. “Please, you must understand. He is the future of Auercliff. He is my heir.”

  “He was saying awful things,” I reply, smiling as I admire the line of my neck in the portrait. “I am quite sure he shall not do so again.”

  “He is a child, less than a year into his life. He cannot have said anything to you at all. If you heard words coming from his mouth, then clearly your madness is further advanced that I had realized.”

  “Madness?” My smile grows. “I am not mad, my dear. Far from it. Everything is perfect now. We are together.”

  “I have the family name to think of,” he continues, “and the house, too. I cannot let the legacy of Auercliff be tarnished. You understand, I trust?”

  “Understand what?”

  I wait for an answer, but slowly I begin to feel a sense of great unease. I want Charles to tell me that everything will be okay, that he knows I was only doing what's best for our family and for Auercliff. At the same time, I can't shake the feeling that the wings of something large and dark are slowly settling across my shoulders.

  “Charles,” I say finally, turning to him, “I -”

  Suddenly he drives the blade of a knife into my waist, just above the hip.

  I let out a faint gasp as I feel a ripple of pain, but Charles quickly grabs my shoulders to hold me close, and then he stabs me several more times, slowly moving the knife up my chest as if he is aiming for my heart.

  I try to struggle, but he pushes me back against the wall and drives the knife once again into my body. This time, I feel the blade bursting out the other side and scraping against the wall.

  “It is for the best,” he says, with tears in his eyes. “For the family, for Auercliff, for myself, for Jonathan... For you too, Catherine. I cannot let you go on like this, lost in madness. You shall of course take your place in the family mausoleum, I will not deny you that honor. And I shall find another wife who might
be better able to run the household.”

  “Wait,” I whisper, feeling hot blood bursting out through my wounds and running down the space between my flesh and the fabric of my dress. “Charles...”

  “You are quite mad, my dear,” he continues, gently lowering me down onto the floor and then helping me as I roll onto my back. “Things cannot go on in this manner, and I do not believe you can return to your usual, strong self. If there were another way, I would surely take it, but there is not.”

  “Charles,” I stammer, reaching up with a trembling hand and touching the side of his face. “I love you, Charles. I was only...”

  “Hush,” he replies, taking my hand and moving it away, placing it on my bloodied chest. It is as if he no longer wishes to feel my touch. “Speak no more, Catherine. If it is any consolation to you at all, I promise that I shall leave your portrait where it hangs. I shall not attempt to erase your presence from the history of Auercliff. I just...”

  He pauses, as tears run down his face.

  “Well, I'm sure you understand,” he continues, “if you really think about it. One has to maintain a certain standard, does one not? For one's own sanity, and for the house.”

  Trying to reach up to him once again, I find that I can no longer move my hands. I try to speak, but my lips are locked, and I feel as if all the life is draining from my body. My eyes start to flicker shut, no matter how hard I fight to stay conscious, but at the last moment I spot a figure standing behind Charles, towering over us both and staring down at me.

  Matilda.

  It's her, I'm sure of it.

  I try to cry out, to warn Charles that a terrible spirit stands behind him, but my lips refuse to move. And Matilda Granger's dark, vengeful, hate-filled eyes are the last thing I see before I slip away into an ever-lasting nothingness.

  Part Six

  Martin - 1957

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  “I'll see you again,” Verity whispers, her voice trembling with fear. “I promise, Martin. I'll see you again.”

  I open my mouth to tell her that everything will be okay, but I'm starting to sob now and the last thing I want is for her to hear the fear in my voice. All I can manage, then, is to squeeze her hand tight.

  “I'll see you again,” she adds, her voice starting to fade away. “I'll see you again, I'll be back. You'll see, I'm not...”

  She adds something else under her breath, just a couple more words, and then suddenly I realize that her hand feels so cold and clammy.

  “Help!” I shout, turning and looking toward the door. “Somebody help her!”

  As footsteps hurry along the corridor, I look back down at Verity's pale features. She looks different somehow, as if all the muscles of her face have relaxed, and I feel a sense of hollow fear growing in the pit of my belly.

  “Come on, old thing,” I stammer, squeezing her hand even tighter as tears stream down my face, “you can pull through! You're a tough bird, I know you are!” I wait a moment, desperately hoping for some sign of life. “Verity, wake up!” I hiss. “You can't leave us, you just can't! Verity, I know you can hear my voice! Come back! I'll never be rotten to you again, I promise, just -”

  “Martin, move!” Aunt Harriet shouts suddenly, pushing me across the bed as she drops to her knees and gently pats Verity's face. “Verity? Darling? Please, Verity, you must hold on. Doctor Farrah is coming from the village, he won't be long. You shall have to go to hospital, but you'll be fine. Verity? Verity, say something...”

  “She's dead,” I whisper, taking a step back from the bed as I feel a cold, tight sense of fear gripping my chest. “It's too late, she's already -”

  “Go!” Harriet shouts, turning to me with a tear-stained, blustery face. “Get out of here, Martin! Now!”

  “But she's -”

  “Out!”

  As she turns back to Verity and continues her efforts to make her stir, I back away to the door, unable to take my eyes off my cousin's pale, lifeless body. I want to rush back over and scream at her, to make her come around, but somehow I can already tell that she's gone. It's almost as if I felt her spirit leaving her body and rising through the ceiling, leaving nothing behind except a cold, empty husk of flesh and bone and blood.

  “I'll see you again,” her voice whispers in my ear, echoing from the last time she spoke just a moment ago. “You'll see.”

  “She's dead,” I whimper, as Uncle Reginald hurries into the room and races over to the bed.

  As they continue their attempt to make Verity stir, I step back into the corridor. I know I have to do something, to find some way of saving her, but at the same time I also know that it's too late. Even as Uncle Reginald and Aunt Harriet continue to shake Verity's body and call her name, I'm struck by an overwhelming sense of hopelessness.

  And then, suddenly, I hear the scratching sound.

  Looking along the corridor, I realize that something seems to be scratching furiously at wood in one of the other rooms.

  “The scratching sound,” Verity said shortly before she died. “Don't you hear it?”

  At the time, I heard no such thing, but now it's undeniable. Even though I want to stay in the doorway and wait in case there's any chance that Verity might be revived, I find myself turning and heading along the corridor, making my way toward the doorway at the far end. The scratching sound seems closer now, and I feel as if I'm being slowly lured away from the room where my cousin's body is still being pulled upon and shaken by her sobbing parents.

  Finding myself in the kitchenette, I look around for a moment before spotting some broken glass on the floor. The scratching sound, meanwhile, seems to be coming from the table over by the window, so I step closer and -

  Suddenly the sound stops.

  I hesitate for a moment, feeling as if perhaps I've disturbed something. Finally, I make my way over to the table and see that several words seem to have been carved into the side. I crouch down and take a closer look.

  “Here died the prisoner of Auercliff,” I read carefully. “Neglected and forgotten by all.”

  Frowning, I realize that Verity must be responsible for these words, although I have no idea why she would have written such a thing. Then again, she could always be a little melodramatic. Reaching out, I run my fingertips against the grooves, and I can't help smiling at the thought of my cousin sitting here and working furiously with a knife. It occurs to me that I should compliment her on her achievement, and then I remember that I won't ever be able to speak to her ever again. I shall never hear her laugh, nor shall I be able to rush through and tell her the latest foolish story I've heard. She's gone, ripped from my life, and I can't possibly imagine how I shall ever fill that gap.

  “Along here!”

  Father suddenly hurries past the door, leading Doctor Farrah to the bedroom.

  I swallow hard. I know that the doctor will examine Verity and confirm the worst, and I tense as I realize that any moment now I shall have to face the truth. Getting to my feet, I head over to the doorway and then stop for a moment, listening to the voices coming from the bedroom.

  How can the world possibly keep turning without Verity? I feel certain that the very ground beneath my feet shall fall still at any moment.

  “You said she'd be okay here!” Aunt Harriet is sobbing. “We asked if she should be taken to the hospital, and you said she'd be fine at Auercliff!”

  “Let him examine her,” Uncle Reginald says after a moment. “Harriet, please, the man must be allowed to do his job.”

  “Perhaps she can still be helped,” Father adds, although I can tell from the sound of his voice that he doesn't hold out much hope. “It's always worth a shot, isn't it?”

  “We were so cruel to her!” Aunt Harriet wails. “We should never have sent her to her room last night, not when we could tell she was sick!”

  For the next few minutes, I listen to the sound of voices discussing the matter in hurried, muffled tones. Finally, however, the voices fall silent, and somehow – de
ep down – I already know what is going to come next. I hold my breath, waiting, desperately hoping against hope that I'm wrong and that Verity will suddenly spring back to life.

  “Please,” I whisper, crossing my fingers on both hands.

  I wait.

  Silence.

  “Please...”

  Silence.

  I close my eyes.

  ***

  “My baby!” Aunt Harriet screams suddenly, accompanied by the sound of footsteps hurrying across the bedroom. “No! Bring her back! You have to bring her back!”

  I open my eyes.

  A moment later, Doctor Farrah steps out of the room, his face shocked and ashen.

  “I am so dreadfully sorry,” he stammers, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. “If I had even suspected that the sickness was this bad, I would of course have had her taken straight to hospital last night.”

  “This is your fault!” Aunt Harriet shrieks. “You're a man of medicine! We put our faith in you, and now our little girl is gone forever!”

  “M'am,” Doctor Farrah replies, “please -”

  “Murderer!” she sobs. “You killed our girl! You killed Verity!”

  “You must excuse her,” Father says, emerging from the room and starting to lead Doctor Farrah this way along the corridor. “As you will surely understand, she's simply distraught. Women are not always at their best in a crisis.”

  “When I examined the poor girl last night,” Doctor Farrah replies, “I saw nothing to indicate that she was in such danger. I am a cautious man by nature, and if there had been even the slightest hint of something being amiss, I would not have hesitated to send young Verity to hospital.”

  “No-one is doubting your expertise,” Father tells him. “Perhaps it was simply Verity's time. The Lord, after all, moves in mysterious ways.”

  “No!” I shout suddenly, stepping out into the corridor and blocking their way, while staring up at Doctor Farrah's shocked face. “Aunt Harriet is right. You did kill Verity!”

  “Martin!” Father hisses, grabbing my arm. “Get out of the way! I know you're upset, but -”