“Your hair changes in the light: it’s like fire. I saw a man eat fire in Edinburgh once. A crowd gathered to watch.”
I did not altogether believe him about the fire-eater. He had seen spectacles, my master, but he was a man who liked to tease as well. You could never be sure with him.
“You’re funnin’ with me, master. You know right well how little I’ve seen.”
“I’ve seen plenty, but I’ve never seen anything to match the sight of you this day. You’re so steady and calm, Ellen. Isabel’s antics would drive a man to distraction. Just being near you soothes me.”
I turned away from him, trying to resist, but he put his arms round my waist, leaned in and buried his face in my hair. As his body pushed against mine, the edge of the wooden table dug into my belly, and I cared nothing about the sharp corner.
His words filled my ears. “I think about you all the time. You gave yourself to me so sweetly before. I burn for you, Ellen. Burn for us to be close like that again.”
I tried to think of the danger. I groped for the memory of that potion I had to take, and my fears I might be carrying a child. But it was useless. My master wanted me. I was seduced by pleasure. A contented clucking came from the hens outside, a beam of sunlight stole through the door, and I closed my eyes as his hands roamed my body: ready to yield to him again, come what may, without another word said between us.
He turned me back towards him, and took my face between his hands, leaning towards my lips. They parted for him, and I could almost taste him on my mouth.
But first, he spoke. I daresay he thought they were words such as might appeal to a maid you were courting. “You are the master, and I am the servant,” he said.
And at that, as sudden as a summer shower, I was filled with rage. It came gushing out of me, like a river overrunning its banks, and I put my two hands on his chest and pushed him away. He lost his footing and fell on his backside on the ground, shock causing his handsome face to gape.
“Aye, I gave myself to you. An’ I wound up expectin’ your child. Not that you’d know the first thing about it. Because you took your pleasure, and rode away without a backward glance. Never even troubled yourself to ask me about it when you came home. Not so much as a care for me, or what I might have dealt with. You want to be free to take what you want, when you want, no matter what price I might have to pay. I gave you the best of myself, and you took it for granted. You’re doin’ it again now. Well, you’ll never have me again, James Haltridge. You’re my master and I’m your servant, that’s the way it is. But know this. If you lay another finger on me so long as you live, I’ll open my mouth and I’ll outroar Mary Dunbar, so I will.”
His face was stiff with shock. “Christ above, are you still with child?”
I stamped my foot to release some of the fury coursing through me, before charging into the house. Up to my bed in the attic I went, and in I climbed with all my clothes on. Then I pressed my face against the lumpy pillow that held my head at night. And I wept, oh aye, I wept. Every tear I ever kept in check on his account emptied out of me.
Because I understood how it was between us. So much for me thinking he saw something special in me. It was no more than nonsense, and a gentleman’s knack for fancy words. My master was only ever aping the lover with me. What meant poverty and dishonour to me was playacting to him.
* * *
The first chance he got, Master Haltridge pressed me again as to whether I was with child. This time, I took pity on him, and said my courses had washed away what he planted in me. He couldn’t hide his relief. And because he never liked anybody in his household to be out of sorts, he made his peace with me with a silk rose to pin on my shawl, along with some coins. I longed to throw them back at him, but could not, because Da was out of work again and Ma couldn’t make ends meet. For my mistress, he arranged that trip to Dublin. He warned her he had business to attend to there, on account of being called away suddenly before, but said time would be spared for amusements. Meanwhile, I was to be left in charge of Master Jamesey and the wee missie.
This plan put my back up. Who wouldn’t be unhappy about staying in Knowehead on their own, with only childer for company? So it was proposed that Noah Spears should sleep over, resting his old bones on a pallet on the kitchen floor. “His white beard will halt any wagging tongues about the proprieties,” said the mistress. Remembering how I once thought about offering myself to him in exchange for marriage, I resisted their scheme. After all, December and May matings were not unknown. I had no anxieties about Noah creeping into the attic – but grave anxieties about folk saying it of us. Having risked my good name with my master, and got away with it by the skin of my teeth, it was more important than ever to guard my reputation.
The Haltridges bargained with me, saying I should sleep in the nursery, where the childer could preserve my good name and, for my trouble, I would have the job of cook as soon as a new girl could be found to train up as maid-of-all work. At that I agreed – despite my nerves.
“How about takin’ on Ruth Graham, if she can be tracked down?” I was chancing my arm, but the mistress gave me a look fit to sour milk and I backed off.
I was surprised they went, in the end. The night before they were due to leave, the household was wakened to the sound of a shovel in the earth. Nothing was found to account for the noise, but the mistress screeched about it being a grave dug, till the master shouted at her to hold her whisht or she’d scare the living daylights out of the childer. I thought they’d cancel their plans, for sure. But with him doing the convincing, and her wanting to be convinced, they made ready to set off to be gay and take their ease.
It was Master Jamesey rather than his sister who clung to his parents when the time came to bid them farewell, begging not to be left behind. The mistress was sorely torn, but my master told Jamesey he was too old to turn cry-baby. I stroked his hair, as we waved them off, thinking how peaky he was again already. The bloom from his stay in Belfast at his grandparents’ house was faded. At least Missie still had roses in her cheeks.
“We’ll have a nice time, just the three of us,” I said, when their parents were out of sight.
“Don’t forget Noah,” piped up Sarah.
“Aye, there’s Noah. But he has his work to do during the day.”
“I wish Noah could sleep with us,” said Jamesey.
“It would’n be fittin’, Master Jamesey. Noah’s to bed down in the kitchen.”
“But you’re sleeping with us, Ellen. What’s the difference?”
This was no time to explain about good names. “I daresay you could lie in Mary Dunbar’s chamber, if you prefer. Maybes you’re gettin’ too old to sleep with lassies. Only the other day, the mistress said she planned on movin’ you into a room of your own shortly.”
“No!” he howled. “Don’t make me sleep on my own. I’ll stay with you and Sarah. Please, Ellen!”
Well, of course I said he could, wide-eyed at his panic. Wondering, too, whether it was quite wise for my master and his lady to leave the bairns – even though they put it over as a compliment to me, because they had faith in my abilities. When bedtime came, the childer asked for a candle to be left burning, and pressed me to promise I wouldn’t be long going up after them. As far as I knowed, we all slept sound.
But the next morning, Master Jamesey wasn’t in his bed. Such a fright it gave me. I ran through the house calling his name, while Noah searched the outhouses and found him in the barn, sound asleep. His nightshirt was soaked through, and his feet were filthy and covered in cuts. Taking off the nightshirt to wash him, I spotted patches of dry skin flaming on his body, like a heat rash. They were inside his elbows, at the backs of his knees, and inside his armpits. It puzzled me not to have noticed them before. Master Jamesey always had smooth, unbroken skin, like his father.
After rubbing in some salve, I tucked him into bed with warm milk. He was drowsy, but I lingered to put some questions to him.
“Jamesey, what mad
e you go wanderin’ about at night?”
“The black-haired man.”
“What black-haired man?”
“Hamilton Lock.”
I didn’t like what I heard, but I can’t pretend I was surprised. Mary Dunbar’s leave-taking had made no difference – Lock came and went as he pleased. “Does he talk to you?”
“He’s always on at me. I try to stop my ears but he keeps at me. I can’t help hearing him.”
“Does he appear to you?”
“No, I only hear him.”
“What does he say?”
“Tells me to do things.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t want to say.”
“Tell me.”
“Last night, he said he was going for a swim in Donaldsons’ pond, and I should go with him. I said I didn’t want to and he called me a lily-livered lassie. Then I said I could only swim a few strokes, but he promised to look after me.”
My mouth went dry and I tried to swallow, but my throat was full of pebbles. Lock had evil planned for Master Jamesey – and with his parents away, there was only me standing between the lad and that fiend.
“Why did you go with him, chicken?”
Jamesey pulled the sheet tight under his chin, bunching his knees against his chest. “He makes you want to do things. Things you know you shouldn’t. He used to talk to me before, when Granny was sick. But then Cousin Mary came to stay, and he stopped. He’s back talking to me now.”
“Why did’n you tell anybody? You should a said somethin’ to your mama and daddy before they went away.”
“He told me if I said a word, he’d lock Sarah in the chest in Granny’s room. And by the time we found her she’d be nothing but a skeleton.” He began sobbing, loud, hiccupping wails, and between them he gulped out, “Ellen, I tried not to say anything. Honest I did. But I’m too scared to keep it in.”
I sat on the bed, rocking his trembling wee body against mine until the storm eased. But the storm in my own mind continued to rage. Hamilton Lock wasn’t satisfied with the mischief he made over the witch trial. Now he was latching on to the young master, biding his time till the Haltridges were far from home. He’d not let go of his own accord – his kind of trouble wasn’t the sort to pass over of itself, like clouds.
Something needed to be done about Hamilton Lock. But could I be the one to do it? He was a formidable enemy.
All day long I didn’t dare let either child out of my sight. That night, Noah Spears pulled his pallet against the kitchen door to block anybody going out that way. “Call me any time if you’re worried, lassie. A full night’s sleep is ne’ther here nor there at my age. Have you locked the front door an’ bolted the casements in case the laddie goes sleepwalkin’ again? Good. I’ll double-check after you go up.”
“I locked an’ bolted everything last night but the young master still got out.”
“We’ll have to see to it he stays in his bed the-night. I’ll keep my axe near-hand, just in case.”
“It’s not axes we need. What we’re fightin’ does’n bleed.”
“Aye, I hear what you’re sayin’, lassie. I have the Good Book, an’ all. I cannae read it too well, but it gives me comfort.”
“Noah, you’ve never slept inside Knowehead, have you?” He shook his head. “Did you notice anythin’ last night? Did you sleep right through?”
“I slept fair. Except –”
“Except what?” I gave myself a stabbing pain in the neck, so sharply did I twist my head to look at him.
“Except the pillow kep’ fallin’ on the floor. Half a dozen times, I woke when my head bumped agin the pallet. You’d nearly think somebody was wheekin’ it out from under me for the fun of it. But sure, who’d do that?”
Who indeed, I thought, making my way upstairs to the nursery. The door had no lock, so I pushed a chair against it when I went in, Jamesey watching me while his sister slept.
I kissed him. “If Hamilton Lock talks to you, call out to me at once.”
“Even if he says I mustn’t?”
“Yes,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. In truth, my heart was fluttering round my chest, like a bird banging against the bars of a cage. But it relieved Jamesey, because he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
I had no intention of sleeping, and sat on another chair in the nursery, watching the childer. I brought no Bible with me, since I had no faith in a book – even a holy book – as a weapon against Hamilton Lock. Not after what I saw when Robert Sinclair was called to pray over Mary Dunbar. All I could trust to was the love I felt for those bairns.
Convinced though I was that I wouldn’t sleep a wink, I must have dropped off at some point, because an almighty bang woke me. My eyes flew to the bed, and I saw to my horror that the counterpane was thrown back, the chair blocking the door moved, and the door lying open.
I clattered downstairs, shrieking, and found Jamesey in his father’s study, sitting among a pile of papers tipping out from a drawer. The drawer falling on the floor must have been the crash I heard. Jamesey had a key in his hand, and was crying his eyes out. Noah wasn’t far behind, axe gripped between both hands and a fierce look on his whiskery old chops. Whiles I petted the young master, I sent Noah up to sit with the wee missie. Imagine if something happened to her when we were both busy with Jamesey.
When Jamesey was more settled, I led him out to my cosy perch in the kitchen, and folded my shawl round him. Down I crouched beside him, my face level with his.
“Chicken, what were you at in your daddy’s study that couldn’t keep till morning?”
His eyes were ancient in that eight-year-old’s face. “Hamilton Lock whispered to me.”
“What did he want you to do?”
“Find Father’s pistol.”
A shiver tiptoed along my spine. “But you know you’re forbidden to touch your daddy’s pistol, Jamesey. He’s told you it’s not a toy. That’s why he keeps it locked away.”
“Hamilton Lock told me where to find the key. He said he’d show me how to fire the pistol. He told me I was a big boy now, and it was time I knew how to do it.”
At that, my blood ran cold. “Wait here. Don’t budge.” I raced back to the study, hoaked among the papers spilling from the drawer on the floor, and found the pistol. “Noah!” When I went into the hallway, he was standing at the top of the stairs. “Can you take this and put it someplace till my master comes home? I don’t want it in the house.”
He creaked down towards me and took the gun.
“How’s Sarah?” I asked.
“A right bit un’asied, tell you no lie. The wee visog on her would make you powerful sorry.” Out in the yard, the rooster let out a throaty crow. “Listen to your man – it’s daytime now. Everythin’ looks better in the light o’ day.”
I went back to the kitchen, climbing over Noah’s bed to unbolt the top of the half-door. The sky had torn patches in it, pink splashes showing through. It was a new day, and important work lay ahead of me.
But first, I needed to gather together my courage, and keep a tight hold of it, because right now it was running through my fingers, the way a handful of sand does. I lifted Jamesey onto my lap, his legs dangling, wrapped my shawl about both of us, and stared at the wall while the lad dozed. Reminding myself why I had to succeed where the kirk, the law and the plain folk of Islandmagee had failed.
There were reasons to do nothing, chief among them the desire to save my own skin. But I had just cause to try and put a halt to Hamilton Lock’s gallop. What waited to be done was not just for Jamesey and Sarah’s sake, but for others caught fast in Hamilton Lock’s web of wickedness. Lizzie Cellar and the women in Carrickfergus Gaol came to mind. But other voices called out to me, even louder than those eight.
An entire clan, near enough, murdered at one man’s conniving. Without him, talk of revenge against the Irish might have been no more than that – talk. But he hatched a plot, working the militia into a frenzy till no quarter was given. And
now that he was a spirit, Hamilton Lock was just as bloodthirsty and twice as dangerous. Terrified though I was of taking him on, I understood that Lock’s ghost had to be laid before it did any further harm. Nursing Jamesey in my arms, listening to his ragged breathing, I made up my mind to it. I would gamble my life to put paid to Lock’s evil.
It was fitting, after all. If not me, then who?
You see, the name I go by is not the one that’s my birthright. They call me Ellen Hill on the island. But Hill is just a name my grandfather took to avoid notice. It was unwise to use our real name. Safety in numbers: there were plenty of Hills.
My grandfather was the only one of his family left alive after Hamilton Lock led that raid on the island. He was six years old when his father lifted him into a hidey-hole in the roof. He lay on his belly and watched through the rafters as his father and three brothers were slain, his mother and sister herded outside. After the soldiers left, my granda crawled out and looked at their handiwork. His da’s head was a foot away from its body. His two wee brothers were twined so close in death, you couldn’t tell whose limbs were whose. But the one he wept sorest over was his older brother Philip, the ten-year-old boy who had been hidden in a chest – until Hamilton Lock arrived.
My granda managed to get away to join his mother’s people in the Glens of Antrim. It was arranged by his sixteen-year-old cousin, Brian Boy Magee, who lay outside in the long grass while the soldiers swung their axes. He put my granda on a boat at the Gobbins Head, saying he’d join him in a day or two. First, he wanted to go to Carrickfergus Castle and appeal to the commander for justice. But Brian Boy Magee, with his beardless cheeks and faith in foreign laws, was held by the long golden hair by one man, his throat cut by another – without ever getting to see the colonel he thought could be trusted.
The House Where It Happened Page 34