by Alex Bell
“Murphy!” a voice called. “Murphy, darn it, where are you?”
I turned to see a young man appear round the corner of the chicken coop. He was wearing a long, rather shabby, brown coat and sturdy walking boots, a blue scarf tied at his throat. His chestnut-coloured hair was just a little too long to be fashionable and curled loosely over his ears and the back of his collar. He stopped dead when he saw me, then a huge grin spread across his face and he hurried over with long strides.
“Mim, my darling!” he exclaimed, coming to a stop before me. “Good lord, you look so … well, so grown up!”
Henry had changed, too. He still had one of the most honest, open faces I’d ever seen, but he was much taller and broader now. There were smile lines at the corners of his green eyes and his nose had clearly been broken at some point in the last six years because it was bent at the bridge. There was a faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, too. To my surprise, my heart ached at the sight of him. So much had changed since we’d played together as children.
He moved forwards as if to hug me but I quickly stepped back before I could stop myself. The scars on my arms started to itch beneath my bombazine sleeves and I cringed at the thought of anyone touching me.
“Hello, Henry,” I said, forcing a smile. “It’s good to see you.”
His arm, which had been reaching for me, dropped to his side. He seemed to falter for a moment but then recovered himself and said, “It is gloriously wonderful to see you again, old girl.” He glanced down at the dog. “I hope Murphy wasn’t bothering you? Oh fiddlesticks, I think he might have slobbered on your dress! Gosh, I really am terribly—”
“It’s quite all right,” I replied. “Black dresses are good for hiding stains.”
“I’m so very sorry about your mother,” Henry said, in a quieter voice. “I could hardly believe it when I received your letter. How on earth did the fire start, Mim?”
I can’t remember, I wanted to tell him. I can hardly remember anything about that night at all.
All I knew was that I’d found myself in the grounds with the servants, choking on smoke, watching the house burn and trying to work out exactly how I had got outside in the first place.
The physician who examined me afterwards said that the female mind was a delicate thing that could seek to protect itself in strange and mysterious ways, including causing a person to forget the reason for their grief. Some things were just too painful to remember, he said. The memories might come back on their own but, then again, they might not. I would just have to wait and see.
I went along with his explanation but I could not shake the feeling of dread, the feeling of danger, the urge to flee. Besides, I already knew full well why I could not remember what had happened at the house that night and I wasn’t about to share that explanation with anyone. Whiteladies had been a forsaken place for my mother and I from the beginning. God, how I wished that I’d never set eyes on that house.
I cleared my throat and said, “They think perhaps a paraffin lamp got knocked over in the study. The servants all got out but Mother and Mr Redwing both… They both died.”
“I’m so sorry, Mim,” Henry said again.
I shrugged. What was there to say? The dog, Murphy, poked his snout into my hands, still hopping in excitement.
“Where on earth did you find this ugly creature?” I asked, scratching the dog behind his ear. “He looks like he’s been through some kind of battle.”
“Well he has, in a way. They have dog-fighting and rat-baiting at the Mermaid Tavern in town, you know.”
I was sure the distaste I felt must have shown on my face and I made little attempt to disguise it. Although I’d never had the misfortune to see one myself, I’d heard of the dog fights that took place in London. They were savage affairs, soaked in blood, with dogs ripping each other to pieces in the ring.
“You haven’t taken up the sport?” I asked.
Henry had always been such a kindly, gentle soul; it was what had made me so fond of him in the first place, and the thought that he could have changed so entirely, in such a short space of time, made me feel strangely distressed.
“Good heavens, no!” Henry exclaimed. “No, I can’t abide it. And Murphy was never much of a fighter at any rate. They could see he didn’t have any natural skill in that department so they were going to use him as bait.”
“Bait?”
“Sometimes they put a weaker dog in the ring to be killed by one of the fighting dogs,” Henry explained. “To get their blood up, you know. It didn’t seem like much of a fair fight so I took him home with me instead.”
“And his owner did not object?”
Henry laughed. “Oh, on the contrary, he made his objections known in the only way he knew how.” He tapped his nose. “And it’s been bent like this ever since. Mother was most put out about it. When I returned home, she scolded me thoroughly and informed me that my new nose made me look ‘rakish and suspicious’. So I said to her, ‘Mother, old thing,’ I said, ‘a chap can tolerate being called rakish but I won’t be accused of being a suspicious character, not under any circumstances.’”
I couldn’t help a small smile at the mention of Henry’s mother. I’d been very fond of her as a child. She had often looked after me at her house in the years before Mother deemed me old enough to join her in her séances.
“She’d love to see you again,” Henry went on. “You must come for tea on your day off. Perhaps we might make a day of it and visit the Fairy Pools?” He gave me the most endearing, hopeful look. “It’s so beautiful there, Mim. We could take a picnic with us…”
He trailed off, floundering at my lack of response.
“Perhaps,” I managed. “Although I expect we’ll both be very busy.”
“Well, bear it in mind,” Henry said. He reached out and patted the dog on the head. Murphy sat down at his side, wagging his tail and staring up at him adoringly. “The only problem with this scruffy little hop-a-long is that he’s surprisingly fast,” Henry went on. “He can nip about like anything. And there’s something quite ridiculous about a three-legged dog giving you the slip, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Quite,” I replied with a smile.
I had forgotten how deeply I had cared for Henry. Now those feelings seemed to come back in a rush that rather winded me.
“Still, there are worse things in the world than being a little ridiculous, I’m sure,” Henry went on cheerfully. “Did you arrive last night?”
“I did.”
“I went to the port to meet you but they told me the boats were delayed due to the weather and probably wouldn’t get through till the morning.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” I said.
“I wanted to,” Henry replied. He gave me a searching look and I knew he could tell that something had changed. The old me would have been truly delighted to see him and yet here I stood, rigid as a rod, not even able to so much as shake his hand.
Henry seemed to hesitate and for a moment I feared he was going to ask me what was wrong. But then he must have thought better of it because he simply said, “Are you settling in all right? The old dragon isn’t giving you too much trouble?”
“Miss Grayson?” I raised an eyebrow. “She seems determined to hate me.”
Henry gave me a sympathetic grimace. “Very probably,” he said. “You’re not the first assistant mistress we’ve had here, you know. Many of the local girls have tried their hands at it, only Miss Grayson made their lives so intolerable that they all left within the month. I think you were the only person who applied for the job this time.”
“Well, I won’t be leaving,” I said at once. “I need this job and no one chases me away.”
“Oh, yes,” he said, with a little nod. “I knew you’d be different. You’re made of sterner stuff.”
For an awful moment I felt tears prickle the back of my eyes. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t made of sterner stuff, at all – that I was weak and useless and had allowed som
ething dreadful to happen that I could never make up for.
“It would be nice for the girls to have someone around who’s a little less … austere,” Henry went on. “Someone who could be on their side a bit. Everyone needs at least one person who’s on their side, I always say.”
“It’s difficult if everyone’s against you,” I replied, immediately thinking of Whiteladies again. “I would’ve thought Miss Grayson might have pursued a different line of work if she hates children so much, though.”
“She doesn’t hate children, exactly,” Henry replied. “She’s a tough old stick but, in her own way, she really is trying to do her best for them, I think. She probably dislikes you, though, I’m afraid. She doesn’t want another teacher here, you see. It was the idea of the school’s board and, whatever she may tell you, they’re the only ones who can dismiss you.” He glanced towards the school and said, “I’d better get back. I’ll catch the sharp edge of Miss Grayson’s tongue myself if I’m late for the drawing lesson. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you settle in, won’t you? Anything at all.”
“I’m sure I’ll be perfectly all right, thank you,” I said. I hated myself for the cool tone but it seemed best to keep Henry at arm’s length. We could not simply pick up where we had been before. And I knew I’d never be able to pretend with him like I could pretend with everyone else. The safest thing was to not allow him to get too close in the first place.
A confused look crossed his face, mixed with hurt.
“Well,” he said, with what seemed like forced cheerfulness, flashing me one of his crooked smiles. “I’ll see you soon.”
I watched as he strolled back to the house, hands in pockets, with Murphy hopping briskly along at his side. As Henry had remarked, the dog’s missing leg certainly didn’t seem to slow him down much. It was, after all, amazing what you could adjust to, what you could learn to live without.
Mother was gone and there was no changing that now. Like it or not, Whiteladies was in my past. The Dunvegan School for Girls was my future. I walked back with a renewed resolve to be successful here, to make friends with the girls, and to prove to Miss Grayson that I could do this job and do it well.
Over the next week I slowly settled into the rhythm of life at the school. I learned the girls’ names and began to get to grips with who was good at writing, who struggled with needlework, who showed a natural aptitude for cookery. Miss Grayson decided that I should be in charge of the nature walks the girls had at the end of each day. Having grown up amid the soot and dirty stones of London, I had to educate myself first, and was forced to carry a picture book to begin with in order to identify the plants and wildlife we saw on our coastal walks towards Neist Point.
I enjoyed being out in the fresh air, learning about nature with the girls, searching for a glimpse of a basking shark’s fin in the water or the wheeling shadow of birds passing by overhead. There was a wonderful variety of them, from brindled guillemots to red-throated divers.
My favourite part of the nature walks was definitely the sea itself, though. I just adored the clean scent of it – a combination of salt and shells and seaweed that carried along on the wind.
Henry would sometimes join us on these walks with Murphy, and, although I’d resolved to keep my distance from him, I found myself looking forward to his company with a keenness that dismayed me. I was settling into life at the school well, however, and was pleased to have my first few days behind me.
A week after my arrival, I was heading for the breakfast room when the postman came. There wasn’t much post normally, just one or two letters for the girls from family members, or perhaps an item for Miss Grayson. Today, though, there was a package – a fairly large box wrapped in brown paper.
I glanced at the address to see who it was for and my breath caught in my throat, my clothes were too tight, the walls of the school shrank around me. I recognized the handwriting on the label. I knew that slashed, spiky scrawl and it belonged to a person I’d been quite certain I would never see again – a person who should be dead.
Chapter Four
Isle of Skye – January 1910
The arrival of the post had the unfortunate consequence of making me exactly thirty seconds late for breakfast. Miss Grayson walked out of the hall and found me standing there with the parcel in my hands. Her mouth immediately thinned into a line of disapproval.
“Ah, there you are. Late again, I see. If I dock your wages any further, Miss Black, there will be nothing left to pay you at the end of the month,” she told me grimly. “And so an alternative punishment must be found. Would you prefer five raps across the knuckles with a ruler, or the confiscation of this parcel that I see has just arrived for you?”
I tried not to glare at her. It was terribly degrading being struck with a ruler in such a manner but I was desperate to see what was inside the parcel so, through gritted teeth, I said, “The ruler.”
“In that case, I shall take possession of your parcel for the time being,” Miss Grayson replied, holding out her hands for it.
“But you said I could choose—” I began to protest.
“On the contrary, I asked which you would prefer,” she replied. “It would hardly be a punishment if you were given what you wanted, would it?”
None of this is what I want! I was tempted to scream at her. You intolerably stupid woman, I have lost everything!
“But you can’t confiscate my post!” I said, my hands tightening round the box. “It’s not right!”
“I’ve warned you about time-keeping before, Miss Black,” the schoolmistress replied. “I won’t have tardiness here and you will learn to be punctual, even if it requires special and unusual punishment to drive the lesson home. Sadly some people are incapable of learning any other way, it seems. Hand me the parcel at once.”
I had no choice but to pass it over, silently fuming as it was taken off downstairs to be stored in the locked luggage room. The knowledge of its existence burned in my mind for the rest of that day and I knew I couldn’t leave it there. When Miss Grayson went to have her lunch, I seized the opportunity to creep into her study and look for the key. It was a mad, risky thing to do, but my efforts were rewarded when I yanked open a desk drawer and discovered the school’s collection of keys, all attached to neatly labelled tags to identify the doors they opened. Throughout the afternoon’s lessons, I feared Miss Grayson would discover the absence of the luggage-room key at any second. But my crime passed by undiscovered and, finally, evening arrived.
As soon as the school had gone quiet for the night, I tiptoed from my room. The floorboards were like slabs of ice beneath my bare feet and my entire face ached with the effort of keeping my teeth from chattering as I made my way down the corridor. The candle in my hand shook but I couldn’t quite tell whether this was due to the dread I’d felt since the morning or the ghastly chill of the place. My nightdress and dressing gown felt like they were made from paper, for all the warmth they offered. The school was still and silent in the gloom, and a coat of frost clung to the black windows, threatening to crack them.
I longed to return to my bed, climb beneath the covers and huddle there until the blood returned to my fingers and toes. But I had to know what was in that box. I simply had to. Perhaps I’d imagined that handwriting. I’d only seen the parcel for a moment before it had been taken away, after all. But I needed to be sure.
I could feel the weight of the brass key to the luggage room in my dressing-gown pocket as I made my way down the steep wooden staircase, shielding the flame of the candle against the icy draughts that kept trying their very best to extinguish it. I didn’t dare light the gas lamps in the hall, for fear of drawing attention, and I remembered that there was no gas supply to the luggage room anyway.
I was just reaching for the door handle when I heard a muffled giggle. I stopped dead. The laugh had come from inside the luggage room. I stifled a groan. One of the girls must have got in there and decided to hide. Now I would have to de
al with her and send her back to the dormitory before I could investigate the package. That’s if Miss Grayson didn’t wake up first and come storming downstairs, brandishing her tawse at us for being out of bed.
I put the key in the lock and turned it. The door creaked as it swung open and I peered into the darkness, the candle in my hand doing little to illuminate the room. The giggle came again, louder and sharper this time.
“All right, come out,” I said in a clear, firm voice. “I know you’re in here.”
Nobody answered and I was about to speak again when I looked back at the door, the key still stuck in the lock, and frowned. The room had been locked when I arrived, so how could a pupil have got inside in the first place?
“Hello?” I called again.
In return there was nothing but thick, dusty silence.
Perhaps I had imagined that giggle after all. Or it might have been a mouse squeaking. One of the girls had said she could hear mice scrabbling in the walls just the other day.
I lifted the candle a little higher, straining to see through the shadows. The room was mostly filled with travel trunks. The outline of a horse’s head loomed out of the corner, giving me quite a start until I realized it was a hobby horse. There were some teddy bears next to it, along with a couple of dolls and a toy clown. No doubt Miss Grayson had confiscated them from their owners as punishment for some trivial offence or other. There definitely wasn’t a girl there.
I lost no time in locating the package, which was still wrapped in brown paper, the school’s address spelled out on the label in that hateful scrawl. It was definitely familiar. I swallowed hard, set the candle down on the floor and reached out towards the box with trembling hands. I’d intended to open it carefully, so that I could attempt to wrap it up again, but now all I could think of was ripping it to shreds as quickly as possible to find out what was inside. My whole body shuddered with the possibilities.
I tore open the brown paper and it fell away to reveal a beautifully made toy chest, painted silver and black. Jemima was written across the front in carved wooden letters. I could feel a sob rising up in my chest at the sight of it. The nightmare was meant to be over. This school was supposed to be my fresh start.