Charlotte Says

by Alex Bell

Henry was already removing his jacket, kicking off his shoes and running down the sand. The other girls huddled round me, gathering about my legs and clutching fearfully at my skirts. We made a strangely silent group as we watched Henry swim out to Bess and then bring her back.

  When he walked out of the shallow water on to the beach, it was obvious that there was nothing that could be done. You could see it in the heavy lolling of Bess’s head and the limp dangling of her hands. Henry was dripping wet, his lips blue with cold, and he was shaking as he covered Bess with his cloak. I wanted to shake, too. More than anything, I wanted to feel shock or horror or grief or even fear. But there was nothing. Simply nothing.

  “Take the girls back to the school,” he said to me. “They don’t need to see this.”

  “What about you?” I asked.

  “I’ll take one of the horses and … and take Bess into town,” he said. “One horse will be enough to pull the carriage and get you back to the school.” His eyes were haunted as he looked at me, expressing the horror that I would surely feel later. “I’ll see you back there as soon as I can.”

  As the girls huddled together in silence, trying not to look at the awful, still shape upon the beach, Henry and I unhitched one of the horses. Henry scooped Bess up and swung himself on to the horse’s back, cradling her body against his chest as he clicked his tongue and urged the horse along the path into town.

  Without needing to be told, the girls piled into the carriage, shivering and clutching their cloaks about themselves. Their art books and supplies were simply left scattered on the beach. No one wanted to go back on to that black sand. I was just about to climb up into the driver’s seat, pick up the reins and take us back to the school when suddenly I froze.

  I could hear the dolls whispering behind me, their voices carrying clearly on the still air.

  “Where are you going, Mother?”

  “Don’t leave us here.”

  “We want to come home and play.”

  I put my boot on the step. I wouldn’t look round, even though part of me longed to.

  But then one of the voices piped up. “We have a special game we want to play with you, Mother!”

  “Oh, you’ll be so pleased when you hear about it!”

  “It’s another murder game!”

  “The best type of game!”

  “Remember the stab-the-mesmerist-game?”

  “Remember it, Mother?”

  “This one’s even better!”

  “Yes! Yes! It’s the bludgeon-the-teacher-game!”

  “Oh, hooray! Hooray!”

  I stood there, my hands gripped tight on the edge of the carriage seat. I could climb up now and never look back. But what then? Miss Grayson would still be there at the school. The girls wouldn’t be safe. I wouldn’t be free. I could leave the dolls in the sea or bury them in the sand, but what if they got out and found me again, like they promised?

  My mind went round in a whirl, searching for answers. I could smash the dolls to bits on the rocks and yet the memory of what had happened when I’d thrown the Frozen Charlotte in the fire was enough to make me baulk at the thought of doing that.

  “It’s the only way, Mother,” the dolls said.

  “Sometimes you can’t win if you play nice.”

  “Take us with you.”

  “And we’ll play a game…”

  “…that will make all your problems go away.”

  “You’re talking about the murder game, aren’t you?” I whispered.

  For a moment I felt blood, slick between my fingers, as I recalled how easy it had been to kill Redwing. How the act of murder had ended the nightmare that was Whiteladies. Without the dolls I might still be there now, my skin burning and bruising beneath his cruel fingers. My scars itched at the thought.

  “Just one more death,” the dolls whispered. “And then it’s over.”

  Just one more death, I thought, and then I win. It was an ugly thought that seemed to swell up until it filled my entire mind. It must be the dolls making me think in such a way. Surely they were the only reason I found myself thinking of murder with such longing. But I was not a child and the dolls wouldn’t be able to control me like I was one. I knew that I must resist their influence with all my might.

  They were evil little things, they had blinded Martha and now they’d murdered Bess, and it was my fault they were out in the world to begin with. I couldn’t leave them free to infect other children. And yet I was too afraid to destroy them and risk releasing whatever demonic spirit was locked away inside their porcelain bodies.

  That left only one option. I would have to hide the dolls away somewhere that no one would ever find them. And that meant fooling them into thinking I was on their side, that they could trust me.

  “Perhaps we should play the murder game with Miss Grayson,” I said under my breath, just loud enough for the dolls to hear.

  “She’ll get what’s coming to her, won’t she, Mother?” a Frozen Charlotte replied gleefully.

  “The bald, beastly bitch!”

  “Ha ha! Bald bitch!”

  “One more game and then you win!”

  “You win forever!”

  “Wait here a moment,” I said to the girls, making up my mind. “There’s something I need to do.”

  A few of them called for me to stay but I ignored them as I took my foot off the step, turned round, and walked purposefully across the black sand, pausing only to pick up one of the baskets of art supplies. I continued on, right to the edge of the lake, the water practically lapping at my toes. From beneath the dark surface, I distinctly heard a giggle.

  “All right,” I said softly. “This is no time for hide and seek. I know you’re in there.” I emptied the basket, coloured pencils falling on to the black sand at my feet. “Come out now,” I said, “or I leave you behind.”

  “Don’t be cross with us, Mother,” a doll piped up.

  “We’ll do as you say.”

  I stared at the water as, one by one, the Frozen Charlotte dolls rose to the surface. Soon there were dozens of them, floating on their backs, bobbing about in the water with their little hands held up towards the sky. I remembered how I used to play with my own Frozen Charlotte in the bath as a child. She had seemed so sweet and harmless then. Now, I could only see them as monsters. But sometimes you couldn’t play nice and expect to win. Sometimes you had to make a deal with the devil.

  The dolls floated across the water towards me in a wave of white. I crouched down at the edge and scooped them up, dripping wet. As I had suspected at the time, the toy chest must have burst open when it hit the water and I saw now that a lot more of the dolls were broken, with many of them missing an arm, a leg or even a head.

  Finally they were all contained within the basket, and I straightened up and lifted it. It felt unnaturally heavy in my arms and the giggle of a Frozen Charlotte grated on my nerves as I turned back to the carriage.

  Chapter Thirty

  Isle of Skye – February 1910

  As we got closer to the school, the dolls in the basket beside me became more and more excited.

  “Let’s play the murder game again!” they whispered. “Let’s play the murder game!”

  “Miss Black,” Violet piped up tremulously from the back. “The dolls are whispering things. Bad things. Oh, can’t you hear them?”

  “Don’t be silly, Violet,” I said, as firmly as I could. “Dolls can’t talk.”

  At last the school loomed into view, the dark patch of charred ground still tainting the air with the smell of something burnt. I ushered the girls from the carriage, set the basket of dolls down on the floor and then tied the horse to a nearby post.

  Out! Out! Redwing’s voice suddenly shrieked inside my head. I’ll have no horses at Whiteladies!

  The memory was so strong that for a moment it was like I was right back there again.

  Vanessa is here, in the house, madam…

  Poor little Vanessa Redwing. If only she hadn’t falle
n from her horse that day, none of this would ever have happened. We would never have gone to Whiteladies. Mother would not have had her head beaten to a pulp, Bess and Estella would still be alive, I would not be here, with the dolls, at this school.

  Let that be a lesson to you, Jemima…

  Charlotte says the thunder hurts her ears…

  You’ll speak to your daughter again, Mr Redwing…

  They move around in the toy room…

  A loss as unspeakable as yours…

  Now. Where were we?

  “Miss Black!”

  I opened my eyes and saw that the girls were huddled together in a little group on the drive. Olivia was tugging at my sleeve and it seemed she’d been trying to get my attention for some time.

  “What is it, Olivia?”

  “Are you all right?” she asked, giving me a worried look. “You were just standing there muttering.”

  “Nonsense,” I said briskly. “I was merely reminding myself of something I need to do.”

  “But—”

  I picked up the basket of china dolls at my feet. “Come along,” I said. “It’s time to go inside.”

  I led the way into the school, the girls following, silent and subdued. We’d set out that morning in the hope of respite from darkness and yet the shadow of death now hung over us all again, like a wet cloak that seemed to grow heavier and heavier.

  “Please go to your dormitory,” I said, peeling off my gloves in the hallway.

  “But it’s still early, miss,” Olivia said.

  “I’m perfectly aware of what time it is, thank you, Olivia,” I said. “Now do as I say. Return to your dormitory and say a prayer for Bess. And for Estella. I need to speak with Miss Grayson.”

  Without any further argument, the girls filed up the stairs. Taking the dolls with me, I followed them to make sure they were all accounted for. Then I fetched the keyring from my room and locked them in. For their own protection, they must stay in there until the dolls were disposed of.

  “Is it time yet, Mother?”

  “Time to play the murder game?”

  “Oh, it must be time to play by now!”

  “It must be!”

  “Hush!” I told them. “Yes, it’s time. But, listen: why don’t we play a different game? A new one that I made up all by myself. One that you’ve never played before.”

  Yesterday I’d seen Henry put the bucket of plaster away in the supply cupboard downstairs. Perhaps I could use this to trap the dolls in the walls of the basement, where they’d never be found. The trick would be making them think it was all a game so they’d go along with it.

  Before I could say anything more, I was startled by the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. I walked down the corridor, the basket of dolls still in my hands, to see Miss Grayson, her ubiquitous leather tawse dangling from her wrist.

  “Oh, Miss Black,” the schoolmistress said, pausing on the top step. “There you are. I’d started to wonder what had become of you. Why didn’t you report to me when you arrived? And where are the girls?”

  “Bess died,” I said, placing the basket on the floor at my feet.

  Miss Grayson stared at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “She drowned in the loch.”

  The schoolmistress’s mouth fell open in an expression of disbelief. Then she glared at me with a look of utter fury. “You stupid, careless girl!” she cried. “How could you allow such a thing to happen? Oh, how could you? Don’t you realize that questions are being asked as it is? The trustees want to launch an investigation. And, now, with another death, the police will certainly—”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before you murdered Estella!” The words burst out of me before I could stop them.

  The schoolmistress froze. “How dare you say such a thing?” she finally said. “How dare you?” She was trembling with anger. “You will leave this school, miss,” she said. “And you will never come back.”

  I shook my head. “I won’t leave these girls here with you. You’re a danger to them.”

  “I’m the only person in the world who cares about them!” Miss Grayson cried. “Do you think their miserable, drunken, dirty families care? Do you think the magistrates care? The only chance of a decent life these girls have is me!”

  I stepped towards her. “You gave Estella that sandwich knowing it would kill her,” I said. “I saw you do it. And when she began to choke for air you didn’t fetch help or even try to comfort her. You just pushed her away and watched her die. You’re a monster.”

  Miss Grayson closed her eyes briefly, then looked at me and said, “You saw through the window, I suppose.”

  I could hardly tell her that I’d seen her through the mirror, so I simply shrugged. “I saw you,” I repeated. “I know what you did.”

  “If you saw what happened then you’ll be aware that all I did was give the girl a sandwich,” Miss Grayson replied. “How was I to know there were nuts in it? Once she’d taken a bite, there was nothing to be done. If anyone is to blame, Miss Black, it is you.” She pointed a finger at me. “It was in your cookery class that the real crime occurred.”

  I felt the sudden urge to grab hold of her finger and snap the bone clean in half. Because the worst thing was that she was right. I was partially responsible.

  “I never meant to hurt Estella,” I said, desperately looking for a way to ease my own guilt. “You did. That’s the difference between us.”

  “You will never prove that,” Miss Grayson said. She blinked at me rapidly. “However, it remains an indisputable fact that Estella had something wrong inside her head. Dreadfully wrong. I always knew it. I saw it the moment her parents brought her here. They couldn’t control her and neither could I. She was always lying, always misbehaving. I tried to deal with her the best I could, to beat the wickedness out of her, but when she blinded Martha I saw that I had failed. Estella’s death was an accident, but it was good for this school and good for the other girls, and I certainly won’t waste any tears on such a child as her.”

  I glared at the wretched old hag, hating her with all my soul. “If it’s the last thing I ever do, I am going to see to it that you pay for what you’ve done. I’ll find some way to make the police believe me and then you’ll hang. The worst part of it is that Estella didn’t blind Martha, she tried to save her.”

  Miss Grayson shook her head. “No other girl in this school would do such a thing,” she said.

  “It wasn’t one of the girls,” I said.

  “Then who?” Miss Grayson said. “You’ll be accusing the servants next.”

  “It was the Frozen Charlotte dolls.”

  We both looked down at the basket of broken dolls at my feet.

  “You are mad, girl!” the schoolmistress said. “Raving mad!” Her eyes gleamed. “And no one would blame me for protecting myself from a madwoman. Especially one who had just confessed to the murder of poor Estella.”

  She moved so quickly that I didn’t even have the chance to raise my hands as she struck me across the face with her tawse.

  The blow sent me reeling back, electric eels of pain shooting out from the places where the thick leather strips had hit me. Blood filled my right eye and for an awful moment I thought she’d managed to blind me. But then I realized the cut was just above my right eyebrow, stretching down towards my ear.

  I wiped the blood from my eye but Miss Grayson pressed her advantage immediately, striking me again with the whip, this time across the shoulders. The bombazine crepe of my black mourning dress split beneath the blow and my back became warm with blood as she thrashed me again and again. The agony of my skin splitting apart was unbearable and, at the back of my mind, I marvelled that Estella had been able to take such a whipping without so much as a whimper.

  I couldn’t think through the hurt; I couldn’t catch my breath. Everything was a fog of pain and panic. I could feel Miss Grayson’s murderous intent with every blow of that tawse. How many strikes would it take to b
e whipped to death? Through my panic, I somehow managed to struggle to my feet and throw myself at Miss Grayson.

  The impact caused her wig to fall from her head and I found myself staring at a woman who was almost completely bald. My mother had warned me of the dangers of using curling irons but I had never seen such extensive damage before. Only a few straggly tufts of wiry, grey hair remained on her head. The rest was just skin, puckered and scarred from old burns. Without her hair, the schoolmistress was transformed into some grotesque version of herself.

  The moment the wig fell from her head, Miss Grayson’s face contorted into an expression of pure anguish. She made a strangled sound at the back of her throat and spun away from me to lunge towards the wig. But then she froze and so did I. The wig no longer lay on the floor where it had fallen. Instead it was clutched in the tiny hands of a Frozen Charlotte doll.

  “Nobody hurts Mother!” the doll piped up in a loud, clear voice. “Nobody!” The schoolmistress gasped and snatched back her hand. “It isn’t possible!” she said.

  “I know!” the doll said. “Let’s play a game!”

  I looked down and saw that more dolls had climbed out of the basket. They went to Miss Grayson so quickly that they were barely more than a white blur.

  “Let’s play the push-the-teacher-down-the-stairs game!”

  “No!” Miss Grayson cried. She took a stumbling step backwards, away from the dolls, but closer to the stairs. “No, don’t!”

  “Every night when I get home, the monkey’s on the table!” trilled one of the dolls.

  “Take a stick and knock it off!” cried another. “Pop! Goes the weasel!”

  And then the doll opened its painted lips to expose multiple rows of impossibly sharp needle teeth. In one swift movement, the doll bit down hard on the schoolmistress’s ankle. Trickles of blood ran down her leg, staining her woollen stockings.

  Miss Grayson cried out and staggered backwards on to the top step. Her flailing hands were unable to find a purchase on the banister and I heard a groan as she landed part of the way down, and then tumbled over and over, all the way to the bottom. There she lay in a heap, her head twisted at an awful, unnatural angle.