The Room Beyond

by Stephanie Elmas

  ‘I’ve just passed the new young couple moving into 32. They look awfully pleasant.’

  ‘Yes, Mr and Mrs Bone.’

  ‘Gosh, rather an unfortunate name. News travels fast though, how did you find out about them?’

  ‘Oh the cooks’ network,’ she chuckled. ‘I suppose you won’t be needing me anymore today.’

  ‘Is it six o’clock already? No, please do go home and rest.’

  Her pulse started galloping immediately and the bottle and letter in her pocket met in a collision. But Mrs Hubbard remained fixed at the kitchen table; showing no sign of putting on her coat at all and appearing as if she had something she rather needed to get off her chest.

  ‘Now please don’t think me overly bold in saying this,’ said the cook. ‘But aren’t you taking too much upon your shoulders at the moment?’

  ‘What on earth do you mean?’

  ‘Well all the housework, that’s what I mean! Dismissing all the staff, apart from me. Is it quite fitting for a lady like you to clean upstairs, scrub floors? And you hardly let me do a thing anymore.’

  She raised a handkerchief to her eyes.

  ‘Dear dear Mrs Hubbard. Please don’t take this the wrong way, it’s awfully difficult to explain... I come from a frugal family you see, we always mucked in with the work. It’s quite natural for me to scrub baths and so on. And we have no children, just me and Mr Whitestone rattling around this big place.’

  ‘But I do worry about you so.’

  ‘No really, you needn’t. Let me help you with your coat and take some of that almond cake home with you. Here you go! No time to lose before it gets too dark and cold.’

  ‘Thank you Mrs Whitestone.’

  ‘No, thank you. And why don’t you take Minerva home with you, look she’s trailing your feet already.’

  ‘It’s the cake she’s after. Come on Puss.’

  The pounding came only fifteen minutes after Mrs Hubbard had gone.

  ‘Tristan!’

  He flopped forwards through the door, just teetering on his feet and a long crimson stain in the shape of a ‘V’ covered his chin and the front of his shirt.

  ‘What on earth’s happened to you this time? Have you been attacked?’

  His top lip arched up into a scowl, a red cavern appearing where his two front teeth should have been.

  ‘Good grief, they’ve knocked your teeth clean out! Was it a brawl? Are you alright?’

  ‘Shhhhhut up woman.’

  She sidestepped his lunge and he went flying across the hallway, belly-down. A rainbow of blood glistened up from the floor.

  ‘Come on, let’s take you to the sofa.’

  It was barely any effort at all now to drag him into the drawing room. She’d mastered the technique of hoisting him up under the arms and pulling him along like a sack of potatoes. She’d have to add another sheet to the sofa first though, what with all the blood and goodness knows what else by the end of the night.

  And then the sobbing began, the hardest thing of all to bear. It turned him into a little crumpled up ghost of a person. Not menacing at all, just hideously pathetic.

  ‘What are you crying about tonight?’

  ‘I’m so lonely.’

  The words whistled and gurgled between the gap in his teeth.

  ‘We’re all lonely.’

  ‘Where did she go?’

  ‘I’m not sure whom you’re talking about. Clementine or Lucinda? Or some other woman I don’t even know about yet?’

  ‘They all leave me!’

  ‘Because you persecute them dear.’

  ‘You wicked old hag!’

  He punched forward with his fist but her hand struck neatly against his jaw before he reached her, the sound of the blow striking through the air like a whip.

  ‘Aaaagh!’

  ‘Now enough of that. You know better than to hit me if I’m to tolerate this behaviour.’

  He hugged his knees into himself, rocking back and forth; an innocent child peering out at her with bewildered blue eyes.

  ‘What have you been drinking all day?’

  ‘Rum.’

  ‘Have you eaten anything?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘I can’t feel my legs but there are daggers in my mouth. I’m so lonely.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Will you sleep?’

  ‘No. Lonely. Lonely.’

  ‘Please, just STOP repeating yourself! I can’t bear it anymore. Don’t you think of anyone else? Does it not occur to you that I am lonely too? That I’ve been lonely every day of our life together? I thought the world of you when we met. I saw you as my saviour. I would have done anything for you! And this is how you repay me. This is my marriage: sweeping up your blood and vomit, clearing up your mess. Lonely? Let me teach you about loneliness!’

  ‘Stop bawling witch!’

  ‘Oh a new name for your list! Only I seem to be the witch who is keeping you alive at the moment, in spite of all your best efforts!’

  ‘Perhaps I want to die!’

  ‘Is that so? Then let me help you along the way. Do you recognize this bottle? You should do, you’ve done enough damage with it yourself after all. Lie back, taste what’s inside. Just three drops can kill a rat, or so I’ve been told. How big a rat are you then?’

  His eyes grew like saucers, but he didn’t fight back. On the contrary, he seemed to be opening his mouth a little, beckoning the poison in.

  ... Be brave with it. Is that what Walter had meant? One... two... the drops slipped onto his tongue like little luminous pearls. He didn’t flinch at all, just stared straight back at her in a blue haze.

  Three...

  Enough to kill a rat now.

  ‘I’ve done this before you know my darling husband. I killed someone once, by accident. That’s when my life ended.’

  Four.

  Her hand was shaking; a grey blurry cloud swept in front of her, eliminating everything apart from two blue circles. Mad eyes. Evil eyes. The bottle screamed in her hand. She hurled it into the fire and in a moment Mr Eden’s letter followed it, scorching and crackling in the flames.

  ‘You’re staining me as well,’ she murmured as the flames died down. ‘You’re turning me into something evil like you. How could you be so cruel?’

  But there was no response. His eyes were closed now and thankfully she could just hear the murmur of his breath.

  ‘Miranda, it’s been a long time.’

  ‘Yes. How is Switzerland?’

  ‘Cold. May I introduce Dr Blythe. He’s come down from Scotland especially to see my son.’

  Dr Blythe was an average looking individual, although having to hover in James Whitestone’s aura perhaps made him look even more average than he would have done otherwise. He was of an average height, average build and had light brown receding hair of an almost identical shade to his tweed suit.

  ‘Thank you for coming doctor, you seem to be highly recommended.’

  ‘I’m very pleased to hear that, I only hope that I can offer some sort of assistance.’

  ‘Oh I doubt it, but we ought to try I suppose. What a charming accent, are you from Edinburgh?’

  ‘Ah no, the Highlands.’

  ‘Oh how beautiful! What a lovely long way from here. Would you like to see my husband right now? He’s in his bed. I’m afraid I’ve had to tie his hands to the bedstead for the purpose of this visit to stop him from running away or attacking anyone.’

  Mr Whitestone emitted a deep strangulated cough, the corners of his mouth crumpling up as if he’d just bitten into a rotten piece of meat. Tristan really did look a lot like him. She’d forgotten how much over the past few years. Although James Whitestone seemed taller, stockier than his son, or was that just because Tristan had withered up so dramatically over the past weeks? Nevertheless, he was a handsome man still for his age. Rather a dashing figure in his foreign looking suit.

  ‘Um, may I have a quick word with my daughter-in-law
in private? We have a few details to catch up on,’ he said, turning to the doctor.

  ‘Yes of course.’

  Even the sound of the doctor’s departing footsteps and the way he politely urged the door shut behind him seemed moderate and considered.

  ‘Are you quite well my dear?’ James Whitestone asked her in a quiet voice. His eyes were staring fixedly at the mantelpiece rather than at her face.

  ‘That’s an awfully difficult question to answer, considering.’

  ‘This house,’ he seemed to shudder. ‘What on earth made you buy it?’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Marguerite Avenue is highly sought after, what could possibly be wrong with it?’

  ‘I... I don’t know. It seems very dark; I almost walked right past it outside. Blythe had to direct me in. Odd. But anyway, moving on... you are fully aware that my son and I have never been close.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And that by handing the London side of the company over to him and moving away I was attempting to wipe the slate clean, give him a fresh start to prove himself for once.’

  ‘Is that how you see it? You weren’t just simply washing your hands of him?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You were aware of his history at the time, I presume? His misadventures in India? It’s alright, I know about it now. I’m not the same naïve little child who walked down the aisle.’

  ‘I...’

  He gaped at her with such a stunned expression that she might as well have hit him in the face.

  ‘Was he always like this? I mean when did you first discover your son’s true nature?’

  He shrugged, brushed a bead of sweat away from his forehead. She’d been so in awe of him in their former brief meetings, but now she could feel the fear in him: in the way he stepped from one foot to the other and looked impossibly large and suddenly rather uncomfortable in his foreign suit.

  ‘He was always an awkward boy,’ he muttered. ‘Slippery. Used to get up to all sorts of odd things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Oh I don’t know... hankering after the maids, going into the woods. He liked to catch animals, string them up before killing them and so on.’

  In one lucid moment Lucinda Eden’s face came back to her, drawn and wretched, half dead against the pillow.

  ‘If I had such a son,’ she said. ‘I think I would have thought twice about allowing him to marry any woman.’

  ‘Now look here young Miss. I will not take such impertinence from you. How dare you speak like that to the man who’s given you everything you’ve got!’

  ‘No, you look here. I would sacrifice every stick of furniture in this house for a man who was capable of treating me decently. Would you like to see him now, your son? Dr Blythe!’

  The doctor was already waiting for her at the foot of the stairs when she reached the hallway.

  ‘He’s just up here. I’m afraid he has difficulty speaking as he lost some teeth in a brawl several days ago and the wounds have since become infected. I fear that the infection has spread around his mouth in a rather horrifying way.’

  ‘Have you sought medical help?’

  ‘Oh yes. It was a disaster; the man ran screaming from the room when Tristan attacked him. Perhaps you could help... now do excuse me, I have to lock him in you see.’

  The key to his room hung on a chain around her neck and her fingers fiddled the clasp in her hairline.

  ‘That does it. Now do come in, as I said I’ve tied him down.’

  Tristan’s body lay still and straight on the bed. His eyes appeared to be half closed: two glassy sickles of blueness skulking beneath his lids. His feet poked out, bare and marble-white beneath the nightgown she’d forced on him. They were so slim and bony and the veins in them wound up over his ankles like bobbly worms.

  James Whitestone slipped in through the doorway after them.

  ‘Tristan, open your eyes dear. A man has come to see you, to help you. His name is Dr Blythe.’

  Not a flicker. Not one ripple of a sinew, tightening of a muscle.

  ‘Mr Whitestone, I have come all the way from Scotland to see you. Now, I believe you to be awake at the moment. Is that true?’

  Not a sound. He barely seemed alive, his body so long and stiff, drawn out like a piece of string on the brink of snapping.

  ‘Enough of this, wake up son!’

  A floorboard creaked and the father pushed himself past the doctor towards the bed. ‘You’re being downright insolent lying there like that.’

  Tristan’s eyes snapped open.

  ‘I really don’t think this is appropriate Sir...’ implored the doctor.

  ‘Of course it’s appropriate. He’s acting like an infant! I give him everything and look at the sod, look at him!’

  Tristan blinked at her, the hurt in his face as brutal as broken shards of glass. And then his mouth gaped open, strings of puss and blood-stained spittle connecting his two jaws, criss-crossing the cavern inside.

  ‘OUT! Ouuuuuuut!’

  The shriek didn’t sound like his voice at all. It didn’t even sound remotely human; just a mass of fear and hatred and despair all mixed up together.

  The two men jumped away from the bedside, grasping at each other’s shoulders. For all his experience Dr Blythe looked quite ashen.

  ‘Ge...t out!!’

  ‘Stop him screaming Miranda. Stop my son from screaming.’

  James Whitestone was clutching at his throat as if he was being strangled, his back pressed up against the wall.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t. You’ll have to leave.’

  Tristan’s screams were turning into high-pitched gurgles. His feet and head thrashed against the bed as a pinkish froth collected in the corners of his mouth.

  ‘Then I will. This is quite, quite repugnant.’ And Tristan’s father scrambled along the walls to the door, Dr Blythe following a few paces behind him with a sort of hesitant shuffle.

  ‘Tell me Doctor. Are you here to treat my husband or my husband’s father?’

  The doctor paused, his cheeks had turned pink. ‘I... I think that our presence has troubled your husband greatly. I’ll try and be back in the morning with a dental practitioner and some sedation. This is, quite rare I think. My apologies for now.’

  She looked down from the window as the two figures retreated along the pavement outside, their coats hugged about them like two churlish crows. A fog was descending; you could see the grey line where it was squashing the clear air down lower and lower into the road.

  Tristan’s screams had petered out into a whimper, his feet now flopping down exhaustedly against the bed. The infection was spreading from his mouth: a series of purplish circles were now forming around his chin and making their way down his neck.

  ‘How long were you going to keep this a secret from me?’

  She jumped at the sight of Mrs Hubbard, standing in the doorway.

  ‘Oh... I’m so sorry! With everything going on I’d quite forgotten you were here.’

  The cook walked over to the bed with small calm steps and cast her eyes down the length of Tristan’s body.

  ‘I suppose you’ll want to leave our employment now. And I quite understand. Although I do hope you know how much I’ve appreciated, loved, your company and good faith.’

  ‘He was never good enough for you. Do you realize that?’ asked Mrs Hubbard, turning to her with soft eyes. She removed her apron and wiped the froth and sweat away from his mouth. ‘I’ve watched you trying to please him now for far too long. Come, let’s smooth out these bedclothes, they’re all creased. That’s it, here we are.’

  ‘You’re not scared? Repelled by him?’

  ‘No more than I was when he was fit and handsome. Now you look exhausted, far too thin and pale. Go and lie down. I’ll watch him for a bit.’

  ‘Oh! Thank you. I really don’t know what to say. I never imagined...’

  The room seemed to sink, submerging itself in water and sudd
enly she was clinging to Mrs Hubbard and sobbing until every muscle in her body ached.

  SERENA’S STORY

  Seb’s misery was palpable even from behind the upstairs window. I tried a feeble wave and then pressed my head back against the smooth leather seat of Edward’s Jaguar, closing my eyes to the sound of the engine as it purred its way down the street.

  ‘It’s only Christmas, just a few days. I’ll be back before you know it.’

  How many times had I tried to reassure him with those words?

  ‘Yes I know. I just get so lonely though.’

  ‘Then come with us!’

  ‘I can’t.’

  Our sombre parting seemed to have killed Christmas before it had even begun and I could feel my mood tuning itself into the dank, rainy atmosphere of the morning. Only Beth’s perpetual chatter and buzz from the next seat prevented the gloom from swallowing me up entirely.

  ‘Druid Manor was built by Druids, did you know that?’ she said, fidgeting like a fractious cricket.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes really!’ she leaned over to inspect the peony brooch on my coat lapel with loving fingers. ‘They put all these great big stones on the ground and then it grew up from them as if by magic!’

  ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Not entirely true,’ came Edward’s voice from the front. ‘The story behind the name is still a bit of an enigma really. There are some ancient stones in the foundations of the building, you can see some of them in the cellar, but the house was far likelier to have been named after a rather eccentric ancestor of ours who had a long white beard and dabbled in pagan rituals. He was quite a character; parts of the house had to be more or less rebuilt after he died in the mid-nineteenth century because he let it fall into such bad disrepair.’

  ‘Rather like your brother darling,’ murmured Arabella next to him. Edward didn’t reply.

  The journey seemed to take longer than I thought it would, probably because as the miles clicked away I could feel the ever-growing distance between me and Seb settling heavier and heavier on my shoulders. Even though he was off to spend Christmas with his father, all I could do was picture him in the house in Marguerite Avenue, lonely and pining at the window.