Gather the Bones

by Alison Stuart

  August 10: Oh horrific day! Robert awoke querulous and ill-tempered from a bad night. He has not repeated his visit to my door but I see him looking at me with a curious expression of hurt and puzzlement and I feel that I have in some way injured him more deeply than the physical pain of his scars. I cannot meet his eye or pretend a happiness I do not feel. So what began as a minor disagreement over the dressing of his wounds, led to an explosion of anger on his part such as I have never seen before. He reared up before me, his eyes almost red with rage and hit me with the full force of his weight, across the face. He sent me flying against the table and I fell to the floor, momentarily stunned into unconsciousness. Lady Morrow came at once to my assistance, leading me away from his presence to rest upon my bed with a compress for the bruising that already colors my face. My right eye is quite closed. Her tenderness and concern quite surprised me for I fully expected her to take her son’s part. What words passed between mother and son, I regret I did not hear - all I recall are his last words to me “You shall not lock your door against me, madam!” At the memory of these words and the fierce anger in his eyes, I can do nothing but turn to my pillow and weep for guilt and for shame.

  August 11: Robert has said nothing about his actions but I saw him looking at my face. We must be the talk of the village for servants will gossip and I cannot hide my face from their view. The children sense the tension between us and have kept to their nursery. Only Lady Morrow keeps up the pretence of gaiety speaking inanely of the ball to be held at Wellmore House next month.

  August 15: Robert came to my room last night and I had not dared lock the door against him. I lay supine and allowed him to do what he had to do before he departed. Neither of us spoke a word. It was a base, inhuman act of carnal need of which I was not a participant. I let tears roll silently down my cheeks as he took me and thought of S and his tender lovemaking.

  Helen set the papers down and bit her lip as she contemplated the frightening picture of a violent, war-damaged man that Suzanna painted. She had seen it in her own town with men returned from the war. The bruises on the women and children described with a quick smile as “accidents.”

  Robert Morrow had become a man that war had made violent. Robert could have been quite capable of murder if he had known that his wife had taken a lover, a lover with whom she continued to tryst while her husband lay on his sick bed.

  August 16: S came to me this afternoon. Even in the gloom of the crypt he could see the bruising on my face and he held me close. I could sense his anger and his impotence as he kissed my poor bruised face. “Dearest,” he whispered. “Something must be done.” I wept as I held him close. “There is nothing that can be done.” “Come away with me,” said he. “We can make a new life for ourselves in the colonies. I have prospects in the colony of New South Wales. We will be far away from England and no one need know us.” “But what of my children?” I cried. “How can I leave my children? Do not ask me to make that choice!” “Sweet Suzanna,” he said, “That is the choice. A life with a cripple who abuses you thus or a life with me. The children will be well cared for. You need have no fear for them.”

  I sank to my knees crying as if my heart would break. “I cannot live without you,” I wept. He took me in his arms and we made love on his cloak.

  The diary entries moved inexorably toward September 12 as Suzanna wrestled with her conscience and then the last entry Paul had translated, put the seal on her fate.

  September 8: I fear I am with child and I know not who is the father. My shame and my ignominy are complete. If I am to go it must be now. If I tarry I shall never escape and each day is a reproach on me both as a mother and a wife. I said not a word of my fears to S when we met tonight. He held me in his arms and we made plans for our escape. He must return to London and make the necessary arrangements. He will meet me at the Church yard on the night of September 12 and we will quit this place.

  The sound of running footsteps in the corridor outside alerted her and she refolded the papers and thrust them into the drawer of the bureau as Alice burst in through the door.

  One look at her daughter’s face told her all was not well. Alice flung herself full length on the bed, burying her head in her arms.

  Helen sat down next to her and stroked her hair. “What’s the matter, darling?”

  “I hate it here.” Alice’s voice was muffled by the bedclothes.

  “Why? It’s a beautiful house. You have a lovely room and you can ride Turnip...”

  “Lady Hartfield is mean to me,” Alice sniffed.

  “How was she mean to you?”

  “She said I was never to run in the Long Gallery and that as soon as you and Uncle Tony were married I would be sent away to boarding school and I’d learn to be a proper lady and have all my colonial bad manners knocked out of me.”

  Helen stiffened with anger directed at Lady Hartfield, not her daughter.

  “Were you running in the Long Gallery?”

  A sniff confirmed that Alice had been committing this sin.

  “I want to go home,” she wailed.

  “Home? To Terrala?”

  “To Holdston!” Alice rolled over, burying her face in Helen’s lap. “Home to Grandmama and Uncle Paul and Sam and Sarah and Reuben.”

  “Who’s Reuben?” Helen asked.

  “My dog. He’s a cocker spaniel. He sleeps by my bed every night.”

  Dog? Helen frowned as she stared down at the fair head. “Darling, there isn’t any dog at Holdston,” she said.

  “Yes there is. My dog.” Alice was in full flight now.

  Helen let her cry herself out and when the sobbing had subsided to hiccups, she set the girl on her feet, washed her face and gave her a big smile.

  “There’s the gong for breakfast,” she said, with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel.

  In agreeing to marry Tony, she hadn’t thought about the impact on Alice, beyond the superficial thought that bringing the child up at Wellmore would be wonderful. Of course, it would be expected that Alice would go to boarding school. What was the alternative? A governess? The village school would be out of the question.

  Alice took her hand and they descended the long, graceful stairs to the breakfast room.

  Lady Hartfield sat at the head of the table reading the morning mail. She laid the note she had in her hand down as Helen entered.

  “I see you’ve been for a ride, Helen,”

  Helen looked down at her jodhpurs and sweater “Do you wish me to change?”

  “You’re fine,” Tony said. “Beautiful in whatever you wear.”

  A footman pulled out a chair for Alice and she sat down next to her mother, hunched and miserable.

  “Good morning, sprite,” Tony said. “You’re very quiet.”

  Alice cast a quick glance at Lady Hartfield who had returned to perusing her letters.

  “Good morning, Uncle Tony,” she said in a low, unhappy tone.

  Tony glanced at Helen who mouthed, “Later.”

  “Now,” Lady Hartfield laid a hand on the pile of correspondence beside her. “When are we to announce your engagement, Tony?”

  Helen caught Tony’s eye. “It’s up to Helen,” he said.

  “I suppose there will be no question of your parents attending the wedding?” Lady Hartfield enquired.

  “Not unless they learn to fly,” she said.

  “I suppose we shall have to find someone to give you away.”

  “Do I need someone to give me away? I’m a widow. I’ve already been given away once. Surely I don’t need to be given away again?”

  Lady Hartfield looked aghast. “Oh. That won’t do at all. You will have to ask Paul. He’s the head of the Morrow family. You’re his responsibility.”

  Helen stared at the Viscountess. “Paul? But I...”

  “I was going to ask Paul to be my best man,” Tony said. “Which reminds me, Helen, he told me yesterday he’s got another contract to go out to Mesopotamia over winter so if we want him at the wedd
ing, it will have to be early autumn or wait until he’s back in the spring.”

  If he comes back, Helen thought. Beneath the table her fingers twisted her wedding ring. Tony had shown her an engagement ring, a family piece with an emerald the size of a pigeon egg. She had closed the lid of the box and told him to give it to her when the moment was right She wondered when the moment would be.

  Lady Hartfield made a moue of annoyance. “Someone has to give Helen away and it must be Paul. You’ll have to find someone else, Anthony. What about James Massey?”

  “Anyone but him,” Helen exclaimed and put her hand to her mouth realizing the words had come out before she had thought about them.

  Lady Hartfield stared at Helen. “What on earth do you have against James? He was a great friend of Charlie’s, wasn’t he Tony?”

  Tony cast a quick glance at Helen and set down the papers. “Ma, let’s get one thing straight. We just want a quiet wedding in the chapel here. No fuss.”

  “But darling, you’re the heir. I thought a London wedding–” Lady Hartfield looked nonplussed.

  “No,” Tony said. “A quiet wedding, just family and a few close friends of our own choosing.”

  “But people will think you have something to hide,” Lady Hartfield protested.

  “Let people think what they want,” Tony said. “A quiet wedding at Wellmore. That’s it.”

  Helen gave him a look of sheer relief. They hadn’t discussed any of this, but somehow he had sensed her discomfort and guessed, correctly, what her thoughts on the subject would be. Paul was right, Tony was a good and honorable man.

  Lady Hartfield sniffed. “If you would care to start thinking about an invitation list, I shall see what can be done.”

  The butler entered the room. “Telephone for Mrs. Morrow,” he announced.

  “Who is it?” Helen said.

  “Holdston Hall,” the man said.

  Helen bundled up her napkin and excused herself.

  “Mrs. Morrow?” A woman’s voice was at the end of the line. “It’s Sarah Pollard here.”

  Helen heard the edge in Sarah’s tone and felt her spine tingle. “Sarah, what’s happened?”

  “There’s been an accident,” Sarah said.

  Helen felt her heart leap to her throat. “Paul?”

  “No. It’s her ladyship,” Sarah said.

  “What happened?”

  “She fell down the library stairs. She must have lain there all night, poor lady. I found her this morning when I took her breakfast up.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “She’s in hospital. Still unconscious. Doctors don’t know whether she’ll make it or not.”

  “Oh Sarah, I am sorry.”

  There was a long pause. “You’ve got to come back, Mrs. Morrow.”

  “Sarah...I can’t...”

  Sarah’s tone became desperate. “You’ve got to come. There’s something happening in this house. Whatever you started, you’ve got to finish.”

  “I can’t, Sarah. I don’t belong there.”

  “Helen, he needs you. He can’t do it without you.”

  “What do you mean he needs me?”

  “It will kill someone soon,” Sarah said, a note of hysteria rising in her voice. “If it hasn’t already.”

  “Sarah, you’re not making any sense,” Helen said firmly. “Does Paul know you’ve rung me?”

  “No. he’s at the hospital.”

  Helen bit her lip, torn by indecision.

  “Please, Mrs. Morrow... Helen.”

  Helen heard the desperate note of pleading in Sarah’s voice. She looked at her watch.

  “Very well, Sarah. I’ll be there by lunch time.

  “Pollard’s taken the Major over to Birmingham with the car.”

  “It’s all right. I will ask Mr. Scarvell to drive us over.”

  “You’ll bring Miss Alice?”

  “Of course I will.” She would not leave Alice alone at Wellmore with the viperous Lady Hartfield.

  “I’ll have beds made up for you.”

  Helen set the phone back on its bench and straightened. Back in the breakfast room, she faced the Scarvells.

  “Lady Morrow has had an accident,” she said. “She’s in hospital.”

  Lady Hartfield set down her napkin. “Oh dear. What sort of an accident?”

  “I gather she had a fall down a flight of stairs.”

  “That house is so unsafe,” the Viscountess said.

  Helen looked at Tony. “Tony, would you be able to drive us over to Holdston?”

  “Of course,” Tony rose to his feet.

  “Will you be back for supper?” Lady Hartfield enquired as if she thought Helen would just be making a social visit.

  Helen stared at the woman. “No, I shall be staying at Holdston, Lady Hartfield. For the time being, Lady Morrow is still my mother-in-law and I owe it to her to take some responsibility for Holdston while she is recuperating.”

  “But you’re engaged to Tony...”

  “Not officially,” Tony put in. “Of course you’re needed at Holdston, Helen. Just tell me when you’re ready to go and I’ll drive you over.”

  Alice looked up with a grin. At least someone was happy.

  * * * *

  Even as the car turned in through the gate, it seemed to Helen that the atmosphere of the house had changed. It felt as if it had closed in on itself, the dark windows, brooding darkly in the sunlight.

  Sarah waited at the courtyard gate and even as Helen stepped out of the car, the older woman ran across the bridge and threw her arms around her.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come. The major’s still with her ladyship at the hospital but he rang to say he’ll be home this evening if there’s no change.”

  Helen turned to Tony. “Thank you for the lift, Tony.”

  He looked at her with concerned eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

  Helen shook her head. “No. It’s sweet of you but Alice and I are needed here for the moment. I’m sure you understand.”

  Tony smiled. “I understand. Not sure Ma does though.”

  Helen gave a rueful smile. “I don’t think it matters what I do, Tony, your mother will never understand me.”

  “Give me a ring when you’ve got some news, old girl.” Tony turned the car with a wave of his hand.

  “Mrs. Bryant sent a note around saying for Miss Alice to come and play with Lily at the vicarage,” Sarah said as they entered the house.

  “May I?” Alice asked.

  “Of course,” Helen said. “Go now. We’ll be fine here.”

  Sarah hustled Helen into the kitchen and sat her down while she fussed around making tea. She set the large brown teapot before her, poured two cups of tea, and joined her at the table.

  “Now you’ve got to tell me all that you know about these spirits,” Sarah said. “These last few months, I’ve been sensing them but they don’t let me see. What do they want?”

  “You’re not saying the ghosts are behind what happened to Evelyn?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” Sarah stirred her tea so hard it slopped into the saucer. “I just know there’s something not right in this house and we’ve got to fix it.”

  The tea sat untouched as Helen related the story of Suzanna Morrow and her ill-starred love affair.

  Sarah sat back, her face grave. “So you say there’s two of them?”

  “Two that I’ve seen. Robert and Suzanna. I recognize them from the portraits.”

  Sarah shook her head. “That can’t be right,” she said. “There’s more than two of ‘em.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Like I told you before, there’s another one. I can’t tell you anything more. Can’t see it or hear it, but it’s a bad one.”

  “What do you mean? You said ghosts can’t harm you.”

  Sarah twisted her hands together. “I just know that Lady Morrow didn’t fall down those stairs by herself. There’s something strange in the
library.” Her face twisted. “See for yourself.”

  As it had begun to rain, rather than take the shortcut across the courtyard from the kitchen wing to the isolated corner of the house, which housed the library, Helen followed Sarah up the main stairs and through the house to the library stairs. As they descended the old, narrow staircase down which Evelyn had fallen, Helen shivered. Evelyn had been lucky not to break her neck.

  Sarah flung back the door to the library and Helen gasped. The paintings of Robert and Suzanna lay face up in the middle of the floor, the canvas slashed with the accuracy of a sharp knife.

  Helen picked up the ruined portrait of Suzanna and felt the temperature in the room plummet. An icy hand closed around her wrist. The same cruel, cold fingers that had tried to pull her into Evelyn’s room all those weeks ago. She dropped the painting and screamed.

  “Are you all right?”

  At the sound of Sarah’s voice, the icy grasp released and the temperature in the room rose.

  Helen turned to face Sarah. “Did you sense it?”

  Sarah nodded. “It’s the other one. It’s evil. Leave the paintings, Mrs. Morrow, and we’ll go back to the kitchen.”

  After lunch, Alice returned from the Vicarage and helped Sarah and Helen prepare supper. In an attempt at normalcy, Sarah attempted to draw Helen on the subject of her engagement and the wedding but Helen cut her short.

  As they set the kitchen table for supper, Sarah looked up. “There’s the car. I’d better get that soup on.”

  The kitchen door opened and Paul entered. He stopped when he saw Helen.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Sarah turned around from the kitchen range. “I sent for her, sir.”

  “You had no business doing so.”

  “I had every business,” Sarah declared, brandishing her wooden spoon. “What’s happened to your aunt wasn’t an accident and I’m not pretending that everything in this house is fine. Ever since you got back from the war, it’s been building and Mrs. Morrow coming here just got it all rolling. Whatever it is, it’s up to you two to sort it out before anyone else gets hurt.”