The House on Vesper Sands

by Paraic O?Donnell

  ‘… what will become of my soul …’

  Elizabeth Parker, linen sampler embroidered in cross-stitch with red silk, ca 1830, Victoria and Albert Museum, London

  ‘But the angels are spirits, and when they are spirits they are not angels;

  when they are sent, they become angels’

  Augustine of Hippo, Expositions on the Book of Psalms

  ‘Come back! Even as a shadow, even as a dream’

  Euripides, Herakles (trans. Anne Carson)

  CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Epigraph

  I: Requiem Æternam

  II: Kyrie

  I

  II

  III

  IV

  V

  VI

  VII

  III: Dies Irae

  VIII

  IX

  X

  XI

  XII

  XIII

  XIV

  XV

  XVI

  IV: Sanctus

  XVII

  XVIII

  XIX

  XX

  XXI

  XXII

  V: In Paradisum

  XXIII

  XXIV

  XXV

  VI: Lux Perpetua

  Afterword and Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Paraic O’Donnell

  More on W&N

  Copyright

  In Half Moon-street, just as she came near to the house, Esther Tull felt the first gentleness of the snow.

  She paused at the front steps, setting down her case and extending a gloved hand to the railing. It was not that she felt weak, though she had feared she might. The pain was returning, but it was not yet more than she could bear. It was only that she wanted to look up. The longing was small and simple, and it came to her the moment the first flakes touched her cheek. How delicate they felt. Tender, almost, in the rawness of the air. As a child, Esther had felt a peculiar wonder when it snowed. It was like an enchantment, altering the world and making it quiet. She wanted to lift her face, as she had done then, to the soft tumble of smudges crowding the darkness.

  She resisted the urge. She would not look up. There was no joy in such things now. Not in this place, on this of all nights. Instead, taking her left hand from the railing, Esther tugged her right free of its glove. She turned it cautiously, offering her cupped palm to the air, closing her eyes as she waited. A faintness that was almost nothing, then a tiny ache of cold.

  At the front door, she collected herself before raising her hand to ring. She looked about her, considering. The servants’ entrance would have been more usual, but for some time now she had been directed not to use it. Esther was given no explanation for this practice and knew better than to inquire further. She twisted the brass turn to sound the bell. Some time would pass, as always, before Mr Carew saw fit to admit her. No doubt he could bestir himself when the occasion demanded it, but as she turned in from Piccadilly she had heard the striking of half past eight from St James’s. At this hour no other callers would be expected. Not at this house.

  When he appeared at last he greeted her in his usual fashion, lowering his chin in its swaddle of jowls and raising his hand before he spoke to conceal some imagined cough.

  ‘Well, Miss Tull.’ He glanced at the air above her. ‘That is a bad dose of weather you have brought. We must hope it will not delay His Lordship’s return.’

  Esther said nothing in reply. She stood just as she was on the top step, waiting until he should bid her come in. Mr Carew gazed out into the street a moment longer, then returned his attention to her, as if remembering that she was present. Stooping towards her, he made a show of plucking something from her coat, examining his fingertips as he drew them away.

  ‘Come along, Miss Tull.’ He adjusted his bulk, making just enough room to let her pass. ‘You will be no good to us perished upon the steps.’

  Esther followed him through the grand entrance hall, where objects particularly prized by Lord Strythe were mounted on pedestals or loomed in dim recesses. She had never cared to examine these closely, or thought it her place to do so. She was usually conducted without ceremony to the servants’ stairs at the rear of the house. But Mr Carew paused now before a vacant plinth.

  ‘His Lordship waits upon Lady Ashenden this evening, who is giving a gala ball in his honour. It is to be a grand affair, by all accounts. You will recall the specimen that was mounted here?’

  Esther looked in discomfort at the pedestal.

  ‘I’m sure you would, if you saw it again,’ Mr Carew said. ‘It is a rare bird, Miss Tull, a most notable creature, His Lordship says, that was found in Manchuria or some such place. It has a proper name, but you would have no use for that. It is very like a phoenix, I am told. A great prize, even in such a collection as his. Do you think you could name the price of it?’

  With both hands, Esther clasped the handle of her sewing case. Her discomfort had sharpened, though she hoped she gave no sign of it. She shook her head.

  ‘Come now.’ Mr Carew placed his feet a little apart and thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. It was an unseemly posture, but he felt quite at liberty in her presence. She averted her face.

  ‘You are paler even than usual, Miss Tull. I trust you are not unwell?’

  Esther drew in a careful breath. ‘I am quite well, Mr Carew.’

  ‘Well, then,’ he said. ‘You must give me your guess as to its price. You do not mean to tell me that you are a woman who does not know the price of things?’

  He did not disguise his smirk. She had lived honestly for many years, but it had not always been so. It was useful to them – to Lord Strythe and his underlings – to keep her in mind of what they knew.

  ‘I cannot imagine what the price of it might be, Mr Carew. I am no judge of such things.’

  His features lapsed in dissatisfaction. ‘Miss Tull,’ he said. ‘Permit yourself one guess, if you please.’

  Esther drew her shoulders back and let out a long breath. ‘Ten pounds,’ she said.

  Mr Carew arched away from her as if in horror, bringing the back of his hand to his brow. ‘Oh, Miss Tull,’ he said. ‘Ten? Ten pounds? Is that a great sum, do you think?’

  He looked away, shaking with voiceless laughter.

  ‘Ten pounds, she says, for a bird that is very nearly a cousin to the phoenix? For a bird that might have taken wing from the ashes of a fire? Why, it is very nearly priceless, but such is His Lordship’s generosity that he intends to offer it for auction at the gala. The proceeds are to go to his new institution.’ When Esther made no reply, he grew stern again and repeated himself. ‘Such is his generosity, Miss Tull.’

  She could not bring herself to respond, only lowering her head in a manner that might appear deferential. She sensed that he was not entirely satisfied by this, but he was distracted at that moment by the appearance of a serving boy. He was a slight youth of thirteen or fourteen – Esther had seen him on other occasions – and encumbered by a mass of white flowers very nearly half his own size.

  ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Carew,’ he said. ‘I was to give you word, you said, when the arrangement come in.’

  ‘Go and stand them in water, you mongrel, before the carpet is ruined. The dust from the lilies is a curse. Has the instrument-maker come?’

  ‘No sign yet, sir.’

  ‘Be sure to tell me when he does. There are instructions from His Lordship. Get along with you now.’ Carew produced a plump pocket-watch and clucked at it in disapproval. ‘Come, Miss Tull,’ he said, as if the delay had been of her making. ‘We haven’t the whole night to stand around gawking.’

  The workroom was on t
he fourth floor. Mr Carew was not sprightly, and he made slow going of the climb. At each landing he paused to fuss over some small task – to rub at an unseen smear or inspect the wick of a lamp – until he had recovered his breath. Esther had often chafed at having to keep to his pace. She knew the way well enough, and might have made the ascent alone in half the time, had the circumstances been otherwise. But she was glad tonight to remain unseen at his back, and to be spared any greater exertion. The climb had disturbed the wounds. She was conscious now of a rupturing, of a seeping heat. Some sound might escape her, if it worsened. Something might show.

  Mr Carew lumbered onwards, giving no sign that he had taken notice, and she saw nothing else that seemed out of the ordinary. A footman stood aside as they approached, a cloak of freshly brushed velvet draped over one arm. Behind certain doors, when they passed, subdued conversations could be heard, or the muted clamour of servants at some obscure but pressing business. In this house, a great deal happened that went unseen.

  It was furnished handsomely enough, but sparingly lit. Lord Strythe was known to dislike the gaslights that were now seen in many fine houses, and many rooms had no more than a scattering of oil lamps. They burned less brightly, he maintained, but with a purer light. The drapes and wallpapers were in sombre shades, or they had aged to give that appearance. They had been chosen in the time of the last Lord Strythe, and his son had given them no further attention. His Lordship had never married, and in the ordinary course the ordering of such things might have fallen to his sister. But Lady Ada did not live at Strythe House. Her opinion in these matters was not sought.

  When they reached it at last, the uppermost floor was in darkness as always. The landing was no more than a narrow passage, unfurnished save for a table and chair by the door of the workroom. It was here that Mr Carew stationed himself while Esther was occupied within. As was her habit, she waited at the head of the stairs, following only when he had lit the modest lamp on the table and lowered himself to his seat.

  ‘There now, Miss Tull,’ he said, examining a handkerchief that he had put to his brow. ‘Our penance is done for another day. Your present commission is to be completed tonight, I gather, and then we may hope for a few weeks of ease. Do you know what Lord Strythe says of us?’

  Esther shook her head, though she knew very well. This exchange was repeated on each occasion, with hardly a word altered in its sequence.

  ‘He says that we must be quite the pair of alpinists by now, and fit to scale any peak in Europe.’ He set his hands on his midsection, as if to contain his merriment. ‘Quite the pair of alpinists. Oh, dear me.’

  He waited, and Esther made a small show of amusement, prompting a sudden blossoming of pain. She brought in her elbows, raising her case a little before her.

  ‘Oh, he is a great wit,’ Mr Carew continued. ‘A great wit. Keep an eye on Miss Tull, he says, for she has the indomitable spirit of the mountaineer. At any moment, she might bound away to make an attempt upon the Matterhorn. And do you know, I think he may be right. But you will not bound away just yet, Miss Tull?’

  She looked down at the handle of her sewing case, which she gripped so tightly now as to whiten her knuckles. ‘I am very tired, Mr Carew, and I fear there is a long night ahead. I understand that there is – that there are new measurements. There is always a great deal to be done when the measurements are altered on the last night.’

  He said nothing, but looked for some moments over her person, as if making a careful inventory.

  ‘It is an elaborate garment,’ she added. ‘It calls for a good deal of fine work.’

  He would hear the unease in her voice, surely, if she had not betrayed herself with some other sign. She had felt something again, a quick coursing against her skin. It would show somewhere. He would see.

  ‘Quite right, Miss Tull,’ he said at length. ‘Lord Strythe is particular in his requirements, as you need not remind me. I will not keep you from your work any longer than can be helped. But before we go in, I will trouble you to open your sewing case and lay out what is in it.’ He swept his forearm across the yellowish tablecloth as if to clear a space, though it was bare save for the lamp. Then he settled himself in his chair with a look of complacent expectation.

  ‘What is in it.’ She repeated the words as if she were a simpleton, and was conscious of a faint rasp of effort in her voice. To add to her other discomforts, she now felt a tightness take hold of her face and neck.

  ‘You do not seem quite yourself this evening, Miss Tull. Yes, lay out what is in your sewing case, please. We will do the same again when you are leaving. It is no great novelty, surely? How am I to know you have taken nothing if I do not know what you had going in?’

  ‘It has been some time, Mr Carew. I had thought that perhaps …’

  ‘That perhaps we had come to trust you again. His Lordship is a reasonable man, Miss Tull, but he is not a fool. It has hardly been a month since we discovered those items among your belongings.’

  ‘I meant only to finish that piece of work at home, Mr Carew. I knew it would be missed. What else could I have intended? What do you take me for?’

  At this Carew’s look darkened, and he rose with slow emphasis from his chair. Esther shrank from him, though she knew his outrage was feigned. She had not meant to say so much.

  ‘You forget yourself, Miss Tull,’ he said. ‘You have been accused of nothing. Not lately, at least. His Lordship’s instructions were plain, all the same. Nothing is to be brought beyond what is needed from your sewing box, and above all nothing is to be taken away. Lord Strythe believed he had made himself understood. But perhaps he had not.’

  She felt herself sway a little on her feet. It was not only the pain. She had taken no supper, nor any sustenance at all since morning. ‘He made himself understood, Mr Carew.’

  ‘Very good, Miss Tull.’ He lowered his face so that his brow was very near to her own. ‘I am very glad to hear it. Then you remember the matter that most concerned him?’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘You remember his words?’

  ‘I remember – I remember, Mr Carew, but not the exact words.’

  ‘His Lordship employs a good many servants, and engages any number of tradespeople. Between them they have many duties, but they have one in common. Do you recall what it is?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Carew.’

  ‘Well, then? Must I draw it from you like a tooth? What is the first duty of a person employed in His Lordship’s household?’

  ‘Discretion, Mr Carew.’

  ‘Again, please.’ Raising his hand, he gathered up the broad flesh of his ear.

  ‘The duty of discretion, Mr Carew.’

  He waited a moment longer before drawing his face away from hers. Even with her own eyes lowered, Esther felt the insistence of his gaze. ‘Very well, then,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘In your own time, Miss Tull.’

  It was the work of some minutes to empty her case entirely. She had been ill at ease already, and grew clumsy under his scrutiny, piercing her cuff with a bodkin and letting a pair of scissors tumble from her grasp. When she had put out all she had, the little table was covered almost to its edges. The garment that had been commissioned was indeed an intricate piece of work, and the machine could be used only for the plainest of stitching. There was hardly an implement in her possession that she had not had call to use in these last weeks.

  Mr Carew took hold of the table lamp and passed it slowly over the bobbins and thimbles, the needles and hooks, pausing now and then to turn something over or hold it up for inspection. She wondered if he knew the purpose of even half of these items. Taking up a stiletto, he held it to the light, so that a dull gleam passed along its length. It was used only to puncture eyelets, but its long point was keen, and it might easily do worse than that. Mr Carew set it down and returned the lamp to its place. He yawned as he turned to her, taking no great trouble to cover his mouth.

  ‘The case itself, Miss Tull, if you please.’
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  There was considerable satisfaction in Mr Carew’s face as he accepted it. He held it open beneath the lamp first, agitating it a good deal as he peered into each corner of its interior. Then he reached inside and began a thorough examination with his fingertips and the flat of his palm, so that she doubted there was a square inch of the lining he had left untouched. Finally – and by now the slackening of his expression revealed a measure of disappointment – he held the case upside down and shook it.

  ‘Well, Miss Tull.’ He reclined in his seat with a look of displeasure and gestured impatiently at her things. ‘Clear all this away, will you, so that we may get on with our business. Such a production you made of it. Did I not say you had nothing to fear?’

  Esther began packing away her sewing kit, not meeting his eyes. Would he attempt to search her clothing? He had not gone so far before, but might be moved to it by some new suspicion. She replied with as much evenness as she could manage. ‘Those were not your words, Mr Carew, but perhaps that was your meaning.’

  He gave her a keen look, but pursued the subject no further. When she had gathered up her things, he went to unlock the door. While his back was turned, she made the last of her preparations. With small and careful movements, she adjusted her clothing. It was to ease her discomfort, in part, but that was not her only concern. She had made certain alterations, in places that were hidden from view. She would depend upon them, when the time came.

  ‘There now,’ said Mr Carew, as they entered the workroom. ‘All neat and tidy. Whatever else may be said about us, let no one give it out that we keep a slovenly shop. What do you say, Miss Tull?’

  Again, he had made the same observation many times, and always in the same words. This time, at least, he did not wait for her response. The workroom was always cold, and he never stayed longer than he must. With a wheezy sigh, he slouched towards the great iron strongbox that stood in the corner opposite the door. Esther watched his movements carefully, taking note of the pocket to which he returned one key before drawing out another.

  ‘You might oblige me by looking away, Miss Tull.’