The Heir to Evercrest Hall

by Andrea M. Theobald

  “What! Did he kill some lady?” I gasped. My washcloth dropped into the water.

  Aunt Pam threw her head back in laughter. “Oh, it is a nickname we call men who like to have friendships with more than one woman.”

  “You mean a man who likes to have intercourse with a whole hoard of them.”

  Aunt’s jaw dropped. “Why, Maria! Where did you learn that from?”

  “I’m not a little child anymore! I’m old enough to get married and to understand the workings of men and women.”

  “As long as you get yourself married before you end up under the spell of one of those types of men.”

  “You mean, get killed by a lady killer?” It was my turn to burst out laughing. I slapped my wet hands over my lap. “And it won’t be his spell I’ll fall under either!”

  “Maria, stop it! You’ve learnt too many crude things from that friend of yours. As I was trying to say, about this Charlotte woman, after the murders, the house was without a housekeeper, so she took it as her duty to run the large household herself. There have been a lot of queer things that have happened up there in the past, but I must give her credit—things are much more stable now that she is in control.”

  “That Charlotte sounds like a right madam.” I resumed my toe washing.

  “Oh, so you haven’t met her yet?”

  “I haven’t had the honor, nor do I wish to. I don’t even think she knows that his lordship has employed me yet.”

  “Hmm, well, I’ve met her only once. She is one of those women where their beauty is only on the skin surface; the warmth is not in the heart that in turn shows in the eyes. She is the type who is more concerned about her outer appearance, how she is seen by her own kind in this world.” Aunt Pam’s faced darkened. “Yet, when she is about the likes of us, her heart is void of any kindness whatsoever. Anyway, she married well in marrying a Davenport, but unlike other woman of her class, she is no idler. She works hard too and has a reputation for being a hard taskmaster.”

  “She will most probably want me gone, seeing I’m not that good a maid.”

  “It is only your first day on the job, dear. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Once you have become familiar with all your duties, you will naturally become more efficient as time passes. You may have let his lordship down this once, but he is a most reasonable man. Look at what he did this morning, giving you a second chance! Not everyone gets an opportunity like that! Besides, if there is ever a dismissal, it will not be up to her, and I don’t see him doing that to you. I think he sees what I see in you—someone with great promise.”

  I shrugged and continued dabbing my toes with the wash rag. Great promise as an artist is what I wanted people to notice.

  Aunt Pam took a deep breath and stretched out her back while maintaining a hold about her knees. “He has turned out to be such a fine lad, considering he used to be…” Aunt sighed. “No, he is a good lad now.”

  I let the water drip from the cloth. “Did you know what he was like when he was young?”

  “Yes. He was a strange little lad, not what one would expect from the likes of his kind.”

  “What was strange about him?” Aunt had never seen him and me together as friends, for he had been too shy to come and meet her when I had suggested it.

  “From what people said, he had these strange beliefs. He would talk about people inside a large flying carriage. The next governess to take over his education thought he had an overactive imagination like something was not quite right up top.” Aunt Pam tapped the top of her head. “Why people believed the woman didn’t stay long.”

  “She thought he was mad?” I felt a stab of indignation stretching to my voice.

  “Yes. He spoke of terrifying events, of death a lot, things that terrified the maids. Many of them are still too afraid to look into his eyes this very day because they believe he is a mind reader.”

  “What a load of codswallop. He’s no mind reader. He wouldn’t have to ask me questions if he was one.”

  “What kind of questions?” Aunt Pam’s eyebrows arched.

  “Oh, just boring ‘Where is so and so?’ and ‘How are you doing?’ questions one asks in normal conversation. Why ask things like that if you already know the answers—unless you’re not a mind reader.” I cast my mind back to the time he had caught me looking for my locket in the blackberry bushes. Was it a coincidence? Or was it his other-worldliness of knowing I would return there at that very spot, at that very time of day.

  “I want to tell you of an odd event,” said Aunt. “Not long after the deaths of his parents, the young lad climbed up to the highest point of the house, and, looking like a prophet of doom, yelled down to the servants below that his father’s favorite horse would win its first ten races. And do you know what happened?” I shuddered without replying. “His prophecy came true!”

  I felt a tingly, prickly sensation spread throughout my body.

  Aunt Pam added, “He is a special man that one, but I wasn’t afraid of him. In fact, I felt extremely comfortable in his presence today; the same feeling I get when seated with you and the boys. He made me feel like I was the most important person in the world, like I was gold, and it wasn’t pretense. Normally, to his kind, I wouldn’t be worth two grains of salt.”

  I rolled my eyes. “He was probably just being nice so he could eat up all your cakes. And really, I don’t think he is special. People just think he is because he was born into wealth because they want him to find favor with them, because they’re all just a bunch of arse-kissers.”

  “Where did you learn that awful saying, Maria? He is a good man and you ought to speak highly of him. Most certainly you should be thankful that he employed you twice-over.”

  “He is a charmer. See how he has affected your judgment, built you up to make you feel good, and later on, when you are of no use, he will cast you aside.” I aggressively dabbed the washcloth between the toes of my other foot.

  “My dear, I’ve walked this world three times longer than you have, and one thing I’ve learned in all my years is to sense what people are like. That man, Albert Davenport, he has a good heart, and his kindness is genuine. There are not many of his class that are such. I most certainly regret my awful judgment of him in the past.”

  The conversation wrapped up abruptly with Aunt Pam’s need to put more wood into the range.

  Chapter Ten

  Eight o’clock, I was in the servant hall, waiting for Millie. Ten minutes later, still no sign of the head maid. Taking the initiative to seek her out, I set off along the passages we had traipsed over yesterday. First stop was the laundry. A few of the maids looked up at me as I walked in, but seeing there was no Millie, I gladly left the furnace behind. I thought, seeing that I was in the workplace dutifully on time, there was no reason I couldn’t have a snoop about the place. If I was caught out, I could always fathom up an excuse, such as, “I got lost.”

  I took leave from the servant wing, and not taking the turn into the gallery, as Millie and I had done yesterday, I entered the foyer. From there the large stairwell spiraled gently upward toward a ceiling with a magnificent display of heaven. In great painted detail were pale-colored virgins being hauled sky-bound by cherubs, up to where toga-wearing men languorously reclined on puffs of clouds. Obviously, the painting indicated to the observer that the only divine beings who were allowed to ascend heaven-bound were the family and their equals. Of course, being a lowly servant, I was not allowed to venture over the threshold step and up the grand winding climb, for guarding the entry were two armored knights, standing vigil with swords, as if only through them, one could be granted access.

  Toward the front of the house, was a set of extremely high double doors. One of these was slightly ajar. Unable to restrain my curiosity, I pushed the door slightly open, and with my heart pounding furiously, I tiptoed into a massive chamber—the great hall. The first thing that caught my eyes was the menacing medieval weaponry hanging about the walls. There were shields, bows and arro
ws, swords, all manner of device capable of putting one into an early grave; certainly, these were objects that must have been used countless times by a Davenport ancestor.

  My gaze was drawn upward to the vaulted ceiling. Suspended from a large cross beam, within the center of the space was an enormous black iron chandelier. Not out of place was the large chimney piece, halfway along the hall, awaiting the strike of a flint. The white marble surrounds of the fireplace were completely antagonistic to the heavenly scene above the stairwell. There were monsters and serpents, and upside-down naked bodies being tugged down to the eternal fire of hell, into the fireplace that was big enough to roast a cow. Hastily, feeling spooked by my surroundings, I exited the chamber back through the doors I had entered, making sure to put the door back into its original ajar position. This time I entered the gallery.

  To take a stroll slowly down the gallery was like entering into the historic lives of the Davenports. In between the narrow floor-to-ceiling windows were faces of predecessors on massive-sized paintings. No description was ignored in the horse-mounted combat scenes, their ruthless sword savagery portrayed and showing the countless victims sliced and diced and laying beneath pounding hoofs. It was nearing the rotunda, the prisms of colored light having not yet formed, that the paintings became more recent. Several of these showed men and women in white wigs, beyond these, once the wigs had fallen from England’s fashions, I was faced with the present day heir’s father and mother, each of their portraits appropriately side-by-side. Below the couple was the painting of two children together in one frame. The younger child had a mischievous glint in her eyes, whereas the other one portrayed solemnity, as he had done when staring down at me from the carriage window those many years ago.

  I whispered, “Whatever happened to you, Alby? Why did you abandon me?” The memory returned as a dull ache in my heart. The answer, I knew, would never ever come out.

  A woman’s voice sounded from the right side of the rotunda, from the direction of the West-wing access. In fear, I looked about at the length of gallery that I had left behind. It would be far too late for me to run and reach the door in time. I had no good explanation as to why I was there, no cleaning rag in hand as an excuse, and I certainly did not have the courage to face the lady boss and explain why I was in a place where I was not permitted to be, leaving me with only one desperate measure—to hide.

  The nearest window was flanked by a pair of matching ornate chairs and floor-reaching curtains. As stupid as it was, I squeezed behind one of the chairs, trying not to disturb it, and, hid behind the curtain just in time to hear the man’s and woman’s footsteps enter into the main gallery. The pair continued along, but instead of passing the inconspicuous lump behind the curtain, they stopped to view the very paintings I had been staring at moments earlier.

  “It is a shame that he is ill of all days,” said the woman. “I cannot fathom why he did not want to see you. He might get pneumonia if he is not careful, what with his mother’s reputation for having had bad lungs.”

  “He didn’t sound all that bad, my lady. If he was unable to speak then, yes, I would have forced myself into his accommodations.”

  “He should have been checked. With the right medicine, he could have been cured. For all we know it might be just a case of the sniffles.” The woman let out an exasperated sigh. “He never socializes, and just when the opportunity comes for him to meet members of his society, he is ill, or conveniently so.”

  “Perhaps he does not favor being amongst people at this stage of his life.”

  “That is not up to him to decide. He will inherit a big responsibility when this place falls into his hands. He could have met a most suitable bride this evening. Dorchester’s daughter might not be of noble blood, but look at what a merger of the two families could mean—a greater mass of land, which could only benefit all.”

  “Pressuring the young man, my lady, will only make him rebellious. You know full well how steadfast he is.”

  “I’m afraid I have to agree, Mr. Stanley. His determination, once his mind is made up, is the very trait of his father, which can be a good thing when it is consistently for the good. Nevertheless, he has his bad traits, such as his shying away from social occasions when he has the opportunity to meet suitable ladies. I believe the inherited waywardness, just like his sister possesses, is from that American mother of theirs.”

  The chair before me scraped forward. The woman must have decided she needed it to support herself while she stood. I heard her strained breathing, and in an act of rage, she shook the chair, so one of its legs bounced about and crunched down on the tip of my little toe.

  “I am exhausted.” She slumped down heavily into the chair. “I feel under-appreciated. All that I have done for both those children and this is how they repay me.” The chair leg ground down on my toe with her every rigid movement. I bit my lip and closed my eyes tightly, listening to her cry out, “All the wise counsel I have offered, and it is ignored. What is the point of it all?”

  “I am sure they will appreciate you in time, my lady. You have done a lot for—”

  “All these years of being like a mother and it is like I was never here, like they both want me gone. Look at India. Look at what she has become! I tell you now, Mr. Stanley, without my direction, those two would have this place running aground.”

  “My lady, everyone can see you have done right by the children by being here for them. Nevertheless, for your health’s sake, it is time that you sat back and let Albert and India govern their own lives. If you worry about every anticipated wrong turn each might take, it will be you who will end up ill. You ought to be enjoying yourself, living your life, traveling abroad! Why not visit your husband in Egypt?”

  “No, I would prefer to leave Ewan to do his job in peace. He will be preoccupied, what with being underground…”

  “How is he, by the way?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine. He never was one to write many letters.” Charlotte coughed heavily.

  “You might need something for that, my lady.”

  “No, Mr. Stanley. My throat is parched in want of some tea that is all. Would you care to join me for one in the morning room?”

  “I, with much regret, will have to decline your splendid offer, my lady. Unfortunately, I have many patients to see today,” said Dr. Stanley. “Perhaps I am being intrusive, and forgive me if you think I am being so, but in my opinion, three months is a long time without any communication from your husband. I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving my beloved for one week without writing to her.”

  There was an awkward silence before Charlotte answered. “The African postal service is very unreliable. Perhaps I could go and see him once the new nursemaid arrives and settles in, since that foolish one-upped and left without as much as a warning.”

  “You need not worry about the care of the boy. Jackson is adept at caring for children. A three-month-old is not a handful to the likes of her. Remember the girl has been around many babies all her life, thanks to her parents’ enthusiasm for each other.” Mr. Stanley chuckled. “Why not go away on a holiday for a bit. If any problems arise, I shall be quick to attend. By the way, do you need any more sedative?”

  “Yes please, Mr. Stanley, I only have a little remaining.”

  “This is a particularly strong batch. Please take half the dose that you normally have. It is a dangerous hallucinogenic in large doses.”

  “I shall be very careful. Thank you for coming at such short notice, although it was a waste of time for the both of us.

  “It was my pleasure, my lady. You have a good day.”

  The parting of ways between the pair could not come soon enough. Already my little toe had gone beyond pain to that of numbness. The fear of being caught had riveted me to the spot. I peered out from the curtain to see the way was clear and then massaged my poor foot through my boot.

  Lady Charlotte had had a secret baby? I imagined the woman being past her prime, in her thirties or
forties. I tried to do the calculation in my head as I hurried about the rotunda and took a left turn for the east wing. The baby was a three-month-old, yet the husband left at the time it was born. Why was there not a letter of “how are you fairing, my darling?” I thought of Ewan Davenport as a cad of a man to not even bother. The conversation, between the throbs of toe pain, had confirmed the whereabouts of the maid who had disappeared. Millie Jackson was the infant’s temporary nursemaid and would be up in the nursery, wherever that was.

  Into the depths of the family haunts I ventured. The gas lighting was still illuminated. From Millie’s report, this wing contained the drawing rooms, morning room, and dining areas; there were also two libraries, with a study that was known to have a secret access that led right up to the floor of the chapel altar. Suddenly, the thought stopped me in my tracks about Charlotte’s conversation—Davenport was ill. He would be unable to attend the function at the Dorchester’s, meaning there would be no one to stop the rustlers!

  I hurried back toward the rotunda, when all of a sudden a door behind me opened. I turned about to see stepping out into the passage a tall elegantly dressed man; he would have not noticed me if it had not been for the acoustic sound of my boot coming to a skidding stop. He glanced over his shoulder, and when he saw me standing there in the gaslight, his lower face stretched into a tight smirk.

  “Well, well, well, who do we have here?” It was the tall and lanky man who pivoted like a ballerina from the direction he had been intent on heading.

  “Good morning,” was my scared reply.

  “I did not realize that you were working here as one of the maids.” The man stopped before me, the sharp teeth flashed one meter away, the gaslight giving his pupils a frightening intensity. He took another step forward. I increased the gap with a much bolder step backward.