The room was tender with Elsie at ๏ฌrst. Objects retreated to a considerate distance, hazy around the edges, withholding their full weight. Panic hovered in a place she could sense but not quite feel.
Light played upon the ceiling in ripples. She ๏ฌuttered her eyelashes.
โElsie.โ Pressure upon her hand. โMrs Holt, make a hot posset!
Quickly! Sheโs awake!โ
Clanging downstairs. It was all too sharp, penetrating the soft fuzz.
โElsie, dear Elsie. Thank goodness.โ Gradually, Sarahโs strong features became de๏ฌned.
โI am not . . .โ Her mouth tasted metallic. She tried again. โWhy am I . . .โ No memory would stay still long enough for her to catch hold of it. She saw a deer, then a match . . . They darted away again.
โDo not try to speak. The doctor says we must keep you quiet. I have telegrammed for Mr Livingstone, he will come at once.โ
She looked around. It was all there: the heavy bedposts carved with grapes and ๏ฌowers; the washstand; the triple mirror on the dressing table. Features of The Bridge returning like a long-forgotten dream. She could not process them.
Jolyon was coming. Jolyon, her constant, her ballast. She must hold on to that. But why was he not here with her now? He was upset, wasnโt he? Mourning over something. Ma. No, Mabel. Mabel.ย Helen. She jolted upright, drenched in cold sweat. โHelen! She was โsheโโ
Sarahโs hand pressed on her shoulder, laying her back against the pillows. โHush, hush. I know.โ She swallowed. โWe were at the church, Mrs Holt and I, talking to Mr Underwood about Mabelโs funeral. But now it seems . . . Now we will have to hold two.โ
Elsie shut her eyes. It was with her still: Helenโs strawberry face staring up from the carpet in all its mangled horror. โHow? How could this happen?โ
Sarah took a trembling breath. โWe had the constable come down from Torbury St Jude. Then some inspectors. Peters gave a statement. From all they can conjecture, it was some kind of terrible accident. Helen must have been cleaning the stag, they said, when . .
.โ
Lights ๏ฌashed behind her eyelids. โBut you donโt believe that, Sarah. I can hear it in your voice. You donโt believe a word of it.โ
She felt Sarah edge closer. โNo, I donโt.โ โTell me.โ
Sarah burst into tears.
Elsieโs eyes snapped open. Sarahโs face was scrunched into a wet, red mess. She struggled to breathe through her heaving sobs. โSarah? What is it?โ
โThis is my fault. It is all my f-fault.โ โHow can you possibly think that?โ
Sarahโs jaw quivered. โI โ Oh, how can I tell you? It was me, Mrs Bainbridge. I t-took your d-diamonds!โ
Vomit rose to the back of her throat. Mabel did not steal the diamonds: she was innocent. Innocent and pushed to a desperate act through Elsieโs mistake.
โI just wanted something f-from my f-family. Then Mabel got into trouble and I โ I didnโt know what to do. I never thought . . .โ
Blood, running hot over her hands.
โI was going to tell you at Easter,โ Sarah gabbled on. โI was going to tell everyone the truth, I swear it. But then Helen decided that the companions must have stolen the necklace! She . . .โ Sarah screwed up her mouth, pained. โShe wanted to burn them again. She took Hetta from me and threw her onto the kitchen ๏ฌre!โ
Weak and sick, Elsie pressed her hands to her temples. โI donโt understand. Why did she suspect the companions?โ
โThatโs what Mrs Holt didnโt tell you. There was a companion, Elsie, in the kitchen with Mabel. One I have never seen before, some kind of cook.โ
Pinpricks ran up Elsieโs arms. โI saw a companion of my own mother, Sarah, standing in the window. Right where the handprint was.โ
โYou see? They are multiplying. I think ๏ฌre only makes them more powerful. And there never would haveย beenย a ๏ฌre, were it not for my stupid, stupidโโ
โYou could have asked me for the diamonds,โ Elsie cut in. โI would not have refused you.โ
Sarah hung her head. โI am so ashamed. It is almost as if . . . I could not help myself. But it is not only me. Hetta was obsessed with them too, obsessed with the companions and the diamond necklace. Iโve been looking at the records Mr Underwood brought, ๏ฌnding out all I can about Anne. Usually there is scant material to go on for a woman in the sixteen-hundreds, but I found records on Anne because . . . because of the way she died.โ
Elsie could not bring herself to ask.
โShe was burnt,โ Sarah whispered. โBurnt at the stake for a witch.โ โA witch?ย Sheย is the witch the villagers still fear?โ
โYes. And with good reason. The records say she killed people, Elsie. But in the diary, she is not wicked. She thought she was using white magic, the old herbal remedies of the wise-women. But she must have made a mistake. Her poor daughter was born without a proper tongue and something else, somethingย evilย . . .โ
Elsie didnโt want to believe it. At the factory, she had talked herself out of believing it. But here, back in this house where Rupert had died, where his siblings had died, she couldย feelย it. The old, old fear. No amount of reason or logic could erase that feeling. She had known evil from a child โ recognised its velvet voice.
A knock fell on the door. They both jumped. โHot posset.โ Mrs Holt.
โCome in,โ Elsie croaked.
The steam entered ๏ฌrst, laced with warm nutmeg and treacle. Mrs Holt appeared carrying a tray and a cup spilling over with clouds of heat. New lines dragged around her mouth and made it look hinged.
The whites of her eyes, always jaundiced, were now shot with ribbons of red.
Elsie took the cup. Milky, sweet scents teased at her nostrils. Her stomach begged for sustenance, but she couldnโt bring herself to drink. She didnโt want to swallow anything from this house. She didnโt want it inside her.
โMiss Sarah, I think you had better leave the mistress be for now.
Remember, she needs her rest. The doctor said so.โ โButโโ Sarah started.
โI really must insist. Pardon me, miss, but Mr Livingstone will never forgive me if he arrives and ๏ฌnds I havenโt followed the doctorโs orders.โ
Sarah stroked Elsieโs hair. Leaning in close to her ear, she whispered, โI will be back later. We should sleep in the same room from now on. I donโt feel safe alone.โ
Elsie nodded. She did not ask what Sarah meant byย alone. No one was truly alone. Not ever, not in this house.
Sarah swept up her skirts and left the room. Elsie heard her footsteps, treading the familiar boards to the library. Mrs Holt remained.
The housekeeperโs gaze possessed a hardness Elsie had not detected before. โWill there be anything else, madam?โ Theย madamย was a forced, horrible sound.
โOh, Mrs Holt. I am so sorry. I cannot imagine what you are feeling. First Mabel and then Helen.โ
โI loved those girls like my own daughters. There was no harm in them. And now they are stiff and stretched in the cold larder, and I will have to bury them. Both of them!โ Mrs Holt broke down. Elsie averted her eyes and let her cry it out. The noise alone was terrible.
โI was wrong to blame them,โ Elsie ventured at last. โThey did not trick me or kill my cow. I know that now. There is something else at work, something in this house.โ
A spasm crossed Mrs Holtโs face. โI have kept this house for nigh on forty years. We never had any hauntings or deaths before you came along.โ
โBefore Rupert came along,โ Elsie corrected her softly.
โTheyโd still be alive if it wasnโt for you. If you hadnโt come storming in, clomping about, throwing open doors that were meant
to stay shut.โ
โWhat do you mean?โ
โIt doesnโt matter.โ Mrs Holt snatched her eyes away.
โโDoors that were meant to stay shut?โ I donโt understand you.
Are you talking about the garret?โ
The elder womanโs ribcage rose and fell, jangling her cameo brooch. โI was meant to keep it secret. The old Mr Bainbridge ordered me, right from the day I arrived here, to keep the garret locked and never discuss it.โ
โBut why?โ
โI donโt know. He said there were things in there, things that troubled his wife. Books.โ
โA diary?โ
As she said that, she remembered that there were two diaries. Two volumes. Sarah did not mention if she had ever retrieved the second one. Perhaps it was still there.
โMaybe. I donโt recall what books they were. I never had reason to recall until you turned up.โ
Elsieโs grip tightened on the cup. โWhat โ what happened to Rupertโs mother? How did she die?โ
โBlessed if I know.โ
โYou must have an idea. What were her symptoms?โ
โI tell you, I donโt know! For all anyone told me, she could be drawing breath yet.โ
Elsie lay stunned. โYou were there,โ she said, incredulous. โYou said. You talked ofย when you lost the mistress.โ
Mrs Holt closed her eyes, seemed to wrestle with her memories. โNo. No, she didnโt die. She was . . .โ
โWhat?โ
โWe lost Mrs Bainbridge, but it wasnโt to death. It was her mind.
Her own mind got her in the end.โ
Elsieโs hands started to shake. The cup clattered against the saucer. โAre you saying that her husband put her in an asylum?โ
Mrs Holt gave her a long look. โWe never told Master Rupert. Just said that sheโd died, and it was true, in a sense. That lunatic wasnโt Mrs Bainbridge, not any more. Iโve seen hysteria, madam. Iโve seen a woman driven mad with her novel reading and her brain fevers. Iโve seen that look in your eye before.โ
โButย Iย am not mad!โ Mrs Holt did not reply. โYou know I am not. You were there, Mrs Holt. You saw the companions. You saw them burnt to ash and reappear from nowhere.โ
Mrs Holt shook her head. โMaybe itโs losing a child that does it to your poor mind . . . God help me. I didnโt listen to the ravings of the last Mrs Bainbridge and Iโll be damned if Iโll listen to yours.โ
Turning on her heel, she strode from the room and closed the door. Elsie heard her sharp steps echo through the corridor and down, down, descending the spiral staircase behind the wall.
The night hung heavy and interminable. Sarah lay beside her in the bed, her mousy hair spread out on the pillow. Her chest rose and fell beneath her ruf๏ฌed nightgown. How could she sleep?
One window stood ajar, letting a gasp of air into the stuffy room, but it was not refreshing; it smelt warm and herbal. Outside, a barn owl screeched to its mate.
Rupertโs mother waltzed in circles around Elsieโs head. She had slept in this house, walked in the gardens. A lunatic? Or a fellow victim? She remembered that tattered, plundered crib in the nursery and shuddered.
Sarah shifted in the bed. Her body made the sheets too hot, but Elsie did not move. She kept her eyes open, waiting. Knowing it would come.
Yes.
Hissss. It was so soft, it might have been a breeze passing through the room. But there was no breeze tonight.
Hiss. She couldnโt stand it any longer. She had to ๏ฌnd out. She had to get the second volume of that godforsaken diary and discover what Rupertโs mother had known.
Carefully, she slid her feet out from under the covers and placed them on the carpet. The bed rustled, but Sarah did not stir. Elsie reached beneath the pillow for the matches she kept there every night, like a talisman.
There was a snuffed-out candle in the holder on the dressing table. She picked it up as she passed. It made more sense to light the wick when she was outside in the corridor โ then she could leave Sarah asleep, safe from the danger she was walking into.
Hiss, hiss.
She moved one leg after the other, forcing herself on, her hand out before her, feeling the way. Expecting, at any second, the sickening touch of wood.
Her palm collided with something. She ๏ฌinched โ it was the bedroom door handle, just the door handle. She leant against it and listened, stretching her senses to locate the next hiss, but nothing came.
She struggled to open the door, her nails clicking against the handle as she gripped it. She pushed down and eased the door open a fraction.
A wall of heat met her. It was like opening the door of a kitchen range. The scents of rose and thyme entwined about her, insinuating themselves into the fabric of her nightgown.ย Light the candle, light the candle.ย Neither light nor ๏ฌre would protect her but she needed them, needed them like air.
The match ๏ฌared in her trembling hand, sending shadows snaking out into the corridor. She would not look up, not until the candle was lit. It took every ounce of concentration to connect the ๏ฌame with the wick. At last it caught; she shook out the match and let it drop steaming to the ๏ฌoor.
Quickly, quickly. She had to move but her hand refused to raise the candle, refused to do anything but grip the metal holder until her knuckle turned white. Close to tears, she ๏ฌnally managed to thrust the candle out ahead of her. The breath sealed in her chest.
The maroon corridor stretched before her, cross-hatched with shadows. Silver pools of moonlight dotted the path to the stairs. Three companions stood waiting, their eyes gleaming with a revolting hunger.
She would not scream, she would not scream. They were only pieces of wood.
Pieces of wood that can move.
She would have to move quicker โ that was all. She could make it, she could do it. It was like jumping, like lighting a match.ย One. Two. Three.
Her tread was steady, far steadier than her careering heartbeat. Each time her foot hit the ๏ฌoor, the candle jogged and bumped in its holder. Light surged and retracted but the ๏ฌame didnโt go out.
Sawdust bloomed from the carpet as she approached the ๏ฌrst companion. Through the candlelit haze she made out the ๏ฌgure of a woman. A woman without arms.
Her throat squeezed as she drew level. The woman had long, matted hair and eyes alight with a ghastly vivacity. Familiar, somehow. She had seen those eyes before, knew them well . . .
Rupert.
Rupertโs mother, the other Mrs Bainbridge. A strait waistcoat concealed her arms. She was helpless, begging Elsie with an expression so lifelike that it cut her to the heart. Beneath the clumsy rhythm of Elsieโs pulse came a wail, thin and pathetic. She could hear her. Elsie could hear Rupertโs mother, crying.
Her skin pricked, tensed for the shock of contact โ it did not come. Somehow, her feet kept walking; she passed by, unscathed, and moved towards the next companion.
This must be the cook that Sarah spoke of: she gripped a meat cleaver in her doughy hands. Blood streaked her apron and the coif that covered her hair.ย Red paint, just paint. Yet it carried the rancid smell of the real thing. Combined with the scent of roses and thyme it was a nauseous mixture, unbearable.
Again Elsie overtook the companion, this stab of fear deeper than the last. Terror knocked her vision aslant. She barely saw the last companion, the old woman with the child on her lap. Guided by memory, she turned past the Lantern Gallery and made her way to the stairs leading to the garret.
The staircase was empty. Relieved, drunk with a sense of her own bravery, she broke into a run and took the steps two at a time. Shadows wheeled around her, scuttling back to the corners. She had beaten them. She would get that diary.
As she rounded the newel post and gained the landing, a sound stopped her in her tracks. Her eyes shot back down the staircase. They were all there โ every companion she had walked past โstaggered like children in a game of grandmotherโs footsteps; one on the treads, the other two at intervals down the corridor.
They had followed her.ย Hiss.
Her gaze ๏ฌew up: more companions had appeared, drawn to her like ๏ฌies to a corpse. They were guarding the whitewashed passage
that led to the garret.ย Hiss.ย Back again โ the companion on the stairs had moved, ever so slightly.
Inch by inch, step by step, they were coming for her. โGod help me, please help me.โ
She could not watch them all at once.
With a cry of agony, she wrenched herself away from the banisters and charged down the corridor. The candle blew out but she did not stop, could not stop; she kept going, pushing her way on. They didnโt want her near the diary, and that was exactly why she must read it. She would read it if it was the last thing she ever did.
She shoved past the companions, hitting them with her shoulders, sending them rattling against the Dutch tiles.ย Nearly there, nearly there. She stubbed her toe and almost cried out for joy. It was a step โ the ๏ฌrst of the steps up to the garret.
She scrabbled for another match. The pack fell skittering to the ๏ฌoor but she managed to grab one stick, tight in her ๏ฌst. She struck it on the wall and relit the candle.
The door to the garret was open.
Hiss. The sound made her nauseous. She could not stop โ they were coming up close behind her. She stormed up the steps, whipped round and slammed the garret door shut. Just in time. Through the closing gap, she caught sight of a sinister painted smile and wide, vulpine eyes.
Her lungs seared in her chest. It was a labour to breathe with the dust and that dank, below-ground smell tainting the atmosphere. She felt close to fainting, and there was still the long run back to the bedroom. If she could get there. What if they barred her way out? What if they came through the door?
She spun around frantically, looking for the diary. Dust ๏ฌew up like feathers in a hen-coop. As it cleared, she saw two glowing emerald eyes.
โJasper!โ
She had never been so pleased to see a creature in all her life. She ran to the table where he lay and put her candle down. Greedily, her ๏ฌngers burrowed into his fur. The warmth of his skin, the beat of blood behind his ear, was comforting beyond measure. Something else alive โ naturally alive. He could not help her, but she would rather face the companions with him than brave them alone.
Mewing, Jasper stood and bowed in a long, luxurious stretch. His claws extended and retracted again. As they went in, they took a nick out of the surface below him. Leather. Worn and faded, but the scent was unmistakable. Jasper leapt elegantly to the ๏ฌoor and revealed what he had been sleeping on: โThe Diary of Anne Bainbridgeโ. Elsie seized it and pressed it to her chest. It was still warm.
She should read it here โ here, now, while she had the chance. Her ๏ฌngers ๏ฌicked through the pages but it was no good. She could not focus, could not read. It was all a jumble to her.
Just then, she felt it on her shoulder: sharp as the lick of a knife. Screaming, she whirled round. In the instant before the candle went out, she saw a wooden mouth grinning at her.
โNo! Jasper!โ
His mew sounded at the other side of the room; his claws tapped as he swatted the door open and slunk away. He could see in the dark. She just had to follow him.
Lurching forwards, she gripped the diary in her hand and fumbled back the way she had come, towards the door and the staircase beyond. Or at least, she thought it was the way she had come. She could not see an inch before her nose. Companions must be massing round the door โ she sensed them in the air: the force pressing down; malevolent, full of hate.
Her hand knocked against a table โ papers slid to the ๏ฌoor. She couldnโt see, she couldnโt breathe . . .
All at once, the ๏ฌoor tilted beneath her. She grabbed at the air and felt a scream boiling out from her lips. Then she fell.
A corner of the diary jolted into her ribcage as she came to an abrupt stop. Her legs burnt, her chest squeezed. What had happened? Groaning, she kicked her feet out. She could move them. They were free, but she was stuck fast.
Understanding slammed into her: the ๏ฌoorboards had opened again. She was caught in the hole Mabel had fallen down.
Hiss, hiss.
Trapped, cornered. And all the while, the companions were coming closer.
She kicked wildly. She had to pull herself up, but one hand was clamped hard to her chest, nursing the diary, while the other waved uselessly in the dark, unable to catch hold of anything solid.
Hiss, hiss.ย She heard rather than saw them move: the slow, painful scrape of the wooden base against the ๏ฌoor. Pinpricks ran down her neck. Something hard pressed against the back of her head.
โNo, no, no!โ
With a ๏ฌnal desperate convulsion, she ๏ฌailed her legs.
There was a long, low creak. Then suddenly she was falling, falling, until her spine smacked into the ๏ฌoor.
She lay paralysed by shock and pain.
At last, with great dif๏ฌculty, she turned her head and saw the rocking horse sway at her side. The ๏ฌoor had given way. She was in the nursery.