The House Where It Happened Page 4

  Peggy read my thoughts. Well, some of them. “The Devil makes work for idle hands. Mistress Haltridge and her guest need their supper. Mercy Hunter, the minister could be back home already and wonderin’ why you’re out gaddin’.”

  “Not at all. He’s on’y gettin’ goin’ with the prayin’. The master loves a good pray.” Mercy was a sauce box, but she carried it off. The pretty ones always do. She turned to me. “What’s the visitor like? Did she bring a big trunk with her?”

  “Time enough tae chinwag about visitors when the work is done,” said Peggy. “You run along now, Mercy Hunter, and see you step over me herbs if you take a shortcut through the vegetable patch.”

  I walked Mercy to the end of the yard, where we dallied by the barn.

  “How are yiz managin’ without your master, Ellen?”

  “A guest in the house helps. It takes our mind off things. And she’s a wee dote – she’ll do us all a power of good. The mistress has’n looked so cheerful since afore the aul’ mistress took ill. Master Haltridge was brave and relieved when he heared the visit was agreed.”

  “You’re too fond of thon master of yours, Ellen. Your face shines when you mention him. A cruel word from him wud cut the heart out of you. Does he ever steal a kiss when nobody’s lookin’?”

  “Whist! Not every man is like Sammy Orr.” I tried to sound unconcerned but I couldn’t help blushing.

  “Ach, would you listen to her, lettin’ on to be shocked! He has a gleam in his eye, your Master Haltridge.”

  “Stop it now. My master is a gentleman – he’d never take liberties.”

  “He wud’n be the first gentleman to fun hisself with a maid. Look at you, Ellen Hill, you’re as red as a rooster’s comb. You’ve been cuddlin’ with your master, have’n you? You can tell me, I’ll never let on – not to a soul.”

  “Mercy, please, that’s enough. You’ll cost me my place if Mistress Haltridge hears you.”

  “It’s the quiet ones need watchin’. You look like butter would’n melt in your mouth. But you’ve been sneakin’ round with your master, same as Ruth with hers.” She dug her elbow in my ribs, and let out a squawk.

  By now, I was desperate to shut her up. “You mustn’t say such things. I know you’re only havin’ a joke, but imagine if the minister or one of the elders overheared you. They would’n see it as a bit of fun. A-coorse I think my master is a braw-lookin’ man, and maybes he does like me a wee bit, but it would be madness to give in to him. He’s too far above me in station, and wed already forbye. If I sinned with him, and was punished with a swollen belly, I’d have to leave Islandmagee.”

  “You and your precious Islandmagee. Given half a chance, I’d shake the dust from this place off my feet. Aye, well, I’m on’y teasin’, Ellen – no need to get so het up. Stay out a few minutes longer – it’s dull up at the minister’s house. You’d miss a body to have a laugh with.”

  I let her gabble, lost in my own thoughts. Remembering how sweet my master’s lips tasted. If it was only kisses, it might be no great harm, but kissing led to touching and touching led to forgetting. And forgetting was something I should never let myself do.

  Except I had.

  How did Mercy guess? It only happened the once. It was on a day when he was very low, between his mother’s illness and her screams that Knowehead should be tumbled down. My master came to me for comfort, and I lost my virtue to him. That’s the truth of it. I had fallen, God forgive me. I looked up, and my misdeed was in front of me. It happened in this very barn I was standing beside. Now I was in a right state, waiting for my monthlies. Praying for escape from the fruits of my sin. Pledging and promising it would never happen again.

  My master flattered me into it. “I don’t know how we’d manage without you, Ellen. You’re like a candle, straight and tall,” he told me, and it went to my head because nobody ever praised me like that before. Ach no, I was lying to myself. It wasn’t only his sweet words that made me give in to him. There was also the longing way he looked at me, as if he saw something in me nobody else did – that’s what made me stay for his kisses. Aye, and kiss him back, his breath tasting of apples. I lost my virtue that day.

  What was done was done, but I knowed I must take care not to fall again. Even though his touch gave me pleasure, I can’t deny it. How and ever, the risks were too great. Ruth Graham was a lesson to me. Even if I was lucky – Sweet Lord, have pity – and no child was sown inside me, I’d lose my place if we were caught.

  It would be a relief to talk it over with somebody, but I could confide my sin in no one. Especially not Mercy Hunter. She wasn’t bad-hearted, but as sure as night follows day she’d blab my secret to somebody.

  By and by, I said, “I must go on back, the mistress might be askin’ for me.”

  “Is it quiet now, about the place at night?”

  “I’m not follyin’ you, Mercy.”

  “Ach, don’t give me that. Sure the whole of Islandmagee knows whose face the aul’ dame saw at the foot of her bed.”

  “Catch yourself on. She had your master with her at the end. The minister was prayin’ at the top of his voice over her when the Almighty took her to His mansion.”

  “Somebody come for her, all right. But not everybody thinks she was gathered to the Lord’s side. Some say Hamilton Lock was sent for to bring her in the other direction.”

  “Mercy Hunter, Mistress Haltridge was a Christian soul. If she was’n saved, there’s no hope for the rest of us.”

  “Aye, she was a godly woman. But my master says evil likes to pit itself agin godliness. ‘An’ sometimes Lucifer gets the best of the match. Mistress Haltridge was touched by an unclean thing, an’ died howlin’ like a dog. You better watch yourself, Ellen Hill. Because from what I hear, Hamilton Lock is far from finished with Knowehead House.’

  * * *

  Next morning, Mistress Haltridge told me to help Mary Dunbar with her unpacking, and I was glad of the chance to look at her gee-gaws. I knocked on the door of the young lady’s bedchamber, and was given leave to enter. She was standing at the casement. Not much of a view from there, if you ask me. Larne Lough is nice enough – it’s saltwater, by the by, on account of being an arm of the sea – but you can’t get a look at it from her chamber. All you can see are boggy fields with rushes growing in them. Her lambskin rug was over my arm, dried off in the kitchen overnight, and I laid it on the floor by the side of the bed. It would be cosy underfoot when she had to use her chamber pot at night.

  “Which way are the cliffs?’ asked Mary Dunbar.

  I jerked my head to the right.

  “I saw them yesterday. I begged your farm hand to drive up for a look, after he met me in Carrickfergus. He took some coaxing. Said it was nearly dark, which it was. But he gave way in the end. I only had an impression of steep, grey crags, though just being near them gave me goosebumps. I must walk as far as the cliffs and take in the sights properly.”

  “Them’s the Gobbins. They lie about a mile from here, pointing east toward Scotland. Two hundred and forty feet high, in some places. Best not go wanderin’ up thonder. Leastways not with the wind so high. There’s more than one poor soul been blowed over them cliffs and met their end on the rocks below.”

  “I know about that.”

  I gave her a look that would smash china. “What do you know?”

  “That women and children died there.”

  “Aye. So they did. But we don’t talk about it in these parts.”

  “It’s not the only thing you don’t talk about, is it?”

  “I don’t get your meanin’, mistress.” I waited but she didn’t respond. “I was sent to help you unpack, mistress. Will I put away your clothes?

  “Do.”

  The whiles I worked, she watched me. Her clothes were scented with rose petals. We used lavender for the same purpose here, storing it in the chests where clothes were kept. I dried it myself every autumn, and scattered it through the rushes on the floor. The mistress was finicky about
having plenty of dried lavender about the place.

  I let my fingers stroke her gowns, feeling the quality. The waists on them were totie. There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on my bones, but I could no more fit into one of those dresses than I could force my way into wee Sarah’s frocks. One gown had fine lace at the collar, and she told me it was brought on a trading ship from a convent in France.

  “I hope the rain did’n disturb you in the night,” I said.

  “Not the rain. But I did stir once. My head gave a bump against the mattress that shook me out of my sleep. It felt as if someone had pulled the pillow from under me.”

  “Maybes the pillow fell out.”

  “I could have sworn I heard laughter. Still, I found it on the floor – I expect I was tossing and turning. Anyhow, I lay awake for a while after that.”

  “My ma tells me to say prayers if I cannot drop off to sleep – prayers allus help you nod off if the night be’s long.”

  “I’m afraid I forgot to say any prayers at all last night. I thought I’d do it in bed, but I went out like a candle. At least until that business with the pillow. Have I shocked you?”

  Now, to tell you the truth, she had: I would sooner serve slops instead of goose for the family’s Christmas dinner than go to bed without saying my prayers. But just because she made you feel you could talk to her like an equal didn’t mean I was touched in the head enough to try it.

  “Say twice as many the-night, mistress.”

  Her next question knocked the wind out of my sails. “Have you ever done something wicked? Something you were afraid to admit to a living soul?”

  “I could’n rightly say,” I managed to get out.

  There was no power on earth would make me tell her about what I did with my master. I thought about palming her off with the trick Mercy Hunter and I got up to last Midsummer’s Eve, with a looking-glass dipped in the white of an egg. We only wanted to see the faces of our future husbands – we meant no harm. Mercy said an Irish wise woman told her to do it. But a noise frightened us and we dropped the glass and broke it, before either of us saw so much as a shadow. Mercy and I swore one another to secrecy. The kirk took a dim view of such doings. And then I wondered if Mary Dunbar had done anything wrong herself, since she put the question, but I could not make so bold with the mistress’s cousin as to ask.

  It seemed as if she meant to speak some more on the matter, but a tap came on the door and Mistress Haltridge appeared.

  “Still here, Ellen? You mustn’t dawdle – there’s plenty needs attending to about the house.”

  “Nearly done. I’ve been holding her back with my chatter.” Mary Dunbar smiled at me. “I can finish off here. Thank you for your assistance.”

  I was out in the passageway when the mistress called me back.

  “Have you seen my blue apron?” she said. “It’s not with the others.”

  “I washed it three days ago, and put it away. You saw me do it, mistress. The best linen tablecloth and napkins were washed the same day. You locked the chest after me.”

  “It’s not there now. Someone must have borrowed the key.” She jangled a ring of them from the belt at her waist, giving me a sharp look. “Be sure and find it. Money doesn’t grow on trees.”

  So much barging over a length of material. That was typical of the mistress. She was always yammering about farthings, and knowed how every coin was spent.

  Her being so particular over the apron made me keep an eye out for it as I went about my duties. But there was no sign. Imagine the rumpus if it had been one of her coloured shawls from the West Indies that went astray. It was only an apron she hardly ever wore, except for making preserves, a skill she was vain about. Mistress Haltridge was not one for aprons – she was keener on giving orders than joining in the work it took to run a household.

  * * *

  It was a week after Mary Dunbar’s arrival, and I was alone in the kitchen. Peggy was outside feeding leftovers to the greyhounds: she petted them for my master’s sake, since he had a fondness for them. He wasn’t only being sentimental – don’t think that about him – they had their use for hunting. The Scotch are not a people with time for idle decoration. Everything earns its keep.

  I was resting my feet on the hearthstone, brooding on how there was still no sign of my monthlies. Normally I was regular as rain, and by now I feared the worse. You’ll have to do somethin’ about this, Ellen Hill, I told myself. You can’t let it slide. Making do and mending was something I had plenty of experience with, but this problem was maybes beyond mending.

  I shook myself. No good could come of me sitting there with one hand as long as the other. I put my hand into the darning basket, and took out one of Sarah’s wee stockings. But when I looked at it, my courage gave way – and afore I knowed it, my head was resting on my knees, my breast was heaving, and I found myself overcome.

  Ach, master, you ought to have knowed what was likely to happen, I railed at him in my thoughts. I should have said something before he rode off, but I was still hoping for the best then. And with all the fuss about his mother’s funeral, there never seemed to be the right time. Now, I wondered should I write to him. But commonsense told me I had to deal with this myself. What could he do, so far from home? He must care for me a little, though, I told myself. Didn’t he take pains to share his learning with me? It gave me comfort to dwell on it. The mistress disapproved – I heard her argue with my master over it. “A maid has no business with an education, James. She’ll get above her station and be spoiled for working. What a waste that would be, after me taking such pains to train her.” That was a bare-faced lie, because it was the old mistress who troubled herself on my account, and showed me how things should be ordered.

  “Isabel, you’ll lose nothing by it. She’s a clever lass, a hard worker. You should not begrudge her the chance to profit from reading the Good Book’s wisdom. Hasn’t she as much right to its healing as any of us?”

  A clever lass. A hard worker. In my heart, I guarded those words. My master had no calling to follow in the footsteps of his father, the old minister, yet he had a winsome way with language that would have lifted any sermon. And dearly did he love the Bible. Once, he told me it was full of yarns that would make your hair curl, and he read it for enjoyment as much as for advice.

  The mistress could not defy my master when he was set upon a course. All the same, I could see her dislike of the time he spent on me by the way she loaded me with tasks once our lessons were over for the day.

  As if my daydream summoned her up, Mistress Haltridge appeared in the kitchen. Usually she rang for us, or sent one of the childer. Quickly, I wiped my sleeve across my face and jumped up, dropping wool and needle alike.

  “I need you to keep an eye on my guest and the children. I have to lie down.”

  I bent for the ball of yarn. “Are you unwell, mistress? Shall I bring you some calves’ foot jelly?”

  “That will not be necessary – it’s only my monthly courses. If I rest till the cramps pass, I should be fine.”

  She had her monthlies and mine were late. Not just late but unlikely to come now. A fierce envy flooded me. The mistress had everything and I had nothing – not even my usual pains.

  “You look strange, Ellen. Is anything the matter?”

  With an effort, I smoothed my face clear. “Nothing, mistress.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing.”

  “I suppose I’m a bit tired. We’ve all had it rough this past while, with the master’s mother and the strange things she came out with.”

  Mistress Haltridge flared up. “I forbid you to talk about that. I’ve told you before: if I hear you’ve been gossiping about this family’s business to outsiders, you’ll lose your place here.”

  “I meant no harm, mistress. Pardon me.”

  “Just mind what I say. Now, make yourself useful and bring me up a hot jar. My cousin will attend to the children – they’re fast friends with her already. But you see to it they d
o as she bids. They might test her authority.”

  Peggy crept back in as soon as she left. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had dallied outside to avoid her. The greyhounds must have fed quickly because their yipping started up again. They were always whiney when their master was away.

  “Was that the mistress in my kitchen? I dinna like her comin’ doon here.”

  “Tell her so, then.”

  “What did she want?”

  “She’s takin’ to her bed.”

  “Coddlin’ yourself is dangerous. She laces herself too tight, that’s her trouble. It’s a wonder the minister doesnae check her on it. Tight lacin’ is a vanity.”

  “The mistress likes to keep herself trim. It’s a compliment to her husband.”

  “Compliment me arse. He made a dry bargain in our mistress – the match was nowhere near good enough for him. She did’n even bring much of a portion, for all her high-steppin’ ways. He’d a fared better fetchin’ over a bonny wife from Scotland.”