Voices in a Haunted Room

I said I would and went to the servants’ hall, where I told them that we had visitors and that a room was to be prepared.

“The bed is made up in the red room, Mrs. Frenshaw,” said one of the maids. “I’ll light a fire and put the warming pan in the bed. That’s all that will be needed.”

I went to the nursery to look at the babies. They were fast asleep in their cots, which stood side by side. I had a word with the nurse, who told me that Jessica had had a little tantrum earlier, but that Amaryllis had been as good as gold.

“Such a contented baby, Mrs. Frenshaw. Madam Jessica is of a fiery nature.”

“Can you tell so soon?” I asked.

“Oh yes, indeed you can. They start to show their natures almost as soon as they are born.”

I stooped and kissed the little faces-Amaryllis pink and white, Jessica dark-haired.

Her eyes were fast shut but they were deep blue like my mother’s.

I felt contented as I always did when all was well in the nursery, and I told the servants in the kitchen to lay two more places for dinner. They were entertaining company, James and Emma Cardew. They talked knowledgeably about affairs, the state of the country and what was happening across the water.

But my mother soon changed the subject-of which we had far too much when Dickon and Jonathan were home-and turned the talk to more domestic matters. Emma told us about her children; she had two, a boy and a girl, and their ages were fourteen and sixteen.

The son would take care of their estate in Yorkshire when he was old enough; at the moment they had an excellent manager. James and Emma paid visits to London occasionally when they made arrangements for the sale of their wool.

David was interested and asked a good many questions and so the evening passed pleasantly.

“Meeting new people is always stimulating,” said my mother when we had taken our guests to the red room, which looked cosy with its red velvet curtains drawn to shut out the weather, and a fire blazing in the grate.

In our bedroom David and I talked about the guests.

”I gather their money comes mostly from sheep,” he said. “They would be big farmers, I imagine.”

“They seemed to know a great deal about us,” I commented. “I wonder if they keep a dossier of all their friends.”

“They seemed the kind who would be interested in people.”

“I’m surprised that your father talked so much about us all. It is the last thing I would have expected him to do.”

“Oh, he has changed a lot since he married your mother. But I do agree, it would be unlike him to talk a lot about the family. I hope he gets back tomorrow.”

“They’ll be disappointed if he doesn’t.”

David was thoughtful for a moment; then he said: “I hear that the war is going to be over soon.”

“Do you think the French are going to beat the allies?”

“What with Tuscany making peace and Sweden acknowledging the Republic, I hope we are not going to be left fighting on our own. I think it must end soon, and when it does, Claudine, you and I will have that promised honeymoon. Italy! I long to see Herculaneum.” He put his arm about me. “In the meantime, my dearest, you will have to put up with an extended honeymoon, here in Eversleigh.”

“Honeymoons are to start married life with. We are no longer beginners.”

“I love you more than I ever did.”

He held me close to him and it was all I could do to stop myself crying out: “I don’t deserve it.” I felt I should never rid myself of this burden of guilt as long as I lived.

And later, when there should have been perfect intimacy between us, I kept thinking of a gondolier singing Italian love songs, and as we floated down the canal my company was not David but Jonathan.

In the morning, as I passed through the hall, I noticed that the silver punch bowl, which always stood in the centre of the big table, was not there.

David and I went to the dining room. My mother was already seated.

She said; “Oh hello, my dears. Our guests are not up. They must have been tired out.

Travelling can be so exhausting!”

“They didn’t seem exhausted last night,” commented David.

“What’s happened to the punch bowl?” I asked.

“Oh, you noticed too. I expect they’ve taken it to the kitchen to clean it.”

While we were eating one of the servants came in.

“Something awful’s happened, M’am,” she said. “I think we’ve been broken into.”

“What?” cried my mother.

“Cook has noticed there’s things missing from the hall. Silver and things ...”

“The punch bowl!” I cried.

We went into the hall. Several of the servants were there.

“It must have been vagrants,” said my mother. “How could they have got in? Who locked up?”

“The doors were all locked last night,” said the butler quickly. “I always see to that myself. And this morning the doors were shut but unbolted. I couldn’t understand it.”

“Extraordinary!” said my mother. “What could have happened? Did anyone hear anything in the night?”

Nobody had.

“We’d better look round quickly and see what has been taken.”