I stopped short and said: ‘Is anyone there?’ and I thought I heard a quick intake of breath and then the faint rustle of clothing. I hurried down, though taking care with every step, and went to my room to lie on the bed to recover. I felt my child move within me then and I laid my hands on it reassuringly. I was going to make sure that all was well with it.
Later I admonished myself. What was I thinking of? I believed I knew what had happened to me. The memory of that madman creeping up to the house had unnerved me. I couldn’t get it out of my mind—how could I, when Mrs Cherry looked so sad and poor Cherry behaved as though he carried a load of sin on his shoulders? My imagination kept presenting me with pictures of what might have happened. I could imagine myself waking up to find him in my room. I pictured his creeping into the children’s room and looking down on those innocent little faces.
I could hear Cherry’s voice: ‘He took a pleasure in torturing and killing animals … and later he wanted to do the same to human beings.’
He is dead, I reminded myself.
But such an incident was bound to have its affect on anyone as nervous as I had become, and the feeling of being watched persisted. I gave up going to the Castle Room. It was a climb up the stairs and I was getting unwieldy, I told myself. But it was not really that. The place seemed so isolated and I was fearful of being alone.
Then one night I was sure.
Bersaba had brought in my milk. I dozed and then fell into a disturbed sleep. I dreamed that a figure came into my room, stopped by my bed, slipped something into my milk and then went swiftly and quietly from the room.
I awoke with a start and my hair really did stand up on my head, for as I opened my eyes I saw the door closing.
I called out sharply: ‘Who’s that?’
The door shut. I distinctly heard it. I got out of bed, went to the door and opened it, but there was no one in the corridor.
I returned to my bed and looked at the milk. I could see that something had been put into it because it had not yet completely dissolved.
I sat on the edge of my bed and thought: Someone is trying to harm me. It is not my imagination.
I lay on my bed, fighting the impulse to go in to Bersaba.
I had told her how uneasy I felt and she had brushed that aside. ‘It’s your condition,’ she had said. ‘And you were always inclined to be nervous.’
She would say that I had dreamed it.
I picked up the milk and smelt it. There was no odour.
For some time I looked at it and then threw it out of the window.
I had made up my mind that the next time someone came into my room I was going to be awake and speak to whoever came to tamper with my milk and ask why they wanted to harm me and my child.
It seemed to me that I had lost contact with Bersaba. She was preoccupied. Sometimes she talked about Richard; she wanted to know about our relationship and that was something I found difficult to discuss with her. There were other times when she did not want to speak of him.
We were all of us nervous. ‘I reckon this war’s doing something to us all,’ said Meg. ‘You never know when soldiers are going to come running over the grass.’ Then she clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, it won’t happen, my lady. It couldn’t here. They wouldn’t dare … not in the General’s house.’
I knew that she had been warned not to alarm me.
I wasn’t sleeping very well. I never drank the milk which was put by my bed, but I did not stop it. I wanted to catch the one whom I suspected of putting something in it. I thought with alarm that if there was no milk they might try some other method. Of course I was wasting milk. We had two cows which Cherry milked each day, so there was plenty of fresh milk at that time, but we did not know when the countryside was going to be laid waste and what we should do for food then.
Then I moved into a phase when I told myself that nothing of this was happening. I had not seen the door close. I had dreamed the whole thing. If I told anyone, they would smile and soothingly say I must take care.
Then I began to think about the house and the strangeness of things here, and how different people were from what one had believed them to be. I thought particularly of Mrs Cherry who had seemed so rotund and contented when all the time she had had a son who was a dangerous lunatic, who had broken free from his madhouse and come to Far Flamstead and tried to burn down the place. I had discovered that that had happened more than fifteen years ago, and all that time the Cherrys had been watchful lest he should escape again and return.
I began to wonder about the door in the kitchen and whether it was really just an ordinary cupboard in there. It had somehow not looked like one. I was surprised at Bersaba’s attitude. She had always been so adventurous, but when once more I tentatively mentioned the cupboard, she changed the subject and showed quite clearly that she didn’t want to talk about it.
I began to be obsessed by the thought of the cupboard in the kitchen and asked myself why there were always coats hung over the door as though to hide it. It became clear to me that I would go on thinking of it until I had seen inside. I thought too about the Cherry’s son and what would have happened if he had come into the house. It would have been a good idea to put the children in that cupboard. I almost mentioned this to Bersaba, but she had been so impatient when I talked of it that I had stopped speaking of it.
Why shouldn’t I explore my own kitchen! She had said that to me. Well, why shouldn’t I?
It was late afternoon. I had come in for a short walk round the grounds, for I did not go far now, and in any case the weather was getting cold, for we had come into December and snow was threatened. As I came through the hall I noticed how quiet the house was, and as I passed the kitchen I looked in.
There was no one there.
The impulse came suddenly. I went in and, crossing to the cupboard, pushed aside the garments which hung there. The heavy key was in the door and I opened it. It looked just as it had that night when Bersaba and I had explored. I pushed aside the coats. I needed all my strength to draw back the heavy bolt. A rush of cold air caught me and I stepped into what was certainly more than an inner cupboard. It was dark and I could see nothing, so I went back into the kitchen and took a candle. I lighted this and went through the cupboard.
It was a carefully-made corridor—with an arched ceiling some seven feet high—and the walls were of stone. I went through it for what seemed quite a long way and finally I came to another door. This also was locked by a heavy bolt.
I pulled it and the door swung open. I was in a courtyard and I understood immediately where I was, for towering above me was the castle.
I was tremendously excited and afraid. I was not to approach the castle, Richard had said. It was unsafe.
I knew I should not stay, yet I seemed to be fascinated, unable to move. And as I stood there I heard someone shout at me.
‘Who’s that?’
A man came out of the castle. He was tall with very broad shoulders and a pale face, on which was a birthmark so vivid that it was the first thing I noticed about him. Something seemed to click in my mind. I had seen him before. He was Strawberry John.
‘Get back,’ he shouted.
‘W … why?’ I stammered.
Then I heard strange sounds and something else lumbered into the courtyard. It was a man yet somehow different from any other man; its arms hung to its knees and it walked with a shuffle … coming towards me. It was a human yet not human. My limbs were stiff with terror and would not move. I thought at once of the man I had seen on the lawn.