‘…and what about your father?’ She looked up at me, her eyes blinking through the thick lenses of her spectacles. ‘Well, he would be turning in his grave!’
I grabbed the paper bag from her and left the house without a goodbye. Then I set off in the direction of Haughten Hall, past the oak tree, the bench and the skeletal maypole.
It was not until I stood at the little plank bridge and looked across the stream to Haughten Hall, that I started to think of all that I had seen there over the past few weeks: the portraits of Iris’s dead mother that covered every wall; the marks on Iris’s back where her corset had rubbed the skin raw; Sir Howard’s large hand gripping Iris’s shoulder; the little bottle of pills that he had pushed towards her. Even now as I looked towards the house, the thick lintels that topped every window seemed like lowered eyebrows as if the house was frowning – warning me to stay away. I realised that, despite what my mother might think, Haughten Hall was not the kind of place that I could just call round with a bag of cheap medicines.
I continued on the cart track that led up on to the common, hoping that Sam would be out exercising the horses or that I would find him at the stables when I reached Waldley Court. I was wearing a striped dress that he had always liked me in and over the last fortnight, I had at last gathered the courage to show him what was underneath. I walked slowly, the damp air heavy in my lungs until the path climbed out of the mists and I was high enough to see it settled like a blanket over the low fields.
As I approached the little thicket of wych elms on the bend of the road, I saw a dark shadow mingling with the bent trunks and I started to fear passing through a place where things could happen unnoticed. The shadow seemed to grow and warp with every step I took but, when the dark figure raised a hand to shelter its eyes from the weak sunlight, a cape slipped from its rounded belly and I recognised Dora, the Caldwells’ housekeeper. She stood, her face turned away from me as she gazed in the direction of Waldley Court, a little riding crop in her hand, and it was only the sound of a loose pebble catching under my foot that caused her to turn sharply.
‘Oh!’ she said, pressing her hand to her chest. ‘You startled me. The old folk say bad things about this place.’
‘I am not allowed to listen to that kind of talk,’ I said, ‘for my mother says it is ungodly.’
She smiled. ‘Of course, miss.’
‘You have been out leading Edelweiss again,’ I said. ‘I did not know that Iris was well enough to ride or that she would be allowed to again!’
She nodded but looked away, and I could not help but feel a little bit sad that the family my mother thought so highly of had been avoiding us.
‘Is Iris nearby?’ I asked, peering into the trees.
‘She has taken the horse up on the common on her own,’ she replied. ‘She does not really need me anymore; I only lead the horse out here because Sir Howard asks me to. Please do not tell him that I am not with her. You see, these days I cannot keep up with her.’ She laid a hand on her swollen belly. ‘Sir Howard has been very kind to let me keep my position considering my condition, but the doctor has told me that I must not walk too far, nor even lift my arms above my head, and I should not really be doing half the duties that Sir Howard make me suffer.’
‘Of course,’ I said, but then I remembered the paper bag I was carrying and held it out to her. ‘Would you give these to Sir Howard when you return to the house, please? It is medicine for Iris’s illness.’
‘Yes, miss.’ She nodded but she did not smile, not even out of politeness and I wondered if I had said something wrong as she took the bag from me, glancing down at it as if it held dirt.
‘Goodbye,’ I said awkwardly.
As I started walking, she called after me, ‘It might be best for you to turn back, miss.’
But when I looked back she hesitated a little, then said, ‘It looks like it might rain.’
‘I don’t mind,’ I said. ‘I have my jacket with me.’
She nodded grimly but said nothing further.
I continued on the track. The sky opened up in front of me with every step, but when I reached the high ground, the view of the village was blunted by the mists and I could only just make out the spire of St Cuthbert’s rising from the hazy blanket. I did not stop to rest.
At Waldley Court I followed the long brick wall to the open gate and crossed into the stable yard.
The shadows of horses mingled in the barn, steam rising from the thatch, and tethered to the fence was Edelweiss, still bridled and saddled, her white flanks flecked with mud. I remembered what Sam had said about Edelweiss always finding her way back to Waldley Court, and I wondered if Iris had fallen from the saddle without Dora to lead her.
I crossed over to the horse and put my hand on her long nose, but she jerked her head away from me, her eyes staring into the distance as if something had unsettled her. I patted her neck cautiously and ran my hand gently along her side. She wore the long saddle that I had sat on with Iris and I remembered how Iris had circled me with her arms as she held the reins, and the feel of her body as she leant into my back.
‘It’s OK, girl,’ I said when the horse flinched a little at my touch. ‘It’s OK—’
But there was another voice that spoke along with mine, one that had not heard me, because when I stopped, it continued, quiet and low, and I saw that the doors to the old tack room were shut.
Then a laugh, a girlish one – a laugh that I recognised – and I knew that Sam was not alone.
I stepped back from the horse and sat down quietly on the bench by the pump. I dared not open the door to the tack room, nor look through the little window. Instead I looked down at my feet but found that my eyes flooded when I tilted my head, the tears warm on my cheeks. I wiped my sleeve across my face and saw a spider on a single strand of silk it had spun between the pump handle and the bucket beneath. I watched it silently.
I watched the thread tremble with the dull thud of the mattress on the other side of the wall, and the spider as it drew in its legs and clung to the strand it had spun. I watched the tiny ripples on the water in the bucket and the patterns that they made on the surface, but what I could not see was everywhere around me – the smell of hay now tinged with Sam’s tobacco and carbolic soap, the dull mumble of his voice and the warmth that gusted from under the door of the tack room.
I thought of what Sam had done to me on the mattress in that little room, and what he had wanted to. I also thought of what he had not done because I had not let him – the thing that he now did with her. I’d had my chance with Sam but I had lost it and I would not get him back.
I was Nell Ryland, the disgraced daughter of the dead vicar, and no more than that; she, well, she was the girl with the big house and the white mare, the girl who could read a French novel and pronounce the names of foreign flowers. She was the girl with the fine boned corset and the embroidered nightgown that showed her delicate collarbones, the one with long, fine hair, pale skin and dainty hands. She was the girl who had wrapped her thighs around mine and pressed her soft breasts into my back. She was Iris Caldwell, the girl that he wanted.
* * *
I do not remember leaving the stable yard, nor my walk home. I do not remember sitting alone in my chair by the window for most of that afternoon, the sewing basket scissors clasped between my fingers. I only remember my mother’s face as she knelt in front of me, her hands on my cheeks and the frantic movement of her mouth as she spoke: ‘What have you done, Nell? Oh, what have you done?’