The Silence of Ghosts Page 6

  Octavia said nothing about the whispers this morning, and I decided not to raise the subject myself. If the whispering does persist, I may take her back to London to visit her specialist, Dr Radley, just to see if anything is happening to her ears.

  I put this to Rose this afternoon, when she turned up to take me for another circuit. She didn’t think it likely that a child of Octavia’s age would be experiencing changes in the structure of her eardrum, but she did not rule it out entirely. She brought a bottle of herbal medicine. Octavia found the taste disgusting, but Rose used some of our precious sugar to sweeten it, and it went down well.

  Our walk went well. We didn’t see the four children from yesterday. Rose said she’d asked here and there about them, but nobody knew who they were. I found it easier to lean on my left leg, and almost imagined I could walk without the crutches.

  ‘You will do in time,’ Rose said. ‘But don’t run before you can walk.’

  We were finding it easier in one another’s company. Rose told me the story of how she had come to train as a nurse. While at school in Glenridding, she had entertained all sorts of ideas as to the course of her future life. Childish dreams of becoming a ballerina or a concert pianist gave way bit by bit to expectations of a husband and a life in a country cottage as a housewife. Of course, the choice of a man in the countryside for a woman like Rose was not exactly wide. There were farmers’ sons whom she met at the county shows, and older men who had been farming their acre of land for a decade or more, and the doctor’s son, whom she considered far above her, though she knew he liked her. They walked out together for a little while, and one night he kissed her, and she kissed him back, but there was no spark in it, and they drew apart and he went to university and never returned.

  ‘It was his loss,’ I said. ‘He’ll never find anyone as beautiful as you again.’

  She stopped and looked into my eyes, giving me a very cheeky look.

  ‘So, you think I’m beautiful, do you?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’

  ‘Well, you’re not a bad-looking fellow. Six out of ten, I’d say.’

  ‘Are nurses supposed to engage in banter like this?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘We’re not. But there’s no Sister and no Matron for about fifty miles in any direction, so I do as I please.’

  ‘Is that why you became a nurse? Just so you could mock the rules and regulations.’

  She laughed.

  ‘I’m sure you broke a few of those when you were in the Navy.’

  ‘You were telling me why you became a nurse, but so far we’ve only heard about farmers’ sons.’

  Her face shifted. The mischief went out of her eyes.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘I did promise to tell you.’

  We walked on a bit in silence. The cold air bit our ears and turned our lips blue. It bit into my wound, exacerbating the pain there. Rose was planning to reduce my morphia another notch.

  ‘I have a brother, Jack,’ she said. ‘He is five years older than me, and I always remember him being so far ahead. The older I got, the more I appreciated him. My parents adored him. He was bright, and Mother had hopes of a scholarship that would take him to university. She would talk about Cambridge or Oxford in hushed tones. Father talked about driving us all there one day, to one of them at least. Jack was the family’s hope for the future, and my hope too, because I felt things couldn’t go wrong for me if they went well for him. We went everywhere together, and in the spring and summer we had a little place where we went swimming. We made one another the finest Christmas presents and tied them up with cloth and special string with bows, and one year he bought me a box of face powder in Woolworth’s.’

  She stopped talking, remembering.

  ‘I still have the box,’ she said and fell silent for a minute.

  ‘What happened?’ I asked, because I knew something had.

  ‘One day he went with his friends to play football. It’s all it was, a silly football game. He was eighteen and had sat his exams and was waiting for the results. My mother knew it had happened before he got home. She went white and sat down, half fainting, and when I brought her a glass of spirits to revive her, she turned to me and said “I can see three men, they’re bringing your brother Jack”, and not long passed after that when I saw three men coming holding a door, and on the door was Jack, and they told me he’d fallen in the game when someone tackled him, and couldn’t stand up on his feet again. We got him to bed and my father fetched the doctor, and the next day our doctor brought another doctor, so we knew something serious was wrong, because Jack could feel nothing beneath the waist and couldn’t walk. I was in floods of tears and my mum too, we howled like banshees from morning to night just looking at him, just watching him lie on that bed immobile. They took him in the end to North Lonsdale Hospital, and he’s there to this day. He can talk and all that, but it’s not the old Jack. I felt terrible in the early days, because I didn’t know how to look after him. I wanted to care for him, and after he was taken to the hospital I saw how real nurses did that. That was when I decided to become a nurse. Now, I can do more than pity him. I can help somebody like you to walk. You’ve had a tremendous blow, but it’s not the end of the world like it was for my brother. He passed his exams, you know, he could have had a scholarship. One of the Cambridge colleges was willing to pay him a bursary.

  ‘Before the war is over, you’ll just be one of thousands who’ve lost a limb or an eye or suffered burns across their whole bodies. I’ve seen men with burns who look like nothing human. But you’re still a very good-looking man. Don’t take my word for it. By the time you’re on your feet, women will be desperate to make your acquaintance. Now, before your head’s too stuffed with grand ideas and you start to have mad thoughts about my finding you attractive, we’d better walk on a bit further.’

  Somehow, knowing about Jack makes it easier for me to understand why she pushes me to make an effort. There’s nothing she can do for her brother, she says, for he will never walk again, short of a miracle. Every time she can help somebody like myself, it’s a compensation for the state her brother is in.

  As for her compliment about being a good-looking man, I’m sure she says that to all her patients, men and women alike, choosing her words carefully in every case. For all that, it did lift my spirits. I can’t think of anyone I would rather hear compliments from. She may be teasing me within an inch of my life, but I’m in a mood to be teased. By Rose, that is; I won’t let anyone else pull my leg. Goodness, what have I just written? I need to clear this leg business out of my head.

  Saturday, 14 December

  We have only just had breakfast, but I need to write this down. Last night something strange happened. About three in the morning I was wakened by a shrill scream. It was Octavia, screaming loudly – something she has never done in her life before. I calmed her and the screaming stopped.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.

  She signed to me, her hands shaking.

  ‘I had a bad dream,’ she said. ‘There were children in it. Four children. They came down from the attic. I knew they were dead.’

  ‘But we don’t have an attic,’ I said.

  She looked at me.

  ‘We did,’ she said. ‘Above the rooms upstairs.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because the children told me.’

  ‘What were these children like?’

  ‘They were very pale. There were three girls my age and an older boy.’

  ‘What did they want with you? Did they say?’

  ‘They want me to join them.’

  She said nothing more, but she would not go back to sleep.

  Monday, 16 December

  Rose arrived today with Mrs Mathewman, the witch doctor. I call her that because I distrust anything superstitious or occult, be it holy healers or holy places or medicines or fairies at the bottom of someone’s garden.


  I have only allowed this woman in because it pleases Rose to bring her, and I will do almost anything for Rose, though I have known her for only a very short time. She was here on Saturday and again on Sunday, although she had no need to come, and I’m sure she has plenty of other patients to see to. She told me she had attended church service at St Peter’s in Martindale on the way to see me, and she overheard a plan to put up a window in memory of over one thousand men who drowned in the sinking of HMS Glorious in Norwegian waters earlier this year. She wants me to come to church with her next week, and I’ve said what it seems right to say, to keep her happy, though in truth I have never been much of a believer. I may go with her at Christmas and sing carols and admire their nativity. I find it odd that she is an active churchgoer, especially in a time of war, when I have lost my faith in man.

  As I have said before, I am falling in love with Rose, and even though I know there can be no future in it, I cannot steady my heart or its trembling when I set eyes on her, the agitation when she is not around.

  But I’m rushing ahead. I haven’t yet said a word about what happened. Rose got me up and into an armchair, and we stayed in the living room all the time. Mrs Mathewman took Octavia off to the sun room, where we used to sit and look at the lake across a vista made by cutting down some trees at the front of the house. I don’t know what they talked about: afterwards, Octavia refused to say what it was. All she would say was that it was ‘private’. She was given a second bottle of medicine, one more palatable to a child, and searched out a spoon to administer it to herself.

  Mrs Mathewman came as a surprise to me. She did not look remotely like a witch or any other being with claims to supernatural powers. She was well dressed and softly spoken, with little trace of an accent. Rose later told me that she had been to university, to Newnham College, Cambridge and studied like a man, except that they won’t let women have full degrees. She’s not a great beauty perhaps, but not what I had expected. And she is clearly intelligent.

  She told me what she had made of Octavia’s asthma, and assured me her remedies could improve it, maybe even banish it for good. I nodded and said ‘of course, of course’, or feigned surprise with a string of ‘surely nots’. To be honest, I wasn’t overly enthusiastic, but the woman made a good impression on me. That is, until she changed the subject.

  She got up to take her leave, then sat down again hesitantly. Her confident manner deserted her, as if she was having second thoughts about what she’d just been saying. A shadow seemed to cross her face.

  ‘Lieutenant,’ she said, ‘I hope you will forgive me if I raise another matter. Octavia told me one or two things that are troubling me. She says you might not like her having told me, that you are a sceptic. I understand that. My years at university taught me the importance of a sceptical attitude. But I’m not a sceptic through and through like you. I’ve come to realize that there are realities that fall between the grids and cages we make for ourselves. I studied mathematics and came top of my year, beating men as well as other women. I am a scientist, but I have learned to keep an open mind.

  ‘Octavia told me she heard sounds in the living room when you were out with Rose, and that she feels uneasy about the upstairs rooms. She is not, I think, an imaginative child. After she had her medicine, when she went to talk to you, I slipped upstairs. I went into a few rooms, then I came down again. Mr Lancaster, allow me to speak to you honestly. There is something in your house. That’s as clear as I can be at the moment. I don’t know what it is or what it wants, but I can say that it is an evil force. I felt it immediately on climbing your stairs. This house is harbouring something wicked, and I believe that if you stay here it must destroy you in the end. You and Octavia and, if she is here, Rose too. If you care about Octavia and Rose then you have to act. Go back to London, Lieutenant, and leave this house to itself.’

  I stopped her with a simple gesture.

  ‘Mrs Mathewman, I’m grateful for your consideration, but now I’d like to ask you to leave. I don’t want to hear more about this “something”. I’d like you to leave, and I don’t want you to come back. If Octavia thrives on your remedy, I’m sure Nurse Sansom can pick up a fresh bottle as she did before. You’ll be paid properly. I’m grateful for all you’re doing for her, but I don’t want to see her upset more than she is. Some brisk walks in the cold air will get these nightmares out of her system.’

  She said nothing until we reached the door. As she made to leave, she turned back.

  ‘If there are further disturbances, don’t hesitate to call me. I will do what I can to help.’

  Tuesday, 17 December

  The weather has improved. The ice on the lake has melted like snow on a hot roof, though there is talk of worse weather to come. Rose came to me as usual, and I did not dare ask her how she managed to be so regular with me when she must have so many other patients for fear of awakening her conscience and leading her to choose to be with me only one day in seven, one day in ten, or worse. Without her, I cannot think how I would go on.

  We took advantage of the milder weather. It was almost forty degrees outside, warm enough to melt ice, but still extremely cold. We wrapped up warmly as before. She held me at first, being unsure how soft the ground might be, but I soon settled into a way of walking that let me place increasing pressure on my stump. I found that my artificial limb had been soundly made, and I came more and more to rely on it as I walked.

  We found a path along the lake. I remembered it from my childhood. That made me think of the house, and the fact that we had never had talk of hauntings or ghostly noises until Octavia arrived. I did not think her mischievous. Quite the opposite. But I realized that coming all the way out here had placed a strain on her. She is completely deaf, and at home she can only respond to any of the family or servants by being right in front of them and able to read their lips. For the most part, life here is silent, and when she leaves the house she walks in silence until she reaches Howtown, where she has become something of a pet to the villagers. I fancy her brain is compensating for this loneliness by implanting sounds, in the way someone else might experience hallucinations.

  As we walked, Rose slipped her arm through mine, and it was no longer a hand clasping me in order to steady my steps, but a gesture of affection, or so I let myself fancy.

  ‘Dominic, there’s something I need to talk with you about,’ she said. ‘I think you know what it is.’

  ‘Mrs Mathewman,’ I said.

  ‘She tells me you have forbidden her to enter your house again. Of course, it’s none of my business, but I did bring her here and I asked her to treat Octavia, so I feel responsible. And I’m worried in case word of this episode should get back to the hospital. They would turn me out the moment there was any suspicion I’d brought in a herbalist.’

  ‘There’s no need to worry about that,’ I said. ‘You acted quite honourably. I’m still interested to see what her remedy does, if it does anything. Herbs are material substances. I don’t rule out the possibility that they can have material effects. They used willow bark to relieve pain many centuries before we had it as aspirin. If Mrs Mathewman’s concoction can improve Octavia’s breathing, I’ll go along with it. But as you know, I’m a sceptic in these matters. And that’s why I won’t have her in the house again. Did she tell you that she’s been encouraging Octavia in her belief that she hears thing here? She even warned me that there’s something in the house, though she wouldn’t tell me exactly what she meant by “something”. Octavia is a sensitive child, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, and someone like Mrs Mathewman could have a profound effect on her, for she seems a very admirable and confident woman. If she’s going to put ideas into Octavia’s head, I can’t tolerate that.’

  ‘Very well. I’ll explain this to her. I’m sure you’re right, and it’s right of you to be concerned about Octavia. It’s a shame this has happened. She’s an intelligent woman and it’s a pity you can’t talk with her more. She’s a mine of information on a
ny number of topics. Most of it’s far above my head, of course. She knows a lot about this district and the Lakes in general. History, ancient customs: things like that.’

  I left it at that, not wanting to reawaken whatever negative emotions my banning Mrs Mathewman might have caused for Rose. Rose says she will take me to the North Lonsdale Hospital for an examination.

  ‘I’ll see if I can get an appointment in a week or two. It’s not that I don’t trust Dr Raverat, but the Lonsdale has a specialist in your sort of trauma, and I’m surprised you weren’t taken to see him as soon as you arrived there.’

  ‘You know I depend on you for everything,’ I said.

  ‘I realize that. But it’s not healthy for a patient to grow excessively fond of his nurse or to depend on her for everything. We shall have to find a way to wean you off me, Lieutenant.’ My heart sank when she said this.

  We walked a little further. Near the path and down among the winter-bare trees, plants of a hundred varieties lay dormant. Wood sage and wood sorrel, golden saxifrage and marsh marigold lay waiting, curled and pale for spring. A part of me had sincerely hoped there would be no spring, or that I should not set eyes on the next. But my feelings for Rose have changed all that.

  ‘I used to sail round here,’ I said. ‘All the nine miles from the bottom to the top.’

  ‘Were you good?’ Rose asked.

  ‘Of course I was,’ I said, grinning.

  ‘I imagine you were. You must have had years of practice.’

  ‘My father taught me. We’ve always been a sailing family. Until now, that is.’

  ‘Why stop now?’

  ‘Surely you know the answer to that,’ I exclaimed, more harshly than I had intended.