CHAPTER 6.
My first week at Briarwood Hall should have been my last. Colonel Havelock was not pleased with my housekeeping skills and expressed his displeasure by ripping all the bedclothes from his mattress and flinging them out of the third-floor window. “Pick them up,” he said to me when I brought up his tray. “Right now.”
I placed the tray on the bedside table with trembling hands and meekly obeyed my new employer. One might ask, where was my spine? Had I no pride? With no money or place of my own, I possessed none. My mother would have frowned upon my hasty flight down the stairs. It had rained the previous evening and turned the driveway into a muddy quagmire. As I gathered the soiled linens in my arms, I glimpsed Mr. Anson making his rounds.
He paused what he was doing, gave me a reproachful look, and continued along his way.
I spent all day scrubbing mud stains out of sheets the colonel swore he’d never sleep on again. The sheets were a hopeless cause and I let them air dry before discarding them along with the rest of the laundry.
Colonel Havelock’s temper aside, there were other things that kept me up at night.
For one, the colonel was not fond of the way I made his tea and refused to drink it. He had somehow convinced himself I was trying to poison him and would not take a sip until I had drained the cup. “See?” I said, setting it on the tray. “Would you like me to make you another?”
“No, I would not,” he answered peevishly. “What I would like is more wood on the fire. My room is freezing! Did you not set a fire this morning?”
“I did.” I glanced at the fireplace. It was the first thing I did in the mornings. I’d wake up, toss on a robe, pad silently through the house in my bare feet as I had yet to purchase slippers, and change the logs. Mr. Anson usually left a supply of wood in the kitchen. When I went to the fireplace to check. I was startled at the pile of cinders. There was more than a day’s worth in there, even though I removed what was left before I added fresh logs. “That’s odd,” I said, stifling a shiver. He was right. The room was chilly. Bitterly so. “Wait here.” I fetched him an afghan and draped a shawl over his stooped shoulders. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t be gone too long!” he shouted after me. “I don’t like to be alone!”
Was that fear in his voice?
Afraid I was again imagining things, I dashed as quickly as I could to the kitchen. I loaded the dumbwaiter with an armful of logs, tugged on the rope, which required quite a bit of upper arm strength, and ran back upstairs. By the time I got the fire going, I was sweaty and smelly. I stood off to the side, panting with exertion, while Colonel Havelock complained he was still too cold.
“It’s not hot enough!” he railed, demanding another afghan. “What are you trying to do, girl? Freeze me to death? I can afford the logs.”
I tried to tell him the room was blazing, but knew he was determined to have his way. I nodded obediently and went to fetch another load of logs. “There,” I huffed, adding another to the roaring pile. “Is that better?”
“I’ll let you know,” he sniffed, settling back in his chair. When I first met him, I thought he needed a wheelchair, since it was all he sat in. Imagine my surprise to find him up and about because he was tired of sitting. “Why do you stare so, girl? Have I sprouted another head?”
“No, Colonel. I was wondering if you would like me to turn down the bed.”
“What for? It is early yet.”
It was half-past eight. I simply nodded and asked him if he would like me to turn on the phonograph. He sometimes liked to sit beside the fire listening to Mozart. “Not tonight,” he answered sullenly. “My ears ache.”
“Shall I read to you, then?” I asked, hoping it would give me an excuse to explore the library. Since my arrival, I’d been consumed with the colonel. I just wanted a half hour to myself. “I think the bookshop sent another shipment of books. Shall I check?”
He arched a wooly brow. “Fond of books, are you?”
“Er… yes.”
“The last girl hated the sight of them. I don’t think that child could read a cereal box, much less pry open a book.”
I was on my feet in an instant. “What shall I choose? Mark Twain? Poe?”
“Neither.”
“What about the classics?” I suggested helpfully. “Homer? Socrates?”
“You try my patience, girl,” he growled. “I am fond of many things, and it would do you well to heed them.”
“Y-yes, Colonel.” I stood awkwardly for a moment, not knowing what to do with myself. “A book of poems, then?” My mind frantically tried to recall an author my English professor suggested for summer reading. “Edward Fitzgerald?” I said, sounding uncertain. “Rubaiyat Of Omar Khayyam?”
The colonel looked surprised. “You have heard of it?”
“Of course,” I fibbed. I had heard of it, but never attempted to track down a copy. “I could check and order a volume if you wish.”
“I doubt it’s there,” the colonel said. “I brought a volume back with me when I left India.” His rheumy eyes dimmed. “There’s such beauty in India. Have you been?”
“Uh… no.”
“Well,” he muttered, straightening the afghan over his lap, “if you ever get the chance, make the trip. They say once you’ve gone, you’ll never be the same.” He sighed wistfully. “The land has a mystical quality to it.”
“Do you miss it, Colonel?”
He squinted at me in confusion. “What’s that?”
“India, sir. Do you miss it?”
“Did I say I missed it?” he nearly shouted, a crazed look in his eyes. “Go on, then! Fetch the book if it’s there! And bring me a glass of warm milk. I swear you’ll stand there like a noddy and do nothing as I rot in this chair!”
“Oh, but—”
“What did I say?” he thundered, his eyes bulging out of his weathered skull as he inched the chair towards me. I was petrified, backing slowly toward the door until my fingers found the knob. I gave it a clumsy twist and nearly broke my neck trying to escape a raging Colonel Havelock. “And it better be warm, not cold!” he barked.
I ran until I reached the first floor, after which I gladly burst into tears.
* * *
Stinging sheets of late winter rain poured into my eyes as I walked to the village. After Colonel Havelock’s outburst, I packed up my meager belongings and left. I didn’t care Mr. Anson was halfway across the estate, snoring his grizzled head off. I just wanted to get away from that hateful old man. I didn’t know what I was going to do when I got there, but it was better than waiting to be shoved out of a window. I would be the last to admit it, but Colonel Havelock frightened me.
There had been such a mad look in his eyes.
And not the emotional kind.
I suppose it was rather cowardly of me. And I would be obliged to agree. But I could not stand another moment in that man’s presence. Being around him sucked all the air out of the room and left me drained. He was almost like one of those newfangled dry cell batteries recently invented. I had read stories where they were supposed to store small amounts of an electrical charge. The concept was to power insignificant items, like lanterns or flashlights, for soldiers to use on the field.
Colonel Havelock emitted more than short bursts of energy.
He radiated such hate and vitriol that I felt my personal health was at stake, not to mention my sanity, and I was certain he would have no problem finding another girl to sit through his nightly forays into rabid hostility.
I paused to catch my breath, wiping rain from my eyelids, and pressed on. The road was newly paved and could not absorb such massive amounts of water. Potholes soon appeared, making my journey even more precarious. I avoided them when I could, but by the time I reached a signpost guiding me to the village, I resembled a soggy rat.
Determined to reach my destination before I succumbed to pneumonia, I marched with a single goal in mind. Returning to London and making enough money to leave this godforsaken place. I hated England. It was cold and damp, and I wanted no part of it. I was so fixated on the task at hand, I did not notice the vehicle moving beside me.
“I say, miss!” the young man shouted. “Would you like a ride?”
I turned in the downpour, rain washing my tears away. “A r-ride?” I repeated stupidly, so numb with the cold I could barely speak. “Wh-who are y-y-you?”
“Dear Lord!” he cried, leaping from the driver’s seat. He quickly enveloped me within the voluminous folds of a cloak. “What are you doing out in this rain?” he demanded, bundling me into the front seat. I could no longer speak, my teeth chattering so violently I was afraid they’d rattle out of my skull. “Where are you from? Do you live nearby?”
“Br-Br-Br—” I stammered, unable to form the word. “Br—”
“Briarwood Hall?”
I nodded, losing all feeling in my hands.
“And they let you out in this?”
My head shook along with the rest of my body. “N-no—”
“Don’t try to speak,” he said, running around the vehicle to raise the top. It provided minimal protection from the storm. He climbed in beside me and started the engine. “Good heavens! Your lips are blue!”
I didn’t care at the moment, too concerned with my lower extremities to be a worthy traveling companion. I stared straight ahead, dreading returning to Briarwood Hall. Though I had been employed for only a week, it had felt much longer and wondered if that was intentional. My predecessor had been wise to leave when she did, and as soon as I was able, so would I.
The drive back took longer than expected as the young man had to stop repeatedly because the engine kept flooding. He would have to halt on the side of the road and wait a few minutes. Not a simple task, given the driving rain. Then he’d hop back in, and we’d be on our way.
When we finally arrived at Briarwood Hall, there was no one waiting for me. It was as if no one had noticed I’d left. The young man dropped me off, hoped I hadn’t caught a cold, and wished me a good day. “And stay out of the rain, miss!” he cried, giving me a friendly wave.
I mustered a half-hearted wave in return and braced myself for another week at Colonel Havelock’s mercy. I was on my way to the kitchen when Mr. Anson spied me. He did a second take and demanded to know why I hadn’t brought the colonel his breakfast. “He’s been waiting for over half an hour! This is inexcusable!”
“Then sack me and get it over with,” I said defiantly, my voice my own once again. “It matters not.”
“I already suggested it,” Mr. Anson said, recoiling from my sodden clothes dripping onto the floor. “The colonel refused.” He made a face. “What have you been doing? And in the rain, no less!”
It was just as I had feared. No one had noticed my absence. “You may tell the colonel I am indisposed and shall remain so until I dry my hair.” I brushed past Mr. Anson, who stood gaping at my behavior. “I must get out of these wet clothes. You understand.”
“Miss Gibson!” Mr. Anson shouted behind me. “This is—”
“Yes, I know. Inexcusable.”
“We will deduct this episode from your wages!”
“I wasn’t planning on a shopping trip.”
“Your casual disrespect is duly noted and shall not be tolerated in this house!”
I turned slowly with what I thought was a witty reply. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to hurl it at his arrogant head. In the next instant, a suit of armor that had only a moment before stood at attention, chose at that exact moment to topple to the floor. It landed with a resounding crash, startling both servant and Colonel Havelock alike.
“What in the bloody hell is going on down there?” the colonel yelled. “Mr. Anson!”
Mr. Anson, pale and shaken by the episode, met my horrified expression with one of his own. He gathered himself, picked up the fallen knight, and placed it back where it belonged. Still visibly shaken, he grabbed me by the arm and demanded I tell him what I saw.
“It fell,” I choked, his grip hard and painful. “You are hurting me, sir!”
“So, it fell,” he said roughly, releasing me. He held up a finger that shook. “Speak of this to no one,” he hissed. “Do you hear? You saw nothing!”
“Sir, it fell. I’m sure—”
“That suit of armor has stood in the same spot for as long as I can remember. Until today!” He glared at me. “Ever since your arrival, Miss Gibson, I have not had a moment’s peace.”
“I had nothing to do with that!” I gasped.
“Don’t be so certain, Miss Gibson,” he replied stiffly. “I saw it with my own eyes. You were there and then the suit was on the floor. If I were so inclined, I’d say you were a witch come to wreak havoc on Briarwood.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Never mind!” he snapped. “Clean yourself up and fetch the colonel’s breakfast. And don’t let me catch you outside again.”
“I thought I took orders from Colonel Havelock, not you.”
“Keep this up, Miss Gibson, and you may not have a paycheck at the end of the month.”
“Is that a threat?”
“You may consider it a piece of friendly… advice.”
“I will be certain to let the colonel know your definition of friendship,” I retorted, whirling about, and marching with my head held high.
As I stormed past the kitchen, I thought I heard a giggle. I paused in the hallway and felt something like spiderwebs brush my cheek. “Hello…?” I whispered hoarsely. The spiderweb touched my other cheek. “Wh—”
My breath was knocked out of me as I was shoved to the floor. It wasn’t a hard shove. It felt more like something a child might do as a joke. “That wasn’t funny!” I gasped, glancing around fearfully. “Who is there?”
Again, the spidery touch along a cheek and I was on my feet. I ran until I burst through my door and locked it. I sank weakly to the carpet, wishing Joshua was here to protect me.
But Joshua was dead, and I was on my own.
