Anita Frank - The Lost Ones

My breath lodged in my throat as Gerald’s face sprang into my mind’s eye. I stood perfectly still, my skin prickling as a flare of hope quickened my pulse. Was this a message for me? A poignant sign from beyond the grave?

‘Gerald?’ I whispered.

The only response was silence. Unable to surrender the blissful fantasy, I turned around to peer into the inky corners of my room. There was nothing there. I was completely alone. Cold reality reasserted itself once again. The soldier was nothing more than a child’s toy after all.

Mocking my own absurdity, I turned it over in my hand, noting as I did so the letters L and B crudely scratched into the base. I set it down on the bedside table, wondering how it could have found its way into my bed, but then I recalled Maisie’s mischievous glint and I wondered whether she had left the soldier, as some sort of jest.

Still bristling with self-contempt, I decided to pay no further thought to the toy’s puzzling presence. Instead, I settled myself amongst the damply cold sheets and turned off the light, gratefully succumbing to the gradual creep of slumber.

The sound of a match being struck woke me. A thin cord of light edged the curtains, hailing the arrival of a new day. I propped myself up to observe Annie, on her knees leaning into the grate, attempting to bellow the flames with her own gentle puffs. She settled back on her heels and watched the newspaper curl, char and crackle, before hungry flames began licking at the lumps of coal and kindling.

‘Morning, Annie.’ My voice was croaky. ‘What time is it?’

‘Seven o’clock, miss.’

‘Draw me a bath, would you?’

Having a bathroom attached to my bedroom was a luxury I didn’t have at home, and I intended to make the most of it. Sir Arthur had been insistent his guests should stay in comfort and his servants be better employed than in the transportation of water. Some saw such expenditure on indoor plumbing as extravagant but having spent years scurrying up and down freezing corridors to avail myself of the lavatory in the middle of the night or to take a bath on a bitter winter’s morning, I thought it a most worthwhile investment.

Hearing the squeak of taps and gushing water, I pushed back the thick covers and swung my legs from the bed. I yawned and stretched with feline indulgence.

‘All ready, miss. What clothing would you like me to set out?’

‘Oh, my black dress …’ I realised all the dresses I had brought were black. ‘The one with the scooped collar,’ I clarified. ‘And the lavender cardigan too.’

When I emerged from the bathroom Annie was standing beside my bed, closely examining the toy soldier clasped in her hand.

‘Annie?’

My sharp tone jolted her from her reverie. The figure flew into the air and landed with a soft thud on the carpet. Unabashed, she bent to retrieve it.

‘I don’t suppose you know how that came to be left in my bed, do you?’

She carefully set it down upon the table. ‘No, miss.’ There was something in her bland expression that led me to suspect she was being less than forthcoming.

‘I don’t appreciate being the butt of anyone’s joke.’

Her eyes flickered up to meet mine. ‘I’m sure you’re not, miss.’

‘Well, I’d appreciate it if you could have a quiet word with Maisie and make sure she understands that too.’ I picked up my undergarments and began to dress, taking her assistance where required. ‘Is Mrs Brightwell up?’

‘I believe so, miss.’

I dismissed her, reminding her she was at Mrs Henge’s disposal and so should strive to make herself useful. Once she had gone, I fastened my locket and went to turn off the bedside light. I don’t know what compelled me to pick up the lead soldier, but I did, slipping it into my cardigan pocket before I left the room.

Receiving no reply when I tapped lightly on Madeleine’s door, I surmised she must already be taking breakfast so I hurried to join her.

I descended into the gloom of the hall, quickly crossing the chilly cavern into the bleak corridor beyond, the echo of my footsteps softening as marble gave way to polished wood. I had only proceeded a short way when a rapid swishing of skirts revealed I was being pursued. My heart leapt into my mouth as Mrs Henge called my name.

‘Goodness! Mrs Henge, you quite startled me!’

Her face remained impassive. ‘Miss Marcham, I did not mean to alarm you.’

I laughed at my own skittishness, but she met my self-deprecatory humour with a flicker of disdain. I flushed.

‘Was there something you wanted?’

‘I merely wished to check that you had settled in and have everything you need.’

‘I do indeed, thank you.’

She expressed her satisfaction with a slight nod. She folded her hands before her. ‘If I may be so bold, Miss Marcham, may I say how pleased I am to have Mrs Brightwell with us. I very much hope she will, in time, come to see Greyswick as her home and feel some fondness for it.’

‘You make it sound as if Mrs Brightwell doesn’t like it here.’

‘Sometimes, it seems, Mrs Brightwell is not – comfortable – here.’

I could see how Madeleine might struggle to feel ‘comfortable’ in the house her mother-in-law continued to reign over like a grand matriarch, but I found it interesting that Mrs Henge had also detected Madeleine’s disquiet. For the first time, I had a proper opportunity to study Greyswick’s housekeeper, now she was finally out in the open and no longer draped in shade. She was not as ancient as I had first perceived, though I suspected her late middle years were calling. The heavy set of her features, her Roman nose and broad chin suggested she had never enjoyed great beauty. Her hair was a uniform grey and her skin had long lost the suppleness of youth. It sagged now, weary lines fanning from her eyes, while deep channels carved down the sides of her mouth. The one extraordinary feature she did possess, however, were her eyes. They were the clearest grey I had ever seen, like thick sheets of pond ice, with only the merest hint of colour in their transparency. I wondered what treacherous depths they concealed.

‘My sister tells me you have been with the family for a long time, Mrs Henge.’

Her lips quirked in a way that felt strangely measured, practised somehow. ‘I have indeed, miss. I was with Sir Arthur from the time he was a young man just starting to make his way in the world. It has been an honour and a privilege to serve in such an esteemed family for all these years. I hope I may continue to serve long after the next generation arrives.’

‘An old retainer is a highly valued asset.’

I thought of how I cherished dear Brown and Mrs Scrivens. I so often took their service for granted, and yet I knew they were completely irreplaceable, and much loved. Swelled with tenderness, I laid my hand on Mrs Henge’s arm, but she flinched at the unanticipated touch, and I quickly withdrew it, somewhat embarrassed.

‘They are very lucky to have you, Mrs Henge,’ I said, hoping to mitigate for any discomfort I may have caused.

‘Annie is being most helpful, miss.’ I think both of us welcomed the change of subject. ‘She’s a queer sort, if you don’t mind me saying, but she’s a good worker, I’ll give her that.’

‘Well, it’s a strange house to her, Mrs Henge, and she is not the most experienced of girls, but I’m sure she’ll do her best.’ I thought of Mrs Scrivens’ concerns. ‘She has a few foibles, but we all have our idiosyncrasies after all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m hoping to catch my sister at breakfast.’

‘Mrs Brightwell is indeed still in the dining room, Miss Marcham. Lady Brightwell and Miss Scott have already left for the day.’