The Unseen(106)

‘No, madam. I was not there to gamble.’ Silence falls in the room, and the dust sent up by the billowing sheets slowly settles, one twinkling mote at a time, onto the polished surfaces of the furniture. Hester weaves her fingers together in front of her and studies them for a time, and she can just about hear Cat breathing, fast and shallow, like some cornered creature, ready to fight. ‘Shall I pack my things then?’ Cat says at last. Hester shakes her head.

‘I must … speak with my husband about it. I believe you are good at heart, Cat; I do believe it. If you are to stay, I must have it from you that you will stop these visits to town. Perhaps you might walk out with your … gentleman friend on a Sunday afternoon, when you have free time. But you must not go to the public houses in town any more, and you must not sneak out in the night. Can I give my husband your word on this?’ Hester asks, her voice shaking. The hardness in Cat’s eyes softens a little, and her mouth thins, pressing into a single line of unhappiness; but her answer, when it comes, is resolute.

‘No, madam. I cannot swear to it.’

*

Hester pauses at the top of the stairs before going back down to Albert. She puts out a hand to grasp the banister, and sees that it is shaking. Her whole body is shaking. Suddenly it seems that the world is a place where nothing is as simple as it had once seemed; a place where she has little understanding, of anything. And she knows that she ought to be outraged by these admissions of Cat’s, but somehow she is not. She is shocked, and she is worried, and she is … not envious, surely? Could that be what is causing the lump in her throat, what is making her long to fly into Albert’s arms? But she is not outraged. She is afraid. Swallowing, she begins her descent, and realises that she had paused for a specific reason. She needed time to think of an argument, to think of a way to persuade Albert to let Cat stay on. Because, suddenly, the thought of her going, of one more familiar thing transforming, of one more failure, is more than she can bear.

But nothing she says has any impact on her husband. She promises him, in spite of what Cat said, that the girl will never go out at night again. She lies, and says she has Cat’s word. She does not mention the bicycle at all, nor Cat’s sweetheart; she swears that Cat had not been gambling, that night or any other, and that she had merely wanted to exercise a little freedom from the constraints of her position, and to explore her new surroundings; something to be expected in one so young, and one who has seen so much trouble in her short lifetime. She even argues that they would not be able to afford to replace her, since a less troublesome girl will command a higher salary. But the vicar is every bit as adamant as Cat. He hardly seems to listen, sitting with an impassive expression on his face, his arms and hands limp in his lap as she speaks, on and on, presenting the same argument in three different ways. When she finishes, and grasps his hand in supplication, he merely pats her hands, absently.

‘You are a good and charitable soul, Hester. But she must go. At once. She is a spot of blight upon this house, at a time when it is utterly crucial that there be no stain here. No pollution. Do you see? Do you see, Hester? Everything depends on this!’ he says, with such a strange light in his eyes that Hester feels a wave of desperation crash through her.

‘Albert, please. Please do listen to me. There is no stain on our house! This theosophy has skewed your thoughts, my darling … Haven’t I always run a good household? Shouldn’t I know best about what servants to keep, and how such things should be done? I must insist that this matter be left in my hands!’

‘Hester, your eyes are blind. You do not have the proper understanding,’ Albert says, resolutely.

‘I have not been … altered, you mean. I am not controlled by the teachings of Robin Durrant!’ she says, her voice a strained whisper.

At this Albert merely smiles. ‘And for that very reason, Hetty, you must do as I say.’

‘Albert, please,’ she implores. Albert pats her hand again, as though she is an unthinking pet of some kind, whose bewilderment is lamentable but to be expected, then rises and goes to his study, shutting the door behind him. Her words are quite lost upon him. In the deceptive calm of the house the clock ticks like a dusty heartbeat, and Cat’s light footsteps, as she makes the bed that Hester will lie in, cause the floorboards to creak.


Hester is still perching on the edge of a chair in the parlour when Robin Durrant returns. She turns at the sound of his lively footsteps, sees him make his way to the door with a purposeful stride, let himself in like a resident, not a guest; and then hears him putting down his camera to hang up his coat and hat, all unconcerned. His buoyant walk makes locks of his hair bounce against his forehead, like a boy’s, and he hums, ever so softly, just under his breath. A tuneless staccato which might have been formless words, bubbling irrepressibly from within him.