Once the blood has stopped, the wound does not look too bad. A semi-circle of little red holes. With her rough fingers, Martha rubs ointment onto it, which smells a bit and stings a bit, and then she wraps a white piece of cloth tightly around Lampie’s wrist. She cleans the wound with a mixture of kindness and anger, muttering to herself as she does so: “This just won’t do,” and “How is it all going to end?”
“So… who is that, up there?” Lampie asks when Martha is finished.
“You saw it for yourself, didn’t you?” Martha says, looking at her sourly. “Well, there’s your answer.”
“A boy with a—”
“A boy? That’s no boy! It’s a monster!” She holds up Lampie’s wrist. Red dots appear on the bandage. “Is that what boys do? No. It’s what monsters do.”
Then she goes to make coffee, bashing around angrily. So she was wrong, again. Just for a moment she had thought this child would make her life here a little easier. But no, of course not. As if Martha would ever get anything she hoped for. She bangs the coffee pot onto the table.
“Sugar and milk?”
“No, thank you,” says Lampie. “My father always thinks it’s a waste, putting milk in your coffee.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” says Martha with a slurp, pouring an extra dash of milk into Lampie’s cup.
Lenny gets a cup too, almost all milk and lots and lots of sugar. He sits quietly at his corner of the table and keeps looking at Lampie’s wrist.
They blow into their cups.
“He can’t die,” begins Martha. “He mustn’t smell too bad. And whatever he screams for, we have to give it to him.”
“Who says so?” asks Lampie.
Martha points up into the air.
“God?”
“No, the master, the admiral.” Martha stares into her coffee. “Joseph always did everything. Knew everything. Fed him, looked after him, kept him up there. No one else was allowed to see him. Of course there was talk, and no one wanted to come and work here, not for long at least. This place gives you bad dreams.”
Lampie nods. She wants to say that what she dreamt and imagined, alone in her room, was actually more frightening than the creature in the tower, but she picks at her bandage and remains silent.
“We could only ever get shirkers who cut corners or never did anything at all. Well, you can see what a mess it is here. It’s been that way for such a long time. But we always managed, somehow we always managed. Until last week, until Joseph…” She swallows. “Until one night he didn’t come back. Or the next day either. Until him up there started screaming and shrieking. For a whole day and a night. No one could sleep. No one dared to go upstairs. I had to beg and plead until they finally agreed to go and look. They carried Joseph out of there. Dead, of course, as I already suspected. And then…” She gives a deep sigh. “After they’d brought him downstairs, they packed their bags. All of them: the maid, the gardener, the handyman. No one wanted to stay here. Not even for… Ah, you can’t blame them. So I went into town to ask around and see if they could send someone to help. I was thinking of a big, strong chap. Someone who could handle that thing upstairs. But it seems I didn’t quite make myself clear. Well, yes, I was feeling rather upset. Anyway, then they sent…”
“Me,” says Lampie, downing another bitter mouthful.
“Indeed, child,” says Martha with a sigh. “Right. I’ll pour you another cup of coffee and then you can go and pack your things. I’ll ask tomorrow if they can send someone else. And you can just go back to your mother.”
For a moment, Lampie imagines how wonderful it would be if she could do exactly that. But then she sees her father and the floor covered in broken glass. She thinks about the seven years. She can’t leave. And there is something else. She wants to know, she wants to find out more about that strange creature upstairs. She sat with him all night, and she still does not understand. What is the boy doing up there all alone in that tower?
Lampie puts down her coffee. “I’m staying,” she says.
“Really?” Martha spills half of her coffee on the table. “You can’t possibly mean that!”
“But I do,” says the girl.
“No, you can’t. There’s no way a child could…” But she is already giving the girl a look of relief.
From the corner of the table, Lenny is staring at Lampie with big, wide eyes, as if he understood what she just said. In fact, he probably did. He tilts back his head and throws a handful of newspaper pieces into the air. They float down, landing all over, even in his mouth and his nose, and he coughs and sneezes, and then Lampie has to help him pick up all the bits of newspaper. When they have finished, he looks at her seriously and strokes her bandage with one finger.
“It doesn’t hurt now, Lenny,” she says. “I promise.”
“Well…” Martha pours herself another coffee. “I’d be lying if I said I’m not glad you’re staying. But are you really sure about that, child? No one ever stays here. I’d leave if I could. And the master’s been away so long this time. He might never come home. And we’ll be stuck for ever with his… With that…”
“Does he have a name?” asks Lampie. “I called him Fish, but he got angry.”
“Um, yes…” says Martha. “What was it again? Come on, Martha. He’s called… Oh, my brain’s such a sieve. Ah, Edward, of course. Edward Robert George Evans. Just like the master.”
“Like the admiral?” Lampie asks in surprise. “But why?”
“Oh, I thought you already understood.” Martha looks at Lampie over her coffee. “It’s his son.”