Yes, what is she doing here? Miss Amalia? On her way to the Black House? Again?
Nothing in particular, she tells herself. It is Wednesday afternoon, and she has sent those annoying children home. She is just going out for a walk and she is allowed to go wherever she wants. And that just so happens to be here, on the path to… Well, yes. To his house.
It is quite a climb, and she is slightly out of breath, so she loosens the bow under her chin.
Even though she is such a great admirer of the admiral, Miss Amalia is not as keen on that house of his. Far too large, and so draughty and dirty. It is no wonder that people start telling strange stories. About monsters and so on. Of course she does not believe a word of it.
And she also does not like the road that leads there. It is so sinister here, in this dark forest where the sea mist lingers. If someone were to come along… Someone who meant her harm… If she screamed, who would hear her?
She laughs at herself, because of course there is no one else here. That would be ridiculous. Wouldn’t it? Ah, but someone is coming.
Miss Amalia peers along the road with anxious eyes. But then her face brightens, as she can see who it is now. Oh yes, her eyes are still in excellent condition.
The girl, Emilia, is walking along, pulling a sort of cart behind her. A cart with something in it. Something that… She sees the girl stopping and trying to turn around. As if she is startled, as if she has something to hide.
Miss Amalia shakes her head. She might have known.
A child like that, from that dirty lighthouse. You could be certain, no matter how well behaved and shy she might seem, that she would steal the cushions out from under you as soon as you were not looking. She has stolen something, that girl. Stolen from the house where she was so kindly welcomed, and this is how she pays it back, the ungrateful brat. She is quickly trying to pull a blanket over whatever is in the cart. But not quickly enough, my dear girl.
The admiral should be grateful, thinks Miss Amalia. At least someone is still keeping an eye on what is going on in his house, as he clearly cannot expect his staff to do so.
It’s just as well, she will say to him, that someone was around with eyes in her head and your interests at heart.
You are a marvel, Miss Amalia, he will say with that funny little smile he sometimes has.
Miss Amalia would rather have a crowd stoning her in the town square than ever tell anyone what she sometimes hopes for. A man all on his own, in that big house. Someone should be keeping an eye on him, shouldn’t they? And why should that someone not be her? She is a woman, is she not?
“Emilia! What a coincidence, meeting you here like this.” Miss Amalia holds out her hand.
“Hello, miss,” says Lampie. She gives her hand a very quick shake.
“You’re not wearing your new dress.”
New dress? thinks Lampie, and then she remembers. “No…” she says. “It, um…”
“Were you on your way into town by any chance? Is it your free Wednesday afternoon?”
That was yesterday, wasn’t it? Oh no, it’s still today. Lampie gives a little nod. “I’m allowed to go to the fair.”
“To the fair? How nice. Is the admiral home yet?”
“Not yet, but almost, I think. We’re busy cleaning everything.”
“And they just let you have the afternoon off?”
“Yes, I have to, I mean, um, I’m going to…”
“To the fair, you said? And you’re taking something with you?”
“No,” says Lampie.
“So what’s that, then?”
“Nothing.” Lampie can’t think of anything to say. She sees Fish move a little under the blanket. Oh, please just let her walk on, she thinks. Why won’t the woman leave her alone? Why won’t she mind her own business?
“You’re probably wondering: why won’t this old woman mind her own business?” She laughs but it does not sound very friendly.
“But I really would very much like to know what you have there. Will you show me?”
Lampie shakes her head. She sees the blanket move again. Stop it, Fish.
“Are you sure about that?”
Lampie nods. “Yes, and I really have to get going, miss. I’m sorry.”
She tries to pull the cart past the schoolteacher.
Miss Amalia looks at her badly sewn dress and her worn-out shoes. It is not that she does not understand… A child like that, she has never owned very much, and now she is in such a big, wealthy house. It is tempting fate, it really is. Of course it is her duty to inform the admiral and she plans to do exactly that; in fact, she is already looking forward to it. But if anyone in the world has a tender heart, thinks Miss Amalia, then it is her. A big heart. So big that she can’t help but smile at the girl.
“Emilia, do you know what? Why don’t you show me what you have in the cart and confess to me honestly that you stole it, and then we’ll take it back together?” She looks at Lampie with a serious expression on her face. “Honesty is the best policy, child. Of course the admiral will punish you, as is only fair, but I shall personally ensure that it is not too…” Then Miss Amalia realizes that the girl is not listening to a word she is saying and that she is trying to pull the cart past her.
“Emilia Waterman, I have given you a chance and, if I were you, I would take it! Show me what you have under that blanket. This instant!”
“No, miss.” Sweating away, Lampie struggles to pull the wheel over a stone. “I can’t.”
“I know very well what you have in there, girl.”
“Goodbye, miss,” says Lampie. Finally managing to free the wheel, she starts to run. But Miss Amalia has been expecting that.
“Emilia,” she says sharply, “the game is up.”
She reaches out one long arm and yanks away the blanket.
In a flash, she sees it coming for her: pitch-black eyes, sharp teeth. There was a monster under the blanket!
That’s not possible, thinks Miss Amalia. Monsters don’t exist. But there it is, slithering towards her, opening its jaws to bite…
“Fish! Don’t do it!” shrieks Lampie.
And Fish does not do it, not really. His teeth graze the arm of the woman, who stumbles back and falls and opens her mouth to scream. But by then Lampie has thrown the blanket over him, grabbed the handle, and she is running onwards, so quickly that the cart almost tips over and Fish only just manages not to fall out.
“The m—” Miss Amalia gasps. “That was the m—”
Lurching and stumbling, Lampie runs on. She glances back over her shoulder, but Miss Amalia is not coming after them. She is still sitting on the ground with her skirts spread out around her. She watches them go, clutching her wrist, until they turn the corner.
Lampie runs on around another two corners, and then she has to stop to catch her breath. She spots a shed that they can hide behind for a while. Fish pulls the blanket down a little and peeps out.
“Wh-who was that?” he stutters. His face is completely white.
Lampie takes a few deep breaths. “That,” she says, “was the teacher from the school.”
“From the school? Which school?”
“My school.”
“You’ve never even been to school.”
“I have! For two weeks.”
“And she was your teacher?”
“Yes, she was my teacher.”
“Was that when you didn’t learn how to read?”
“But I did learn how to read.” Lampie giggles. “I could read the letter E.”
“Oh yes, the E…” Edward laughs too, but then he gives her a worried look. “She saw me,” he says. “No one’s allowed to see me.”
Lampie shrugs. There is nothing to be done about that now.
“I hope you give her nightmares,” she says. “Really bad ones.”
“She’s not coming after us, is she?” Edward asks anxiously.
“I can’t see anyone.”
“Maybe we should just go home.”
“No,” says Lampie firmly. “It’s not very far now. Really.”
They can see the first houses in the town already. She can hear the fairground music in the distance.
Staying in the shadows as much as possible, Lampie pulls the cart to the fairground. The tent is off to one side, where there is no music and there are hardly any people.
Edward peeps through a gap in the blanket. “Are we there yet?”
“Ssh! Yes, over there in that tent.”
The fat man is still sitting in his wooden booth, next to the painted boards. He is reading a newspaper now.
“Only a quarter…” he mumbles, barely looking up.
A quarter. She had forgotten about that. She does not have a quarter left.