OVER THE DAYS that followed, matters at Gaudlin Hall appeared to settle down and, to my relief, no further disturbing incidents took place. I remained unsettled by how little I knew about the Westerley family and why I was being left alone with Isabella and Eustace for so long, but put my disquiet to one side as I began to forge a relationship with the children. True to his word, my wages were made ready for me at Mr. Raisin’s office the following Tuesday, counted out and checked by the clerk, Cratchett, who seemed to have taken against me entirely, but when I asked for another appointment with his employer I was informed that Mr. Raisin was away from Norfolk on business and that it was beyond Cratchett’s abilities to place an appointment in the book without that man’s prior agreement. Throughout this exchange, because of the manner in which Cratchett’s eyes kept darting back and forth to the door behind him, I grew convinced that Mr. Raisin had not in fact left the county but was instead seated behind his desk in the next room, unwilling to see me, a source of great disappointment to me. However, as I could not possibly have challenged what he said without sounding like an hysteric, I simply informed him that I would be back, that I could not leave matters as they stood, and left, frustrated.
I made several attempts to track down the elusive Mrs. Livermore too but to no avail. If I rose at eight, I would see her with her coat on and her bag in her hand marching down the driveway away from the house; if I rose half an hour earlier she would leave half an hour earlier. She appeared to have made it her business not to engage with me in any way, although I had no doubt that she knew full well there was a new governess on the premises. On the one occasion when I happened to look out the kitchen window and see her nearby I ran outside, but, just as with our earlier encounter, she turned a corner and apparently vanished into nothingness, leaving me wondering whether or not I had imagined her presence. At moments like this, I began to ask myself whether the Norfolk air was playing tricks with my mind.
Despite all these concerns, however, I found that I was beginning to enjoy life at Gaudlin Hall. Naturally, I still thought of Father frequently and, on occasion, particularly at night, alone in my room, his memory would move me to tears, but I was growing accustomed to the loss and learning to cope with my grief. Long walks in the gardens that surrounded the house helped with this. I consoled myself with the knowledge that he had, for the most part, led a happy and intellectually stimulating life, and had known true love twice, once from his wife and once from his daughter. When I returned, my lungs filled with clean air, my legs a little tired from the exercise, my spirits always seemed improved and I experienced a sense of optimism for this new life in which I found myself.
As much as I enjoyed the comfort of my new surroundings, however, I was frustrated by the musty air in my bedroom and my continued inability to open the window. It was tall with a pointed arch at the top, much like a lancet window only wider, separated from both floor and ceiling by no more than about three feet and divided down the centre into two halves which, in theory, should have opened to allow the room to be aired. Seeing Heckling making his way through the courtyard one afternoon, his dog, Pepper, scampering around at his heels, I decided to tackle him about it.
“That window don’t open,” he told me, shrugging his shoulders and looking at me indifferently, as if he could not quite believe that I would have the stupidity to think it might.
“But of course it opens, Mr. Heckling,” I said. “There are two handles, waiting to be turned. But nothing I do can make them budge. Perhaps they need a little oil?”
“Mr. Westerley sealed that window shut,” he told me, chewing something abhorrent, the disgusting sounds of mastication making me want to put as much distance between him and me as I could. “Poured hot tar into the lock, didn’t he? So as no one could ever open them again.”
I stared at him, uncertain whether or not he was playing me for a fool. “Why on earth would he do such a bizarre thing?” I asked.
“He said it were too draughty. He did it to half the windows in the Hall. Check if you don’t believe me. It don’t cost nothing to heat a place that size, you know. And money don’t last for ever. Them as has it likes to spend it, don’t they?”
I sighed. It seemed a ridiculous thing to do, particularly frustrating now that the air in my room was beginning to grow so stale. I didn’t like the idea of leaving my door open—I preferred my privacy and did not want the children to believe that they had free run of the place; I was only too aware that children liked to rummage in other people’s possessions—and simply wanted to ventilate it daily. My sleep had been unsettled and I believed that the staleness of the atmosphere was contributing to this.
“Your wages are being paid correctly every week, Mr. Heckling?” I asked, seizing the opportunity to ask him a few more general questions, for whenever he saw me approaching, he would turn his back and walk in the opposite direction. On one occasion he had even mounted the horse, Winnie, and charged away; extraordinary behaviour. He narrowed his eyes, chewing his lip and thinking about this before nodding.
“Aye,” he said. “Worried about that, were you?”
“Not at all,” I replied, blushing a little but looking him in the eye; I was determined not to be intimidated by this man. “Of course, Mr. Westerley leaves all these matters in the hands of Mr. Raisin, doesn’t he?”
“Aye. So far as I know.”
“Do you think we’ll be seeing him any time soon?”
“Mr. Raisin?” he asked, shrugging. “No special reason why we should. If you want to see him, you should—”
“Mr. Westerley,” I said, correcting him, even though I was certain he knew exactly whom I had meant. I thought for a moment that he was going to smile, a rare thing, but he clearly thought better of it. He looked down at Pepper, who was sitting on his haunches now, his head turning from one of us to the other as we conversed. The thought occurred to me that I might get more sense out of the dog than the man.
“I should think it unlikely,” he replied eventually. “I best get on, miss. Pepper needs his run or he gets belligerent.”
“He must be very preoccupied if he cannot even return to see his children,” I remarked. “And as for Mrs. Westerley, well, I cannot imagine how she could stay away from them. They’re such treasures.”
He barked some type of laugh now and spittle hit me in the face, forcing me to rear backwards in disgust as I wiped it away. Naturally the brute didn’t even think of apologizing.
“Treasures,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s one way to put it, I suppose.” He laughed again; he was clearly tickled by the notion.
I watched him as he made his way down the driveway, picking up the occasional stick and throwing it for the dog to run after and retrieve. I made a pact with myself that I would not turn away until he vanished from sight, and finally, perhaps aware that I was watching him, he paused at some distance from me and turned round, his eyes fixed on mine, and we watched each other, two employees of this house, waiting to see who would give in first. He was too far away for me to read his expression but when he picked up another stick, a larger one, and held it aggressively in his hand, the dog jumping up and down in anticipation, I felt a chill run through me and, turning away, cursed myself for my inability to stare the brute down.