It was the morning when I was to leave home. Sad November sun shone through the stained glass in the hall and made horrible patterns on Father as he stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting for me to go. Henry Peebles arrived in a cab to take me and my black trunk to the station, and Father gave him the money for a single ticket that was going to take me away. The cab-driver put my trunk upon his shoulder and went out of the door, bending under the weight. It was time to leave.
I said, ‘Good-bye, Father,’ and he said, ‘Good-bye, Alice.’ It was the first time I’d ever heard him call me by my name. As I followed the cabman through the door, I turned and looked at Father. He still stood there in the hall, with the worn Turkey carpet beneath him, and, now the door was open, it was clear sun that shone upon him. So I left the house, and Blinkers put me on the train.
For a long time it was London that flashed past the windows; then the green, but leafless, country came, and fields with cows and sheep. I never knew there were so many kinds of cows before, all different colours; some even had no horns at all, and I saw a bull wearing a dreadful mask over his face. Watching these things and worrying about my trunk, which a porter had taken right away, kept me occupied at first. Then I began to study my fellow passengers.
Blinkers had put me in a second-class ladies’ carriage, although I would have preferred a first-class smoking one. In the corner seat opposite me was a scraggy woman with a fringe, dressed in lolly pink. She told me before the journey was over that she resembled Queen Alexandra. I was surprised. She made me change seats with her because, she said, she was always sick if her back faced the engine. I didn’t want her to be sick, so I changed, and the view from the window was all going the wrong way. A grey-haired, monumental woman with a drooping mouth began to ask me questions about my family and where I was going. As she moved she creaked, she was so clamped into her corsets. She was a town councillor’s wife from Wimbledon, and she ignored the lolly pink woman. There was another occupant of the carriage. She was a small spinster lady who kept smiling to herself. She was making face-flannels from old towels, putting coloured crochet round the edges. She said they were intended for Christmas presents, and I thought I’d write and tell Mrs Churchill about them because they might be what she called ‘novelties’ – only I couldn’t imagine anything Mrs Churchill had made looking very clean.
I had a little parcel with me of sandwiches she had prepared for me that morning, but I felt too shy to eat them in the train in front of these strange women. At two o’clock I still had not dared to eat my sandwiches and it was the end of the journey – at least, the train part. I began to feel sick and wondered if it was a mistake to sit with my back to the engine. I put the parcel of sandwiches under my seat, but the councillor’s wife saw them and said I wasn’t to waste good food, I’d be glad of them later, so I had to grovel on the floor and pick them up.
When I got out of the train, I was filled with apprehension about my trunk, and stood on the platform helplessly biting the fingers of my gloves while I watched the train steam out. Most likely it had taken everything I owned and all I would have would be a used railway-ticket and the clothes I was wearing. When the train had gone and it was quiet, I heard pigeons cooing to themselves and saw near me, on a trolley, baskets all filled with birds. Some had labels, asking people to let them loose at certain times. I could imagine the birds’ grateful surprise when the lid of the basket was suddenly opened: their little shining eyes would flick for a moment and the cooing would stop; then suddenly they would fly together in a cloud with the sun upon them.
Thinking about the pigeons calmed me a little, and I broke my sandwiches and pushed the crumbs through the baskets and ate some of the ham myself. I looked round the station and saw a group of people and a porter milling round a pile of luggage. Among the luggage was my trunk, larger than anyone else’s. I made my way towards it, rather rudely pushing other people, and, grasping one of the handles, said, ‘That’s mine,’ but no one listened. All the luggage except mine soon disappeared, and, when the porter asked me if I wanted any help, I shook my head because I didn’t know what was meant to happen next. Then a man called Povey-the-Carrier came and asked if I was Alice Rowlands. It was lovely to hear my own name, although the voice was different to the ones I was used to.
Povey-the-Carrier drove me away from the station. Soon we came to the water, but the tide was out and it wasn’t the sea, only a sort of river, which we crossed over a toll bridge. There were a few boats lying on their sides in the mud in the golden afternoon sun. The very flatness of the Island was beautiful, although I’d been expecting mountains. The air was very fresh, yet soft against my face, and suddenly I was filled with hope and not at all anxious. I thought how happy my mother’s ghost must be feeling at my good fortune. Long, rustling grass moved in the afternoon wind and bare trees lined the narrow roads. I’d never really seen the country before. Although I’d enjoyed the view from the train windows, it wasn’t the same to see it flashing past, all remote through glass, like a painting. Now I was really in the scenery, and I could hear it, too: the cries of strange sea birds and the sinister caw of rooks as we passed under a whole village of great untidy nests. We passed a farm where there were huge white birds with little heads, and they made a kind of singing sound as we passed. A woman stood by an open gate calling to her cows, and they all came to her in a stately procession without anyone driving them. A pheasant uttered a startled cry and fluttered from a hedge as we approached, and one long feather fell from its tail and floated gently down. I asked Povey-the-Carrier questions about nearly everything we saw. He answered me very slowly, as if he had been speaking to a foreigner or a very young child, starting with such remarks as, ‘Have you no pheasants in London, now?’ or ‘Don’t your dad keep a goose, now? They make fine watchdogs.’ But I think I really shocked him when I asked how long it would be before his pony grew into a horse.
We drove through narrow lanes that twisted and turned like snakes. Then we came near a farm with a large pond in front of it, and turned down a road that looked too narrow to lead anywhere, but in fact led straight to Mrs Peebles’s house. Suddenly the house appeared, much larger than I expected. It was dark because it was all dressed in ivy and in front of it stood strange light green trees shaped like peg-tops. An ugly and heavy brown porch had been built round the front door, which gave it a gloomy aspect, and the whole place had an unoccupied appearance.
As I was climbing down from the cart, the door of the porch suddenly opened and a tubby little woman, wearing an enormous, dirty, white apron, appeared. She was holding an almost hairless broom, and, when she saw I’d arrived, she put her black-booted feet either side of the broom and started jumping up and down on it in her excitement. I thought, ‘Good heavens! this can’t be Blinkers’s mother,’ and in horror I walked towards her. She was still jumping about like a little goblin. She peered at me through her steel-rimmed spectacles as she exclaimed, ‘I’m Mrs Gowley – a fellow Londoner. My husband and me run this ’ouse, if yer can call it a ’ouse’ – and she went into peals of spiteful laughter. I looked at Povey-the-Carrier and he gave me a reassuring wink, so I thought, ‘It’s all right, she’s only a bit dotty,’ and ignored her. She peered at my trunk as he carried it in; then she peered at me as I walked up the steps, and said, ‘There’s not much fat on you, and your face is real peaky. You and Mrs Peebles will make a fine pair.’
I passed through the porch and into the long, stone-flagged hall. The first thing I noticed was the strange light: there appeared to be no window, but daylight came filtering down from the ceiling. When I looked up, I saw the whole ceiling was an elaborate iron grating and the light was coming from a skylight above. The staircase was made of ironwork, too. I followed the awful Gowley goblin up these clanking stairs. I had to walk with great care or the heels of my shoes would have become entangled in the ironwork, but the Gowley clumped ahead of me in her big boots. When we reached the landing, I looked through the grating into the hall and felt an odd insecure feeling at seeing the light coming up like that.
We clanked along the corridor until we faced a short flight of wide stairs – stairs with real carpet on them – and came to three white doors that opened on to a little landing. This landing was solid and covered in linoleum, and there were small furry mats outside each door. The Gowley went to one of the doors and, after unashamedly peering through the keyhole, knocked loudly. I heard no answer, but she flung the door open and marched inside. ‘’Ere’s the young lady, Mrs Peebles; ’ere she is!’ Uninvited, she sat down in a chair and said, ‘Mr Gowley and me are going out this evening, so you’ll have to do the boiler yourself – or it can go out for all we care. I can’t think what you want with all that hot water.’
An immensely tall, thin woman got up from a sofa by the window. She looked at the dreadful Gowley disdainfully, and ordered her to leave the room. For a minute the squat little woman sat with her legs apart in her chair, a spiteful grin across her face; then she got to her feet, shaking her head in a pretended bewildered way, and said, ‘Oh well, I only hope you two get on. And don’t forget, mind: I’ve told yer about the boiler.’ She chuckled to herself as she left the room. I heard her stop on the landing outside the door, and thought I could see the awful glint of her spectacles at the keyhole.
Still looking at the door, I said, ‘She hasn’t gone. Do you know she looks and listens at the keyhole?’ I turned towards Mrs Peebles, and there she was, all humped up on the sofa, softly crying to herself. It was terrible to see her like that – so very long, long and sad, she seemed. I walked towards her to put my hand on her poor thin shoulder; but she shook me off and cried, ‘Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!’ I stood there staring, too afraid to move; even if I’d run away, there would be the dreadful Mrs Gowley to pass and the iron staircase and landing.
Then with an effort she began to straighten and looked at me with her great brimming eyes and in a quavering voice, said, ‘Why, you are only a child. Come and sit by me, dear, and forgive me for my foolish behaviour. It’s that dreadful woman. Ever since I had my trouble there has been some repulsive creature living here, but she is the worst – it’s the peering and the rudeness. But you haven’t seen the husband. He is absolutely sinister, and he squints, my dear, and I’m sure he drinks. My son engaged them in a hurry because he won’t let me be alone here – and the doctor’s the same.’ She turned away from me. ‘Oh! how I long to be alone!’
I stood looking at her, wondering if I should leave the room, but she suddenly gave me an unexpectedly sweet smile and asked me to sit beside her.
So we sat together in the darkening room and became friends. She told me that Henry said I was in danger at home, and I thought he must have been referring to the dreadful Cuthbert. I hoped he hadn’t mentioned anything about it to his mother, but if he had, she didn’t say so. She seemed to be obsessed with the Gowleys and the hope that I would protect her from them.
It became almost dark in the big room except for the glow from the fire, and I longed to draw the curtains and make it light; I thought I could see a tall brass lamp gleaming, and on the mantelpiece there were candles waiting to be lit. The vague, sad voice went on and on:
‘My husband was still alive when the house was almost gutted by fire. I’ll never forget old Floss howling. But we couldn’t reach her: there we were trapped in this very room, and smoke pouring under the door. Henry was safe in the next room, but poor old Floss died – and the little maid we had then (I believe her name was Alice too); her charred body was found crouching on the landing. I thought she’d be black like burnt paper – she was a dreadful reddish-brown. Poor girl! I sometimes think the fire was the cause of my trouble.’
On and on she went. I’d have been interested if I hadn’t been so hungry and tired. At last I dared to interrupt her in the midst of a long story about a pet bear that was only fed on loaves of bread and how it escaped and went to church. I think it was the mention of bread that gave me courage. I asked if she would like me to make some tea. She answered, ‘Not particularly,’ and went on about the bear for a little: then suddenly said, ‘Would you?’
Bewildered, I answered, ‘Would I what?’
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘Well, I would rather.’
‘Oh, dear! Have I been rude? I should have offered you tea as soon as you arrived and now it is dark. We will never be able to make tea in the dark.’ She got up from the sofa and started fussing about the mantelpiece for matches. I noticed some coloured spills in a vase and lit one from the fire, and soon the candles were giving their flickering, gentle light. I wanted more and more light. I lit the lamp, and waited impatiently while the glass funnel warmed before I could turn it to its full strength. Mrs Peebles was ineffectually tugging at the grey velvet curtains. I drew the curtains for her and made up the fire and stirred it to a blaze. Looking round the room I was surprised to see how elegant this upstairs drawing-room was; the pale blue carpet, decorated with roses and true lovers’ knots, pleased me so much that I almost forgot my hunger. There was a glass-fronted cabinet filled with delicate china; and pretty little chairs and sofas with curved legs were dotted round the room. There were lovely glass things like heavy tinkerbells on the mantelpiece. It was the largest and most enchanting room I’d ever seen.
Mrs Peebles carried a little lamp and we went clanking along the iron landing past brown-grained doors. I wondered exactly where the other Alice’s burnt body had been found. At the end of the landing we came to a room which had been converted into an upstairs kitchen. There were two doors to this kitchen, and later I learnt the other led to two terrible rooms that were completely black and burnt. The remains of charred furniture still stood in them forlornly against the blackened walls. There was a twisted frame of an iron bedstead like some tortured skeleton, and at the glass-less windows the ragged remains of brittle black curtains crumbled.
In Mrs Peebles’s kitchen you could hear grumbling voices from below. Although the floor had lino on it, the lino now had holes, and light as well as voices came through. If you looked through the iron holes, there would be the Gowleys and their dirty kitchen and sour smell. Mrs Peebles boiled a kettle on a small spirit stove and made pale tea in a silver teapot; and we drank it out of flowered and fragile cups in a medium-sized dining-room with massive furniture.