The emotions Lou experienced as she crossed the boundary could not be separated out; wonder, excitement, fear, hope. As the night surrounded her, she watched the miraculous transition of her trainers into beautiful silk slippers. Turning her face to the sky, she let snowflakes land on her cheeks and melt on her eyelids. Seven hours would surely be enough time to see the papers into safe hands. It was the final act she could perform to try to help the Mandevilles. It might even be enough time to say some goodbyes. The thread gave a sharp tug. The world could spin for another million years, and it would still be too short a time to find the words to say goodbye to one person … Not now, Lou. Job in hand.
Icy wind bit at her bare arms, and the trailing hem of her dress soaked up moisture from the deep snow as she put her head down and pressed on across the lawn. With the lingering sensation of George’s fingers around her neck, she took the path around the side of the house and snuck into the conservatory.
She stood for a moment, damp and shivering, letting warmth seep from the heated floor tiles through the soles of her slippers. Opening the door to the deserted billiard room, she heard music and chatter float in from the ballroom. With one eye on the door to the hall and remembering the wild look in George’s eyes, she hitched up her skirt, ran across the room and slipped through the hidden door beside the fireplace.
The winding stone steps headed down to the kitchen and up to the bedrooms on the floors above. If she could just make her way to the first floor unnoticed then she could slip out on to the landing and sneak to her room. She was only halfway up when the sound of footsteps made her stop.
‘Miss! What are you doing here?’
She looked down. Sally was heading towards her.
‘Your dress! What’s happened to your dress, and oh, your hair!’
Lou put her finger to her lips. ‘Please, Sally,’ she whispered, ‘don’t give me away. I need to get back to my room without being seen.’
Sally placed her tray of canapés on a step and began to fiddle with Lou’s hair. ‘Oh Miss, you’re soaking. Whatever made you go outside? I’d come and help make you presentable, only we’re rushed off our feet. I’d be missed and … oh, Lord.’‘You don’t need to worry. I’m not going back to the party.’
‘Not going back to the party?’
‘Please Sally, you need to listen to me. I’m leaving tonight, but you can’t tell anyone.’
‘Leaving?’
‘I’m needed at home.’ She didn’t want to lie to Sally, and there was real truth in what she said.
‘Of course, Miss. We shall all miss you.’
‘I’m truly sorry,’ Lou said.
‘It’s me who should be sorry. I’ve no right to make you feel bad. I’m nothing to you.’
‘Oh, Sally, that’s not true. You’ve no idea how much you mean to me. I would never have survived this last week without your help. You pulled off a miracle and turned me into a lady.’
Sally smiled sadly. ‘I succeeded in turning a sow’s ear into a silk purse, then?’
‘You certainly did. And will you do one more thing for me?’ Lou slipped her necklace over her head and pressed it into Sally’s hands. ‘Please give this to Mary. If anyone asks, you should say it’s a gift, and I want her to have it.’
‘Mary?’ Sally ran her thumb over the smooth pearls. ‘What will a young girl like Mary do with a necklace such as this?’
‘She’ll put it to much better use than I ever could. And what about you, Sally, I’d like to make a gift to you, to thank you for taking care of me.’
A look of mortification flashed across Sally’s face. ‘I wouldn’t accept anything. I should be offended just to think of it.’
Knowing better than to argue with Sally, Lou backed down. ‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But you can’t refuse this.’ She put her arms around Sally and pulled her close. After an initial flinch of resistance, Sally gave in to the hug. A lump rose in Lou’s throat. ‘You take good care of William and that little boy of yours. I’m going to miss you all so much.’ She closed her eyes and felt Sally nod. When they parted, Sally quickly wiped her eyes with the edge of her hand.
‘You should go,’ Lou said, her voice hoarse.
In a final show of dignified deference, Sally curtseyed. ‘Very good, Miss,’ she said, un-spilled tears in her eyes. She turned, collected her tray and headed away down the stairs.
Lou ran the rest of the way up the stairs and emerged at the far end of the landing. She flicked the light switch and made her way along the corridor in darkness; her senses alive, ready to run should any noise sound like an approaching person. Once safely inside her room, she sat at the dressing table, and laid out three sheets of paper. It was clear that she couldn’t seek out any of her friends to say goodbye in person; it was a risk too far.
The first letter, to Lady Mandeville, was short: a couple of polite sentences thanking her for her hospitality and apologising for her hasty departure. The second letter took much longer to write. What could she say to Charlotte that wouldn’t alarm her? She could hardly make predictions about the future without sounding insane, confirming any such idea that George may have already planted. She settled on a rousing letter, cheering Charlotte on, telling her to make the most of her life, to fulfil her potential, to warn her away from being ruled by men as best she could. She made no promise of returning but neither did she say that she wouldn’t. She stopped short of a direct warning to stay away from George.
Let nobody ever tell you how to live your life. Never settle for second best. Fill your brain so full that you feel it will burst and then fill it some more. When you have finished, put everything you have learned to good use. I hope you will remember me fondly as I will remember you. Your friend forever, Louisa.
After sealing both letters in envelopes, Lou looked down at the third sheet of paper. Its blankness stared back at her, watching, waiting. She drew more ink from the squat bottle into the pen and placed the nib to the paper. A blot began to form, growing, spreading. The paper soaked up the ink she could not use to form the words she so desperately wanted to say. What she felt for the intended recipient of this letter couldn’t be contained on a single sheet of paper. The outpouring of words would spill out over the desk, pour on to the floor and surround her until she drowned in them. It would do neither of them any good for her to lay her soul bare. She had been brought back to tie up a loose end, not unravel another thread.
Dropping the pen, Lou looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was scoured clean of make-up and her damp hair hung loose around her shoulders. At no point in the last week had she looked less like Miss Louisa Arnold, a guest of the Mandevilles of Hill House, and more like plain old Lou Arnold from Hill House Council Estate. She pulled a wrap around her shoulders, slipped Elliot’s envelope from the drawer, collected up her letters and crept from the room into the corridor.
Downstairs, the party was still in full swing. Lou kept close to the wall of the dark upstairs landing. If anybody spotted her, they would come and see her off. Just short of the secret staff door, she almost tripped over a bundle on the floor. Thinking it was an item of discarded clothing; she was about to step over it when it moved. She stopped. It moved again. Had a dog or cat found its way inside to the warmth? She crouched beside it. It wasn’t an animal; it was Bertie, fast asleep and with his face pressed to the banisters. He looked so peaceful that Lou hardly wanted to disturb him. She ran her fingers over his fine blonde curls. ‘You be a good boy,’ she whispered. ‘Cherish your mummy, and tell her every day how much you love her. Be sure to give your daddy such big hugs that he’ll be able to feel them forever. And if something happens … if he ever …’
Bertie squirmed. She pulled her hand free. Too late. He rubbed his eyes with little balled fists and blinked at her
‘I waited here for you,’ he said. ‘I’m to put your dolly away tomorrow morning.’ He threw his arms around her neck, and she held his small body to hers, rocking him gently, her chin resting on his soft cotton nightshirt. When she prised herself away from him, tears shone in his eyes, just as they had in his mother’s.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ Bertie said.
‘I don’t want to go either. But my family need me. And someone else needs to come here to take my place. You understand that, don’t you?’
He nodded.
‘Come along now,’ she said, putting on her best cheerful voice, ‘it’s time you were in bed. Father Christmas won’t deliver your presents if you’re not asleep now, will he?’ She held out her hand. Bertie wrapped his warm little fingers around hers and she helped him to his feet. Together, they walked to the secret door. She eased it open and ushered him up the first steps to the attic bedrooms. He turned back and waved.
‘Je reviens, Miss Arnold, je reviens.’
‘I hope so, Bertie. I really do hope so.’
She watched him until he disappeared at the turn in the stairs before descending the stone steps, heading for the basement. There was no time to dwell, or she might just crumble and she couldn’t do that; she had to keep her wits about her. Going down this way was a safer route than navigating the alternative staff stairway into the billiard room, which by now would be full of men enjoying Sir Charles’ fine malt. There was no way George would miss out on that. The only other option for leaving the house was to go out through the front door, but that risked facing the fury of George’s family and the other guests.
She hovered on the landing at ground level where the steps led down to the kitchen. Monsieur Gotti, Mrs Moriarty and Bainbridge were calling out instructions over the jingle of crockery, the chink of glasses and footsteps running across the tiles. Briefly breaking cover, she peered down the stairs. A row of maids stood in a line along the basement corridor, like a row of starlings gathered on a telephone wire. They held trays of food, which Mrs Moriarty scrutinised. After a few adjustments, she nodded. ‘Hurry along now, ladies. We don’t want to keep the guests waiting.’
The maids headed for the stairs. Lou pressed into a recess, and they hurried past so close that she felt the rush of air around them. She waited for the last maid to disappear before breaking cover again. She ran down the stairs into the empty basement corridor, past Mrs Moriarty’s room, the kitchen, the dairy, the stores, and cupboards, and didn’t stop until she reached the end where she flung open the door to the outside. She was already halfway up the steps when Bainbridge called out, ‘Who’s there?’
Snow lay ankle-deep in the yard, and Lou slipped inside the stables to the familiar dark warmth, the scent of hay and the sound of horses snuffling. A chair scraped along the floor in the storeroom. Elliot appeared in the doorway.