The scream was the most terrible sound I’d ever heard. I was out of bed, my bare feet smarting on the freezing boards, before I even understood what was happening. It was not just one girl screaming now, but several of them.
My first confused thought was that some madman had broken into the school. Some Jack the Ripper lunatic intent on slaughtering us all with a carving knife. I ran to the door, out into the corridor and straight to the dormitory.
One of the girls had already switched on the gaslight and a shocking scene lay before me.
There was no frenzied serial killer but there was blood. It was on the bedsheets, splattered in big smears across the white pillow; it was on the floorboards and it was on Martha’s nightgown, running in twin trails down her face – straight from the two needles that pierced each of her eyes, pinning them closed.
Nausea churned in my stomach at the sight.
Martha was slumped on the floor by her bed, making an anguished moaning sound. A few girls were clustered around her, although no one seemed to want to touch her. The remaining girls were in their beds, gripping their bedsheets. And Estella was standing silent and motionless on the other side of the room, a sewing kit hanging from her hand.
Miss Grayson burst in. I couldn’t believe that she’d paused to put on her wig. There was a time and a place for vanity, and this surely was not it.
“Everyone be silent!” she yelled. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Martha’s hurt,” I said, striding through the girls to kneel down on the floor next to her. The moment I said her name and touched her shoulder, she threw her arms round my neck and clung to me. Her entire body was trembling and she was practically choking on her sobs.
“What happened?” Miss Grayson rasped out.
“There was a Frozen Charlotte doll!” Martha gasped. “I woke up and … it was there … on the bed … looking at me. She had needles in her hands and I thought … I thought she wanted me to make another dress for her. But then … when I … when I … b-b-blinked … she … she stabbed me with them!”
“That is nonsense!” Miss Grayson said in a hoarse voice. “Utter nonsense! Girls! Speak up! Someone must have seen what happened.”
“It was Estella!” Bess cried, pointing at the other girl. “She had an argument with Martha tonight and then she attacked her!”
Everyone looked at Estella.
“I didn’t do it,” she whispered. “It wasn’t me. It was the doll.” She looked down at the sewing kit in her hand. “I tried to stop her but it was too late. It was too late.”
Miss Grayson flew at her, grabbing the girl by her collar and practically dragging her from the room.
“Wait here,” the schoolmistress said to me over her shoulder. “And, whatever you do, don’t let Martha remove those needles!”
I pulled a blanket from the nearby bed and wrapped Martha up in it, trying to keep her warm as best I could, although I knew well enough it was more than cold that made her tremble. Her hand kept coming up to claw at her eyes and I had to grab her wrists in the end.
“Martha, dear, I’m sorry, but you mustn’t,” I said.
“You might make it worse. Miss Grayson will send for the physician and he will know what to do.”
Miss Grayson returned soon enough, without Estella, and informed us that Henry had been sent on a horse to Dunvegan to fetch the physician. In the meantime, we would just have to wait. Miss Grayson sat herself down in a chair as far away from everyone as she could. She didn’t speak to Martha or attempt to touch her or reassure her in any way. I didn’t know what to say, either, so I simply held the trembling girl tight and hoped that the physical contact was somehow reassuring.
We seemed to wait an age in that room. Time stretched on and on. The girls cried and shivered in their beds. Martha clung to me, her breathing too loud and too fast.
Finally there was the sound of carriage wheels on the drive outside and, a moment later, men’s boots upon the stairs. Henry burst into the room, closely followed by the physician – a tall, thin man with an overly waxed moustache.
Martha was bundled away from me and taken downstairs by the physician and Miss Grayson. I wanted to go with them but Miss Grayson had instructed me to remain upstairs. Henry and I were left with the task of calming the girls and persuading them to go to sleep. It wasn’t as difficult as I’d anticipated. The girls were frightened and upset but they were also exhausted. Soon enough they were tucked back in, and Henry and I tiptoed out into the corridor.
He immediately grabbed my hand, hurried us both into my bedroom and closed the door behind us. I expected him to bombard me with questions about what had happened to Martha but instead, the moment the door closed, he turned round and stared at me.
And that was when I realized. In my haste to get to the girls, I hadn’t paused to put on my dressing gown. I hadn’t covered up my arms. My scars were displayed for all the world to see. I wrapped my hands round myself but, of course, it was too late for that now.
Henry drew a deep breath. “Tell me who did this to you, Jemima,” he said. “Tell me at once.”
“Henry, really, it doesn’t matter any more,”
I tried.
“Doesn’t matter?” he replied, his voice low and harsh. “Doesn’t matter? How can you say that? It matters tremendously, in fact, because I am going to murder whoever’s responsible.”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” I said. “Even if you wanted to do something foolish, you can’t. Edward Redwing is responsible and he’s gone, as you know. Burned to death in the fire at Whiteladies.”
Henry ran both hands through his hair. “But why in God’s name?” he said. “Why would any man act in such a manner?”
“He was out of his mind,” I said softly.
As I said the words I could feel, once again, those fingers pressing into my neck, smell burning flesh as the red-hot tip of a cigarette was pressed against my skin and held there, hear Redwing’s mellow voice whisper in my ear, breathe in that dreadful scent of Macassar oil. I saw the fixed gaze of the Frozen Charlotte doll staring back at me, dead hands outstretched, while the hawk’s eyes burned their hot, ruby stare straight into my soul…
“Oh Henry, he was just completely out of his mind!”
Perhaps it was the shock of what had happened to Martha, or the lateness of the hour, or the pressure of having kept everything to myself for so long, or a combination of all of these things, but before I could stop myself, I started to cry.
Henry crossed the room, gathered me up in his arms and held me tight against his chest, stroking my hair.
“I’ve got you, Mim,” he murmured in my ear. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
When there were no tears left, I found myself grabbing his arm and begging him to stay.
“Please, Henry,” I said. “I can’t face being here on my own tonight, I really can’t. Please say you’ll stay?”
“My darling girl,” he replied, “I’ll be here with you for as long as you want me.”
I couldn’t help but give a raw sob of relief. Despite the outrageous impropriety, we slept in the same bed that night. Miss Grayson was unlikely to come bursting into my bedroom in the middle of the night but in that moment I wouldn’t even have cared if she’d discovered us and thrown me out. In fact, I would have been glad to leave this awful school.
The heat from Henry’s body warmed my back as he wrapped his arms round me and tucked his chin against my shoulder. I clutched his hand, holding it tight, and that’s how we fell asleep.
It was the first time in an age that I had felt warm and safe and loved.