Evening came and still no one collared me about letting Kit’s fire go out. I’d been expecting it; Mrs Jessop had eyes like a hawk. Then, just as we were clearing away the supper things, she appeared in the kitchen doorway, notebook clutched to her chest. The look on her face turned me proper cold.
Oh God, I thought. This is it! Lady Barrington’s told her everything.
I held my breath as her eyes slid over me. Then she opened the notebook and started flicking through the pages.
‘It seems we’re rather light on china. I counted out sixteen plates and sixteen side plates, and yet only twelve of each have made it back to the cupboard.’
China?
I breathed again, though Gracie started looking shifty.
‘I’ll check, Mrs J., and let you know,’ said Cook, quickly. ‘They’re probably on the drying rack still.’
‘See that you do,’ said Mrs Jessop, and wrote something down in her book. Looking up again, her gaze rested on me.
‘You’ve used the ointment for your hands?’ she said.
‘Yes, Mrs Jessop.’
I caught Cook’s eye. She had the strangest expression on her face. Cook glanced at Mrs Jessop and back at me, then whistled under her breath.
‘What?’ I mouthed, thinking I’d done something wrong.
Cook shook her head and went back to cleaning the range. Her hand moved slowly like she was thinking hard about something.
‘I’ll be in my office,’ said Mrs Jessop. ‘Send Tilly to tell me when the plates have been accounted for.’
Once she’d gone, I turned to Cook. ‘What did I do?’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘Just then with Mrs Jessop. You was looking at me funny.’
‘I weren’t,’ she said.
‘Yes, you was.’
‘Leave it, Tilly, and get on with clearing up.’
‘But Mrs Jessop’s always looking at me too and I don’t know why.’
‘That’s enough. Don’t go making trouble for yourself.’
Which made me think there was a reason for it. And no one ever stared at Gracie like that.
‘Well, it sets me right on edge,’ I said.
Cook stopped cleaning and took me to one side. ‘If you must know . . . well . . . it’s probably because you look like someone.’
‘Lady Barrington reckoned so, too. Who is it?’
Cook hesitated. Looking over her shoulder, she dropped her voice. ‘Someone very dear to Mrs Jessop. Someone she used to know.’
‘What d’you mean, used to?’
‘It was a long time ago, and the girl was about your age, poor soul. And I wonder if when Mrs Jessop sees you, she in’t just thinking . . . what if . . .’
Something smashed to the floor behind us.
We both spun round. Gracie was stood by the table. Her mouth hung open in horror. At her feet, broken plates littered the flagstones.
‘Not again!’ cried Cook. ‘This time it’ll be coming out of your wages, young lady. We can’t cover up for you any more, not now Mrs Jessop’s noticed.’
Gracie sobbed. ‘But I didn’t drop them, honest I didn’t.’
‘Then who did? The Duke of flaming York?’
Gracie looked to me. ‘Tilly, you believe me, don’t you?’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t see nothing,’ I said.
‘Please, it’s not me. It’s something else doing it . . . something mean . . .’
The gas lights on the wall suddenly hissed then dipped low, casting an eerie, underwater gloom about us.
‘Oh heck!’ said Cook. ‘That’s all we need, to be clearing the dishes by candlelight.’
But she made no move to find any candles. Like the rest of us, she stood stock still, looking warily about her. The room felt different, somehow. Familiar things like the table and chairs now looked queer and stark. I began to feel uneasy.
‘What is it? What’s going on?’ cried Gracie.
Cook put a finger to her lips. But the quiet was worse. It stretched tight, like a breath held too long. Abruptly, the air changed. Now it was bitter, bitter cold. It set my teeth chattering. A sense of dread spread through me. Then I smelled it, that sweet honey smell. It was close by me. Too close.
‘Oh no!’ whispered Gracie. ‘Look! It’s happening again!’
She gazed transfixed at the pile of clean china on the table. One small white cup began to move. I couldn’t quite believe what I saw. My brain wouldn’t allow it. For cups didn’t move by themselves. Someone must have touched it. But it wasn’t any of us; we were stood too far from the table. The cup swayed from side to side, like it was about to tip over. Then it lurched forward to the table’s edge.
No one moved. Our eyes stayed fixed on the cup. It seemed almost to tremble, like it was a living breathing thing. I watched in growing terror, quite unable to look away. Slowly, shakily, the cup lifted up off the table. For one long, awful moment, it hung in mid-air. Then it whizzed over our heads with shocking force, and smashed against the wall behind us.
‘Great heavens alive!’ Cook breathed.
My heart beat hard in my chest. I couldn’t bring myself to turn and look at the damage, for before us on the table a whole pile of plates now moved towards the edge. They were just plates; normal everyday things. Except they weren’t. They were moving by themselves, and had become something terrible.
Gracie rushed forwards, arms out to catch them. The plates stopped. Gracie froze. As if in spite, the plates lurched again, toppled over and clattered to the floor. Some smashed to pieces, others spun off in all directions about our feet.
The gas lights flickered, then grew bright. The last plate came to rest over in the corner. A strange stillness settled over the room.
I was shaken to the core. No one had touched those plates, I’d swear to it, at least no one human. This was Kit’s work, wasn’t it? His spirit was here making trouble, and I’d not the faintest idea why.
Gently, Cook eased my fingers off her arm.
‘Get yourselves to the servants’ hall,’ she said. ‘I’ll clear up this lot.’
As she grabbed her broom and started sweeping, I went to Gracie. She hadn’t yet moved. Her arms were wrapped round her waist like she was hugging herself. Her eyes were glazed with shock.
‘Let’s go,’ I said and took hold of her hand, which felt clammy and cold. I bet mine did too.
We stopped in the doorway. Rapid footsteps came towards us down the passage. Mrs Jessop appeared, skirts flying, her face flushed. She still had her notebook in her hand.
‘What an infernal racket! What on earth is going on?’
No one answered.
What was left of the teacup lay at Mrs Jessop’s feet. As she stepped forwards, it crunched beneath her boot soles. Her eyebrows shot up. She bent to pick up a shard of china, and held it up so the light shone through it. I saw at once how fine and fragile it was.
‘One of our best teacups, it seems.’
‘Please, Mrs Jessop.’ Gracie dropped my hand and started twisting her apron. Her lip quivered.
‘And these plates?’ Mrs Jessop pointed to the floor. She looked clearly horrified.
Cook spoke first. ‘Now look, we all makes mistakes sometimes, Mrs J., and I think . . .’
Mrs Jessop turned to face Cook. ‘Are you saying that this is your doing?’
‘No,’ she stuttered. ‘Well, not quite . . . you see . . .’ Cook wasn’t often lost for words. I didn’t like where this was heading.
‘Only it seems to me that what’s happened here tonight has happened on other nights this week,’ said Mrs Jessop, coldly.
I shot a look at Gracie, who’d started sobbing quietly and was staring at the floor.
‘Well . . .’ said Cook.
‘HASN’T IT?’
I flinched.
Cook’s face was red. ‘Now just a minute! I in’t the one been throwing china about the place!’
‘Then you’d better tell me who has.’ Mrs Jessop turned to Gracie. ‘Was it you, then?’
‘No! Please, I never . . .’
‘For pity’s sake! I keep records of everything!’ Mrs Jessop shook her notebook at Gracie. ‘Every night since Sunday, something has been broken!’
Since Sunday?
‘You mustn’t . . . I can’t lose this job . . . please . . . let me explain,’ Gracie cried.
‘No, let me explain.’ Mrs Jessop licked the end of her finger and started flicking through the pages of her book. ‘Yes, here we are . . .’ She paused. For a split second her face paled but she quickly recovered. ‘Sunday the sixth of February, two china plates missing . . . Monday the seventh of February, three cups cracked . . . Tuesday the eighth of February . . .’
I didn’t hear the rest. My mind was racing ahead of itself.
Sunday February 6th. Kit’s death, my almost drowning, and now the china. Three things. Three flipping things! All on the same date!
These things hadn’t happened by chance. They all linked back to the day Kit had died, connected to each other in some queer way. I was on to something at last! It was a job not to whoop or punch the air, when everyone else still looked so grave.
But.
That wasn’t quite everything, was it? Thrilled though I was, something still didn’t fit. In the lake Kit had been heart-stoppingly lovely. Here in the house, his spirit was different, smashing cups and causing mischief for the sake of it.
For the sake of what?
It was like there were two sides to him, the dreamy gentle side and the spiteful, angry one. Maybe that was it. Perhaps he had good reason to show his temper, if something truly bad had happened here. Something like the truth he said had to be revealed.
A strange thought came to me then, that maybe there was more to this. Could Frost Hollow Hall have other secrets, other ghosts? It hardly made sense, and I pushed it at once from my mind.
The room had fallen quiet. Mrs Jessop clearly thought we were a bunch of oafs who weren’t to be trusted. She hadn’t listened to Gracie or Cook; I didn’t suppose for a minute she’d listen to me.
Yet before I could stop myself, I said, ‘What Cook and Gracie say is true. No one’s been dropping china.’
‘Oh?’ said Mrs Jessop, turning to me. ‘And who asked you?’
‘I saw what happened just now.’
‘Then perhaps you might tell me.’
Cook put a hand on my arm. ‘You don’t need to do that, Tilly.’
‘Well, it in’t right to blame Gracie, nor anyone else. I’m not afraid of the truth,’ I said, though my palms were sweating.
‘If you want to keep your position, just be careful what you say,’ warned Cook.
Mrs Jessop raised her voice. ‘If someone doesn’t tell me THIS SECOND what is going on . . .’
‘There’s a spirit down here!’ I said, in a rush. ‘We think it’s angry at something.’
Mrs Jessop went white. She pressed her fingertips to her forehead and sighed deeply. Then she looked straight at me.
‘This is worse than I anticipated.’
‘You can’t sack her!’ cried Cook. ‘That in’t fair!’
‘It’ll be Lady Barrington’s decision.’
Cook looked horrified. ‘Her Ladyship? But it’s you and Mr Phelps what decides on the household staff. You mustn’t tell her!’
‘It’s high time Lady Barrington was told. We have huge problems keeping hold of our staff. And is it any wonder when you’re all scaring the living daylights out of each other?’
‘But what good would it do, really, with her nerves such as they are? Have a heart, Mrs J.’
Mrs Jessop shook her head. ‘This nonsense has got to stop. We cannot run a house like this.’
With the greatest care, she smoothed her hair and tucked her notebook under her arm. Then she came at me. Out the corner of my eye, I saw Cook try to stop her. Mrs Jessop grabbed my wrist. A hard yank and I was out into the passageway. She dragged me towards the green felt door.
‘Wait!’ I cried, digging my feet into the floor. ‘Please! Wait!’
One look at Mrs Jessop’s face and I knew there was no chance of that.