The ice house was easy enough to spot. It was on the far side of the lake, set back under another thicket of trees. It looked like a hovel, with grass growing on the roof and a little crooked entrance set below some steps. I made my way over and pulled hard on the door. It wouldn’t budge an inch. Another good yank and it flew open with such force I went staggering backwards in the snow. I didn’t fancy it closing again, not with me on the wrong side of it, so I set off in search of a stone to prop it open. Just behind the ice house was the remains of an old wall. From it I chose a sizeable chunk of flint and retraced my steps.
A strange feeling came over me then, that I wasn’t quite alone.
I turned round. Something dashed between the trees. It was a woman, dressed in black, moving deeper into the woods. Twigs snapped underfoot. A bird shrieked. The woman stumbled and dropped to her knees. She had a shawl over her head and most of her face, and her skirts seemed to be caught in the undergrowth. She tugged hard. Even from where I was stood, I heard the cloth tear as she ripped her skirts free. Standing up again, she glanced over her shoulder like she didn’t want to be seen. I ducked behind a tree, heart pounding, and kept absolutely still. Bit by bit, I peeped round the trunk. The woman had disappeared.
With a jolt it came back to me. I’d seen her here before, on Sunday, as I’d waited for my go on the ice. Even now, when I was meant to be here, the sight of her still unnerved me. She’d looked like a person up to something. But I fought down the urge to sneak after her, since I’d have Dorcas on my back and Cook too if I didn’t get a move on.
Armed with my piece of flint, I propped the ice-house door open and peered inside. It was dank and dark, and as I stepped in it felt even colder than being out in the snow. Just above my head was a brick arched ceiling, underfoot was old wet straw. The passage was proper narrow; I had to stoop down and tuck my elbows right in. I prayed it wasn’t far.
Further in, the cold got stronger. I gripped the bucket and felt with my free hand. Ten feet in now and the bricks were slick with ice. Ahead was another arch. I kept going until the floor seemed to stop. As my eyes grew used to the gloom, I saw I was standing on the edge of a wide pit. It was full to the brim with something grey, like slush at the side of a road. I nudged it with my toe. Ice. Not the neat white blocks I’d pictured, but a great jumble of the stuff. Someone had left a shovel lying beside it, which I was grateful for since it meant not having to use my bare hands. I scooped what I could into the bucket, pressed it down hard, then put in some more ’til it was full to the brim and mighty heavy to lift.
All done, I turned to go. Up ahead was an oblong of daylight – the doorway! I was glad as anything to see it again, hurrying towards it with the bucket swinging against me. Of a sudden the light disappeared. The darkness was total. I stopped dead, my heart beating faster. For a moment, I wondered if I’d blacked out. But then I put out my hand and felt solid bricks on either side of me.
I was trapped.
I cursed that flipping door and the stupid rock that was meant to keep it open. My heart thumped wildly. I had to get out. I rushed at the door, ready to pound it with all my might. Then, just as suddenly, the doorway appeared again. Only now a figure stood in it, blocking my escape. The person saw me. They gasped and stepped back outside.
I hesitated. The person had gone part way up the steps and stood there, waiting. I inched forwards, seeing only the torn hem of a skirt and a pair of filthy boots.
‘Come out of there, for pity’s sake.’
I knew that voice. My stomach sank.
I went out into the daylight, blinking nervously. Mrs Jessop looked down at me from the steps.
‘I was just getting the ice for Cook,’ I said. ‘I’ve been as quick as I could.’
I wondered if she’d been snooping on me. But then I saw how rattled she looked, like I was the last person she’d expected to see.
‘You’d better get back,’ she said. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’
Mrs Jessop stepped aside so I could pass. Up close, she was short of breath. Her hair had come loose about her neck, and her frock was splattered in mud. Normally she was so stiff and proper; the sight of her now unnerved me. It was a job not to stare.
All at once I knew.
It was her I’d seen running through the woods, today and last Sunday. And here she was now, holding something tightly balled up in her hand. I thought it might be a handkerchief. But as her fingers tensed, it crackled like paper.
‘Tilly,’ she said as I sidled past her. ‘Don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me out here, will you?’
I coughed uncomfortably, unsure what to say. But I knew my place: she was the housekeeper and I was only a maid.
‘Yes, Mrs Jessop . . . I mean no, Mrs Jessop,’ I said.
Her eyes looked red and her nose all sore like she’d been crying. A tiny bit of me almost felt sorry for her. It must have shown in my face because she turned right away from me.
‘Go on then, go!’
‘But Mrs Jessop . . .’
‘Just go, will you? For once in your life, child, do as you’re told!’
Her voice sounded broken and strange, and it scared me. I raced up the steps and kept going, heading straight for the gate. The bucket thumped hard against my leg. I ran and ran until I was almost through the trees and out the other side and my lungs felt like they were on fire. As the Hall came into view, I slowed to a walk, Mrs Jessop’s words still ringing in my ears. She was up to something, all right, and flipping desperate about it. She’d have to be, asking me to keep a secret of hers, when just yesterday she’d near got me sacked!
And I remembered Eliza with her White Star advert, how she’d said it was a secret and I wasn’t to tell. The memory of it turned hot and sour inside me. There were too many blasted secrets flying around, and I was sick of being asked to keep them.