House of Small Shadows (16 page)

But finishing the valuation begged the question, what next? In the months ahead the catalogue would need approval, contracts would require signatures, and arrangements would have to be made for
an auction. Her visits to the Red House would be endless, her exposure to this madness limitless.

She also suffered a persistent anxiety that Edith wouldn’t let her go. That her firm’s contract would be dependent on her staying at the Red House for weeks, even months. Her role
had already fallen into being led to curious rooms, introduced to their interiors and inhabitants, before being whisked away. Boundaries upon her freedom to roam and work independently had been set
in stone that morning. The idea of enduring even one more day of the obsessive supervision and tormenting felt like it would break what little spirit she’d summoned to get herself out here in
the first place.

But the prospect of the Red House experience continuing was also unhealthily intriguing. She couldn’t fully suppress her fascination. Part of her was recklessly and guiltily eager to
stretch and reach for the enigmatic here, for all that was undisclosed about this weird family. She wanted to throw open doors and see everything at once, while being desperate to flee every other
minute of the day.

Catherine swapped her hands on the steering wheel and bit her nails until the fingertips on each hand were sore. Inside her mouth the chips of polish tasted like pear drops.

Two miles beyond Magbar Wood, her phone revealed two blue bars of a reception signal. There was nowhere to pull over on the narrow road, so she stopped the car in the middle of
the lane to call Leonard. She tried his desk phone; she’d never known him leave the office before eight.

‘Hello, Leonard Osberne. Hello. Hello?’

Such was her relief to hear Leonard’s voice, she had to clear her throat of emotion before she could speak. ‘Leonard, it’s me.’

‘Kitten! How lovely to hear from you. Are you OK? How was your first day?’

‘Insane.’

‘How is the charming Edith?’

‘Well, like most sticklers for good manners, she’s as rude as they come. But it’s not just Edith, it’s . . .’

‘Go on.’

‘I just need a second pair of ears, Boss. Because . . . well, today has been . . . They’re crazy, Boss.’

‘Mad as snakes. We know that. It won’t make it any easier to start with, I understand. And you’ve gone out there after a truly ghastly experience. To be frank, I’m glad
you called because I’ve been worried sick.’

‘I would have called earlier, but there’s no signal at the house.’

‘Well I’m all ears now, Kitten. So what’s on your mind? Or is it your heart?’

How could she even begin to explain her day? Or more precisely, how it made her feel? ‘I’m genuinely not sure about this, Leonard.’

‘Oh?’

‘Edith and Maude. I really do not know what to make of them. It’s like they’re only interested in trying to conjure all of this mystery and reverence around Mason.’

‘Has anything been said about the contract?’

‘Nothing. I’d say any mention has been deliberately avoided. I’ve escaped for a bit, but it’s only convinced me that other motives are at work out here, disingenuous
motives. I think she might just be playing with us.’

‘Edith will dance about like a spider and keep changing her mind. I know that much. And sometimes we must suffer in our trade. But unless she’s thrown you out, she’ll come
round eventually. I’m sure of it.’

‘Even if we get to that stage, it’s going to take a lot of stamina to endure her, Len. You really should come out. I could do with some backup.’

‘Of course. I plan to.’

‘Glad to hear it. There’s a stairlift here too, so you can get round easily.’

‘Tomorrow’s full. Maybe I’ll come the day after. But what has upset you? Can you be specific?’

‘Something . . . is just not right. Edith won’t get to the point at all about what’s available for auction. Which is why I’m just not convinced there’s ever going
to be one. I haven’t even started the inventory. Haven’t seen a single bloody item. Instead, I’ve seen the most awful film and had this big history lesson about a puppet tradition
that I’ve never even heard of. Henry Strader? Ring any bells? And Mason’s old puppets. She talks about them like they are children, you know, living. They sleep in a room next to her.
She just seems intent on disturbing me. She’s such a bully. And this man, this Strader, who her uncle was obsessed with, they have this film of him being broken on the wheel. A cruelty play,
that’s what she called it. Edith claims the play is hundreds of years old. It’s worse than a horror film. I’m supposed to be here for the tableau, the dolls. But it’s like
they’re already out of the picture. Irrelevant. So I’m not even sure we’ll ever get to a contract, and if we do, it could be cancelled on a whim.

‘But where does she think it will all go, I mean is there a will? Any surviving family?’

Leonard was silent for a while, save for the little sucks on his pipe stem that she could hear through the phone. She could visualize his frown while he considered what she’d said.
‘Perhaps she can’t help herself. It’s in her nature, after so much time alone out there. Maybe she can’t resist you. Who can? And she’s making the most of you. Testing
you with a load of nonsense. Though I have heard about Strader. He was supposed to have been executed for witchcraft, I think. Or maybe it was treason. Or both. He was put to death while touring
London. But the authorities let a mob do the dirty work. His plays were supposedly highly seditious, and mystical. Apparently, a huge unwashed mob of peasants used to follow Strader around, if my
memory serves. Orphans mainly, lepers, cripples. They thought he was a healer, a saint, the second coming or something, a saviour.’

‘That seemed to be the gist of it.’

‘And he was a local lad too, from out your way, so maybe that’s why it took Mason’s fancy once he’d killed everything on four legs and dressed it up. I’ll look
Strader up for you but I also wouldn’t be surprised if Edith has also become attached to you, my dear. It’s why she wants to share all of this with you. She won’t show her hand,
yet, but I am sure it will come. Dependency on new company is a hard thing to acknowledge when you’ve prided yourself on isolation. I mean, Kitten, you might just be the first guest
they’ve had in that house in decades. You’re like the sole friend who came over for a sleepover and she wants to show you all of her toys. And she wants a passive audience too, for all
of her jumbled-up stories. But she’ll keep the upper hand by playing hard. I’ve seen it all before, my dear. Maybe in not such a colourful way, but it goes with the
territory.’

‘Maybe.’ She did feel as if she was an unwitting player in a performance, one born from decades of routine, tradition, and the stifling hierarchy of a servant and mistress, now gone
from the world beyond Edith’s isolation within those red walls. But the more she considered the woman, now she was out of her grasp, the more the whole idea of Edith troubled her. ‘No
woman still dresses like that, Leonard. The hair, the bleached face. It’s impossible. A costume? Is Edith playing a role? And Maude’s total silence, is that a performance too? She still
hasn’t said a word, nothing. No explanation about the note. The two women function, but it’s like they’ve gone completely mad. It’s like some crazy prank.’

Her instincts suggested she was being prepared for a greater revelation. Now she was free of the building, the idea was hard to suppress. Or maybe, like Leonard claimed, they were merely
apportioning out their helpless strangeness because they had nothing else to offer. She wanted to believe that.

‘In these situations, Kitten, I always extend my imagination into their perspective. Use your imagination and it’ll take the sting out of Edith’s bite. Edith is very old,
lonely, surrounded by relics of a world and of people she loved who are long gone. She’s clearly always revered what her uncle left behind. It’s what she’s protected and curated,
on his bizarre instructions, I might add. That is clear from what you have told me. And we can safely assume that old Mason was pretty disturbed by the time he took his own life. She would have
been in that house during the great patriarch’s end. God knows what kind of shock and trauma his suicide inflicted upon her. But she stuck it out. No wonder she’s half crazed. Maybe
even frozen in time, from that period.’

‘Then she needs a doctor, help. A social worker. Not a valuer.’

‘We both know none of those types would even make it through the gate.’

‘Then me being here feels wrong.’

‘Then look at it another way. From what you have told me, she’s also endured a long imprisonment. Mason pretty much confined his niece to that house. And still does, even though
he’s dead. Imagine what Mason’s treasures have deprived Edith of. The freedoms, liberties, opportunities we’ve taken for granted, as our right. Edith won’t have known any of
it. But you can bet she’s spent most of her life thinking about the wider world, resenting it while desiring it. And it would be reasonable for Edith to now despise her uncle’s work,
even while she covets it. She’s broke and needs to sell it all. So what has her life been for? I’ve seen this happen, Kitten. At their end, some people experience a terrible revelation.
But we must hold her hand while she goes through this. I think that is what she is asking you for. She wants to share all of this with you before she says goodbye to it, for ever.’

Catherine was no analyst, though she’d known a few, but now Leonard put it like this, she wondered if the Red House was smouldering with a resentment that had become something much worse.
Futility was a powerful force, as well she knew.

‘Maybe. This helps, Boss. Thanks. But I still have to go back and sleep over. It’s like willingly going to bed to have an awful nightmare.’

‘If it’s too much, just say the word and pull out. I won’t think any less of you. We can try and persuade her to let me in, even if she has her heart set on you. Your
well-being must come first. I’m a businessman, but I fear you might not be ready for this job. And I feel wretched for talking you into it. I got carried away when you told me about the Mason
pieces. It would be a glorious end to my career. I’ve been selfish.’

‘Don’t feel bad. I can’t . . . The last thing I want is for my dysfunctional private life to interfere with my work. You know that, Boss.’

‘Yes, but we all have our limits.’

‘I’m not there yet. I had a wobble last week. A big one. But I also know this is too good to let go of. Let me try another day. See if I can at least photograph everything and then
I’ll pull out. Maybe tomorrow night.’

‘You sure?’

‘I think so, Boss.’

‘But the next time we go together.’

‘OK. I better get back. There’ll be hell to pay if I’m late for dinner.’

Catherine’s expectations about formal dining at the Red House were confirmed.

Feeling awkward and as breakable as the crystal she sipped from, she sat tense and uncomfortable on her chair, determined to make this the last meal she ate in the oppressive dining room.
Because this was a feast to be endured within a thick, uncomfortable silence that made looking at each other across the table unbearable. Neither of her hosts appeared to have the strength to
endure the meal, and she wished they hadn’t bothered with staging the performance.

The wall lights were not turned on. Four candles in holders, around which silver serpents were entwined, lit the table but only partially illumined the surrounding room. Catherine wanted to be
enchanted, but the mournful silence and wretched faces of her companions made her feel so self-conscious she began to feel irrational and worried she might say something foolish.

From the little she could see there was something masculine about the dining room, a touch of its former master, with ruby-red and river-green wallpaper, designed with a miniature version of the
geometric design she had seen elsewhere in the house. Dado rails remained along all of the walls. Oil paintings hung high from horizontal rods of polished brass, each picture depicting an
age-darkened still life of rustic breads, grapes, game, fish, and birds with limp necks beside thin knives laid upon metal plates. A frieze around the top third of the walls featured a vine heavy
with fruit.

But at least she’d had the foresight to change into the only dress she had packed. A decision she congratulated herself on as Edith had also dressed to eat. Her host’s ivory gown of
embroidered silk concealed her entire body save her gloved hands and colourless face.

‘Ms Mason. It’s extraordinary to see such a fine gown still in existence, let alone being worn.’ This was the first time anyone had spoken since Catherine had been shown into
the room, and her voice sounded phony and irritating within the grand space.

‘It belonged to my mother.’ Edith just about smiled, and what little of a smile appeared on her lipless mouth was an effort to maintain before she quickly returned to a preoccupation
with a matter unshared. Her eyes were cloudy and her arms limp. If she leant any closer to the table, she’d be face down in her soup.

At least the food provided a temporary distraction from Edith. There was a delicious home-made vegetable soup, two small pheasants with new potatoes, a cheese soufflé, a plum pudding with
fresh cream, a sweet white wine, and a burgundy.

The meal must have been prepared for Catherine, because Edith did no more than blow on a spoonful of soup and push at her pheasant with a heavy silver fork. Though at one point, Catherine
suspected she had seen Edith pressing the side of a piece of bread with her tongue. But she never took a bite. Edith’s thin hands could barely support the weight of the cutlery, and it looked
like she’d forgotten how to hold it. Perhaps Maude spooned food into her mouth when they were alone.

After her pretence of eating, and then an exaggerated dabbing at her mouth with a napkin, Edith finally closed her eyes and seemed to just switch herself off. She slept soundlessly with her head
bowed, while Catherine nervously slipped tiny pieces of the food into her own mouth, trying not to clink the plate. She swallowed some of the food unchewed.