The House on Blackstone Moor (The Blackstone Vampires) (5 page)

I thought Dr. Bannion quite clever to have said it like that, for it seemed to help me cope. And I had to cope if I ever wished to be free of this place, for Marsh killed in its own as my father had, as evil always does.

When the spirit dies the soul goes too, and what is left then is sobs in the night in a ward in a madhouse.

I asked Grace about that poor woman in the ward. We had snatched a moment to chat near the kitchen. 

“There is a woman who cries, she was found outside…”

Before I even finished Grace nodded.  “Yes, that would be Helen. That’s what they call her. Oh, sad is that. Proper tragic story. They think she might have come from somewhere fine. Her nails was clean and she was well cared for if you know what I mean. She was young, probably no more than twenty. I think she fell in with a bad ‘un.”

I was incredulous. “But what about the police, the authorities?”

Grace laughed. “You think anyone cares for the likes of us? You’re mistaken, Rose. We aren’t in too many a folks thoughts, I can tell you, not for good that is.”

Someone shouted for her and she rushed away. “I best go back, or I’ll get a right bollocking!”

I watched her disappear into the kitchen.

I was still thinking of Helen when I heard someone call my name. It was

Dr. Bannion. He looked pleased to see me. “How would you like a job, something to keep you busy?”

I must have looked worried for he added, “You’ll quite like it. It’s sewing. And as I know you, I have vouched for you that it is quite safe for you to work with needles.”

He led me toward the main door. “It’s in that building over there. A nice lady runs it, Rose. Would you like to meet her?

“Yes, sir.”

As I followed along I wondered how he could appear so happy surrounded by all the sadness and suffering. After all, this was no garden party, this place. It was a sad repository for so many lost souls it seemed to me, myself among them.

It was a tiny cottage packed with rolls of fabric and boxes and cupboards. It looked positively jammed. A kind looking woman nodded as we entered.

“This is Mrs. Dean and she will tell you exactly what your duties are.”

I liked her as she seemed nice enough, so nice in fact I wondered if she had been an inmate originally who had made good and earned her release.

She began to show me around as Dr. Bannion turned to leave. But suddenly he stopped in his tracks, for the most exotic looking lady had just come in.

I have seen many well-dressed ladies in London, some of them quite grand as this lady was. For she was exquisitely turned out in an emerald green velvet day dress with matching coat and bonnet.

She and Dr. Bannion chatted amiably and then she looked at me. But she didn’t just look at me. She stared at me, with a strange expression upon her face as if she was surprised at seeing me.

Dr. Bannion seemed somewhat startled. But then he smiled and introduced us. “Mrs. Darton, this is Rose Baines, she’s staying here for a while.”

I greeted her shyly, for I felt myself blushing under her stare. Not that I found it an unkind stare, I just found it uncomfortable.

“I am pleased to know you, Rose.”

She had a French accent and it was musical sounding and suited her.

Dr. Bannion smiled at her and at me until she finally looked in his direction and they proceeded to the door.

“I have some lovely clothes I shall bring next time I am here, James,” she said, nodding toward me.

I watched them leave. I glanced at Mrs. Dean and wondered when she’d give me some work, but she was looking after them, unsmiling and thoughtful.

Later, I was happy with the work I was given and even though she was nice to me and helpful, I felt her mood quite changed after Mrs. Darton made her appearance.

At last, she seemed to recover herself and began instructing me on what I was to do. “You will mainly do hems and repair stitching. Things need to last, after all.”

I wondered about the pretty fabric I saw though. Mrs. Dean noticed. “We get many donations. Much of it from the outside, as you now know. We make things and sell them too, and the profits go to the institution.”

As I began she advised me to be careful of the needles. “We always do a count before closing. Also the scissors, mustn’t let those fall into the wrong hands now, mustn’t we?” She looked serious and I was hoping she didn’t mean me.

“Yes, Mrs. Dean,” I said. “I shall be careful indeed.”

*

I told Grace as soon as I saw her. She was pleased about my job but when I mentioned Mrs. Darton she shrugged. “Oh, her. Yes, she’s a patron and has much to do with the place. I think Dr. Bannion quite likes her.”

Grace was serving me my supper of watery stew and dumplings.

I wanted to talk more to her but she had her work to tend to. So I sat and thought about the sewing and Mrs. Darton and Dr. Bannion.

Upon watching Grace and the other kitchen helpers rushing back and forth, I decided I was pleased with the sewing work. It was easy and pleasant.

I think I was beginning to feel a little hopeful of getting better. It was a good idea to be busy. I was quite looking forward to it.

At last
,
Grace reappeared. She looked hot and tired. “Well, no more now until breakfast.”

I told her I was pleased but I was terribly curious about Mrs. Darton so I asked her about her.

“Well, like I said, she’s a patron. She and her husband give money and they sometimes find work for some girls.”

That sounded hopeful.

“Do they, that’s interesting.”

“Yes,” Grace said. “I suppose it is.”

We chatted some more until it was time for us to go to our respective wards. I kept thinking about the clothes Mrs. Darton said she’d bring in and I hoped I might have a dress out of it. After all, I didn’t wish to wear a shift for the rest of my life.

I was entitled to a life. At least, that was what I hoped.

*

Ah, my life! You know much already, but I haven’t brought you fully up to date for there is more.

Strangely, during the past two years things had seemed a little better. My father was away more than he was home and we were all grateful and hoped he would stay away forever, but invariably he’d return, drunk and darkly silent. He was staying in an attic room, to my mother’s great relief.

We’d hear him sometimes stomping around and we had come to think of him as an evil spirit inhabiting a space between the eaves. Of course he was flesh and blood and his torment was that much more effective.

A case in point: I had obtained a position as a trainee teacher at a girls’ school when I turned seventeen. I was liked and quite enjoyed working there. My mother felt it would be a suitable position for me at the end of the training.

But then my father showed up one day and caused a terrible scene.

“Really, we are sorry to ask you to leave, Miss Baines but we have no choice.”

They didn’t. He had been abusive and threatening.

I complained to my friend, John. John thought himself a suitor, at least those were his expressed intentions.

He was a nice young man who was working his way through medical school. He had the most positive attitude of anyone I had ever known, and although he didn’t know the worst of my father’s way, he did know what I told him. “Don’t worry about what you can’t change, Rose.”

I had known him for a few months, and I was concerned about how my father would react. But then he met him and surprisingly, father had seemed to like him.

I didn’t know that he was planning something diabolical.

Mother liked John
,
too, as did my sisters and brother.

He had spoken of marriage. He mentioned it when I said I had been advertising myself for another position.

I had told him I was sacked but didn’t share that my father was the cause of it.“Oh, Rose! You needn’t work,” he said. “You shall be my wife, what do you think of that? I have plans for myself and for you, too.”

It wasn’t the most practical of things to say for John still had studies to complete, but I was thrilled, if only for a moment. How could I leave my family, I thought? I couldn’t go off and leave them with Father.

I didn’t have to worry about it long though because father saw to that. I have no idea how he found out about our discussion, but he did.

“If he comes here again, I will l kill him. Mind, I’m serious now. Rose. It’s his life.”

Truly, I knew it was.

“John, I cannot see you, it is Father…”

John didn’t understand and because, fool that I was, I was too ashamed to explain the whys and wherefores, I think he assumed there was someone else and he stopping calling around.

I was devastated. I had no job and no chance for love now—what hope was there for me?

I didn’t have to worry long, for within a few months my father had killed himself and my family.

“Make yourself a cloak out of it Rose. It would suit you.”

I did actually, and it was quite lovely.

As for my job, I enjoyed working in the shop. It was quiet and peaceful and Mrs. Dean was pleasant, though we didn’t speak much. But then again, sometimes there is more significance in silence.

My sessions continued with Dr. Bannion and so did my occasional talks with Grace.

I was getting used to things. I did find I learned more about the place, too. Grace showed me around. We were permitted some freedom. After all, we weren’t in the violent ward.

I asked her about that and she told me. “They are an accursed lot, poor buggers. There’s some that just escaped the gallows by a hair’s breath. Some mighty bad ‘uns they are, but insane too. They ain’t chained up, but they are tied down.”

“Have you seen any of them?”

She told me then of a horrific incident when one of the most dangerous of them did manage to break out.

“He killed two attendants. I saw it with my own eyes, I did! Split their heads wide open Rose. I saw their brains!”

I was sorry I asked her. I wanted her to stop, but she went on. “Yes, proper bad’uns they are, wife killers and child killers too. They won’t get to lie in consecrated ground when they die either, ‘course.” She
pointed toward that sad cemetery. “No one really gets a dignified burial. Just slapped in the ground with a number instead of a tombstone.”

I thought of my family and I almost cried.

“Sorry, lass. I am upsetting you more than educating you.”

“No, it’s alright, Grace. I need to have a sense of where I am.”

She nodded for she said she understood that. “The world is full of sadness and tragedy. It’s an important lesson to learn. Some people are lucky though, some never need to learn it or to even know it exists.”

“No,” I said. “And some might not even care.”

*

The one thing I liked doing was walking to the gates
,
where I would gaze out between the bars at the road that bespoke freedom to me.

Generally I went alone but occasionally Grace accompanied me. “You’ll be going through those gates, lass. Just you wait.”

“I want to but I’m afraid also. I’m afraid of not being able to cope.”

“No, you’ll be fine. I know. I can tell.”

I asked her how she could tell.

“It’s in the eyes, see. Those who won’t ever get out, I can see it.” She gestured toward her own eye. “Take mine, for instance. Mine’s typical of the lost, those who remain forever. I know my end. I shall lie buried and forgotten in that stubbly ground as though I never lived.”

I hugged her and wept.

“No need to feel sorry. It’s good to know things are as they are so’s no one can hurt you or fool you. That’s awful, to be fooled or to have false hopes piled up inside you. I’d hate that.”

The chapel clock began to toll then and Grace started to rush. “Best get to the kitchens, Rose. I shall have to make soup. Come walk with me.”

We walked then, no longer talking, but reconsidering all that we had said, for we had said so much.

*

Something very sad did occur a few days later. It happened when I was at my job.

Grace told me that one of the inmates had managed to get up onto the roof. “And she just yelled and spread her arms. But she was smiling. I’m getting out of here, I am and none of you can do nothing about it, she cried and then she just let herself go, like she was jumping into water. She looked happy, too. But here’s the thing that really bothers me. I am sorry for the woman, but a crowd of people ran to the spot, thems the depressing ones. They wanted a glimpse of the poor woman’s broken body, imagine that? Why are people like that, that’s what I’d like to know?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, as I remembered watching people running toward a train wreck in Southwark once. “I think it must be the pack instinct.”

“Right clever you are, Rose. I admire that. Right clever you are, just you wait. You ain’t done yet. I know I can tell.”