The Tutor (17 page)

Tom stopped buffing shoes to stare at me intensely. Whatever people thought

about his mental capacity, there was a light on inside. And then he began to recite a story it seemed he’d heard many times.

“Young master was cruel. Tore up and killed animals as a lad. Servants knew.”

Tom gazed at his polishing rag as if seeing this long-ago story unfold. “Later, some people went missing—a milkmaid herdin’ cows, a woman folks said likely drowned. But no bodies and no one thinkin’ it be a killer—till it kept happenin’ over a few years. Then folks got scared and called him the Stealer.”

I leaned forward, as chilled as if there were no sunshine warming my back. I’d

been close by when the Ripper haunted Whitechapel, and I’d never forget the terror that galvanized everyone. Though, in some people’s eyes, he’d “merely” killed prostitutes— the dregs of the city—those of us living near the district felt every murder as a personal assault.

“How did they catch him? Or was he never discovered?”

Tom nodded. “Oh, aye.”

“Tell me,” I whispered, eager to know and not wanting to hear at the same time.

“A maid here disappeared, and they thought she’d run off. Except she left all her

things.” Tom gave me a look, making sure I got the point.

“Why would the killer strike close to home after being careful for so long?” I

wondered aloud. “Did she stumble across something she shouldn’t have seen? Or maybe he thrived on risking bigger stakes to achieve his thrill. I’ve read such killers feel invincible and cleverer than everyone else.”

My reading of Conan Doyle’s detective novels for pleasure may have proved

instructional after all. What would Sherlock Holmes do with the case of a haunted tower room? Likely find a very human and non-otherworldly explanation for it.

“How was he finally caught?” I asked.

“People heard quiet screamin’ and cryin’ from the walls and feared a ghost. But

Great-Great-Grandda searched out the noise.”

“Coming from the tower,” I guessed. My heart was in my mouth with fear for a

maid who’d faced death so long ago. “Did he get there in time?”

Tom dipped the blacking brush and rubbed thoughtfully at a scuff on the toe of

Richard’s boot. “The tower was locked. Great-Grandda went to Allinson for the key.”

“Wait. I thought Allinson was the killer.”

“
Young
master, the son. Had her strung up by a rope and did things to her with a knife.” Tom crossed himself and spit over one shoulder to ward off the devil.

“Was she dead when they got there?” I asked.

“Near to. Young master had a knife, but his father had a sword. He said…” Tom

quoted exactly as Old Da must have told it. “‘Curse you. You are no son of mine, you insane bastard. The world will be well rid of you,’ and stabbed him through.”

“Did the girl survive?”

Tom shook his head. “The master cut her down and finished her with the bloody

sword. Great-Grandda got rid of the bodies and swore silence, said our family is cursed if the vow be broken.”

The entire story sounded like a melodrama. If I hadn’t spent a few minutes up in

that haunted tower, I could hardly have believed it. But as it was, every bit of the horrific tale rang true.

“Thank you for trusting me with the story, Tom.” Although now that I knew it, I

had no idea what to do about it. One violent crime or more had occurred in the tower.

Such an event would surely be enough to anchor the dead to this world, reliving the ordeal. What could one do to get rid of spirits infesting a house? And could they actually harm the living?

“Evil lives in the tower,” Tom said suddenly. “It killed Mrs. Allinson.”

“How?” I considered the suicide I wasn’t supposed to know about, a death that

mirrored the hanging in his story.

“Sometimes it whispers.” He touched his ear and glanced at the house looming

behind him.

I knew he didn’t mean a literal voice but the hopeless gloom that sometimes

invaded my soul. So, I wasn’t the only one. And Lavinia’s crushing depression might have come from outside her as well.

“I watch the boys so they don’t come to harm,” Tom confessed.

“I’ll keep watch with you.” I rose from my seat on the stone wall and clapped him

on the shoulder. “We’ll be vigilant, you and I, and make certain no harm comes to

anyone in the house on our watch.”

Bravely said, though I had no idea how to protect anyone. If such spirits fed off

turbulent human emotion, this one surely gathered strength from Clive’s anger, the Allinson family’s grief, and perhaps from the simmering passion between me and Richard. Now all it needed was a suggestible mind to corrupt. I was determined I

wouldn’t allow those insidious feelings of despair to creep inside me again.

I would love to have been a fly on the wall to witness the meeting of Richard and

his sons. As it was, I was merely privy to the result, which was Whit displaying a cheerier disposition and Clive seemingly angrier and more aloof than ever. I never knew what all had transpired, if Richard had been unable to get Clive to listen to him or if he’d even tried. But from that afternoon on, it was obvious a rift had formed between the twins, their inseparable bond coming unraveled at the seams.

Over the next days, the more Whit talked to me, answered my questions during

lessons, or made little jokes and laughed about some silly nonsense I’d invented, the more sullen Clive became. Whitney no longer spoke for his brother. Despite my ongoing efforts to draw responses from Clive, I still couldn’t get the dour lad to speak a word. I had no idea how to reach him, and he almost seemed worse than when I’d first met him.

For the rest of that week, I had no brushes with Allinson. Maybe he was still

considering everything he’d learned about me. Maybe I’d still find myself out on my ear.

But I would’ve at least expected him to check in with me about the boys. Not that he owed me that. He was the boss. I was hired help. Why did I have so much trouble remembering my place?

I was relieved to have another half day off to escape the insular environment of

the Hall. I didn’t have time to walk to the village and back, but was able to catch a ride with Drover. Some of the same customers nursed mugs of ale at the pub. I also made new acquaintances, all of whom seemed welcoming and happy to stand a round. As a result, Drover had to support my drunken weight on the way to the wagon for our return home. I slung an arm around his shoulders and tried to get him to sing along with me. He wouldn’t.

I drowsed with my chin bobbing against my chest, and Drover had to pull over

twice to let me say good-bye to all the ale I’d drunk. Back in the stable yard, he prodded me awake, and I staggered indoors, happily without running into Smithers or anyone else on the way to my room. I passed out on top of my bed with shoes and coat still on.

Late that night, I awoke with a heavy weight bearing me down into the mattress,

compressing my chest so I could only breathe in shallow gasps. I couldn’t lift my arms to push the thing off me. I tried to roll my body out from under it, but I might as well have been in a straitjacket and tied to the bed. I’d once thought Allinson Hall had the grim air of a lunatic asylum. Now it felt as if I were an inmate. Worst of all, I couldn’t seem to pry my eyes open to
see
what held me down.

I remained locked in silent, motionless battle with my attacker for what felt like hours, though I had no true knowledge of the passage of time. I experienced a sensation of utter defenselessness and felt I fought against something truly evil that would never release me.

This is how it ends.
The crystal-clear thought dropped into my mind.
This is how
you leave the world.
Damned if I would! I pushed back with all my strength, and I don’t mean physically but with the power of my will.

Abruptly, I broke through, jerked awake, and sat up, gasping for air. I celebrated the simple joy of being able to move my limbs and body by jumping out of bed. I tore off the overcoat I still wore and pulled off my shoes, then took off my clothes for good measure. My body was drenched with sweat from the struggle.

What struggle? It was only a dream, I assured myself as I splashed water on my

face and chest and drank deeply straight from the pitcher. But the experience had

certainly felt real and life threatening. If I was accepting the premise that spirits existed, it wasn’t a stretch to assume I’d been attacked by the vile killer who refused to leave this house. If his evil energy could attack me this way, what might he try with the boys and, again, what could I do to prevent it?

I changed into clean clothes and went to look in on Clive and Whitney—both

sound asleep, each in his own bed. I wanted to sit in a chair in their room and simply watch over them, but their sleep appeared peaceful and their breathing calm and regular.

After a few moments, I went downstairs and let myself out into the garden, where

I strolled for a while before sitting on a stone bench to watch the sky lighten from gray to rose to orange. Even the worst fears may fade to mere shadows in the brightness of a new day.

I returned to the house, starving for breakfast and feeling quite myself again. I

would figure out some way to quell the demon in the tower even if I had to get hold of goddamn holy water and perform invented exorcism rites myself. I wondered if Madame Alijeva had received my letter yet and what she might write in return.

Just then I met Richard coming down to breakfast as I was about to head upstairs.

He paused a few steps above me so I looked up to meet his gaze.

“Good morning, Cowrie.”

“Good morning, sir.” There was so much I wanted to discuss with him, these

polite pleasantries annoyed me. But this wasn’t the time or place for a more personal talk.

“Back from an early morning walk?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Well…” Richard continued down the stairs but paused in front of me. “I want to

thank you.”

“Oh…” I didn’t know what to say,
No thanks needed
or
For what?
Both were disingenuous, for I knew why he thanked me and thought I deserved it for pushing him to repair broken family bonds. “I’m glad you spoke with the boys.”

“Only Whitney. Clive was nowhere to be found.”

“He’s hard to pin down, that one.” I remembered
why
Clive was temperamental, the burden of the secret he carried. But Whit likely knew the same secret and wasn’t nearly as angry. The twins looked alike but underneath were as different as could be.

“When you have the time, sir, there are a few matters I’d like to discuss,” I said.

“Later this afternoon you may come to my study.”

Richard continued on without looking at me again, perhaps attempting to keep our

interaction suitably professional.

God knew every time we spent more than a few minutes together behind closed

doors, professionalism slipped and intimacy took over. And it wasn’t merely base animal hunger, but a connection of minds that put us on equal footing. Under the right set of circumstances, I could enjoy spending much more time in Richard Allinson’s company.

There were many facets of the man yet to uncover. Our shared love of reading alone would keep us talking for hours. Sex could fill much of the rest of the time.

But that dream wouldn’t happen. Though I was amenable to an arrangement of

nightly visits when I wasn’t occupied with my students, Richard would never give in to temptation without regretting it afterward. He was too mired in guilt and doubt and perhaps disgust for his perverse desires. However, I had to admit he’d sounded more regretful about cheating on his wife than repulsed by who he’d done it with. I didn’t really get the sense of a man who despised his man-loving side. Maybe there
was
room in him for change given time.

And we had many long, shut-in months of winter ahead of us.

The morning was fine and sunny, but, from my window, I saw clouds looming on

the horizon. I decided to take advantage of good weather while I was able and get the boys outdoors. After breakfast, we dressed in coats, hats, boots, and gloves and braved the frigid temperature in order to get some sun on our faces.

I engaged them in a game that mingled elements of tag with hide-and-seek and

even got sour-puss Clive running around the paths in the garden. His mood seemed to have lifted with the sunshine. I couldn’t help but wonder if much of his gloom was due to the influence of the house—or more precisely, the entity
in
the house.

On my turn as it, I chased Whit and cornered him by the vine-covered wall of the

hidden garden. I tagged him. After he’d caught his breath, he said, “I want to show you something, Mr. Cowrie.”

“Very well.”

I expected him to pull something from his pocket, a boyish treasure of a shiny

stone or bird feather, but instead he beckoned me. “Come on.”

After a few steps, I knew where Whit was leading me. He pulled aside a curtain of

vines to reveal the gap in the wall and gazed up at me with eyes as solemn as his father’s, except blue instead of dark.

“This is a special place. Only Clive and I come here. You can’t talk about it to

anyone.”

I nodded, keeping my expression equally serious. I was being inducted into the

twins’ secret society, allowed into their private sanctuary. “I understand,” I replied.

“Besides, who would I tell? Smithers?”

I smiled, and Whit smiled back.

Before entering, I paused. “What about Clive? Is it all right with him you’re

bringing me here?”

Whit shrugged, and as if summoned by the mention of his name, Clive came

running from wherever he’d been hiding. He planted himself between me and the

entrance to the enclosed garden. As usual, he didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to.