said Heckling as we pulled up at the front door and he descended, his boots crunching in the gravel as he moved to the back of the carriage to remove my suitcase.Realizing that the man did not have the manners to open the door for me, I reached down to the handle to twist it. To my surprise, it would not budge. I frowned, recalling how lightly it had given way when I boarded the carriage in the first place, but now it appeared to be sealed fast.
“Staying in there, are you?” asked Heckling, ignorant fellow, standing on the opposite side of the carriage and making no move whatsoever to come to my aid.
“I can’t get out, Mr. Heckling,” I replied. “The door appears to be jammed.”
“Now’t wrong wi’ it,” he said, coughing some horrendous mess up from the base of his throat and spitting it on the driveway. “Turn it, that’s all.”
I sighed and reached down once again for the handle—where were the man’s manners, after all?—and as I tried to twist it, I had a sudden reminiscence about one of my small girls, Jane Hebley, who had taken against school one day for some silly reason and refused to emerge from the girls’ bathroom. When I attempted to open it from the outside she held it tightly and, resilient in her determination, managed to stay in there for several minutes before I was able to wrench it open. That was how this felt now. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, but it felt as if the harder I tried to twist the handle, the tighter some unseen force held it shut from the outside. Had I not been outdoors, and had Heckling not been the only other soul in sight, I would have sworn that someone was playing tricks with me.
“Please,” I said, turning round to glare at him. “Can’t you help me?”
He swore a blasphemy under his breath, dropped my suitcase on the ground without ceremony and walked around, and I stared at him irritably, wondering why he was being sodifficult. I looked forward to him trying the door for himself so he would see that I was not some foolish woman who did not know how to turn a handle, but to my surprise, the moment he reached out for it, it opened easily, quite as easily as it had when I had first boarded the carriage a couple of hours earlier.
“Ain’t too difficult,” he grumbled, walking away, refusing even to offer me his hand as I descended, and I simply shook my head, wondering what on earth was wrong with me. Had I been turning it the wrong way? It was ridiculous, after all. The door had been sealed shut. I could not open it. And yet he could.
“Gaudlin Hall,” he said as we made our way towards the front door. He pulled a heavy rope and I heard the bell ringing within, at which time he placed my suitcase on the step beside me and tipped his hat. “Evening then, Governess,” he said.
“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked, surprised that I should just be deposited here like this, as if I was little more than a piece of luggage.
“Never do,” he said, walking away. “I live out yonder.”
And to my astonishment, he simply boarded the carriage and started to drive away, while I stood there, open-mouthed, wondering whether this was the manner in which all new employees were treated here.
A moment later, the door opened and I turned, expecting at last to come face to face with my new employer, whoever he or she might be.
It was not a man or woman standing there, however, but a little girl. She was about twelve years old, I thought, older than my small girls, and very pale and pretty. Her hair was curled into ringlets that hung down to her shoulders and perhaps alittle further. She was dressed in a white nightdress, fastened at the neck and hanging to her ankles, and as she stood there, the candles in the hallway illuminating her from behind, she took on a spectral appearance that rather frightened me.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
“Good evening,” I replied, smiling, trying to put myself at ease by pretending that nothing was amiss. “I
“Staying in there, are you?” asked Heckling, ignorant fellow, standing on the opposite side of the carriage and making no move whatsoever to come to my aid.
“I can’t get out, Mr. Heckling,” I replied. “The door appears to be jammed.”
“Now’t wrong wi’ it,” he said, coughing some horrendous mess up from the base of his throat and spitting it on the driveway. “Turn it, that’s all.”
I sighed and reached down once again for the handle—where were the man’s manners, after all?—and as I tried to twist it, I had a sudden reminiscence about one of my small girls, Jane Hebley, who had taken against school one day for some silly reason and refused to emerge from the girls’ bathroom. When I attempted to open it from the outside she held it tightly and, resilient in her determination, managed to stay in there for several minutes before I was able to wrench it open. That was how this felt now. It was a ridiculous notion, of course, but it felt as if the harder I tried to twist the handle, the tighter some unseen force held it shut from the outside. Had I not been outdoors, and had Heckling not been the only other soul in sight, I would have sworn that someone was playing tricks with me.
“Please,” I said, turning round to glare at him. “Can’t you help me?”
He swore a blasphemy under his breath, dropped my suitcase on the ground without ceremony and walked around, and I stared at him irritably, wondering why he was being sodifficult. I looked forward to him trying the door for himself so he would see that I was not some foolish woman who did not know how to turn a handle, but to my surprise, the moment he reached out for it, it opened easily, quite as easily as it had when I had first boarded the carriage a couple of hours earlier.
“Ain’t too difficult,” he grumbled, walking away, refusing even to offer me his hand as I descended, and I simply shook my head, wondering what on earth was wrong with me. Had I been turning it the wrong way? It was ridiculous, after all. The door had been sealed shut. I could not open it. And yet he could.
“Gaudlin Hall,” he said as we made our way towards the front door. He pulled a heavy rope and I heard the bell ringing within, at which time he placed my suitcase on the step beside me and tipped his hat. “Evening then, Governess,” he said.
“Aren’t you coming in?” I asked, surprised that I should just be deposited here like this, as if I was little more than a piece of luggage.
“Never do,” he said, walking away. “I live out yonder.”
And to my astonishment, he simply boarded the carriage and started to drive away, while I stood there, open-mouthed, wondering whether this was the manner in which all new employees were treated here.
A moment later, the door opened and I turned, expecting at last to come face to face with my new employer, whoever he or she might be.
It was not a man or woman standing there, however, but a little girl. She was about twelve years old, I thought, older than my small girls, and very pale and pretty. Her hair was curled into ringlets that hung down to her shoulders and perhaps alittle further. She was dressed in a white nightdress, fastened at the neck and hanging to her ankles, and as she stood there, the candles in the hallway illuminating her from behind, she took on a spectral appearance that rather frightened me.
“Hello,” she said quietly.
“Good evening,” I replied, smiling, trying to put myself at ease by pretending that nothing was amiss. “I
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