‘Will we explore again tomorrow?’
‘There is not much left to see. The library and the summer parlour are on the same floor as our bedrooms, we can go there any time. And then there is only . . .’ Her brow grew tight with the memory of the garret. That night and the sound rasping just beyond the door, out of reach. What had it been?
She could not believe it was rats – not a noise like that. She wanted to know the truth. Raising a hand, she pulled a pin from underneath her cap. Two blonde curls tumbled down.
‘Mrs Bainbridge?’
‘How would you like to see me pick a lock?’
The passageway on the third floor appeared less eerie by daylight. It was a different corridor to the one she had cringed down. The Dutch tiles revealed their copper colour and clacked beneath her boots. She noticed clouds of damp and little cracks she had not seen on the walls before.
‘I don’t believe you, Mrs Bainbridge. You are poking fun at me. You cannot really pick a lock.’
Elsie grinned. ‘You will see. I am a most resourceful woman.’ She turned the hairpin between her gloved fingers. It had been a long time since she’d done this. There were no locked doors at the factory, these days.
A pattering sounded on the tiles behind. She looked round and saw Jasper, scampering to join them.
‘Oh, bless him.’ Sarah stopped to wait. When Jasper drew level with her he brushed against her leg, making her dress sigh.
‘How fortunate you are, Sarah. You have a firm friend there.’ It was strange, but she did not seem able to traverse this corridor without the cat. Was he guarding something? Or did his arrival mean Mrs Holt was nearby? It was one thing to let Sarah see her pick a lock; quite another to do it before the housekeeper. ‘Come along then. Hurry. We must do this while the light is still good.’
She saw the door at the end of the corridor; three shallow steps rising to a barrier of chipped wood. It did not look sturdy. She did not see how it could contain a nest of squirrels or rats. Surely their rapacious little teeth would have gnawed through it by now?
She was just about to mount the steps when Jasper streaked past her, mewing. ‘Foolish chap!’ He stood before the door as he had done that night, green eyes shining, and miaowed. She turned to Sarah. ‘Perhaps it is a good thing we have him with us. Mrs Holt thinks there may be some type of rodent living there.’ Sarah shuddered. ‘Don’t be afraid. They cannot hurt you. And the cat will kill them.’
‘I do not think I can watch that. I hate mice.’
‘Very well. You stand back here, then, while I attend to the lock. Jasper and I will go through.’ She paused. Hopefully she was not about to make one of the skeletal discoveries Mr Underwood had mentioned. ‘I must confess, I am curious to see what manner of beast is in there. You would not believe the strange sound they made.’
‘Oh! But I have heard it, at night. Is this where it comes from?’ Sarah looked at the door with wide eyes. Something in her expression made Elsie’s stomach clench. ‘Could – could an animal produce that sound?’
Jasper mewed, and scratched at the door. It was a dull imitation of the hiss she heard at night. Thin white lines marked the wood where he had worried it over time. ‘Jasper. Come away.’
He looked at her, his emerald eyes inscrutable, his paw suspended. Then he swatted the door again. It creaked ajar.
Sarah stepped back. ‘Look! It’s open.’
Elsie could not believe her luck. ‘Mrs Holt must have written to Torbury St Jude for a locksmith. I didn’t expect her to be so prompt.’ She jammed the hairpin back under her cap. ‘I’m going in to explore.’
No creatures skittered out from the opening – that was a good sign. Mounting the steps, she stood next to Jasper and peeked inside. The air was still and heavy. There were no rats, no squirrels, no skeletons; just trunks and old furniture. Dust coated every surface, thick as velvet. ‘Sarah,’ she called back. ‘It’s quite safe.’ She coughed, then sneezed. ‘Rather dusty, but safe.’
She pushed the door and watched it swing back on its hinges with a prolonged whine. She expected Jasper to dart in ahead of her, but instead he turned tail and fled back the way they had come. She laughed; coughed again. ‘Cats. They are such perverse creatures, are they not?’
She took four steps into the room, her hem sweeping up a cloud of dust. The garret looked as if time had stood still for centuries. Cobwebs festooned the corners but no insects writhed within them; all were dead in cocoons or shrivelled and dry. By the far wall slumped a clock that no longer ticked. Its face was smashed and the hands hung at odd angles. Holland sheets covered square shapes that might be portraits.
She walked to a table beside the smeared window. It was heaped with yellow-paged books. Dust obscured the titles. With the tip of one finger she prodded through the pile. A few volumes lower down the stack still had clean covers. Treatises on gardening from two centuries back. Some leather-bound pads that looked like journals. Culpeper’s Complete Herbal and a Generall Historie of Plantes by Gerard. ‘Sarah, come in!’ She tried not to inhale too much dust as she called. ‘There are no mice. But there are books.’
Sarah’s long face appeared, hovering beside the door. ‘Books?’
‘Yes, if you can still read them. Mouldy old things! I think some of these have been here since the Norman Conquest at least.’
Sarah padded to her side. ‘Oh! My goodness.’ Reverently, she picked up the volumes with the tips of her fingers. Tidemarks misted some of the pages; others were as yellow and thin as onion skin. ‘Receipts. Ingredients. A list of farrier bills. Oh, look at this! Sixteen thirty-five! Can you believe it?’ She blew to clear dust from the cover. ‘“The Diary of Anne Bainbridge”. Two volumes of it. Why, she must be one of my ancestors!’
‘Not a very interesting one, if her diaries have been rotting here for two hundred years,’ Elsie observed. She put a foot out and tested the floorboard. It creaked, but held. ‘I wonder what could be under these sheets?’ She threw one back with a flourish. Dust exploded out. They both gagged for breath. When the air cleared, it revealed a rocking chair and a small case that looked like a physician’s travelling store of medicine. Elsie pulled it open. Clear glass bottles with cork stoppers rattled inside. ‘Must have been an apothecary in the family,’ she said. ‘The residue at the bottom looks like herbs.’
Sarah turned, clutching a book against her bosom. ‘Let me see.’ She took two steps towards Elsie – then shrieked.
Elsie dropped the bottle she was holding. It cracked open and released a mouldy, underground smell. ‘What? What is it?’
‘There’s something there . . . Eyes.’
‘Oh, don’t be ridiculous . . .’ Her voice subsided as she followed Sarah’s gaze.