Sarah smiled. ‘Have you any crumbs left? We could lay them along the piano for him to gather up.’
Elsie looked to the side table. The plate there was speckled with grains of cake, perhaps a dozen or so. ‘I do. But I don’t want to get up and frighten him.’
The sparrow hopped forwards. Pulling back his wings, he puffed out his chest and parted his delicate beak, ready to sing.
At that instant, three blows fell on the front door. Quick as a dart, the sparrow flew through the open window. A single brown feather drifted down on the piano.
‘Who could that be?’ Elsie went to the window and tried to peer around the brick mass of the east wing. She could only glimpse the drive – no carriages.
‘I think . . .’ Sarah began tentatively, ‘I think it might be Mr Underwood.’
‘Mr Underwood? I do not recall inviting him.’
‘No.’ Sarah closed the lid of the piano over the keys. ‘No, you didn’t. I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Bainbridge. It was me. I invited him.’
‘Oh. I see.’
‘It’s just that . . .’
‘You might have mentioned it.’ She felt wrong-footed. In some way – she was not sure how – she had been insulted. ‘I am not prepared to receive guests.’
‘But I did not invite him as a guest.’ Sarah stood and nervously began to smooth her hair. ‘More as an . . . advisor.’
Another trio of knocks, quicker this time.
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I want to ask him about Hetta.’
Dread bobbed in her stomach. ‘Sarah—’
‘I thought perhaps he would know what to do. The Church performed exorcisms, in the past.’
Exorcism. The word was guttural, too far back in the throat. Saying it aloud was like gagging, like beginning to speak in demonic tongues yourself. What was Sarah thinking?
‘You are not seriously going to ask him to perform some kind of ritual?’
‘No! Oh no, I don’t think Hetta needs banishing or anything like that. I simply want his advice.’
The house-bell jangled.
‘Clearly, no one is going to answer the door,’ Elsie said. ‘I had better do it myself.’
She was relieved to have an excuse to leave the room and escape Sarah’s intense expression. At least Mr Underwood would set her straight. He was a man of faith but not, she thought, of superstition.
The Great Hall was dingy and chill. The fire, though lit, did not draw well. No light glinted on the ceremonial swords or the suit of armour; they were dull, pewter grey. Air whipped in through the open front door. Underwood stood on the threshold, holding a long box.
‘Good day, Mrs Bainbridge. Forgive the intrusion. I rang the bell but the door was ajar and I found this, lying on the step.’
‘It will be my new gown! I’ve been expecting it from Torbury St Jude all week.’
‘Just in time for Christmas. How fortunate.’ He came in and placed the box onto the oriental rug for her. She knelt down – no easy task these days, with her budding stomach – and ran a hand over the package. There was no tag, no label, only a ribbon of olive and gold.
Mr Underwood removed his hat. It had squashed his blond hair flat against the scalp. ‘I wonder, is Miss Bainbridge at home? I received a note from her, asking to speak with me. I must say, I was alarmed. Her message sounded . . . confused.’
‘She is in the music room.’ Elsie stared down at the package. She had an urge to confess everything: tell him about the splinters on Rupert’s neck; the nursery; the garret; the handprint; the eyes. But to speak of such things made them a farce. You could not explain fear; you could only feel it, roaring through the silence and striking your heart still. ‘I feel I should warn you, Mr Underwood, that Miss Bainbridge wishes to discuss her beliefs. They are . . . unconventional. She used to work for a very old, very fanciful lady. I gather she was part of some spiritualist circle.’
‘Ah.’
‘I hope you will support me when I say I am – cautious – about such things.’
‘Absolutely. While the Church does not deny the existence of spirits, it is strongly against meddling in that field. Consider the Witch of Endor and the curse on King Saul for consulting a medium.’
It came to her in snatches of Sunday-school memory: King Saul, desperate for the advice of his prophet Samuel, begging the woman to resurrect him. Why hast thou disquieted me, to bring me up?
The disturbing recollection was, she had done it. The thing had been possible.
Elsie cleared her throat. ‘You must understand Sarah is particularly susceptible to these sham mesmerists and mediums. Her parents died when she was young. Without family she is vulnerable . . . May I trust you to try and dissuade her from these rash methods? With gentleness?’
‘You have my word upon it.’ She looked up from where she knelt on the floor. He regarded her softly – almost, she feared, tenderly. ‘It is as I once said to you: I want to school Fayford and eradicate superstitions like this.’
‘I have been thinking, Mr Underwood, about Fayford. My brother will come up from London for the holiday. If you could recommend some likely girls from the village, I might persuade him to take them back as apprentices. The wage is not high, but all our children get schooling – at least two hours a day. They will have employment, food and a roof over their heads. A dry one, without leaks. Proper clothing. And at the end of their term, they will have learnt a trade. What do you say?’
‘I say it is the best gift I could possibly receive.’ A beatific smile illuminated his face. ‘In fact, I can think of some suitable children already. Their parents cannot object to your factory. It is this house that they fear. Which reminds me.’ He drew a brown paper parcel, tied with string, from his inside pocket. ‘Records from town. A rather dry read, I fear, but some of it may interest you.’
She looked at the string, twined tight. Her chest felt the same. It is this house that they fear. She was beginning to think they had reason. The bundle of paper might provide answers but, then again, it might tell her things she did not wish to know.
‘How kind of you to remember. Perhaps you could leave it in the music room when you speak to Sarah? I will sit there later and peruse it.’
He extended a hand. ‘Come with me. Let us go and persuade Miss Bainbridge out of these fancies together. Between us, I am sure we can make her see sense.’
She hesitated. ‘Thank you. But . . . I have already tried with Sarah. I think it would be best if she spoke to you alone, without my interference. These spiritual matters require a degree of confidentiality, after all.’
He let his hand fall and put it behind his back. ‘Yes. Of course. Very wise of you to observe, Mrs Bainbridge.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘This is the music room?’
‘That is the drawing room. Walk through and take a right. You cannot miss it. I doubt you ever saw a chamber so pink.’
He sketched a bow. ‘Thank you. I shall leave you to open your package.’