CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“There were four Gersbachs,” said Nathan the cook. “Two parents, a boy, and a girl. Kept to themselves, I hear.”
“How old were they?” I asked, spooning my stew. It was night again and I was back at the table in the kitchen, eating before my proper shift began. I sounded almost normal. I tried not to let the spoon clatter against the bowl. “The children?”
“Bammy’s age.” Nathan jerked a nod at the kitchen boy, who was about sixteen. “Or so Bammy himself says. He’s from the village.”
I looked at Bammy. “Did you know them?”
“’Course not.” He looked at his shoes. “They was rich.”
“Why are you asking?” Nathan said to me.
I turned and found him looking at me closely. Before my shift I had rebraided my hair, sponged myself off, tried to rest. It didn’t matter that I was cracking up inside; I couldn’t show weakness, not to these men. “What’s it to you?” I said to Nathan, and was rewarded with an approving grin.
I turned back to the others. “But they were outsiders,” I said. “The Gersbachs.”
“Germans,” said Nathan.
“No,” I said. “Swiss.”
“Never.”
“They were Swiss,” Paulus Vries cut in. “She’s right. Not everyone’s a Hun, you simpleton.”
“And what the hell are you?” Nathan shot back at him.
“I’m South African. Did you think I was a Hun, too?”
“I don’t know what the hell you are.” Nathan looked stubborn. He hadn’t liked being wrong. “Maybe you’re a spy.”
“I fought in German South-West Africa in ’fifteen,” Paulus said tightly. “I killed as many Huns as any man here. We buried them in the heat and left them there. The Germans ought to have no love for me.”
“All right,” I said. “Back to the Gersbachs. They came here and built this place. Then what? Where did they go?”
“They moved away,” said Paulus.
“They didn’t,” Bammy broke in.
We all stared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” said Nathan.
Bammy shrugged. He was gawky and painfully shy, but he was warming a little with newfound authority. “There was talk in the village, that’s all. They built the house—we saw the trucks haul everything over the bridge for months. But no one saw them move out or drive away. There’s only one way off here, and that’s over the bridge. No one saw it.”
I thought of the figure I’d seen in the reflection in the window. I put my bowl down.
“Someone must have seen something.” This was Roger, who had been listening quietly until now. He looked uneasy. “What about the servants working here?”
“He fired them all,” Bammy said. “Mr. Gersbach. Said they were moving away, taking none of the staff along.”
“There you go, then,” Roger said. “They moved.”
Or he knew, I thought. He knew that, for whatever reason, they wouldn’t need servants anymore. “Perhaps they left in the middle of the night,” I said. “Maybe they had debts and had to get away.”
“You haven’t lived in the village,” Bammy replied. “No one would miss an event like the Gersbachs’ moving out, even at three in the morning.”
“Well, they must have done it,” said Paulus. “The place is empty. Their things are gone. They did it quiet, that’s all.”
Bammy shrugged and dropped his gaze back to his shoes.
There was a moment of silence. I bit my lip, my courage deserting me. I was going onto another night shift, alone. I saw a ghost today, I wanted to say. I saw another one last night. Please tell me I’m not the only one. I felt fragile, and I didn’t like it. I opened my mouth and took a breath, but it was Bammy who spoke first.
“They never left,” he said softly.
We all looked at him again. He lifted his gaze, defiant.
“They never left,” he repeated. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? The sounds in the basement, in the lav. Everyone knows it, but no one wants to say. No one saw them because they never did move away. They’re all buried here somewhere and their ghosts are haunting the place.”
I exhaled.
Nathan chewed his toothpick, uncomfortable. Roger had gone red in the face. It was Paulus who spoke. “Lad,” he said, “you’ve been listening to too many stories. It’s just an old house that’s falling apart.”
“But that’s it,” Bammy protested. “It’s not old at all. Why are there cracks in the walls? Why is the west wing falling down? Why is there mold in the men’s lav? Why is it getting worse? No one has an answer to that, do they?”
“The air isn’t good here,” Nathan said. “There’s something about it. That I know. What do you think, Nurse?”
He was looking at me again. “It’s strange,” I managed. “I suppose.”
Roger scraped his chair back and stood. “Well, you ladies can sit here and gossip about ghosts all you like, but I’ve a shift to start.” He glared at me from gimlet eyes. “So do you, Nurse.”