CHAPTER SIX

We finish breakfast with no sign of Sarah. Theresa places another phone call, this time to the home of the young man Sarah dated last night, and again receives no answer. The thread of hope I cling to is thinner than ever now.

But I can't dwell on Sarah. Today, I begin tutoring Oliver. It is the middle of the school year, and while his records indicate that he is a bright child somewhat ahead of his grade in all subjects, I must be instructing him now to keep him there.

Besides, I do not wish to be involved in any mysteries here. I’ve done with that. I’ve helped many people, but I’ve risked my own life too many times. I’ve done my part. It’s unfortunate if something happened to Sarah, but I’ll let the police handle that. I am not a detective; I am a governess.

Today is a light day of instruction. I will test Oliver to get a sense of exactly where he's at in his studies, and I'll use that information to create goals and a study plan for him. When that's finished, I think I will take tea with him on the back porch. His Lordship prefers Oliver to remain indoors, but I believe I can get away with some fresh air on the porch. If he is upset by it, I'll just thank him for his work improving roadways in the county or something else to stroke his ego. Besides, I could use some fresh air myself.

As I review his lessons, he asks out of nowhere, “Mary, do you think we’ll hear her again tonight?”

I sigh. There is just no way to escape this mystery. “What did you hear exactly?”

"A woman crying for help."

“And you’re absolutely sure that’s what you heard?”

He nods. “It was quiet, but it’s the same thing she always says.”

I flinch and drop my notebook. As I pick it up, I ask, “Always?”

“Yes. Whenever I hear her cry, she always asks for help.”

I place my notebook back on my desk and ask, “How… how often do you hear her?”

“Every now and then,” he says. “Sometimes it’s for days on end. Sometimes it’s only for a night and then she’s quiet for months before screaming again.”

I take a moment to gather myself. “When did you first hear her?”

“Oh, years ago,” he says. “As long as I can remember, we’ve had ghosts here.”

I take a seat so he won’t see the trembling in my legs. “You know ghosts aren’t real, right, Oliver?”

“But they are. Otherwise, what else could I be hearing? I know they can’t hurt me. They’re just poor lost souls who haven’t found their way to heaven yet. But they must be real. You heard her too, so I know I’m not batty.”

He speaks of this subject with the calm acceptance of youth. He speaks of his own safety with the same firm belief. To him this is a curiosity, but to me this is a sobering revelation.

If this isn’t the first time a woman’s cries have been heard in this house, then I truly have stumbled on a mystery. Could it be that Sarah really has gone missing? Could something or someone in this castle have caused her to make those cries for help? And how many women before her have made the same plea?

But where, though? Where could Sarah have been?

“Oliver,” I ask. “Have… have you ever… seen anything?”

He shakes his head. “Just noises. Cries for help, moans, weeping. Just normal ghost noises. Most of the time, you don’t see ghosts anyway. It’s only when they’re really powerful spirits that you see them. I’ve never seen anything.”

“And has anyone else gone missing here?”

His face falls. He lowers his head and says softly. “My mother. She didn’t go missing here, but she went missing.”

I feel a stab of guilt. I’ve carried this too far. He’s a child. If there’s something nefarious going on in this house, it’s not poor Oliver’s business to worry about it.

“I’m sorry about your mother,” I tell him. “You must miss her terribly.”

He shrugs. “I never knew her. I mean, I’m sure I knew her for a little while, but Uncle Edmund has been taking care of me for as long as I can remember. I ask him about mother sometimes, but I don’t think he likes to talk about her. I think he misses her too, but it’s hard for him to miss her. He knew her.”

“Did she live here when you were born?”

Oliver shakes his head. “We lived in a cottage by the shore. When I was born, my mother realized she couldn’t afford to keep me, so she brought me here. She stayed with me for a while, I’m told, but then she disappeared suddenly. I wonder sometimes if she’s dead, or if she was hurt. Or maybe she just ran off and didn’t want to care for me anymore.”

“Well, if that was her reason, then I hope you’ll forgive me, but your mother’s a fool.”

He stares at me in shock, and I explain, "You're a wonderful boy. If your mother chose not to stay long enough to see it, then that's her mistake. I, for one, am excited to get to know you."

He smiles and says, “I’m excited to get to know you too.” He shrugs. “It’s not all bad. Uncle Edmund buys me any video game I want, and Lady Cordelia is kind to me. I could do worse for a life.”

“That’s a wonderful attitude to have,” I tell him. “And I’m very proud of you.” I look out the window. “It’s a bright day outside. How would you feel about joining me on the balcony for lunch after we finish your tests?”

He grins. “I would love that, Miss Mary.”

"Well, thank you very much, my young lord," I reply with a bow.

He giggles, his melancholy displaced. My own melancholy is, unfortunately, returned in full force.

Perhaps his mother's disappearance is more easily explained by an untimely death. I find it difficult to believe she disappeared. Such a thing doesn't happen in noble families. More likely, she was also ill, perhaps with the same illness that afflicts Oliver. Or perhaps she had certain habits that ended up being her downfall. It is quite believable that Lord Edmund would keep such an affliction quiet and adopt Oliver in part to ensure that no rumors gained traction.

But if Oliver has heard other screams, then there have been other women. Perhaps Lord Edmund has habits of his own. I wonder once more if there’s more to Lady Cordelia’s melancholy than simple exhaustion.

I tell myself again that it’s none of my business, but it’s getting harder and harder to convince myself to stay out of it. Maybe it’s fate that I’m here. Maybe some force beyond this mortal coil is calling upon me to right another wrong. I wish it would call on another, but we don’t always get what we wish for.

Sometimes, we must make the best out of what we have.

***

I take dinner with the servants that evening. Sarah still has not returned Theresa’s calls, nor has she arrived for work, red-faced or otherwise.

And now I’m worried. I can no longer pretend that she simply lost track of time with a beau. To oversleep is one thing, but to go an entire day without so much as a text to one’s employer is an entirely different thing.

The others are worried, too. Franny and Matilda are white as snow. While Theresa carries dinner to the family, I ask them. “Did you hear anything from Sarah last night?”

Franny shakes her head. “She’s talked about this boy for a while now. She was really excited to see him. We told her to tell us if…” she reddens slightly. “You know, we told her to tell us all the details. But she never replied.”

“We figured things were going well,” Matilda said. “You know how it is when a date goes well, and you’re just focused on… well, you know.”

“I know,” I assure her. “But did you not worry when she didn’t answer?”

“No,” they reply. “Not until she didn’t show up this morning.”

“What about the young man? Did anything seem off about him? Anything at all concerning to you?”

They shake their heads again. “We never met him,” Franny says.

"But to hear Sarah talk, he was charming and kind. He was the son of a solicitor. She said he was really sweet to her. I can't… You don't think he hurt her, do you?"

Before I can answer, the door opens and Theresa joins us again. The two girls stare pleadingly at her.

Theresa notices their stares and tenses. “Eat your dinner,” she says. “No use worrying about what we can’t change.”

“But surely his Lordship will look for her,” Franny says.

Theresa’s lips thin. “Don’t you worry about his Lordship. Eat your dinner.”

I shift my feet uncomfortably. I am still new here, but I feel I must involve myself at least enough to say what I am about to say. "Perhaps we should call the police, Theresa. I know I advised you not to worry about it earlier, but at this point, we must let the authorities know. Surely the poor girl has a family somewhere who will worry."

Theresa stiffens, and I brace myself for the storm. It doesn’t come, thankfully. Theresa sniffs and scratches either side of her nose, then says, “His Lordship has said he will ask around. He has friends among the constables and others who keep their noses to the ground. I trust that he’ll do what is best. He always does. As for us, there’s precious little we can do but continue to do our jobs.”

“What about the young man she was with last night?” Matilda insists. “Has anyone talked to him?”

“If anyone talks to him, I’m sure we’ll hear of it,” Theresa says, finally irritable. “But there’s no point in worrying ourselves sick over it. Don’t you two agree to spend the night with the first handsome young man who winks at you. That’s your lesson learned. As for you, Miss Mary, I know you’re new here, so I don’t blame you for worrying, but if his Lordship says he’ll do something, he’ll do it. He’s got more reach than any of us do, and he’ll see to it that the right people look for Sarah and ensure she’s found. Besides, it’s at least slightly possible that she’s left of her own accord.”

“Oh, not Sarah,” Franny insists. “She wouldn’t do that. She’s a good girl.”

“Bit daft,” Matilda adds, “but a good girl nonetheless.”

Their sentiment echoes Theresa’s own from this morning, but the older maid’s face hardens. “I surely thought so,” she says brittlely. Then, louder, “but I’ll hear no more of it. Finish your dinner, then start on the dishes. We’ll have the same work to do as always, no matter what’s happened to Sarah.”

The other two share a frightened look, but they speak no further. For my part, I recall Oliver’s testimony from earlier. His words and Theresa’s behavior now increases my suspicion. This is not the first time a disappearance has happened in this house.

And, I fear, it won’t be the last.