FAITH’S REWARD

Margaret’s declaration was met with silence. The women who had gathered in the hallway exchanged glances, but none moved to comfort her until she swayed alarmingly and Ellen reached out a steadying arm.

‘You need to sit down,’ she said. She didn’t like the thought of ushering Margaret back into her darkened bedroom. Not without knowing whether a living intruder still lurked inside it.

‘Here,’ came a voice at her shoulder.

Grace had joined the group while Ellen was focused on Margaret and was now proffering a low-backed chair. Ellen took it and set it down beside Margaret. She seemed too dazed to act independently, so Ellen gently turned her and helped her onto the seat. She shivered as her body met the cold chair, and Ellen moved to unbutton her own gown.

But Grace was ahead of her with this too. She wrapped a crocheted blanket around Margaret’s shoulders, then squatted in front of the chair. ‘Better?’ she asked.

Margaret nodded.

‘Now, what happened?’

‘I saw him,’ Margaret said. ‘He was right beside my bed.’

Grace looked up at Ellen, one brow raised.

‘She says she saw Robert,’ Ellen explained. ‘But that’s…’

‘Impossible,’ Grace finished for her. She looked back at Margaret. ‘You were probably dreaming. Sometimes we think we’re awake when we’re not.’

‘I was awake,’ Margaret insisted. ‘I know I was.’

Ellen looked at the open door to the bedroom. If it hadn’t been a dream and Margaret had truly seen a man beside her bed, the possibility that it was a burglar—or worse—could not be ruled out.

She returned to the room she shared with Harriet and drew the curtains so that the first grey light of morning would allow her to move more freely. She took the candle from the bedside table then knelt at the fireplace to coax enough flame from the embers to light it. Thus armed, she returned to the group gathered around Margaret and called Prince to her side.

Only Grace seemed to realise what Ellen intended, and she opened her mouth as though to dissuade her, but Ellen shook her head and, holding the candle before her, stepped into the room.

She had glanced inside Margaret’s bedroom on her first visit to the house, but had never been further than the doorway. Like many of the rooms, it was overly large—the light from her candle barely reached the far side of the room. Ellen could see no obvious sign of an intruder, but anyone in there would have had time to conceal himself before she entered.

Prince seemed interested but not excited, which she took as a good sign. Nonetheless, she traced a cautious path around the bed on her way over to the windows, flinging open the curtains only when she was certain that no one was hidden behind them. Even now, the room was bordered with shadows, but she was beginning to feel more confident as she checked behind the larger pieces of furniture.

Nothing behind the dresser. Nothing under the heavy cast-iron bed but an old china domestic, tucked discreetly out of sight.

She got to her feet and moved over to the wardrobe, which was large enough to hold several men with space for clothes as well. Prince had grown bored; she called him back and he sat on her toes yawning up at her. Either there was no one in the wardrobe, or Prince was a failure as a guard dog. Emboldened, she opened the central door, followed by those on either side.

The wardrobe contained only an abundance of clothes: Margaret’s dresses and coats housed alongside a row of woollen trousers and jackets. Robert Plumstead’s , Ellen thought with a pang of sympathy.

She closed the doors upon Margaret’s grief and made her way back to the woman herself.

Grace, standing now, looked at Ellen with an expression of relief mixed with respect. ‘All right?’

‘Nothing. It must have been a dream.’

‘It was him ,’ Margaret insisted.

Ellen took her hand. ‘It can’t have been. You know that isn’t possible.’

Frances’ voice came from the rear: ‘Neither was Annie’s rose.’

Later, Ellen realised that Caroline had not been part of the group in the hallway. She mentioned it to Harriet when they were back in their bedroom, washing and dressing.

‘She sleeps very deeply,’ Harriet told her.

‘Not even the dead could have slept through that noise.’ As soon as she said it, Ellen realised that her wording was in rather poor taste.

Luckily, Harriet was used to Ellen’s lapses into tactlessness, and merely smiled at the irony. ‘You’ve seen how exhausted Caroline is after communing with the spirits. I imagine it’s better than laudanum for a sound night’s sleep.’

Ellen pulled a face at that. ‘It couldn’t be worse,’ she said. ‘I had that when I was ill, once, and it gave me the most horrific nightmares.’

‘Grace seems to think that’s what happened with Margaret,’ Harriet said. ‘I guess that’s what she’ll tell her mother.’

Something in her voice made Ellen look up from buttoning her shoes. Harriet was staring out the window, her lower lip caught between her teeth. ‘You sound as if you disagree.’

‘I believe Frances made a good point. Grace would do anything to protect Caroline, which is admirable, but it means she’s not unbiased when it comes to things like this. She’s likely worried what it might mean for Caroline if her powers have grown so much stronger. Not just the toll on her health, but the outside attention it may draw.’

Ellen felt uneasy. She had no wish to be named in the papers as a defender of the Church of the Spirit. Her beliefs—whatever they might now be—were private. It would be shameful to be exposed to the world in that way. But there was a greater concern, arising from her recent conversation with Grace. If Caroline’s own daughter distrusted the manifestations, Ellen thought she would do well to question them too.

‘But an actual, visible spirit, Harriet? And not one summoned at a seance? Caroline wasn’t even in the room.’

Harriet turned from the window, her eyes bright and her cheeks daubed with circles of pink. ‘What if Caroline were no longer needed? What if the conditions became so perfect that the spirits could draw the curtain back themselves?’

It was not only the chill of the morning that made the blood in Ellen’s veins feel like flowing ice. ‘Then this house would become haunted,’ she answered, ‘and we would be surrounded by ghosts.’

Harriet, to her consternation, did not look perturbed by this at all.

When they joined the other women at the breakfast table, it soon became clear that Caroline had been told of the morning’s excitement. She smiled when it was appropriate and listened with interest to what her congregants were saying, but there seemed to be a carefulness about her. Strange, also, was Grace’s presence in the chair beside her. On the rare occasions when Grace took breakfast with the group, she never sat with her mother, but readily surrendered the seats to the right and left of her to the favoured members of her church. Today, she was positioned so close that their elbows threatened to clash. At the foot of the table, Margaret ate with an unexpected hunger. She looked much stronger than she had earlier that morning, and even a little more peaceful than usual, letting the meal unfold without leaping up from her chair to fetch anyone another pot of tea or plate of toast.

For a while Ellen, listening to a litany of inconsequential chatter, wondered if it had been decided before her arrival that no one would mention recent events. As Adelaide enthused at great length about the grand exhibition that was to open the following week, Ellen inadvertently caught Grace’s gaze. She looked baffled too; when Ellen raised her eyebrows Grace seemed to understand the question, shrugging and twisting her mouth in a wry smile.

Adelaide finished speaking, and Frances’ cheerful voice broke the ensuing quiet. ‘We’ll be able to hold an exhibition of our own if things keep going the way they have. What do you think, Caroline? Do you fancy a bigger audience?’

A flash of fear crossed Grace’s face before a mask of calm indifference descended. Ellen turned to Caroline and was surprised to see that she was not similarly guarded. Her blue eyes sparked with annoyance and her lips were pale and thin.

‘You, of all people, should know better than to suggest such a thing. Have you forgotten our purpose?’ She looked at each of the women in turn; Ellen met her gaze without flinching. ‘I am not here to perform—not for you, and certainly not for the pleasure seekers who hunger only for a new spectacle. Mine is a greater vocation.’

‘I’m sorry, Caroline.’ Frances was puce with shame. ‘I was being facetious and I should’ve known better.’

‘It’s not only you.’ Caroline looked to Adelaide, now, and then to Annie. ‘This is a church, not a theatre, and I am its leader, as the agent of my dear, late husband. All that we receive, all that we experience, is a gift from the Lord, for which we should be justly grateful.’

‘Amen!’ cried Mrs Rutherford, tapping her knife against her water glass so that it rang like a bell.

‘Amen!’ Margaret echoed, eyes closed and chin held high.

‘Amen!’

Ellen turned to Harriet and saw that her eyes were glossy with unshed tears. Beyond her, Annie looked similarly affected; her lips trembling as she repeated the word in a whisper. Adelaide, then Sarah; and then Frances, her face still red, speaking so fervently that her voice approached a shout. The emotion in the room was so infectious that Ellen found herself echoing the other women, but when she looked back to Grace, the mask had fallen, and her expression was so dark with dismay that Ellen was sobered. All those around her, however, were filled with a vibrant joy, and Caroline sat silently at their head, lips held in a benevolent smile.

When the women began to calm, Margaret rose to her feet. ‘The Lord has shown that he is pleased with us,’ she said. ‘He has lowered the veil between this world and the next. And all this through Caroline’s ministry!’ She raised her teacup like a wineglass. ‘To Caroline!’

‘To Caroline!’ the women chorused in reply.

That night, Prince was restless again, but eventually he settled enough for Ellen to fall asleep, and this time she did not wake until her usual hour. She had half-expected to be woken by another scream, and the fear of it infected her dreams. She remembered flashes of darkened rooms and spectral forms and an endless hallway that she walked along, seemingly for hours, without the exit ever getting closer. Harriet had not slept much better, if the puffy grey streaks beneath her eyes were any indication. ‘I dreamed about the shipwreck,’ she said when Ellen asked, and Ellen told her silly stories until the shadows left her face.

The following night was not much different, although Ellen remembered less when she awoke. A lingering sense of guilt and sorrow remained with her for hours—a sure sign that she had dreamt of Bella. All she recalled upon waking, however, was an overgrown garden and the touch of a cool, slim hand.

At breakfast, Adelaide was wide-eyed and ebullient. Generally, Ellen found her chatter a good distraction, but today it was not the usual flow of fashion talk and gossip but ghosts and spirits and a mysterious event she seemed too excited to fully explain.

Finally, she paused long enough for Frances to voice the question on everyone’s lips. ‘But what did the spirits do , exactly?’

‘Hm?’ Adelaide looked surprised at the query. ‘Didn’t I tell you?’

‘No, hen.’ Margaret’s smile was amused. ‘You’ve spent the last fifteen minutes telling us how wonderful it is, without stating exactly what it was.’

‘You should’ve asked!’ Adelaide looked utterly oblivious to why this caused a communal burst of laughter.

‘It was so impressive,’ she said. ‘They moved all of my books.’

‘You have books?’ Grace asked. She looked genuinely surprised by the fact.

‘Of course I have books. Did you think I read only the ladies’ page of the paper?’

Grace’s face suggested that this was not far removed from the truth.

‘I’m fluent in French and German, have a smattering of Italian, and a basic working knowledge of Latin. My father considered Latin superfluous to a lady’s education, but my mother saw no harm in it, so I read my brother’s books.’ Adelaide smiled at the shock on the other women’s faces. ‘What? Did you think me a dullard simply because I like fashion and dancing? How very unimaginative you all are.’

‘You may consider me fully corrected on the subject,’ Grace said. ‘You were speaking of the spirits, however. What makes you so certain that they moved your books?’

It was Adelaide’s turn to look at Grace as though she thought her stupid. ‘They were on the floor.’

‘And?’ Grace prompted her.

‘And I didn’t put them there myself. When I went to sleep last night, they were lined up on my writing desk, just like always; I’d have noticed if any were out of place. This morning, they were spread all over the floor. I almost stood on one when I got out of bed.’

‘Did you shut your door?’ Frances asked. ‘Perhaps Prince got into them.’

Offended on Prince’s behalf, Ellen jumped in before Adelaide could answer. ‘He’d never do such a thing. And besides, our door was closed. I know he never left the room.’

‘Mine also,’ Adelaide said. ‘And it wasn’t only the books.’ She paused to heighten the tension. ‘When I went to put them back on the desk, there was a flower lying in their usual place.’

Ellen could hear Annie’s gasp from several feet away. ‘Another rose?’ she asked.

‘An orchid,’ Adelaide said. ‘Just like the ones in the conservatory at home.’

‘Who do you think brought it?’ Frances’ eyes were so wide that the full circle of each brown iris was visible.

‘A spirit admirer, no doubt.’ Adelaide smirked, then became serious. ‘I don’t really know. Perhaps my grandmother. She used to love the conservatory; she’d sit in there reading for hours.’

‘What do you think, Caroline?’ Margaret asked.

Caroline looked momentarily startled as the church members all turned towards her, but she didn’t hesitate. ‘It was undoubtedly your grandmother. I have often felt her presence around you, even if she has never come forward to speak in the past. Perhaps she was waiting until she could provide a physical proof of her love for you. Spirits feel the limitations of sending message through an intermediary as much as we do.’

‘Why now?’ Sarah asked. Ellen thought she could hear a challenge in her voice. ‘Why now, after all this time?’

‘Because the Lord has deemed us ready.’ Caroline held her gaze evenly. ‘We’ve been rewarded for our faith.’

‘But what makes us ready?’ Sarah persisted. ‘What changed?’

Caroline looked to Ellen and smiled. ‘We were awaiting the last of our number.’

A sick feeling rose within Ellen’s chest. She didn’t like the thought of being so vital to what was now happening in the house. These manifestations, if they were truly the work of supernatural forces, seemed like the tricks of a hostile ghost.

Ellen had always thought ghosts a fiction—but then, she had thought the same of communicative spirits. If one existed, then presumably so could the other—perhaps the women were overlooking something dreadful in their deep-felt wish to believe in spirit gifts. She had read of embodied spirits and objects appearing as if from nowhere, but never outside the seance room. Perhaps it was as Caroline said, a gift bestowed upon them by God. But Ellen certainly didn’t think herself so righteous that she could be the one missing part they’d been waiting for. It seemed completely implausible.

But then, so had many other things she had come to accept as truth.

‘If the spirits no longer need to be summoned by you,’ she asked, ‘isn’t that terribly dangerous? What is there to stop a spirit crossing over with evil intent?’

‘God,’ Margaret said with great confidence. ‘And Caroline’s influence. It’s still her power that draws the spirits to us; she has merely transcended the need for seances and other tools. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that these things happen while she’s sleeping. I imagine it’s no different to when she’s in a trance.’

Caroline nodded. ‘Spirits have often spoken in my dreams.’

‘Well,’ Frances said, banishing the air of seriousness that had settled over the group, ‘if you’ve any control over who comes to visit, I’d like to request sweets instead of flowers. Roses and orchids are all very well, but I want to know what spirits eat.’

The excitement in the house only heightened over the next two days. Both mornings, there was news at the breakfast table of further spirit activity. On the first, Frances was thrilled to report finding a single jonquil lying upon her quilt when she woke—content with the gift, despite her request for sweets. On the second morning, it was Annie who was aglow, reporting a second gift from her husband. She wore the new rosebud pinned to the bodice of her dress; it had been placed, she said, on the dressing table she shared with Frances, in front of the framed photograph of James Glenn. They both thanked Caroline profusely and there were no further questions about whether she was the source of the manifestations.

Ellen found the atmosphere of happy anticipation infectious, but Grace’s remarks had made her wary—both of the spirit gifts themselves and of the women’s reactions.

‘God has singled us out for this blessing,’ she heard Annie say to Sarah; hours later, the words were still caught in Ellen’s mind. The idea that the members of the Church of the Spirit were particularly deserving made her uneasy. If communion with spirits was a gift from God to all humanity, as the spiritualists said it was, then why were the fruits of this gift not universal? She asked as much of Caroline, who said only that rewards were commensurate to the magnitude of a woman’s faith.

Harriet, thankfully, was not as caught up in the excitement as Annie and Margaret were. She thought the gifts from the Summerland were marvellous, but her attitude towards Caroline and the church had not altered. To her, the new events were evidence of Caroline’s talent as a medium and not of any particular favour from the Almighty, and Ellen was grateful to have a friend who was not acting as if intoxicated; Grace, too, remained aloof from the excitement.

Ellen did not consider her a friend but had decided to believe her claim that she didn’t despise Ellen; there seemed little point in lying when it was clear by now that Ellen would not be leaving either way. Ellen’s own opinion of Grace was less clear to her. At first, she had disliked Grace for her initial rudeness and continuing lack of warmth. But over the weeks it had become more habit than true sentiment. Grace’s manner had thawed and Ellen had learnt more of her character. Now she knew Grace to be quiet but intelligent; guarded, but remarkably capable when others were in need. She was odd in both manner and appearance, but Ellen had come to appreciate her independence and, if she were completely honest, the gleam of those strange dark eyes. And as Grace had said, Ellen was honest to a fault.

Fault or not, honesty made the current mood in the house exhausting. Ellen did not wish to admit that the spirit gifts frightened her—and the women’s newfound fervour did as well. Each conversation was an exercise in tact, and since tact was not something that came easily to Ellen, her afternoon walks with Prince became a welcome escape from the mental labour required of her.

On Friday there was no news of flowers, but Adelaide was certain she’d smelt her grandmother’s perfume upon waking, and Annie thought she might have seen her husband’s reflection in the tarnished mirror that hung in the upstairs hall. She could not be certain, she admitted, because she was rather short-sighted, but thought it astonishing all the same. Both stories were received with eager interest and discussed at great length until, by late afternoon, Ellen was glad to steal a few moments alone.

She was alone only for a matter of seconds, however. As she was unlatching the gate, she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing behind her, and by the time she had stepped through the gate, she was obliged to hold it open for Grace as well.

‘May I join you?’ Grace asked.

Faced with the impossibility of refusal, Ellen simply nodded and set off down the road. She walked briskly, but Grace kept pace beside her and eventually Ellen allowed her steps to slow. Prince was overjoyed to be afield with both of his favourites and he gambolled about their feet like a puppy. Grace, for her part, remained silent, and the combination of exercise and quietude proved to be the remedy it often was. As they walked, a knot within Ellen loosened. For the first time all day, there wasn’t a constant, circling noise within her mind.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

Grace looked at her, clearly confused.

‘For not endlessly talking of spirit gifts,’ Ellen clarified. ‘If you had asked my opinion on the mirror, I think I would have screamed.’

‘I’m glad I didn’t, then. I don’t like sudden loud noises.’

‘I’ll know to warn you in the future.’

‘Do you make a habit of screaming?’ Grace asked this in such a matter-of-fact tone that Ellen couldn’t help but look at her to check whether she was serious. Grace held her stony expression for about two seconds before her composure gave way. Ellen smiled back without thinking and then somehow they both were laughing and Prince was leaping up at them as if determined to be part of the joke.

After that, the mood was lighter and any remaining awkwardness was dispelled. They did not speak of flowers or mirrors, so there was no need for Ellen to give due notice of an impending scream. Instead, they spoke of the recent spell of fine weather and its usefulness for walking, and then of walking itself and their mutual enjoyment of solitude and fresh air. Grace had found this surprising and had said so, as Ellen always seemed at home in a crowd of people.

‘I suppose I’m gregarious by nature,’ Ellen said, ‘but sometimes I find people overwhelming. Every one of them wanting—needing—something different. Each with their own thoughts and emotions; with their own reasoning. I like to please others, but it’s…it depletes one after a time.’

‘You should try being more unpleasant. You’ll be lonelier, but less overwhelmed.’ Grace smiled as she spoke, but there was a wistful note in her voice.

‘I would think it hard to be lonely in that house.’

‘There’s no dearth of company, if that’s all you desire. But company is not companionship.’

They had reached the very peak of the East Melbourne hill and now the city stretched out before them in its jumble of rooftops and chimneys with the sinuous sweep of the river beyond them. A smoke haze dulled the colours and brought the edges of the world inwards. Their hair would smell of it when they returned to the house.

‘It must have been difficult, leaving your friends in Sydney.’

‘I had no friends to leave.’

They had paused to admire the view, but now Ellen turned to Grace, searching for another sign that she was joking. This time, however, there was no glint of mischief in her eyes. Her face was bereft of emotion, but that in itself made Ellen feel for her. The blank mask was practised: familiar. How often had she worn it in order to make it so?

‘Did you have no schoolfriends?’ Ellen asked. She kept her voice soft, much as she would with a skittish horse or cow.

‘Better than that: I had no schooling.’ Her mask faltered briefly when she saw the look on Ellen’s face. ‘Mother taught me what she could and I taught myself the rest.’

‘But why…?’ Ellen could not think how to put her question into words.

‘I was needed at home.’ Grace stared out at the city. ‘You’ve seen her when she’s tired. It used to be much worse. Not just the exhaustion but…other things. I don’t resent her for keeping me at home.’

‘But to be always without others of your age…You must have been miserable.’

She looked thoughtful. ‘No, not miserable. I’ve never been fond of great numbers of people. But I did miss having someone my own age to speak to; I think it’s why I’m so bad at social niceties.’

‘You’re not so bad once you warm up a little.’ Ellen said it to tease her, but her tone had an unintended solemnity and Grace replied accordingly.

‘Thank you. I’m glad you think so. Does this mean you’re no longer convinced that I despise you?’

‘I think I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that you don’t hate the very sight of me. I doubt we’d be speaking now if that were the case.’

‘No.’ Grace turned away from the city laid out before them and held Ellen’s gaze for an extended moment before frowning and looking down. Her cheeks appeared brighter than usual, but it may have been a trick of the sunset that was beginning to colour the sky. She said in a rush, ‘I’m here because I enjoy your company.’

Ellen was not sure how to reply to that.

‘You like people who are rude to you, do you?’ she asked at length, smiling.

‘Yes, if it’s because they’re being honest,’ Grace replied, to Ellen’s amazement. ‘Better that than pretending to like me in the hope of pleasing my mother, only to forget all about me once they’ve gained her favour.’

‘Does that happen often?’

‘You wondered how one could feel lonely when surrounded by people.’ She looked up and the resignation on her face was somehow more poignant than if her cheeks had been wet with tears. ‘That’s how it is when no one realises you’re there.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Ellen said, because she was. Her own life had not been without its doubts and losses, but she had always had William to turn to when needed, along with a succession of close friendships: girls at school; other young women such as Harriet. She understood more clearly now why Grace was so protective of her mother. Caroline was all she had.

‘There’s no need to be. I’m quite accustomed to the way things are.’

‘I’m sorry for that, too.’ Ellen had intended to leave it at that, but found herself offering a confidence of her own. ‘I know what it’s like to not be seen. My mother…She’s never truly looked at me. Not since Bella…’ She managed a wry smile. ‘Well; not since Bella. Oh, she’ll look in my direction, but it’s never me she sees, it’s what I took from her. What I continue to take by refusing to marry and produce a new little girl for her, to replace the one I stole.’

‘That isn’t what happened.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ Grace touched Ellen’s arm, a tentative brush of fingertips that became something more solid when Ellen did not pull away. ‘I don’t know the details, but I know enough to be certain that Bella’s death was not your fault.’

Ellen couldn’t look at her. ‘Because a spirit said so at a seance?’

‘Because you were a child, and it was an accident. I don’t give much credence to spirits.’

It could not be possible for Ellen to feel the warmth of Grace’s hand through the woollen layers of her dress and coat, and yet her arm seemed to burn. She couldn’t help but lean into the touch.

‘Are you allowed to say that?’ she asked, because humour was safer than allowing herself to trust in Grace’s words.

‘I wouldn’t risk it in the house.’ Grace bit her lip but not before Ellen saw the smirk she was attempting to hide. ‘Not within Margaret’s hearing, at least.’

‘You can save it for when you’re with me.’

The sunset was a peach flush colouring the western sky. All around them was burnished by its light. Grace’s eyes when she smiled at Ellen were flecked with shards of gleaming copper and her lips were full and pink. Her plait had all but come undone and thick strands of hair framed the even lines of her face. It hurt to look at her. Ellen turned her back to the city and, in doing so, twisted free of Grace’s hand.

‘It’s getting late,’ she said, gaze fixed upon the road in front of her. ‘We should head back before it gets dark.’

If Grace noticed her consternation, she had tact enough not to say so.

That night, Prince fell asleep almost as soon as Ellen lay his blanket on the bedroom floor. After his recent restlessness at night, it was a relief to hear the soft snuffle of his snores. Not long after Harriet blew out their candle, Ellen followed him into a deep and dreamless sleep.

She jolted awake a few hours later, with her heart pounding as if she had been running. Even the first silvery gleam of daylight was yet to seep through the crack in the curtains and there was no sign or sound of anything untoward. The house was silent. There was no groan of a floorboard nor creaking of a stair. Noises always carried further in the darkness, but as much as she strained to hear footsteps or voices, all that she could identify was the quiet huff of Harriet’s breath and the sound of Prince moving over to the door.

Had he heard something? He didn’t seem agitated. Ellen waited for a growl or whimper, but neither eventuated. Instead, Prince waited at the door for a minute or so, then padded back to his bed. Ellen would get no clearer sign that she was not in danger, but still she lay awake for some time afterwards, waiting for a noise that never came.

In the morning, she felt foggy from lack of sleep. She barely registered Harriet’s chatter and washed and dressed herself slowly, her limbs and fingers clumsy and inept. Pinning up her hair felt too difficult, so she twisted it into a messy plait.

When they were both ready, Ellen followed Harriet to the staircase and around the curving steps. There was a mound of white linen piled at the foot of them and through the haze of exhaustion Ellen wondered who had been fool enough to leave their washing in such a treacherous location.

It was only once Harriet started screaming that Ellen realised that the heap of fabric had a face.