This House is Haunted Read Online Free PDF Page B

learning to cope with it, while somehow Aunt Rachel brought Father back from the depths of his despair to a place where he could take charge of his life, his responsibilities and his daughter once again. By the time I returned to London in the autumn and we were reconciled to each other, it was clear that the worst was over. We would miss Mother, of course, and we would speak of her often, but we had both grown to understand that death was a natural phenomenon, albeit a sorrowful one for those left behind, but one that every man and woman must accept as the price we pay for life.
    “I let you down, I fear,” Father told me when the two of us were alone in the house again. “It will not happen another time, I promise you that. I will always look after you, Eliza. I will keep you safe.”
    We made a happy, if somewhat resigned, pair in our home from that day on. Naturally, I attended to the domestic duties. I took charge of the cooking while Father’s salary allowed us toemploy a maid-of-all-work, a Scottish girl called Jessie, on two afternoons a week, when she would clean the house from top to bottom and complain about the pains in her back and the arthritis in her hands, although she was only a year or two older than I. Despite her cantankerous nature, I was grateful that we could afford her, for I hated cleaning with a passion and she took that duty away from me.
    At St. Elizabeth’s School, which I had attended since girlhood, I had always been an excellent student, and soon after completing my education, I was offered the position of teacher to the small girls, a position that suited me so well that it became permanent within six months. I took great pleasure in my young charges, who were between five and six years of age, teaching them the rudiments of sums and spelling, the history of the Kings and Queens of England, while preparing them for the more difficult subjects which would be theirs to endure at the hands of Miss Lewisham, into whose calloused hands I would deliver them, trembling and crying, within twelve months. It was difficult not to form an attachment to my small girls. They had such pleasant dispositions and were so entirely trusting when it came to their dealings with me, but I learned early on that if I was to thrive as a teacher—and I took it for granted that I would always be a teacher, for marriage seemed unlikely given the fact that I had no fortune, no particular place in society and, worst of all, a face that my aunt Hermione once said could curdle milk (“I don’t mean it unkindly, child,” she added, noticing my disquiet, leaving me to wonder how else she could possibly have meant it)—then I must balance affection with resilience. This notion, however, sat fine with me. I would live as a spinster, I would have my small girls to teach and the summer holidays perhaps to takea little trip—I dreamed of visiting the French Alps or the Italian city of Venice and would occasionally wonder whether I might even find paid employment as a lady’s companion during the summer months—I would take care of Father and our house. I would sympathize with Jessie about her numerous inflammations and ask her whether or not she had seen to the skirting boards yet. I would not worry about suitors, who in turn would certainly not worry about me, and I would face life with a seriousness of intent and a positive outlook. And for all this, I was content and happy.
    The only slight change in these circumstances came about with the arrival of Arthur Covan as instructor to our oldest girls and with whom, as I mentioned, I formed a particular friendship. Mr. Covan arrived to us from Harrow and was taking a year’s experience in teaching before heading up to the Varsity to read classics. Arthur made me laugh—he was a fine mimic—and flattered me with his attentions. He was a handsome boy, a year younger than me, with a mop of dark hair and a ready smile. To my shame I allowed myself the most indulgent