This House is Haunted by John Boyne

Author:John Boyne [Boyne, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-59051-680-5
Publisher: Other Press
Published: 2013-10-07T23:00:00+00:00

“That’s right,” I said, holding her gaze. “He said that you would introduce me.”

She looked away, her brow creasing. “He’s not said ‘owt to me about that.”

“I assure you it’s quite true.”

“Mr. Westerley usually sees only me.”

“And the children, of course,” I said.

“He hasn’t laid eyes on his children since the episode, as you call it.”

I stared at her. “But that’s impossible,” I said. “Why ever not?”

“If you saw him, you’d understand. But I don’t believe it’s in your interests that you do.”

“It seems to me to be the most extraordinary thing,” I cried in frustration, throwing my hands in the air. “The master of this estate, the father of those children, keeps himself hidden away and entertains no company other than, well, forgive me, you, Mrs. Livermore—”

“There’s worse fates.”

“Please don’t be sarcastic. All I want is to understand. We are both employed here, after all, can we not share confidences? I as governess and you as Mr. Westerley’s cook or maid or whatever it is that you do.”

She took a long drag on her cigarillo now in a manner reminiscent of Mr. Raisin himself. For a long time she remained quite silent, as if she was considering this. Finally, in a quieter voice, she spoke. “A cook, you say. Or a maid.”

“Well, yes. I mean if that is what you are, after all. I don’t mean it in a disrespectful fashion.”

“I should hope not, Governess,” she said, stressing my own position. “There’s plenty would be pleased with the position of cook or maid at Gaudlin Hall. It’s a good job for the right girl. Or a widow woman. And back in old Mr. Westerley’s day there were plenty of staff here. Not like now. The place is falling down about our ears owing to the lack of them. It’s in disrepair, haven’t you noticed? That roof will come down on top of us one day soon if no one sees fit to mend it. But you’re wrong if you think that I’m a cook or a maid. It’s true that I prepare Mr. Westerley’s food,” she added. “But then you’ve prepared food too, Governess, haven’t you?” she asked me. “You know how to put together a stew or a lamb hotpot?”

“Of course,” I said. “When I was living with Father in London I prepared all our meals.”

“Don’t make you the cook though, does it?” she asked.

“Well, no, of course not,” I said. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Livermore. I didn’t mean to offend you. Although I really don’t see why it should be offensive.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You’d have to get up a lot earlier than this to offend me,” she said. “I’m made of tough stuff. Have to be, the life I’ve lived. No, I’m not a cook. That’s not where my training lies.”

“Mrs. Livermore, you’re talking in riddles,” I said, exhaustion beginning to overtake me. “Can we not just be clear with each other?”

“All right then,” she said, pressing the remains of her cigarette out and standing

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