A Haunting at Holkham : A Novel (2021) by Glenconner Anne

Author:Glenconner, Anne [Glenconner, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

18.

THEN EVENING CAME. Ruby was in a bit of a mood when she collected the supper things, but Anne didn’t think much of it, given how busy she always was. When the door opened again at bedtime, however, it was Miss Crane, not Ruby, standing in the doorway.

Anne was shocked into speechlessness at seeing her. She had her hand on her hip, and her eyes had that dark flashing quality that made Anne’s stomach tighten.

‘After your disgraceful behaviour last night, Lord Leicester and I have agreed it would be best if I put you to bed from now on, Anne,’ she said in a purr.

Anne’s heart started racing. There were so many things she might get wrong at bedtime. Things she had never thought about before. She had already brushed her hair, washed her face and done her teeth. Had she done those things incorrectly? Miss Crane came in and shut the door behind her.

‘Stand up when I come into the room!’

Anne got up quickly from her chair and Miss Crane grabbed hold of her shoulder. Her fingers always seemed to know exactly where to squeeze and pinch to make it hurt as much as possible.

‘Open your mouth.’

Anne did.

Miss Crane dragged her towards the light of the bedside lamp and pulled Anne’s upper lip up with her free thumb and forefinger pushing her head sideways at the same time. It twisted and stung terribly.

‘Good enough, I suppose,’ she said. ‘Did you just try to bite me? You did, didn’t you, you nasty little creature!’

She released Anne’s lip, and Anne’s hand flew up to cover the new hurt.

‘I didn’t, Miss Crane! I swear.’

‘Like a little rat!’ Miss Crane said. ‘Get into bed. Lie down on your back.’

Anne got into bed. No mention of hair-brushing and that twist to her lip had hurt, but she seemed to have passed the inspection. Miss Crane pulled open the top drawer of Anne’s dresser and took something out. Anne couldn’t see what it was. The sheets were damp and cold, no stone hot water bottle this evening.

‘Give me your hands.’

‘I don’t understand.’

Miss Crane sighed, sharp and angry. She grabbed Anne’s wrists, holding them together tightly in one hand and wrapping them round and together with a pair of Anne’s winter stockings, then knotting them. Anne squeaked as the fabric bit into her flesh.

‘Be quiet!’ Miss Crane said. She was breathing heavily now. She pulled Anne’s bound wrists over her head and leant over her. Her wrists were jerked back. Instinctively she tried to pull away, but Miss Crane yanked on the stockings and Anne’s shoulder blades squeezed together painfully. Her necklace tapped Anne’s forehead, a chilly and metallic touch like a drip of water. Anne bit her lip and breathed through her nose, a sweet smoky scent of Miss Crane’s perfume, just below it the animal tang of sweat. What was she doing? Miss Crane stood up, and Anne tried to move. She couldn’t. Miss Crane had tied the stockings through the metal bars at the head of the bed.

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