A House in London Page 4

  Staring at the empty crib in the darkened room, she took a deep breath as she reminded herself that the last thing she needed was to experience any more of the house's sadness, so she turned to go back toward the stairs.

  Suddenly she stopped, staring straight ahead along the gloomy corridor.

  Her mind was racing, but one thing was certain: just as she'd turned away from the room a moment earlier, she was sure she'd spotted something moving in the darkness. There had been no sound, nothing to break the constant silence of the house, but something had wriggled in the supposedly-empty crib.

  Unable to help herself, she glanced back into the room. There was no sign of movement now, but as she stared at the crib she realized she had to go and look, just to make absolutely certain that there had been nothing there. She knew there was no such thing as ghosts, of course, but she reasoned that perhaps an animal had somehow got into the house, perhaps even the cat who'd apparently clawed at the windows. She looked along the corridor again, filled with a sense of guilt at the idea of entering the nursery, and then she stepped through the doorway. She figured the flash of movement had probably just been in her mind, but still she felt a sense of tightening apprehension in the pit of her stomach as she edged closer to the crib. All she had to do, she reminded herself, was take a look and prove to herself that there was nothing.

  When she reached the crib and looked down, she felt a wave of relief as she saw that – as expected – it was completely empty.

  “Way to go, Jennifer,” she muttered to herself, turning to head back to the door. “A couple of hours alone in a big empty house, and you've already started to -”

  Suddenly she stopped in her tracks as she realized what was wrong.

  Her mind began to race as she thought back, trying to work out what must have happened, but slowly she turned and looked down into the crib again, seeing that it was still empty.

  No baby.

  Definitely no baby.

  And no toys, either.

  “This is his favorite,” she remembered Vivian saying, as she'd placed a stuffed toy into the crib. “The tiger's name is Sir Henry, and if Ivan ever cries, Sir Henry is bound to bring a grin to my darling little boy's face.”

  There had been another toy, too, a squirrel, but now both were gone. They'd still been in the crib when Vivian had gone out of the room, Jennifer was sure of that, and they'd also been there when she and Mr. Diebold had left. Mr. Diebold had shut the door, and then he and Jennifer had gone straight downstairs, yet now not only had the door been open when she came back up, but the toys were gone.

  She glanced around, but she saw no sign of either the tiger or the squirrel among the other toys on the nearby shelves.

  “Okay,” she whispered out loud, “now you really are losing it.”

  Looking back down into the crib for a moment, she told herself that obviously there was a simple explanation, and that there was no need to panic. Her earlier idea about a cat could well be true, she figured, and the cat could certainly have stolen the toys. The problem, she figured, would be explaining that to the Diebolds when they returned, which meant she had to find the cat. She took another glance around the room, before turning to go back to the door and -

  Suddenly the shooting pain returned to her belly, stronger than before. She let out a gasp as she staggered forward, and for a moment she was forced to support herself against the door's frame until the pain, as before, began to withdraw like a departing tide. Wincing, she realized the brief rush had brought a cold sweat to her face, but she told herself that everything was fine, although a moment later she felt her legs weaken and she had to kneel for a moment on the floor of the dark nursery. Reaching down, she slipped a hand beneath her shirt and felt her belly, and she pushed a little into her flesh to make sure there was no kind of lump.

  “I'm fine,” she whispered, trying to calm her nerves. “It's just... gas, or something.”

  After getting to her feet and stepping out into the corridor, she pulled the door shut and took a moment to make absolutely certain that this time it was properly shut, and then she began to make her way toward the top of the staircase. She still felt a little weak after the second jolt of pain, and she was already starting to think it might be wise to get a check-up in the next few days, just so a doctor could take a look and confirm there was nothing seriously wrong. As she reached the top of the staircase, she paused for a moment to get her breath back properly.

  And then she heard a slow creaking sound over her shoulder.

  Turning, she somehow knew what was happening even before she saw the nursery door swinging open. She waited until the door handle bumped against the wall with a dull thud, and then silence returned once again to the house.

  “Puss?” she called out, hoping to hear a meow in return.

  Silence.

  She waited, but if anything, the house seemed quieter than ever.

  “It's just a door,” she muttered, telling herself that the damn thing must be faulty. Part of her wanted to go back along and push it shut again, but she figured it'd probably keep on opening by itself anyway, which in turn would only make her feel more creepy. Rather than fueling her fears, she turned to go back down the stairs, although it took several seconds before she suddenly realized that she was walking along the corridor again. She stopped and saw the nursery door up ahead, and then she turned to see the top of the staircase at the far end of the corridor. For the second time in just a few minutes, she'd somehow managed to walk in the wrong direction.

  Forcing herself to stay calm, she made her way once again toward the stairs, and this time she made sure to focus. Once she was halfway along, however, she heard a faint bump over her shoulder. She glanced back, expecting to see that maybe the door had bumped the wall again, and then she froze as soon as she saw a dark figure standing in the nursery's doorway. Her mind started racing, and she told herself that she was imagining the whole thing, but as she continued to stare she realized she could make out the silhouette of a tall figure, just about visible in the nursery's shadows. She blinked a couple of times, convinced that the figure would turn out to be a trick of the light, but after a moment she realized that it seemed to be simply standing there, watching her.

  Turning, she began to hurry toward the staircase. Her whole body was trembling with fear now, but she told herself not to panic, that most likely she was somehow imagining the whole thing. At the same time, she couldn't shake the fear that perhaps a burglar had crept into the house. She began to hurry down the stairs, filled with an increasing sense of panic, but she had to stop halfway when she felt a sudden, sharp cramping sensation in her belly. Wincing, she waited for the pain to go away, but after a few seconds she realized that it actually seemed to be building. She took a careful step forward, although she was struggling now to maintain her balance. She grabbed the bannister as a sense of dizziness filled her head, and suddenly her vision became blurred.

  The last thing she felt was a scratching sensation in her belly, as if a small hand was digging deep into her gut, and then finally she tumbled forward and fell down the stairs, smashing head-first against the marble floor at the bottom.

  IV

  It was the grandfather clock that woke her, chiming twelve times to break the silence of the house and to bring her around. Her eyes snapped open as the last of the chimes still echoed in the air, and then she let out a faint gasp as she realized there was a dull ache on the side of her forehead. She remembered the sheer panic and chaos of falling, and the heavy thud as she'd hit the hallway's marble floor, but now everything felt so still and quiet. The only sound came from traffic outside, as buses and cars roared past the house.

  She'd forgotten something, though, she was sure of it.

  Slowly, she began to sit up. Her joints ached and she was terrified that at any moment she'd feel the tell-tale stabbing pain of a fractured or broken bone, but after a moment she breathed a sigh of relief as she realized she might have escaped with just a few bruises. Sh
e glanced back up the stairs, toward the spot where she'd first tripped, and she found it hard to believe she could have tumbled so far without sustaining any major injuries. A few bumps and sore spots, but nothing serious.

  Still, she felt she'd forgotten something.

  Or someone.

  “Ivan,” she whispered finally, before stumbling to her feet in a fit of panic and shouting the name again as she turned and clambered back up the stairs. “Ivan!”

  Almost slipping several times, she raced along the gloomy corridor until she reached the door to the nursery. Pulling it open, she hurried into the darkened room and made her way to the crib, and for a moment she felt a sense of pure horror as she looked down and saw no sign of the child at all. She glanced around the room, her heart pounding with fear, and it took a few more seconds more for her to realize that all was as it should be.

  Of course there was no baby.

  There never had been.

  The toys were back in the crib, though. The tiger and the squirrel were right where they should be.

  Desperately short or breath, she took a few steps back as a wave of relief washed over her. Still feeling an ache on the side of her forehead, she reached up and immediately winced as her fingers pressed against the tender spot. Turning and peering at herself in a mirror behind the door, she was shocked to see a prominent bruise already starting to show. She remembered being on the stairs, and she remembered feeling pain in her gut as a kind of dizziness had filled her body, and then... Then she'd fallen, and she realized she must have hit her head on the way down and knocked herself out. After that she'd woken up in a daze, and for a few seconds she'd forgotten that there was no baby.

  “Everything's fine,” she said out loud, just to reassure herself. “It's all good.”

  She glanced back at the crib, trying to work out where the two stuffed toys had gone and how they could suddenly be back now, but finally she told herself she must have somehow been mistaken.

  And then she remembered the figure. In her panic to check on the non-existent baby, and in the daze after her fall, she'd forgotten until now that there had been a figure standing in the nursery. At least, she'd thought at the time that there had been a figure, but now the idea seemed ludicrous. She looked around, but there was absolutely no sign of anyone now. Although she'd been convinced earlier that the figure was real, now she was starting to feel as if she'd experienced some kind of brief mental spasm. The figure in the doorway, the inability to walk the correct way along the corridor, the pain in her belly, the blurred vision... For a moment she considered the possibility that something was seriously wrong in her head, but she quickly put such concerns out of her mind.

  “You're fine,” she muttered, trying to convince herself. “Nothing's wrong.”

  Checking her watch, she saw that it was a couple of minutes past midnight now, which meant the Diebolds were due home at any moment. Hurrying out into the corridor, she pulled the nursery's door shut and made her way to the top of the staircase. She figured it had been no more than 10pm when she'd fallen, which meant she must have been unconscious for a couple of hours. The chimes of 11pm hadn't been enough to wake her, but she'd stirred at midnight. Glancing over her shoulder, she looked toward the nursery again, but to her relief there was no dark figure watching her. As she made her way down to the bottom of the stairs, she couldn't help noting that the marble floor could have caused a lot more damage than a simple bruise, but it was only when she caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror that she realized how truly lucky she'd been. Just above her left eyebrow, a dark bruise was already starting to form.

  A fraction of a second later she heard a key in the door, and she turned just in time to see Mr. Diebold and his wife making their way inside, laughing and joking about someone named Bianca. With the door open for a moment, the sound of the city was so much louder, invading the calm of the hallway. The elderly couple seemed so absorbed in their conversation, they didn't notice Jennifer at all until the door was shut and the sound of the busy street was once again hushed, receding into the background.

  “Did you see the old fool's face?” Vivian chuckled. “She's such a prude!”

  “Oh my,” Mr. Diebold said with a frown, clearly shocked when he spotted Jennifer. “Your...” He limped toward her, while reaching up to touch her forehead before thinking better of it. “Are you okay, my dear? What happened?”

  “Nothing,” she replied, trying not to panic. “I just -”

  “Oh my word!” Vivian shrieked, rushing over and grabbing Jennifer by the arm, as if to steady her. The older woman's breath stank of wine and cigarettes, and her unfocused eyes suggested she'd had a lot to drink. “What could possibly have given you such a terrible bruise?”

  “It's fine,” Jennifer told her, feeling distinctly embarrassed but not wanting to admit the truth. “I just bumped my head, that's all.”

  “This looks like more than a bump,” Vivian continued. “My dear, was it something...” Her voice trailed off for a moment, as an expression of shock spread across her face. “It wasn't my darling Ivan, was it? I know he can be a little boisterous from time to time, but I never would have thought he'd cause physical harm to anyone!”

  “It wasn't Ivan, Mrs. Diebold, I was just clumsy and -”

  “You needn't protect him,” she replied, interrupting her. “I'm sure he didn't mean it, he'd never hurt anyone on purpose, but I suppose he doesn't really understand his own strength. After all, he is just a baby. You must absolutely promise me that you don't blame him. If you have to blame anyone, blame me for not teaching him better!”

  “Honestly,” Jennifer continued, “I -”

  “I must go and check on him,” Vivian added, hurrying past and making her way up the stairs. “I'm sure he had a wonderful time with you, Miss Griffith, but I'm equally sure he must have missed me dreadfully. The poor little darling is something of a Mama's boy, you know.” She stopped at the top and looked back down at Jennifer for a moment. “But he didn't cry, did he? I do so hate the thought that my little soldier might have been upset.”

  “He...” Jennifer paused for a moment, staring up at Vivian's concerned, expectant face, before realizing that there was no point arguing. “He was fine,” she said finally, trying to reassure her without lying too directly. “I honestly didn't hear a peep out of him all night.”

  “I knew it,” Vivian said with a grin, as she turned and hurried out of sight along the corridor. “My little darling is a perfect gentleman.”

  Jennifer stood in silence for a moment, until a few seconds later she heard Vivian's loud, happy voice in the distance. It was clear that the older woman was talking to Ivan now, telling him that he'd been a good and brave boy, while also admonishing him for causing the bruise. Jennifer felt desperately sad to overhear the conversation, and to realize that the woman seemed to truly believe she was talking to her child, and she couldn't help imagining Vivian grinning and cooing over the empty crib at that very moment.

  “My wife and I had a lovely meal with friends,” Mr. Diebold said finally.

  Jennifer turned to him.

  “I cannot thank you enough,” he continued, with tears in his eyes. “I know it might not seem like much to you, but this night out has been a real step forward. I'd begun to fear we might never get back to our old lives.” Upstairs, Vivian could still be heard talking excitedly to Ivan. “One step at a time, you understand. My wife's condition is so terribly fragile, but I think I have seen small signs of recovery in just the few hours since we went out, and for that I am most grateful.”

  “I was glad to help,” Jennifer replied, feeling as if she just wanted to get to bed, “but I should probably head off now. It's late, and I have to be up early in the morning.”

  “Are you studying at present?” he asked, turning and taking her jacket from the hook.

  “Not anymore. To be honest, I'm spending all my time looking for a job.”

  “I understand the market is not very favorable at the mome
nt,” Mr. Diebold continued, holding the jacket up for her.

  “Thank you,” she replied, surprised by his chivalrous move. Never in all her life had a man held her jacket for her. “It's fine, I'll find something soon. I signed up with a temp agency recently, so hopefully I'll get some office work in the next few weeks.”

  “And does that pay well?”

  She turned to him as she started buttoning her jacket. “It'll cover my rent,” she told him, with a resilient smile.

  “I remember when young people aspired to more than just hand-to-mouth survival,” he told her, with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “There was a time when people believed the streets of London were paved with gold. I know that was a foolish idea, but there's something to be said for hopes and dreams.” He paused for a moment, before chuckling to himself. “Then again, I'm also old enough to remember when many young women aspired to become wives and mothers, and thought little of their own careers. I suppose that just demonstrates how backward things were in my day. Tell me, my dear, what are your ambitions in the longer term?”

  “I don't know,” she replied with a smile, trying to stay cheery. “I used to want to be...” Pausing, she suddenly felt as if she was opening up a little too much, but at the same time it had been so long since she'd found it easy to talk to someone. “Well, I originally wanted to study early-medieval history and do something in that field, but that's not very realistic. Honestly, though, I'm fine. I was never hugely into advertising, so even if I don't get a job in that area, it's the degree that counts, right?” She hesitated for a moment, tempted to tell him more about her life, before checking her watch and seeing that she'd soon be in danger of missing the last bus home. “I really have to get going,” she added finally.