Chapter Six #3
Mrs Allen cuts a concerned look at me, then exits the room. I still can’t imagine why she doesn’t do anything to fix this abominable mess – unless Arabella won’t let her.
‘Come, Vee, sit down so we can talk properly.’
The only chairs in the room are piled high with dusty books.
I pick a trail across the floor – cigarette carton, orange peel, thimble, single glove, trinket box – and make my way to the bed.
Perch on the very corner. I’ve got no idea what to expect from Arabella, have given up on trying to predict her. ‘Look, about yesterday …’
Arabella holds up a hand to silence me. ‘I wanted to apologize for my behaviour. I was upset about the car, but it was Maurice who should have known better, not you. And I ought not to have lost my temper either way.’
I shake my head. ‘I should have thought …’ But I had thought. Wondered whether Reacher really had permission to drive the Renault. Then I’d ignored that doubt. ‘How are you feeling now?’
A shrug. ‘Morry knows I don’t mean anything by it; he’s used to me.
But I realize it must have sounded alarming to you.
It’s just that I am cautious of motorcars, and the roads around here are so dangerous.
Animals run right across before you have the chance to stop.
A hare darted out in front of me once.’ She shudders.
‘Horrible. The way the bones crunched. It was that car I was driving. You would think you wouldn’t feel it, but you do, right up through the steering wheel.
I haven’t driven since.’ She fixes her gaze on me, intent and searching as if looking for a particular response.
‘Listen, I didn’t mean to alarm you with that talk of curses. ’
Another abrupt change in topic. I haven’t given Arabella’s comment about being ‘cursed enough’ any further thought since yesterday, had assumed it was off-handed hyperbole. ‘I wasn’t alarmed,’ I say.
Arabella tilts her head. ‘No, I don’t imagine you were.
Sensible woman like you. You are very straightforward, aren’t you?
’ The mattress sags as Arabella leans closer.
Lifts a hand as if she is about to reach out to me, to touch, but then thinks better of it.
‘I like that about you, Vee. But we are cursed, here at Harfold, whether you believe in that sort of thing or not. How else do you explain it?’
‘Explain what, Arabella?’ I feel the need to whisper it, though she’s been speaking at a normal volume.
‘One every three years, in inheritance order. Each death a tragic accident or stroke of bad luck. And on top of that, all our other misfortunes: rising debts, falling rents, foot-and-mouth in the livestock, the cost of death duties. Put it all together, and it becomes clear that there is more to it than meets the eye. Something is out to get us, and whoever owns Harfold has an expiration date on their head.’
A prickle on my neck, just at the nape. ‘You mean figuratively?’ I ask.
Arabella doesn’t answer. ‘It wants nothing more than to extinguish our line. Topple Harfold Manor. Leave us as a pile of anonymous ash.’
I’m struggling to find the metaphor in this language, but don’t see it.
The troubling conclusion that Arabella is talking literally.
A supernatural evil is stalking her – if only in her mind.
Reacher had called her superstitious, but this is more like madness.
Except that Arabella is fairly lucid, in control of her functions, seems – at the moment, at least – to be rational and composed.
Can such a person be mad? So maybe she’s just a normal woman who has been alone for too long, sad for too long.
The mind can invent strange things under those conditions.
‘You know that what you’re saying’s impossible, Arabella?’
Arabella sighs. Rubs the back of her hand against her nose. ‘You don’t believe me. I knew you would not.’
‘You do hear how it sounds?’
‘Never mind,’ says Arabella. ‘I should not have said anything. I was only trying to explain why I was upset about the car. Why I find it hard to … get close to people. I know I can be odd.’
I don’t point out that, even if I could accept the existence of a curse, nothing Arabella has just said relates in any obvious way to yesterday, or her other strange behaviours.
‘Look at it this way,’ I say, ‘why would something be out to get you like that? You’ve not done anything to curse yourself, have you? ’
I meant this to be reassuring, but Arabella takes it as a question. ‘How confident you are.’ A sad smile. ‘You barely know me, Vee; you have no idea what might be in my past.’ Her gaze is unsettling. I can’t hold it: have to look away, eyes falling on the debris scattered across the floor.
‘I’m not interested in the past,’ I tell her. ‘I know who you are today, and that’s enough to tell me I’m right.’
This time she does touch me: a quick squeeze of my forearm. The physical contact a shock – but not entirely unwelcome. ‘You don’t know how pleased I am to hear that.’
I may not know all of Arabella’s history, but in return, my own is a mystery to her. And if past actions could trigger supernatural consequences, Arabella wouldn’t be the only person who needed to worry.
Downstairs, I meet Reacher by the stuffed monkey in the hall. There’s a red welt at his hairline where the teacup struck him. Mutton is by his side, snuffling at his toes. They both look surprised to see me appear from the upper storey.
‘Were you with Bellsy?’ Reacher asks, eyebrows rising.
I shrug. ‘She wanted to apologize.’
‘That doesn’t sound like her.’ Reacher pulls that tobacco tin from his pocket, shakes out a cigarette and places it at the corner of his mouth.
I lean down to ruffle Mutton’s fur. He’s a little damp, and my hand comes away with a smear of green. ‘Been in the lake again, have you, boy?’
‘I can’t help myself,’ says Reacher, pretending to shake off as if he’s the one covered with lake water. ‘I think she’s rather taken by you, you know.’ Runs his hands over his pockets. ‘Blast. Do you have a light?’
I find a matchbook in my overalls. ‘What makes you say that?’ I ask, striking a flame and holding it out. Reacher leans closer, puts the cigarette to it. Draws in, cheeks sinking into hollows, till the tip starts to glow red. ‘About Arabella, I mean?’
He takes a moment to exhale. ‘Well, for starters: “Arabella”?’
‘I … She told me to call her that. Said that’s how the Allens address her.’ But I’ve already realized this isn’t true. I think of Arabella. Her hand on my wrist just now. ‘Maybe,’ I concede. Feel a flush in my face.
Reacher smirks, but makes no further comment.
‘All right then: what does she mean about a curse?’ I ask.
He considers this. ‘A way of understanding it all, I suppose.’ He holds his cigarette with a European affectation, between index finger and thumb.
‘Arabella has lost a great number of things over the years. Four brothers and both parents. Most of a fortune. The mind needs to create a reason for it.’
Mutton’s found something edible on the floor. His tongue makes unpleasant, moist noises as he scours the area.
‘She can’t really think she’s cursed though, can she?’
‘Maybe. I thought it was a joke at first. She would mention it after any spot of bad luck. Small things, you know? One year the stream burst its banks and flooded the paddock. “It must be the curse.” That sort of thing.’ He opens the front door a crack to flick out his ashes.
‘But sometimes – well, you saw her yesterday. She gets into these moods, and then I think she does believe in it.’
To be convinced that a malevolent force is watching over you, ready at any moment to pounce, must be a terrifying state of existence.
No wonder Arabella’s a recluse … ‘And what about the house?’ I ask, gesturing round to indicate the clutter.
‘Sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but all this isn’t exactly normal either. ’
Reacher takes another pull of smoke. Blows it out.
‘Your guess is as good as mine. She won’t let us throw anything away.
You should see the rage that gets into her if someone dares to clean.
Well’ – he gestures to his own forehead – ‘maybe you can guess at that. My theory is that it’s another response to all her losses.
She refused to clear out any of her parents’ old possessions after they passed on, and things just spiralled from there with each new death.
She hasn’t been able to keep her family at Harfold, but she can cling on to everything else, at least.’ He grimaces.
‘Then again, I have lost just as much as she has, and you don’t see me filling the rooms with old junk, do you? ’
I don’t see him doing anything to stop it either, but I imagine it won’t go down well if I point this out.
‘She has this idea,’ Reacher goes on, ‘that she’s caused it all. I told you about the magic hare, didn’t I? Bellsy was obsessed with that story as a girl – she used to go looking for it on the Plain with her brothers. Then one night, driving back late—’
‘She told me about that,’ I interrupt, ‘hitting the hare.’
He pauses. ‘Yes. Well, she thinks it put an evil spell on her. Reversed the blessing it had originally bestowed on our ancestor, James Lascy. I’ve never heard anyone else say the story works in reverse – that the magic hare can curse a person instead of bless them – but there you have it.’
‘You haven’t managed to convince her otherwise, then?’
‘I find it’s easier not to argue.’
‘You encourage it?’ I can’t keep the judgement out of my voice.
Reacher frowns. ‘No, no, I wouldn’t say that.
I have never pretended that I believe in it myself.
’ He sighs. Bends down to snuff his cigarette on the doorstep.
Mutton, taking this as an invitation, lumbers over to him.
‘I just mean that she has been sinking for a long time, and I’ve run out of energy to keep her afloat.
Sometimes you have to prioritize keeping your own head above the water.
’ He tickles Mutton under the chin. ‘And take that as advice for you as well, Miss Morgan: don’t let yourself get pulled under. ’