Hourglass – Chapter 1 – The Girl in the Attic

Hourglass

A Novel

By:

Alice Montgomery

                The hourglass on my windowsill remained fixed with all grains of sand at the bottom. My time had run out, and I knew it.

 

Chapter 1

The Girl in the Attic

Joyce

                There was something to be said for the room I was placed in. It was narrow. The tiles on the ceiling counted to about thirty seven. I counted them when I was bored, which I was more often than not. There was a single bed propped up against a simple brown headboard. The pillow upon the bed was uncomfortable. Then again, what did I expect, a five star hotel?

                The paper thin sheets were scratchy and made my back itch during the night. They were sanitary, or so I had heard. There was no comforter, only sheets. It was a tad problematic in the wintertime when the frost clung to the window. I would hold the sheets to my body and imagine a warm fire. My imagination could only take me so far before my toes were so numb from the cold that I could no longer feel them.

                Days were passed in a hum drum of inactivity. I paced around my room examining the cracks in the floor boards. I imagined myself being rescued, or finding a secret passageway in one of the loose tiles of the celling.

            From my window, I could see the seasons changing. The view never changed. The window beside my bed had a view of a grassy terrace. The other window had a few trees scattered along the edges of the grassland. How I longed to go outside and smell the fresh air.

“Miss Chamberlain?” I heard knocking at my door. I perked up on the edge of my bed. I kept my hands folded nicely, trying to act like a lady.

“Yes,” I tried to say pleasantly, though could not. My voice had not been in practice for quite some time and it always sounded hoarse and unpleasant.

“Might I come in?” The voice was a young voice.

“You may,” a simple answer. Yes, it’s best to keep all answers simple and uncomplicated. You never know what the outside may bring.

                The door swung open. The hinges, like my voice were rusty and rarely used. Standing in the doorway was a new young lady I had never seen before and Mrs. Peters, the head maid. I gaped at the open door, trying to see past Mrs. Peters’ large frame. She noticed what I was attempting to do. She pushed the young lady a few feet before slamming the door behind her with impressive force. The sound made me wince. I was not used to hearing noise either, much less a loud noise.

“Miss Chamberlain, this is Miss Cavell.” Miss Cavell curtsied without grace. I could only look at her in surprise. I took in this new living creature flung into my den. She was small and frail. She might have been my age or a little younger. Her hair was most likely ashen blond, but it was hard to tell. She wore a maid’s cap which hadn’t hid many of her stray hairs. In contrast to Mrs. Peters, she was slightly unkempt.

“You have no word of welcome?” Mrs. Peters’ eyes narrowed down at me. She had beetle eyes. I hated her. Her few trips to my room were always ones I wish I could forget.

“Welcome,” I said simply to the girl. I could tell that the girl was afraid of me. If I were her, I would be as well. I had not seen much sunlight, nor did I eat very well. I probably appeared to look like one of Bram Stoker’s vampires. I probably was undead by now.

“Miss Cavell is your new maid.” Again, Mrs. Peters pushed the girl forward. I recoiled. “You will thank the master for his generosity.”

“Yes, thank you,” I managed to whisper. My regard betrayed me. My face hardened. I bet Mrs. Peters believed me indignant and ungrateful. I was beyond the wanting of human companionship. I could find solace in myself now and managed very well.

“Fine,” Mrs. Peters snapped. She raised her bony hand and struck me across the cheek. I could hardly feel the blow, but it had knocked me over. Miss Cavell looked aghast. I wanted her to do something. She was a newcomer. She could have stood up for me. But she did not. She waited until I gathered myself up to my normal sitting position before she could huff out a relieved sigh.

“Will that be all, Mrs. Peters?” The acidity in my voice rose.

“No,” Mrs. Peters matched my tone of voice. Miss Cavell was caught in the middle of our ageless feud. “You are not to have supper tonight. Perhaps it will teach you a lesson to be more grateful.”

“But… Miss Peters…” Miss Cavell spoke up. A blow to the face will not make her react, but the lack of food will. In many a way, this girl was interesting.

“That will be all. I shall come to get you in an hour.” Mrs. Peters stormed off locking the door from the outside. Everything was silent and still again, just as before.

Sophie

                The girl was gaunt like a ghost. When I had first heard of Miss Chamberlain, it was from the other servants. I had only been a maid at Nether for two months. I was not accepted into their circle yet, but they knew by then that I would never report them to Mrs. Peters. I could not afford to gather enemies. I was an orphan, and had no money or prospects.

“One evening, I heard the voice of a child singing. It was a young girl’s voice, to be sure. It was a soft voice and it rang through the hallway. I stopped and thought to myself ‘now who could that be?’ I could not make out the words to the song. They were muffled words. I stopped and listened. I could gather a few phrases:

‘The midnight gale has lost her way,

                Upon the meadow,

                Where did she go, where did she go,

                Oh where is my bonny fellow’

The voice was so sad, so full of melancholy. I couldn’t help but shed a tear or two. But there are no doors in that hallway. Just one long corridor, you know. Then, almost out of nowhere, Mrs. Peters shows up with that angry face of hers. She dragged me away by the ear and told me to never go near that area again.

                She was called the Nether ghost. Others would hear her sing too. I had never heard her sing before. I had believed the Nether ghost to be a myth, or as a story to fill the drudgery of our dull lives.

                The inhabitants of Nether were hardly ever present. There were three inhabitants. Edgar Morland, the master of Nether, young Andrew Morland, his son and heir, and Edgar’s mother, Helen Morland, nee Amherst. I had met young Andrew Morland by chance, and he had taken a fancy to me. Mrs. Peters found it inappropriate and sought to take me away from the rest of the family. She knew I was a trustworthy girl, so she entrusted me with the care of Miss Chamberlain.

                 I did not know of her story, only that she had been living inside a secret room on the corner of the west wing. She was the Nether ghost everyone spoke of. I was not sure why she was placed there in the first place, nor was it my place to ask. Mrs. Peters placed me there without warning, turned the key and left.

                The girl kept looking at me intently as if I should have been the one to start talking. Or perhaps she was observing my every move. I did not know. I wondered for a moment if she were insane. Though, when I looked at her, she seemed to be placid and calm. She did not have a trace of wildness within her. She was subtly rebellious. I could see a fire of boredom in her eyes.

“Well,” she said at length. “What do you think of me?”

“What do I think of you, well… I don’t know… I don’t know what to think.” I gave the best answer I could come up with in such a short bout of time.

“I see why you have been chosen to take care of me. There are not a lot of thoughts in that head of yours, is there?” I took a few steps back and tried to regain control of blooming anger. What did she know about me anyway? I had the power to take her meals away. I could make life a living hell for her. She sensed what I was thinking and smiled.

“You honestly think that after being kept up here like a prisoner that I would give a damn what others thought of me? You would think that I care if my meals are taken away, or if I am not allowed a candle at night? There are worst things than that. My freedom has been ripped away from me. Is that not suffering enough? The rest are but trifles that I endure hour to hour and day to day. I know not of the world, and the world knows naught of me. The world has forgotten me, and I try to forget the world. I can speak to you however I please, Miss Cavell, and it won’t make any god damn difference.”

“You don’t want a friend?” I regretted these words as I had said them. I may have had pity for her before, but I did not have any now. She was a hateful selfish person. I wouldn’t be her friend even if Mrs. Peters paid me extra. I could never be a friend to someone so distasteful. No wonder she was locked away.

“Friend! Ha! A friend is a luxury I cannot afford, Miss Cavell. I don’t disillusion myself with the notion that I could have a friend. Friends can get taken away like possessions. They can get tired of you, they can get sick, move away, or they can drop dead.” The more she spoke, the more wretched she became. How long must I bear her presence!

“Have you ever had a friend?” I did not know why I was bothering to ask.

“I don’t like speaking of the past, Miss Cavell. The past is only pain for me. I bet you have fond childhood memories. I’m sure you have frolicked amongst the flowers. Felt the drops of rain upon your skin. Felt the warmth of a caress or a kiss. I have not been outside this room with my eyes open for two years. The past is dead to me. There is only forward. I count down the minutes and the hours to pass the time. I look forward. I anticipate a future where I can be free. I don’t expect you to understand my words.”

I took a good look at her now. She had dark eyes. It was not that she was purely hateful. The hatred in her eyes was more apparent because her eyes were murky instead of clear. She had long wavy brown hair. It was most matted. She was frail, thin and pail and looked slightly sickly. I think that if she had gotten a tad of fresh air, she could have been beautiful. I could tell by her mouth that she never bothered to smile. Being in this room for two years would not make anyone smile. Her expression was that of a neutral expression. Neither happy nor sad, yet not without feeling either. She had not given up. She had not given in her will to Mrs. Peters. Why was this girl here? Why was she kept a secret in this house? Who exactly was Miss Chamberlain?

Read Chapter 2: Click Here

Hourglass by Alice Montgomery is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
Based on a work at www.reveriesinwonderland.wordpress.com.