Jennifer Crusie's Blog: Argh Ink

Andie followed Mrs. Crumb into a short dismal hallway with faded wallpaper and a worn wood floor. The housekeeper turned to go up a narrow flight of equally worn wooden stairs that were probably the servant stairs, and then she stopped on the first step, her watery, protruding eyes even with Andie’s now.

“I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea,” she began. “I’m sure Mr. Archer just forgot to tell me—” She looked past Andie and scowled. “Now what are you doing out here?” she snapped, and Andie turned and saw Alice standing behind her, looking even smaller and thinner than she had in the kitchen, her neck festooned with all that jewelry, the headphones from her Walkman still over her ears.

“Hello, Alice,” Andie said.

The deep shadows under Alice’s eyes and cheekbones made her little face almost skull-like. She stared at Andie for a minute and then pushed past her and Mrs. Crumb and began to climb the stairs, something stuffed under her arm.

Andie reached out and touched her sleeve and Alice jerked away and kept going.

“Is that a doll?” Andie asked, and Alice stopped a couple of steps above her and took her headphones off.

She held up a stuffed doll with a bluish-white head, its three-tiered sepia-toned skirt flaring out from a faded gold ribbon belt around its lumpy waist. The thing looked like it had been left to mold before Alice had found it, the face and dress mottled with age. “It’s Jessica,” Alice said and went on up the stairs.

It’s dead, Andie thought.

“She won’t give that up,” Mrs. Crumb said, in her idea of a whisper. “I’ve tried giving her other dolls but she just wants that one. It’s not right. We should do something about that, you and me.”

Andie watched Alice’s straight little back climb the stairs without wavering even though she must have heard the housekeeper’s voice. “If that’s the doll Alice wants, that’s the doll she gets.”

Mrs. Crumb sucked in her breath and shook her head and then continued up the stairs.

They reached another short hall on the second floor, and Mrs. Crumb walked around the stair well and started up another flight. “Nursery’s on the third floor. Keeps the noise down.”

“Noise?” Andie said, following an entirely silent Alice, but Mrs. Crumb didn’t speak again until they were on the third-floor landing in another cramped little hall.

“This is the bathroom,” she said proudly, opening a door opposite the stairs that led to a large vintage washroom with a freestanding brass-and-frosted-glass shower in the middle of the hardwood floor. “You’re sharing this with me. My room’s on the other side”—she nodded toward the front of the house—”but I know you won’t mind since we’re going to be such good friends.” Then she moved toward the back of the house to a door that was ajar because Alice had walked through it moments before.

“This is your bedroom,” Mrs. Crumb said, pushing the door open wider.

Andie followed her into a large, high-ceilinged paneled room, dominated by a four-poster bed and a stone mantel surrounding a gas fireplace.

“And that’s the nursery through there.” Mrs. Crumb jerked her thumb at a door to the right that was also ajar, probably from Alice walking it through it, too. “I’m going to go make you a nice hot toddy now. Just the thing to help you drop off to sleep.” She smiled again, and again it didn’t reach her eyes, and then she went back out through the hall door.

“Hot toddy,” Andie said, not even sure what that was, and walked over to the open door and looked through it.

The nursery was huge, maybe thirty feet across, with a bank of barred windows across the back including a little bay-windowed alcove with a window seat full of books spilling onto the floor. There were two narrow twin beds, their mattresses naked, an ancient rocker with chipped white paint, a rump-sprung old sofa in front of a cold gas fireplace, a battered table with paper and pencils on it and several mismatched chairs scattered around it, and an old TV in the middle of the room with an ancient boom box on top of it. At the far end was a cold gas fireplace with a small, modern fire extinguisher on the mantel. It was about as cozy as an abandoned mental hospital.

Andie crossed the room and opened a door on the other side and found herself in another short hall. In front of her the door was open to a small bathroom, to the right was a stone archway to another hall, and to the left was a closed door.

Jesus, she thought. This place is Little Gormenghast. I’m going to get lost here and never be found.

She opened the door to the left and found Alice sitting on a twin bed, leaning toward an old white rocker at the foot of the bed. The walls were pink, her bedside table had a pink lamp, and her bedspread was pink and covered with daisies.

“This is my room!” Alice said, straightening as she clutched her blue Jessica doll to all the jewelry on her thin little chest. “You have to knock before you come in!”

Andie surveyed the little room, puzzled. “Do you like pink?”

“No!”

“I didn’t think so. Sorry about not knocking.”

Andie closed the door and then crossed the small hall into the larger one and found another staircase on her left, this one stone and much grander, and to her right a massive stone archway. On the wall in front of her was another door, so she opened it.

Carter jerked back against his headboard, his eyes wide, almost dropping the comic book he’d been reading. Then he saw her and scowled. “You ever hear of knocking?”

“Sorry,” Andie said. “I can’t tell which doors are rooms and which ones are halls.”

“This one’s a room,” Carter said, and went back to his comic.

Andie looked around and saw ancient heavy furniture and a bed covered with old blankets in various shades of drab. The only interesting things were the stacks of comic books, papers, and pencils on the bedside tables that said Carter did something besides glare and eat, and the carpet at the end of the bed that was riddled with scorch marks. Pyro, she thought, and was grateful the house was mostly stone. She looked up to see Carter watching her, his face stolid, so she nodded and began to close the door only to stop when she took a second look at his bedside table.
There was a lighter on it, a cheap plastic job. She opened the door wider and saw two more on the other table.

He was still staring at her, and she thought about saying, “What in the name of god do you need three lighters for?” But it was her first night and Carter already didn’t like her and she was too damn tired.
“Don’t set anything on fire,” she told him, and closed the door.

Then she walked through the stone arch on her right and almost ran into an ancient wood railing that ran around three sides of an open space. The railing rocked a little as she put her hands on it, so she looked over the edge carefully.

The opening dropped two stories down to a stone floor, empty in the growing darkness.

Okay, then, Andie thought, and made a circuit of the gallery, discovering doors that led into the nursery and into the servants’ stairwell. Then she went back to the little hall and to Alice’s room where she knocked.

“Go away,” Alice said.

Andie went in and saw that Alice had changed into a too-large jersey T-shirt that hung down past her knees, clearly a hand-me-down from some adult. She looked both pathetic—poor little Alice had to get ready for bed on her own—and eerie—poor little Alice‘s shirt said, “Bad Witch” on it in sickly green letters. She looked oddly defenseless without her armor of necklaces—they were hanging over her lampshade now—but with her white-blonde hair standing out every which way, she also looked demented. We’ll comb that tomorrow, Andie thought.

“Sorry,” she told Alice. “I just wanted to say that if you need me, I’m on the other side of the nursery.”

“I won’t need you.” Alice got into bed and pulled her covers over her head.

“Right.” Andie noticed that Jessica had fallen to the floor. “You dropped something.” She bent and picked up the old doll and poked Alice under the covers.

“Hey!” Alice said, and then Andie pulled back the covers and handed her the doll.

“Good night,” Andie said, and Alice pulled her covers up over her head again.

“Yes, we’re going to be great pals,” Andie said, and headed back across the nursery to her own room, thinking that it was no surprise the nannies had cracked. They’d probably expected to be put living in the tomb at any moment, probably by Carter and Alice.
She heard something from the hallway by Alice’s room and went back to check. Alice’s door had come partly open, and inside Alice was talking.

“She’s not staying,” Alice was saying. “She’s just going to be here a month. She’s not even a nanny. It’s okay. We’re staying right here.”

Andie pushed open the door a little more expecting to see Carter, and Alice looked around, alone in her room.

“I told you,” she began.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody,” Alice said, turning her head toward the wall.

Imaginary friend, Andie thought, and said, “Okay.”

Then she turned to go and saw the white rocker at the end of the bed.

It was rocking.

She looked back at Alice who met her eyes defiantly.

“What?” Alice said.

She did that, Andie thought, and said, “Nothing. Good night,” and closed the door, now in complete sympathy with the nannies who’d bolted.

Anybody with sense would.