A Victorian Thriller

Anne and Mary were adopted by Mr Wilder shortly after he had fallen under the horse of a beauteous lady and lost his eyesight.  Mary did not suit his crumbling old mansion.  Slim, white-skinned and fair-haired, she looked like a frightened ghost standing against the black stone walls.  Anne, on the other hand, seemed to fit in with the bricks themselves, being so small and square and dark.

'I shall go mad here!' said Mary, across the rickety oak table at which she and Anne ate their supper.  'I preferred the orphanage.'

'Mary,' said Anne, 'the orphanage was terrible.  You can't want to go back to the gruel, and the cold, and that Mr Ebenezer taking away everything to pay for the rent.'

'Well.'  Mary looked at the window, staring out over the dense canopy of trees that disappeared into the distance.  'Perhaps I don't, but I know there are better places than this.'

The girls heard whinnying and clattering hooves in the courtyard below.  Anne put down her fork and ran to the window.

'It's that Mr Haemogland and Miss Fangthorpe again,' she said.

'Oh, Anne, do leave them alone.'

'But don't you think they're frightfully mysterious?  I do wonder why Mr Wilder keeps asking them round.'

'It's just some business thing, I expect.'

'But he doesn't do any business.  Besides, women don't come round about business.  I suppose he must be thinking of marrying that Miss Fangthorpe.'

'Well,' said Mary, 'if he is, perhaps she'll cheer the place up a bit.'

Anne decided that she could not bear to remain ignorant, so she crept downstairs and listened at the door of the drawing room.  She heard a woman's voice saying, 'It would certainly heal you, but at a price, Mr Wilder.'

'The price cannot be so great, Miss Fangthorpe,' said Mr Wilder.  'You and Mr Haemogland both seem all right to me.'

As Anne leaned in closer to listen, a shadow fell over her, flickering in the light from the lone candle by the staircase.

'Not eavesdropping, I hope, young lady?'

Anne span round in alarm, and saw Mr Haemogland standing over her.  She looked up at him, and considered her answer.  She was not afraid of him, as Mary would probably have been.  After all, what could he do to her?

'I might have overheard a little,' she said.  'I'm worried about Mr Wilder, you see, Mr Haemogland.  He keeps having you here, and he won't say why.  But Miss Fangthorpe was saying something about healing.  Are you a doctor, then?'

Mr Haemogland chuckled, and said, 'I suppose you could say we are both doctors of sorts.  But come now, Miss Anne, you had better go up to your nursery.  Mr Wilder would not want to know that you have been listening to him.'

As they lay in bed that night, in opposite corners of their room, Anne and Mary discussed Mr Wilder and his two visitors.

'What puzzles me,' said Anne, 'is that Mr Wilder isn't ill.'

'He might be,' said Mary.  'You know he doesn't talk to us about anything that matters.  He could be in the most dreadful pain for all we know.'

'He certainly acts as if he is.'

'We know he's in emotional pain, Anne.  Perhaps Mr Haemogland is some sort of psychiatrist, and he's going to try to cure Mr Wilder of his misery.'

'Don't forget Miss Fangthorpe.'

'Oh, but she can't really be a doctor.'

'She talked about "it" curing him,' said Anne, 'as though it were some sort of procedure.  You don't suppose they were talking about restoring his sight?'

'No, Anne, I do not suppose that.  It isn't possible.  A horse trampled his eyes to pieces.  Now go to sleep, please.  I'm tired.'

The next morning, they got the shock of their lives when Mr Wilder stumbled into the nursery with his eyes looking healthier than the girls had ever seen them.  They were wide and frightened, and drizzled with angry red veins, but the irises were round and clear.  He could see.

'Oh, my girls!'

Mary gasped.  'Whatever has happened, Mr Wilder?'

'Miss Fangthorpe…'  He stopped, opened his mouth slightly and ran his tongue over sharp, white teeth.  'She has restored my sight.  I so wanted to see you, girls.  But I should have sent you away before.  You must go now.'

'Go?' said Anne.  'Why?'

'It isn't safe for you.  You must trust me.  Mary.'  He looked at her.  'You don't want to stay here, do you?  You never liked it here.'

'But… where would we go?' said Mary.  'Haven't we a carriage?'

Mr Wilder shook his head.  'I didn't…'

'We'd better go, Mary,' said Anne.  'Now, while we've still got plenty of daylight.  We shall have to go through the forest.'

'My clever Anne… yes… go through the forest in daylight.  Oh, please!'

Mr Wilder's eyes were wider now, staring, even hungry.  Anne grabbed Mary's sleeve and pulled her from the room, past Mr Wilder, who stared after them licking his lips and anchoring himself to the doorframe with his hand.

'But our clothes!' said Mary.  'We've no money or anything!'

'Back to the orphanage, then?'

'Oh dear!'

Anne dragged Mary out of the front door, into the daylight, and then she stopped.  She felt safe out there, though she could not have said why.  Mary was wide-eyed and trembling.  Anne, feeling perfectly calm, turned round and gazed up at the mansion.  The west wing was in darkness, and from one of its windows, the pale face of Mr Wilder was plain to be seen staring down at them.

'Are you all right, Mary?' asked Anne.

'I can't… I don't… oh dear…'

'Don't worry.  I'll look after you.'  Anne looked at her, then back up at Mr Wilder, and gave a sad little wave.  'Do you know, Mary, I never imagined that he had blue eyes.'