A timely revenge

The whisper started like a hush, soft enough not to arouse any one but the sleeping girl. Jane awoke, silently and looked up at the ceiling. The room was dimly dark, lit up by a full moon. She heard voices downstairs, stifled laughter. This was a strangers room, and she was a stranger to it. Her own room, much more colourful, more welcoming was currently being decorated, so tonight she was sleeping in one of the guest rooms. There it was again, a whisper. She looked up and her gaze fell upon the photos on the wall, old photos that her mother had informed her were servants that had lived and worked at their house many years before. A beam of moonlight illuminated one. Jane stared. Was it a trick of the light or did the girl in the photo just blink?

“Do that again,” Jane cried out. The girl in the photo blinked again. Jane sat up in bed. She giggled softly then threw off the bedclothes and stepped onto the cold wooden floor. Silently she made her way across the room and looked at the picture. The girl in the photo wore her hair in plaits, and smiled at Jane. The photo was monochrome and old. It had been in Jane’s room as long as she’d recalled but it had never blinked before. The girl in the photo fingered her hair as a white butterfly flew into view and landed on her shoulder. “Ooh,” Jane cooed. The girl stretched out a finger which the butterfly duly flew onto, flapping its wings before fluttering away and into the bedroom. Jane’s eyes followed it as it circled the room then flew out of the open window. She turned back to the photo.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The girl in the photo leaned forward. “Katerina,” she answered. “I used to live here, many years ago. I even had this same bedroom. It was a servant’s room then. The other photographs,” Her finger pointed at a half dozen or so framed photographs scattered on the walls, “they worked here too. Such a long time ago.”

“Can they talk too?” Jane asked running over to a photo of two men holding a bridle of a carthorse.

“No.” Katerina, replied. ”They don’t.” She looked sadly towards one photo of a young man in a footman’s uniform. “They don’t.”

Jane turned around and walked back over.

“You talk funny.”

Katerina smiled. “Do I? Perhaps you are correct. I am…was from a country called Hungary. I came to England when I was twelve with my father. He worked here too.”

“Did your mummy come as well?”

“She died before we came.” Katerina replied.

“What did you do here.” Jane asked.

“Many things, “ came the reply. “I helped in the kitchen, then became a scullery maid, then a parlour maid. I helped looked after the house.”

“Did you know my mother when she was little?”

Katerina giggled. “Oh, no, I am much, much older. I knew your great grandfather though,  Sir William.”

Jane knelt down. “I didn’t know him. He was a knight or something although he didn’t have any armour like Sir Lancelot. I think he had a lot of shops and it made him very rich.”

Katerina remained silent.

“Was it fun? Jane enquired.

“Fun?” The photo seemed to blur. “It was hard work. Your great grandfather made us work very hard. “ She looked over at the footman’s picture and smiled. “His name was Peter. He grew up in the village near here. I liked him. We had fun. He was very sweet.”

Jane looked up at Peter’s photo, then back at Katerina. “Did he kiss you?”

Katerina smiled, then blushed. “Mindenem,” she whispered.

Jane looked puzzled.

“Mindenem, “ she repeated. “It is Hungarian.”

“What does it mean?”

 Katerina paused as if recalling a memory. “It means my everything.”

 “Did he go away?”

“He was killed.”

“In a battle?” questioned Jane.

“No,” Katerina sighed, “no, not in a battle. Someone killed him. “ She looked over at another photo. A distinguished gentleman dressed in top hat and tails.

“Who’s that?”

“That is Sir William Frobisher Jeavons. Your great grandfather.”

Jane stood up and walked over to the photograph. “He looks a bit like daddy although not as fat. Daddy doesn’t wear a hat like that.” She put the photo back and walked back to Katerina’s picture.

“Are you still alive?” she enquired

“I’m dead too, “ she replied.  

The little girl thought on it for a while.

“Were you killed as well?”

“I died in a fire.”

“Did the house burn down, they? Did everyone die?”

“No, only me. They thought I was a witch.”

“You are too pretty to be a witch. Witches are ugly and they have warts and things. And they have a cat. Did you have a cat?”

Suddenly, the bedroom door opened and a man entered.

“Jane, what’s going on? Who were you talking to? Do you know what time it is? It’s time you were asleep.”

She pointed at the wall. “I was talking to Katerina. She knew great grandfather. People said she was a witch but she’s not is she daddy, she’s so pretty. Say hello to my daddy.”

Jane’s father looked at the picture. No words were spoken.

“Please say hello.” Jane repeated. Her father smiled and picked up his daughter.

“You’ve had a bad dream, my little one. Come on I’ll tuck you in.” He gathered her up in bed and stroked her hair.

“She did talk to me daddy, she did, really. “ Her father smiled and nodded.

“I’m sure she did, sweetie. Now go to sleep.” As he pulled the bedroom door shut he glanced at the photo and smiled to himself.

A few minutes later, Jane was sound asleep. All was silent.

Downstairs Jane’s father walked into the drawing room. There were a number of people sitting around talking. He sat down next to his wife.

“Bad dream I think, although she wasn’t upset or anything. Tell me darling, have you talked to her about my grandfather and the family witch.” His wife laughed and shook her head,

“God, no, she’s much too young to know about that.” She replied.

“She seemed to know something about it.”

A young man walked over, glass in hand, obviously having heard the conversation.

“What this Jeavons, family secret is it?”

Jane’s father shrugged. “No, David, well in a way. I think it’s well known around Norfolk. My grandfather, William…”

“Ah, the source of the family fortune.” David, the young man turned and raised a glass to a portrait of a man that hung over the fireplace.

“…well, he made his fortune initially from sugar and slaves. Started a chain of department stores. He’s known for his philanthropy now, but he had another side to him. A darker side. To be totally frank, he got away with murder.”

“What…tell me more.”

“Must have been nineteen twelve, I believe. There was a stable lad, local boy, fell in love with one of the maids. Hungarian or Austrian girl. I think her name was Katerina. Jane mentioned that just now. Anyway Sir William had a roving eye and wanted her for himself. Stable boy was sacked. There was some to-do about this. He struck Sir William. He had his cronies beat up the boy so badly he died. Nothing was proven of course, in those days wealth was above the law. A few days later he tried his luck with the poor maid. She screamed so much, it attracted attention. Some of the other servants came running to the bedroom. She had defended herself with a poker or something of the sort. Drew blood from old William’s head. The servants heard her curse him, first in her own language then in English. She ran out of the house. William called her a witch. There were still many who believed in witchcraft around these parts even then, believe it or not. William was a magistrate. He wasn't going to be bettered by a mere servant and ordered she be found. There was a search and she was cornered in the barn. The barn was set alight, whether by accident or on purpose. It was recorded that she ran burning from the barn, cursing William and his family and promising revenge. Nothing was proven on either count against him but the stigma remained. All forgotten now, of course. Another whisky?”

In the darkness of Jane’s bedroom a butterfly flew into the room, landed firstly on Jane’s cheek then fluttered around, before flying into the photo once more. Katerina held out her hand gently as it landed gracefully on her palm. In an instant her face glowered and she crushed the butterfly, climbed out from the photo and into the bedroom. She hovered above the child’s bed, muttering incantations in Hungarian. Without any warning, the room burst into flames.

Little remained of the wing of the house that Jane had been sleeping in. Only two old photos, untouched by the fire remained. One of a stableboy and one of a young girl in a white dress with a butterfly on her hand.