The Unseen by Katherine Webb Read Free Book Online

bathroom, the upstairs corridor. She airs guest rooms that she has yet to see any guests use; opens shutters in rooms nobody will enter all day, shuts them again when the sun begins to set. She persecutes flies endlessly, swatting at them; watching those that fly too high, out of reach, waiting for them to tire and die.
    All the time, the quiet resounds in her ears. In London there was the steady hum of the city, even on exclusive Broughton Street. As each set of shutters was opened, a low sound of lives being lived would greet the ears. Cab horses would clatter by, steel feet striking sparks at the end of gaunt, sinewy legs; and motor cars, their engines throbbing like panting dogs. Boys on bicycles, delivery wagons, the ponderous clop of the dray’s hooves.Pedestrians too, mingling voices. The servants could grab a look at passers-by, could keep tabs on the fashions of the day. Now when she opens the shutters Cat is greeted by swathes of green – a landscape, on three sides of the house, unbroken by any sign of human endeavour. The sky is wide and high and the sound is of birdsong, almost exclusively. Now and then a cart passing; now and then a dog barking. It’s unnerving but she can’t resist it, and finds herself hung, pausing at the windows she is meant to be cleaning, her gaze softening, reaching out into this new, quiet distance. And her body needs these rests, like it never has before. She has worked since she was twelve, her muscles made hard by it. But Holloway has made her weak, has made her legs tremble by the time she has climbed from the cellar to the attic.
    At breakfast, she sits with Mrs Bell at the wooden table in the kitchen. The cook’s chair creaks ominously underneath her, all but obscured by her bulk. Only spindly wooden legs are visible, chafing against the flagstones and wobbling with the strain. One day they will snap, Cat thinks. She will not be able to keep from laughing when it happens. She runs the scene in her mind – Mrs Bell, flailing on the floor like a beetle on its back, unable to rise.
    ‘What are you smirking at?’ Mrs Bell asks suspiciously.
    ‘I was picturing you rolling on the floor if your chair broke,’ Cat replies, quite honestly.
    ‘Why, you cheeky minx!’ Mrs Bell gasps, staring, her eyes stretched wide for once; but she can’t seem to find any other riposte, so Cat goes back to eating her porridge. She has to concentrate on eating, in an odd way. She has to concentrate on not noticing she is doing it. If she notices it too much, the flavour of it, the texture, the brief choking sensation of swallowing … then panic rises and makes it impossible.
    ‘I’d been wondering what they locked you up for,’ Mrs Bell manages at last, ‘but like as not it was for impertinence when you should’ve held your tongue! Who was it you gave back-chat to?’she asks, trying to sound angry but unable to hide the curiosity in her voice.
    But Cat can’t answer. At the mention of prison her throat has closed, her mouthful of porridge has nowhere to go. She can feel it clogging her up, sticking to the back of her throat. She rushes to the sink, coughs and gags it all out.
    ‘Saints preserve us! What is the matter with you?’ Mrs Bell exclaims, blood mottling her cheeks. ‘No wonder you’re such a sparrow! The mistress will hear of this.’
    ‘It can only be good economy for her, if I don’t eat,’ Cat gasps, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. Mrs Bell grunts dismissively as Cat returns to the table and pushes the bowl of porridge away.
    ‘Well don’t waste it! Hand it to me,’ Mrs Bell says, and dips her spoon into the bowl. She flicks her eyes at Cat again. ‘What’s that badge you wear?’ She points a finger at the little silver and enamel portcullis pinned to Cat’s collar.
    ‘My Holloway medal. Given to me by my friends, to show that I have been to gaol for the cause,’ Cat says, her fingers drifting up to touch it.
    ‘I hardly think it’s something to be