tumbldown stories

Cold, so cold

(originally published October 2016)

"Mr Redbridge! Must I request again that you not leave your window open all hours? Must we really have this conversation yet again?"

Redbridge turned, settling his overcoat over his shoulders. "I can hardly see the use, Miss Dagenham; I have already explained my reasons, and spent no little time of my own in proofing the door and walls to be sure that my personal circumstances don't affect your other lodgers."

"I understand your reasons, and yes, the tapestries you've hung are perfectly lovely, but really, it does not credit the house to have a great gaping window open, all alone on the fourth floor. Please! Can't you simply keep it closed whilst you are out, for appearances' sake?"

Redbridge laid the glove he was about to put on deliberately back into his hand. This had been building for the whole of the nearly two weeks since he had taken these lodgings, and now, it seemed, everything was coming to a head. "Miss Dagenham, I can assure you, my actions must not be taken as a reflection on your hospitality, nor on your ability to keep house! I could find, I assure you, no more congenial lodgings than this, and your wisdom and economy in having central heating put on instead of subjecting your tenants to the bother of poking their own fires is part and parcel of that. But if I cannot control the output of the radiator, I must moderate the temperature somehow – the fault in this is all mine, I assure you; the temperatures you keep are doubtless perfect for your other lodgers. In fact, I've not heard a word of complaint from old Horsham at the club – and he has nothing but abuse for the boys there when they fail to keep the fires up exactly to his demands.

"You see, ever since I was a boy, I have had a phenomenal resistance to the cold; there is something in my constitution that prefers a mountain spring to the beaches of the Riviera. But the counter side of that is that I can hardly stand the heat at all – not in India on service, where I volunteered for hill duty in the winter and somehow convinced my commander that I was so mad as to need mustering out, not in South America, and not here in London." He paused for a second. "Perhaps in one place, I managed to feel comfortable; in Norway, out along the far northern fjords. But there, and nowhere else; my general unease with the temperature is a familiar state, and I shan't consider it a failing on your part that here isn't different from anywhere else."

Miss Dagenham drew herself up, speaking deliberately. "If Norway was comfortable for you, then perhaps you should return – or find one of their ice maidens for your bed here – someone like that could surely keep you as cool as you desire!"

Redbridge leaned back. "Miss Dagenham, the only ice maiden here is the one with whom I am remonstrating, and if I carried this train of thought any further, you should be perfectly justified in throwing me out to seek another apartment!" She nodded, lips pursed. "But I have no desire to leave this place, especially under such circumstances, and as I have told you there is nowhere else in this city that might suit me better. Surely we can compromise? Isn't there another room in this house, somewhere less securely insulated than the rest, some room whose occupant complains of a draft and might be persuaded to change for mine?"

She shook her head, thinking. "No, no, I don't believe so – the workmen were very thorough, and I checked their progress throughout as best as I was able. When you arrived and did ask for my coldest and draftiest room I did have such available, and...." She trailed off, a flicker of doubt or fear crossing her face.

"What? What is it?"

"No, that's not quite correct – but I am afraid." She clasped her hands in front of her.

"Afraid? Afraid of what?"

Miss Dagenham looked down, face flushed. "Afraid that you will mock me for saying this – I want to be clear, in advance, that I don't believe in such stories, and that I don't for a second credit the idea that the attic room is haunted."