He took Carolan's hand, and she descended the stairs with him reluctantly.
"What an odd, nasty smell!" she said, and her teeth began to chatter.
"Earth and worms and dead people!" said Charles. That is what you smell." His voice was shrill with excitement. Now Carolan's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness; they were standing in what was like a room, very cool and quiet, she thought.
"On the ledges," said Charles with his mouth close to her ear, 'are the coffins. Oh, does it make your flesh creep, Carolan?”
"No!" lied Carolan.
"But I like outside best.”
"But you wanted to come, Carolan. You said you did.”
"Yes, but we have been. I can catch you; you cannot walk faster than I can run.”
"Would you be scared to stay down here all night. Carolan?”
"I would not stay here all night.”
"But if you did ...?”
Her show of courage deserted her; she made for the steps.
"Listen!" said Charles.
"What was that?”
She stood still; she could hear nothing but the wild beating of her own heart and Charles's breathing. He caught her shoulder suddenly; he gave her a little push backwards; her fingers touched the clammy wall.
She shrieked, and then horror silenced her, for Charles had leaped up those steps and had shut the door on her. She scrambled up the steps as fast as she could, but the door was already closed. Now there was no comforting light at all... nothing but the damp darkness. She beat her fists on the door.
"Let me out! Let me out! Please ... please let me out!" There was no answer. She went on beating her little hands against the heavy door.
She found the lock. She pushed, she kicked. But Charles had locked the door; he had taken away the key.
Carolan shut her eyes tightly and pressed her face against the door; she felt that a thousand horrors were rushing up the steps after her; she waited for something terrible to happen. She went on waiting.
Nothing happened but the awful stillness pressed in en her, and the cold damp darkness was more unendurable than anything else could have been.
She could not keep her eyes closed for ever; she must open them.
Fearfully she looked over her shoulder. She could just make out the dark entrance to the room; she turned and pressed her back against the door, her eyes fixed on the entrance to that room. Whatever was coming for her would come from that direction, she knew. She remembered the stories she had heard whispered by the servants; Jennifer had told her some horrible stories about dead people. Would they be angry with her for venturing into their home? She had lied; she had said she was unafraid, believing she would not be called upon to prove her lack of fear. Jennifer said liars went to hell; but what was hell, compared with this dark home of the dead?
"Charles!" she screamed; but the sound of her own voice, echoing about her. frightened her so much that she pressed her lips together lest any sound escaped to terrify her.
She did not know what to do. A sob shook her. She began wildly kicking the door again, but the hollow sound of her kicks echoed through the place as her voice had done.
"Mammal Mammal' The words must escape. She shut her eyes and began to pray.
"I did not want to come here. I took only one small piece of sugar yesterday. It was not I who put my finger in the apple jelly. I did not. I did not! If I could get out of here. I would never do anything wrong again. I would never make faces at anyone... not even Jennifer...”
What was that? Only some small animal scuttling along down there in the gloom. She started to shiver, and her face was wet, but not with tears, for strangely she had shed no tears. Tears were soft and comforting things, and there was no comfort for her in this dark place.
Would they come out of their coffins? What would they look like? She shut her eyes tightly. I will not look at them... I will not look.
Perhaps they would force her to open her eyes, and they would be horrible ... horrible and angry with her for coming into their house.
"Oh, let me out. let me out!" she sobbed.
She found she was lying on the damp ground, her head pressed against the door, her hands over her ears, great sobs shaking her. Something must happen soon. Now she lifted her hands; she must hear. She was sure strange noises were going on all about her. Was it better to hear or not to hear? To see or not to see?
A ghostly voice whispered: "Carolan!”
She trembled.
"Carolan!" said the voice again. She stared at the entrance to the room which was the home of the dead, and she heard the voice again: "Carolan! Carolan! Are you there. Carolan?”
It was Everard's voice, coming through the door, and she was almost fainting with the joy of hearing Everard's voice; but she could not speak though her lips were moving. Frantically she tried to find her voice; he would go away: and he would leave her. He was there, but she had lost her voice and could not call to him.
"Carolan! Carolan. Are you there, Carolan?" She tried to get to her feet, but she was shaking so much she could not stand.
"Please..." she managed to utter, but her teeth chattered, and the words could not come out.
She tried again and again, and then she heard Everard's footsteps going away.
Despair seized her. She could shriek now.
"Everard! Everard! I am here. Oh, please get me out, Everard!”
But she was too late, for he had gone, and she would have to stay here all the night. The night? But here in this dark place it was always night. There was the faintest gleam of comfort in the thought, and it gave her the courage to raise herself and to turn her gaze on the dark entrance to the room.
It began again now the staring about, the closing of her eyes; one moment alert, the next shutting out all sound and all sight.
Every movement about her set her heart pounding afresh. Sometimes it was the rustle of the trees outside; sometimes it was the call of a bird.
"Everard, come back." she prayed.
"I can talk now ... I can talk." And she went on talking, just to assure herself that her voice was still hers to command.
Surely Everard would come back! Why had he said her name if he had not thought she might be there?
"Carolan!" A key turned in the lock, and Everard almost fell over her, lying there. He picked her up. She stared at him, still terrified, wondering if one of the dead ones had come for her and, as an additional torture, had made himself look like Everard. Everard sat down on the top step, just as though it was anybody's step, and held her in his arms. She thought he looked frightened, but she only seemed to see things through a haze.
He said: "Everything is all right now, Carolan. I am taking you out of here.”
She was shaking so much she could not answer him. He was very tender, Jennifer said he was a mollycoddle. He did not play games; he liked his books; one day he would be a parson like his father, and write sermons all day long. But one thing Carolan knew instinctively about Everard; he would never lock frightened little girls in with the dead; and to Carolan, newly released from hell, he was wonderful.
He went on talking while she lay in his arms, which was just what she wanted him to do.
"There is nothing to be afraid of, Carolan. The dead cannot hurt anyone; besides, they are your own dead here. They would love you if they were alive, just as people at home love you.”
Just as people at home loved her? Charles? Jennifer? The squire? But did it matter what Everard said! She only wanted his protecting arms round her and to listen to his soothing voice.