'What would you know of sanity?' She spat the words in spite of herself.
'Ah, aggression. That's quite understandable. You don't know why I'm here yet?'
'You were supposed to be proving there are no ghosts in this house.'
'I lied. Unfortunately—especially for me—there are such things as ghosts. To my regret, I've been haunted for most of my life. I'll explain it all to you, I promise.'
There was that affable and concerned person again. Pyke was like an emotional chameleon, changing so fast it was difficult to keep up with him.
Eve fought to control herself when she said: 'I want to know the real reason you came here tonight and why you attacked Lili Peel.'
'Lili Peel. So that's her name, is it? Well, I'm afraid your friend was interfering where she shouldn't. How did she know my original name?'
'She's psychic'
'She must be very good to pick up on it like that.'
'I showed her an old photograph of the Cribbens and the children—the evacuees—who were here in 1943. You were among them.' Eve was still waiting for the right moment to dash up the stairs with Loren.
'I see. But does that mean you knew my name then?'
'Our gardener pointed you out the other day when Gabe found the picture.'
'I remember the time it was taken; all the other children were so glum.'
'They had good reason to be.'
'Yes. Where is the photograph now?'
Eve indicated the hall. 'Down there, near the spinning top.'
'Dear Lord, I even remember that toy. It was one of the few items we were allowed to play with and that was only when the local vicar called in for afternoon tea. The Reverend Rossbridger, if I remember correctly. He thought well of Augustus Cribben—another disciplinarian, you see. He and Augustus were two of a kind in some ways. And of course, both strong believers in the Almighty.'
Eve thought that Pyke might go back down to the hall to retrieve the photograph, but either he was too canny or he'd already lost interest in it. He seemed to be growing restless, one foot tapping on a lower step. Loren's breaths were coming in quick shallow gasps.
'How did the children come to drown in Crickley Hall?' Eve was still playing for time, a distraction, something that would give them a chance to make a break for it. Unaware that the phone lines were down, Eve prayed for the phone across the hall to ring, anything that would draw his attention for a second or two. He had a bad leg, he'd have difficulty chasing them (although he had moved remarkably quickly when he had attacked Lili). She was taken aback by his answer to her question.
'None of the children drowned,' he said. They were all dead before the floodwaters broke.'
Eve stared. Her fear of him reached new heights. 'But everybody said that's how they died,' she managed to say.
'Oh, everybody said it, but that doesn't necessarily make it so. I'm sure there were those in the community who had their suspicions. And those who found the bodies—the police and a few members of the rescue services—must have realized the truth. Possibly Reverend Rossbridger was informed that the children had been murdered and the blame had to lie with Augustus Cribben, who also died that night.
'I only discovered he died of a broken neck and multiple piercings to his body when I searched back through old newspaper stories of that time. I've visited his grave in the church cemetery down the hill and, disappointingly, his marker is quite humble. It's also situated in a very neglected part of the graveyard. Yes, I'm certain the authorities were aware that Augustus killed the children in his care with his bare hands. The marks on the children's necks could hardly have gone unnoticed.'
Appalled, and further shocked, Eve could only react by saying, 'But you—he didn't kill you. How…?'
'I told you I would explain.' Pyke was finding it a relief finally to share his secrets with someone who was neither dumb nor mad like Magda. 'There was a terrible storm that night of the flood, much like this one tonight, which makes it all the more apposite. No thunder and lightning that night, though, just heavy rainfall. None of the children were sleeping…'
71: CAUGHT
Lili groaned and tried to lift her head again, but it was no use: it sank back to the drenched earth.
It was almost cosy lying there. She hardly felt the rain that battered her, even where it drummed on her head and neck; she could not feel the cold at all. No, she was snug, dozing in and out of consciousness, half dreaming, but aware those half-dreams were more like revelations.
Lightning exposed the brown, churning river nearby, its level reaching the top of the banks. Woodland detritus, that which hadn't entangled behind the short wooden bridge—the unstable wooden bridge—was swept along by the current and carried down to the harbour estuary where the twin rivers, the Bay River and the underground Low River, met.
Lili felt rather than saw the hugeness of the room she was in, a room whose only lighting was from strategically placed oil lamps so that shadows hung like dark drapes around its walls.
There is movement, a sound followed by a warning whisper as small figures appear from a doorway on the landing above the hall.
Nine children make their quiet way towards the broad staircase at the end of the L-shaped landing, shoes in their hands, stockinged feet almost silent on the wooden boards. They stop and hold their breaths whenever a floorboard creaks and move on only when there is no reaction to the noise. The older children hold the hands of the younger ones. No one must speak, Susan Trainer has told them all, and no one must cough, sneeze or make a noise of any kind, especially when they passed by certain closed doors behind which their guardians would be sleeping.
Down the stairs they come, in twos, with the eldest, Susan, leading the way, unable to prevent a cracked stairboard creaking here and there even if the children's soft feet tread as lightly as possible. They are all dressed apart from their outdoor coats, which hang in a row on the rack beside the big front door. They will put them on, along with their shoes, before leaving the house.
They steal into the great hall, all of them shivering with trepidation and cold, following their leader, who is as scared as any of them but does her best not to show it. She dreads to think of the consequences if they are caught.
Despite the terrible storm outside, tonight she will take the children away from Crickley Hall. They can no longer stay in the house: it's too dangerous. Mr Cribben has done something bad to little Stefan, something horrible, and the children haven't seen their friend since. Susan is afraid Mr Cribben might do bad things to the rest of them, for he seems to have lost his mind; there is no telling what he might do now. They will make their way down to the village and knock on the door of the first house that has a light in its window. They will beg to be taken in and Susan will tell everything—their cruel treatment at Crickley Hall, the punishments, their meagre rations, the missing boy.
Lili Peel, lying prone on the ground more than six decades later, witnessed this as if she were a ghost herself, hovering close to the terrified orphans, hearing their thoughts, sensing their emotions. But unable to help. Unable to intervene in any way. Her heart reached out to them, for she already knew their bid for freedom would fail.
They are almost halfway across the hall, heading for the coat rack and the locked and bolted front door, when it happens …
•
Pyke smiled as he related the story, but there was no humour in his eyes. The expression in them, Eve observed, ranged from lunacy to kindness, then to an emotionless vacuity, which was how they were at present. Dead eyes. Deadly eyes.