'No, Augustus!' Magda implores him and she runs towards the top of the stairs. 'You mustn't do this! They'll lock you away! Or they'll hang you. Augustus, they will hang you!'
But of course, it is already too late.
Maurice follows her, his long gangly legs making it easy for him to catch up, even though she is running. They descend the stairs together, dread in their hearts…
•
'But by the time we got down there,' Pyke told Eve as coolly as if he were commenting on a slow game of cricket, 'Augustus was at the classroom doorway.'
Loren was now perfectly still in her mother's arms and Eve worried that she might be in shock. As for Eve herself, she was completely unnerved as Pyke recounted his horrific tale. She could have wept for the poor innocents who had been forced from their hiding places to be brutally killed, but she knew she mustn't break down, she had to be ready when the chance to flee came.
'Magda stood in front of her brother, blocking his way, begging him to stop. When I tried to help her, pulling on his arm, trying to divert him from the classroom, he turned and looked at me as if he were seeing me for the first time. Then he started lashing out at me with his stick. I fell to the floor and curled up there so he couldn't hurt me too much. I'll admit, I became hysterical, in fear for my own life, and it was only when Magda fell across me that he held back. It was as if he suddenly remembered the other children, because he stared through the classroom doorway. Perhaps one of them screamed or scraped a chair, distracting him from me.
'He left us lying there, both of us weeping with pain and despair. But before he went in, I saw his face, and I've never forgotten it. It was full of hatred and anger—no, wrath would be the better word. He was possessed by it. Nothing would stop him murdering every one of those children. I knew it, Magda knew it. But what we feared most was that he would turn on us once all the others had been dealt with. It was in his eyes, a madness, when he stared at us both.'
Pyke fingered the end of his walking stick, but did not pick it up.
'Magda knew there was no going back now. We might have been able to account for the teacher's absence and we could cover up Stefan's death by saying he'd broken the strict rules and gone down to the cellar on his own the only time the cellar door had been left unlocked, but how could we explain the deaths of all the other orphans? No, we were in an impossible situation.
'Magda's face became grim, more stony than I'd ever known it to be. We had to leave the house, she told me. Leave the charnel house before we ourselves became victims. We had to get far away from Crickley Hall. I think by that time she had cracked like her brother. Oh, you wouldn't know it to look at her, but there was a distance in her manner, as if mentally she had already left Crickley Hall.
'We didn't even stop to put on coats; we fled the house as we were. The keys were lying on the floor just outside the kitchen and Magda picked them up and unlocked the front door. We didn't care about the storm, we just wanted to get away from the carnage. I had no idea where we were going, or what we were to do: I went with her and once outside she never spoke another word. Of course, I didn't realize it at the time, but she was in shock, terrified of her own brother, knowing that they would both be in terrible trouble. Something inside her closed down that night and apparently she has remained in that state 'til this day. We stumbled through the storm for most of the night, fortunately missing the flood that created even more havoc.'
He shook his head at the thought.
'And while we fled, Augustus Cribben's rampage continued…'
•
The grooves that Lili's tense fingers had dug in the soft earth had grown deeper so that only the second knuckles of her hand were visible. She remained physically snug in her semi-conscious condition, as if cocooned from the rain, but her mind was in panic as Cribben went on with the killings…
Three of the orphans are concealed beneath the tables that are used as desks in the makeshift classroom. Gloomy light from the hall spills through the open doorway and they silently pray they will not be discovered in the shadows under the tables. They listen to the familiar sound— swish-thwack! it goes, swish-thwack!—and it is growing louder as the guardian draws close.
Cribben pauses on the threshold and he knows where the children are hiding.
Swish-thwack!
The swift sharp pain on his bare thigh is exquisite, but it fails to subdue the burning agony inside his head. He feels his brain must explode into molten fragments.
Oh Lord, he silently beseeches, relieve me of this cruel burden! Take away this penance and I will serve you all my days!
He sways, almost staggers, and his eyes are shut tight against the suffering. One hand presses his brow in the vain hope of absorbing the worst of it. Augustus Cribben forces his eyes open again and even the feeble light from the oil lamps hurts them. Almost overwhelmed but driven by pain, he squints into the shadows and finds the small crouching figures hiding under the tables.
It's these worthless children who should and would be punished. They had tried to sneak away from Crickley Hall, no doubt to spin their lies and accusations of maltreatment to anyone who would listen. How he despises these wretched ingrates and sinners. He will not allow them to spread their falsehoods. No, tonight they must pay for their treachery. Tonight their iniquitous souls will be offered up to the Lord before they can be corrupted irredeemably. Only then could a benevolent God grant them His forgiveness.
Like a lightning bolt from a troubled sky, a fresh excruciating pain sears his brain and he howls his confusion and distress. The children! They were why he was being punished! He must find them all and give them up to the Lord before their corruption was complete.
Swish-thwack!
He moves into the classroom and the orphans cower, try to make themselves even smaller. But the tables are swept aside and they are exposed. Cribben grabs the nearest child, seven-year-old Mavis Borrington, and it is easier to twist and snap her neck than choke her. While he throttles nine-year-old Eugene Smith, the third child scuttles into a corner and buries his face in his hands, his body curled up into a tight ball. Seven-year-old Arnold Brown becomes perfectly still as if by not moving he will not be noticed. But he is mistaken.
First, Cribben flogs the screaming boy's back with the cane, and when his victim tries to crawl away, Cribben stands over him. The guardian leans over Arnold and cups his strong hands beneath the evacuee's chin. Cribben jerks the boy's head backwards and relishes the sound of small bones breaking.
There are still three more to account for. He looks about him, but there is no one else—no one living—in the room. He is breathing heavily with the exertion, but there is a gleam in his black eyes that indicates a spiteful lunacy.
He leaves the room and continues the search.
Swish-thwack!
He makes his way upstairs…
72: FEAR
Pyke was now standing on the small square landing beneath the tall window, the torchère behind him; sitting had proved too uncomfortable, his knee was aching. He contemplated Eve and Loren, who still lay sprawled on the stairs, the frightened girl comforted in her mother's arms.
'I returned to London on my own, you know.' He appeared to be boasting, as though he had achieved something heroic and grand. 'A mere lad of twelve years. And I survived, even though there was a war on; or perhaps it was because of the war that I went unnoticed for some time. Eventually I found a home and was adopted by a well-meaning but simple couple who had no—'