'Only nine bodies was found inside the house, all of 'em in the cellar,' said Percy, a mistiness in his eyes now. 'It were reckoned the other two'd been washed into the well by the floodwater an' the underground river had carried them out to the bay. Maurice Stafford and the little Polish boy, Stefan, that were. Their bodies were never recovered. The question at the time were why was the children down there when Cribben coulda taken 'em up to the top of the house, or even the landing, which was high enough.
'Augustus Cribben's body were found dead in the big hall, his neck an' back broken, his body cut to pieces when the floodwaters smashed through the window over the stairs. They said he were discovered naked.'
Eve frowned and suddenly felt colder.
'Magda Cribben,' Percy continued after a moment, 'were found next mornin', waitin' alone on the platform of the railway station at Merrybridge. No one knew how she got there. She were only in her usual black dress and brogues—no coat an' no hat—an' she couldn't answer no questions, couldn't speak at all. Never spoke another word.'
'Good God,' said Eve. 'What happened to her?'
'She were put in what they used to call an asylum.'
'She was mad?'
'Mad an' dumb. Couldn't or wouldn't say a word. When she got too old they put her in a nursing home.'
Percy drained his tea, which was cold by then. He placed the cup and saucer on the table and rose to his feet.
'I best be goin', missus. That's all I can tell you 'bout the evacuees who came to Crickley Hall, poor souls.'
'But there must have been an investigation of some kind into why the children were in the cellar. It doesn't make sense.'
'If there were, the outcome were kept quiet. Yer have to remember there were a war goin' on. People had enough to worry about. An' parents wouldna let their kiddies be evacuated at all any more if they thought bad things was goin' happen to 'em. No, I think the gov'mint in them days didn't want to cause no fuss, morale of the country an' all that. An' there were no proper evidence agin' Augustus Cribben anyway. Even the vicar, old Rossbridger, still spoke highly of the man. The only person left who knew what'd been goin' on at Crickley Hall was Magda Cribben an' she weren't sayin'. But y'know, I think Rossbridger were in league with the authorities who wanted things hushed up, 'cause Cribben were buried without ceremony an' his grave were right at the back of the graveyard.'
Percy managed a faint smile for Eve, but the melancholy remained in his faded eyes.
'I'll be getting' on with the garden. I've given yer enough to think on.'
Eve stood too. 'Thank you, Percy,' was all she could think of to say; her head was reeling by now.
Donning his cap and adjusting it on his head, he walked to the door and turned back to her before opening it.
'Are things all right fer yer here, Missus Caleigh?' he asked.
Eve wondered what she could tell him, what he would believe. 'Yes, Percy. Everything's fine.'
'You'd let me know…?' He did not complete the sentence.
Know what? That Crickley Hall was haunted? That the spirits of the children who had died here were somehow making her aware of their presence? That there might possibly be a connection between them and her own missing son? It was too soon to tell. Besides, she could scarcely believe it herself.
'Everything's fine,' she repeated. And her mind was suddenly made up: she knew what she should do.
25: BULLY
Now it was not in Loren Caleigh's nature to hit anybody; in fact, never in her life had she raised a hand or fist in anger, let alone physically struck someone. She abhorred violence in any form and she hated confrontation almost as much. She didn't like it when Dad and little Cam used to play-wrestle on the carpet, Dad allowing her tiny brother to think he'd pinned him down before Dad reared up and held him high over his head until Cam, who loved it when that happened, 'squealed' for mercy, both of them ending up giggling and rolling around the floor again. It always made Mummy laugh too (Mummy laughed a lot in those days), but Loren herself had only smiled, pretending to enjoy the game.
Then one day, Loren had returned home from school and burst into tears. It turned out that a particularly nasty girl in a class a year above Loren's had been picking on her for several weeks, for no other reason, it seemed, than Loren had an American father, someone who 'talked funny'. (Gabe and Eve suspected there were probably other reasons, such as their daughter's own shyness and her quiet personality.) Eve had wanted to complain to the school's headmistress, but Loren had begged her not to. 'It will only make matters worse,' she had wailed. So Dad, much to Mummy's protests, had shown Loren what to do when you were picked on by a bully who was not only older but bigger too. This, of course, was if you'd been pushed to the limit and there was no other way to settle things.
The trick was to get in the first blow. Once you knew there was only one way for the situation to go and it was bound to get physical, you had to strike first. But—'this is important, this is very important'—aim for the bridge of the nose. Not the tip of the nose, nor any other place like the jaw, and never the chest (belly if you just wanted to wind them, but it was not advised). Just that spot at the bridge of the nose, 'smack-down between the peepers'. That should do enough damage to finish it right there and then—'And if it doesn't, get the hell out.'
Warming to the subject—and to Mummy's further chagrin—Dad had told her: 'If your opponent is much bigger than you, or there's more of 'em, never, but never, take it outside. In a room you got furniture to throw, chairs to use as a shield or to whack their heads with, walls to back up against, tables you can push 'em over, and even bits and pieces—say like vases or ornaments—you can throw at the other guy, make 'em back off.'
Mummy realized Dad was half fooling around, but she was angry anyway. Violence could never be an answer, she'd said, and Dad had winked at Loren.
As it happened, the bully girl in question was removed from the school after it was discovered that she was forcing girls even younger than Loren to hand over their dinner money and pocket money. Also, a supply teacher's purse had gone missing from her handbag and the bully girl was discovered in the girls' toilets counting out the change by another teacher. So, much to Loren's relief (and her parents'), the problem was resolved. Whether or not she would have had the courage to 'punch the bully's lights out', as Gabe would have it, was another matter entirely.
But two years later, on a damp Monday afternoon in October, she had certainly used the tactic on Seraphina Blaney. To her dismay, Loren had found herself in the same class at Merrybridge Middle School as the girl she had met—acrimoniously—just before. She remembered her in the store at Hollow Bay, a big girl, stocky, with a face that might have been pretty had the jaw not been too heavy, the forehead too bulbous and the thin lips too scowling.
The moment they set eyes on each other, which was when Loren was being introduced to the class by the teacher, Loren knew she was in for a hard time. Her eyes had locked with Seraphina's, and Loren had recognized the girl who had stared at her with such spite on Saturday. Seraphina had whispered something to the girl sitting next to her and they had both sniggered into their hands. It had turned into a bad day.
Loren had been subjected to mean stares and flicked elastic bands to the back of her neck throughout lessons. At lunchtime, Seraphina, seated at a table, had deliberately stuck out a foot as Loren passed by with her tray of food; Loren had stumbled, tipped the tray, and the full plate on it had skittered across the floor. Losing the macaroni with cheese and jacket potato wasn't the worst part: it was the humiliation that turned her face beet-red in front of the school that Loren hated.