Spider Light (37 page)

George Lincoln, his face contorted and frozen in the last agony of death, glared sightlessly at her.

Bryony cried out, and began to back away from the bed, still clutching the lamp, her free hand thrust out in front of her as if to ward off the sight of the terrible thing lying on the bed. Stupid, he’s dead–he’s been dead for hours by the look of him…he can’t possibly hurt you, poor old George.

She was halfway along the landing, heading for the stairs, to
summon Daniel Glass and Prout, when above her head–which presumably was Toft House’s attic floor–came a series of soft creakings exactly as if someone was walking stealthily across a floor.

At the last minute Maud had decided to stay hidden in the house to watch the final unfolding of her plan. It was so beautiful a plan, so neat and smooth, she could not bear to just go away and not know its culmination.

And something else kept her here–something she hardly dared admit to, but which had been gradually nagging. Where was she to go? She tried to ignore this nagging thought, but it got a claw-hold on her mind, squeezing almost everything else out. Where will you go, Maud? It’s all very well to have made that frantic journey to Seven Dials, and you did that very well indeed. But you had a purpose, an aim, and once this is over, you won’t have any purpose at all.

Maud could not think what she could do or where she would go. She had almost all of the £200 from the desk, and that would last quite a long time, but what would she do when it was all used up? Would she have to find work? She had no knowledge of how you went about finding work. All she could do was paint and play the piano. She might get a position as a governess, but she thought you needed references for that, and she did not have any.

But first things first. She would make absolutely sure what
happened here tonight. She would lie in wait and watch. She decided to hide in the attics, at the head of a narrow little flight of stairs through a small door. If she left that door ajar, she would be able to hear most of what went on. She would not be able to see any of it, which was a pity, but you could not have everything.

The attics were silent and dark, and there was a thick layer of dust everywhere. Maud’s eyes adjusted to the dimness fairly quickly, and she made out the shapes of discarded household items. Pieces of furniture that no one had a use for any longer or that needed mending; bundles of old newspapers; two or three deep old tea chests which would contain clothes or curtains. She thought her mamma’s clothes were up here. It was quite comforting to know that, as if a little part of mamma was still in the house, looking after her.

At one end of the attics was a massive water tank, with a pipe opening into the roof to catch the rainwater. The tank took up the entire space between the floor and the sloping ceiling on that corner of the house, and Maud found its squat blackness somehow sinister. But there was no need to sit anywhere near it; she could curl up by the door, with her back to the tank.

She found some old brocade curtains in the smallest of the chests, and made herself comfortable. She had no idea how long she might have to wait, but it did not matter.

Bryony had half fallen down the stairs, and was across the hall and into the safe warm scullery almost without realizing it.

She gabbled out what she had found, and halfway through the story discovered she was clinging to Daniel as if he was a life raft in a tempest. She blushed, and tried to withdraw her hands, but he held on to her.

When Bryony said, ‘I may have imagined the sounds, but I didn’t imagine George Lincoln’s body,’ he said, grimly, ‘I don’t think you imagined the sounds at all.’

‘Who…’ But Bryony already knew the answer to that.

‘At a guess,’ said Daniel, ‘it’s Maud Lincoln.’ He looked across
at Freda, who was staring at them both, her mouth a round O of surprise, and said, ‘Matron, do you feel up to walking down to Amberwood and bringing the police sergeant back here? You’ll be perfectly safe–our quarry’s in this house. But I think we’re going to need some help with what’s ahead of us.’

Really, thought Bryony, Prout was a cold-hearted, self-serving creature, and she would not have wagered tuppence on her honesty, but you had to hand it to the old girl–when it came to a situation of this kind, she was no coward.

She said, ‘I’ll go at once, Dr Glass. I’ll be as swift as I can.’

‘Bryony, you stay here. I’ll go upstairs.’

‘Armed with only a hypodermic needle?’ Bryony was glad this came out firmly and very nearly ironically.

‘Chloroform,’ he said, reaching into his bag. ‘It’ll be effective and fast.’

‘I’ll come with you. She may not be there, though. I may have imagined it.’

‘I don’t think you did,’ said Daniel.

Maud had heard them all come in, and her heart leapt. She edged cautiously to the door and listened. With a shiver of fear and anger, she recognized the three voices. Matron Prout, Bryony Sullivan and Dr Glass. The very three people she prayed would not come! The very ones who would recognize her!

She frowned, thinking hard. Even though her beautiful plan for putting Nell Kendal into Latchkill was going to fail, there was nothing to prevent Maud herself from getting away. Was there?

It sounded as if someone was in George’s room now–was it Bryony? Yes, that was surely her voice crying out in shock. Then there was the sound of running footsteps, going back down the stairs. Within a couple of minutes the footsteps returned, and this time Maud definitely heard Bryony’s voice and also Dr Glass’s. Might they come up here after all? This was getting a little dangerous–she ought not to have stayed in the house after all.

Maud glanced back into the attics. If anyone did come up here it should be possible to hide somewhere. In one of the corners? Behind the water tank? She still did not like the tank much, but if it was a choice between that or being dragged back to Latchkill…

She began to move warily across the floor, trying not to make the old timbers creak under her feet because if Bryony or Dr Glass heard that they would know she was here. She moved round the piles of household jumble, testing each floorboard before putting any weight on it. Back and back…almost there. They’re about to find Plumtree’s body.

Maud’s heart was hammering against her ribs–or was it her heart? She frowned, listening. Wasn’t it Thomasina and Simon again? Tap-tap…Tap-tap…

Anger mixed with despair flooded over her. She thought those two had gone. Surely they must be dead by this time? But they were not dead; they were still hammering to get out of Twygrist…Tap-tap…Maud put her hands over her ears to shut the sounds out. In Latchkill that had blotted them out very well indeed, but it did not do so tonight. Was that because Toft House was nearer to Twygrist than Latchkill? Was it because Thomasina and Simon were getting nearer to the surface? She closed her eyes, but that was worse because they were both there in the darkness behind her eyelids–their hands were worn right down to the wrists now. Thomasina turned her dreadful, hollow-eyed face to Maud, and said it did not matter at all: the bones of their arms were making much better hammers. They would soon be out, and then they would come to find Maud…

She was pressed up against the water tank by this time; she could feel the surface against her arm, cold and faintly damp. When she knocked against it with her hand there was the faint slop of water inside. Horrid.

Footsteps were coming up the attic stair now; if she did not hide properly she would be caught. She shrank right down onto the floor, folding her arms tightly over her head. If only
Thomasina and Simon would be quiet for a while she could concentrate on remaining hidden, and on what she would do when she escaped.

But Thomasina and Simon would not be quiet; they banged harder and harder, and the banging became mixed up with the too-fast beating of Maud’s heart, and with the faint sinister lapping of the dark cold water inside the tank. Maud suddenly saw she might never be free of those two, it might take years and years for them to batter their way out of the kiln room. Years and years, during which Maud would know they were getting nearer and nearer…

She huddled into the tiniest space she could, and was trying so hard to shut out the sounds she did not hear Daniel and Bryony open the door and cross the dusty attic floor to where she crouched.

She hardly felt the sting of the needle, but as the chloroform spun her down into oblivion, she was blessedly aware that the hammering from Twygrist’s bowels had finally ceased.

‘She’s gone far away from us,’ said Daniel Glass, seated in Charity Cottage with Bryony and her father. ‘I shall keep trying to reach her, but I think she might be beyond reach. She won’t talk about anything that happened–her father’s death, the astonishing switch she made with the strange bright-eyed little creature called Nell Kendal.’

‘Did she really think that would work?’ asked Cormac.

‘Oh yes. We’ve managed to get most of the story out of Nell–she can’t speak, but she’s an intelligent little thing, and she’s written most of it down. We’re going to see if we can find somewhere here for her to live, and some kind of work. There’s a sister in London, we’ve talked to her, but’–a grin curved his lips–‘the sister’s a different pair of shoes altogether. She’s set on coming up here to live with Nell, but I’m not sure if she will. She’s one of those tough defiant little creatures and wherever she ends up, she’ll survive.’

‘So Maud brought Nell Kendal to Amberwood deliberately?’

‘It seems like it. It seems she found the two sisters in London–God alone knows how or why–and tricked them into letting Nell come to Amberwood for some sort of medical treatment.’

‘And,’ said Bryony incredulously, ‘Maud thought she could put Nell Kendal into Latchkill in her place, and that people wouldn’t know?’

‘Yes. It might even have worked, you know; hardly anyone at Latchkill saw Maud. George Lincoln put her there under a false name, only Maud didn’t know that. She assumed Matron would quite openly send someone out to Toft House. The substitution would have been picked up eventually, of course, but Nell might have spent months there. And since Nell can’t speak…’

‘Could she have written down the truth?’

‘Yes, but you know as well as I do that asylums are full to the rafters with people who insist they’re sane.’

‘Yes, I see that. Everyone would have been fooled,’ said Bryony. ‘Except for—’

‘Except for Maud’s own father. That’s why he had to die–and Mrs Plumtree with him.’ He glanced at Bryony, and in a much gentler voice, said, ‘Maud is quite beyond sanity, you know. I’m assuming George Lincoln realized that, and that’s why he put her there. But I don’t suppose we’ll ever know the exact details.’

Cormac said, ‘I don’t suppose we will. Will she ever live outside an institution?’

‘I don’t think so. I’ll give her what treatment I can, but she really has gone very far away indeed. At times it’s as if she’s listening to something, and whatever it is that she’s hearing, it terrifies her. We saw that when we found her, didn’t we?’

‘She was pressed against the wall,’ said Bryony, trying not to shudder at the memory. ‘With her hands over her ears and her eyes tightly shut. Like a child.’

‘Yes. But there might be ways of helping her,’ said Daniel. ‘I’m hoping to try mesmerism–that’s quite a new idea for the mentally
sick, but there’s a lot of interesting research being done into it. In any case, now that Prout’s leaving, Latchkill will be far better for the patients.’

‘I’m glad she’s leaving,’ said Bryony. ‘I’m glad you came to explain it all to us, as well.’ She glanced at her father, who promptly said, ‘Dr Glass, by way of gratitude for that, will you stay to supper? There’s a game pie, and more than enough for three.’

‘Game pie,’ said Daniel expressionlessly.

Cormac grinned, and said, ‘Bryony made it. The best ingredients went into it, but if you’re a gentleman, you won’t ask where the pheasants came from.’

‘I don’t care where they came from. I’d love to have supper with you.’

As they sat round the table, Bryony had the absurd feeling that something was happening between the three of them–something very good and very strong, and something that might remain in the atmosphere of Charity Cottage for a very long time. It was probably ridiculously fanciful to think that somewhere in the future, someone would sit here and feel this good strong emotion, but she did think it.

There was a wheel of Stilton and a dish of crisp ripe apples to follow the game pie, and then some of Cormac’s whiskey to round it off. It was not until the glasses had been filled a second time that Daniel said, ‘There’s something more that I have to tell you.’

‘Ha,’ said Cormac. ‘I thought there was.’

‘When they went through the things inside Toft House,’ said Daniel, ‘they found a will. George Lincoln made it very recently indeed, and it’s simply drawn up, but apparently perfectly legal.’ He was looking at Cormac very directly now. ‘It seems, Sullivan, that at some time in the past you did George Lincoln a–a service that he never forgot.’

‘A man helps another man where he can,’ said Cormac offhandedly.

‘Well, whatever help you gave him must have been quite
considerable,’ said Daniel, ‘because he’s left the Rosen money in a trust fund for Maud, but he’s left Toft House to you.’

There was a long silence. Bryony tried to think of something to say, and failed utterly.

‘Well now,’ said Cormac at last. ‘Isn’t that a fine thing for a man to be told,’ and Bryony heard that the Irish which to some extent he had lost since living in England, was strongly back in his voice.

‘Isn’t it just?’ said Daniel.

‘Yes, it’s a very fine thing, in fact–In fact, tell me now, Glass. Would you think a place like Toft House could be sold?’

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘And–I have no knowledge of property prices in England–but would you think it would fetch a fairly good sum of money?’

‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘I would think it would fetch a very good sum indeed.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ said Cormac softly. He looked across at Bryony and although he did not say anything, Bryony knew with incredulous delight they were sharing the same thought.

The tumbledown house in Ireland.