The children are not permitted past the first floor, and they know that severe punishments will be meted out to those who disobey. So I have no real worries that they will venture up to the attics, or that anyone will hear anything.
Other than the occasional bout of frenzy, the prisoner sits with her hands folded in her lap – sometimes she stands in one corner of the attic room, in that dreadful hunched-over position caused by the bungled execution. I have taken up a few old books for her – simple ones, even children’s books, which she might be able to understand – but she is uninterested in them. She stares at nothing, or at her own hands. If I am in the adjoining room, she watches me. It is unnerving, that unblinking stare. At other times she calls for her children, wanting to find them, telling them she will do so in the end.
At those times I close my journal, put it in the pocket of my gown, and lock the attic rooms and go downstairs.
Michael was just thinking Nell would be here any minute – it was half-past seven – when his phone rang again.
‘I’m not far away,’ said Nell. ‘But there’s a bit of a hold-up just outside Oxford – some idiot’s run into the back of another car, and it’s created a bottleneck. We’ve been crawling along at five miles an hour, and now the traffic’s stopped altogether. Are you all right?’
‘Never better.’
‘Good. I left Beth immersed in Animal Grab and a jigsaw puzzle of Queen Victoria’s coronation – both circa 1840, and in beautiful condition.’
‘Nell, you really don’t need to struggle through all that traffic, and if there’s a hold-up—’
‘No, it’s fine – the road blocks are still in place, but the police are starting to wave cars through in single file, so they must have cleared part of the road. It looks a bit of a squeeze, but the cars in front seem to be managing. I’d better ring off – I’m fourth in line for the squeeze. After this I’d better get one of those hands-free phone kits for the car, hadn’t I?’
Michael smiled, rang off, and returned to Maria Porringer.
TWENTY-TWO
The next entry seemed to have been written much later, and Michael saw at once that it was in an entirely different vein to the businesslike lists of costings and tradesmen’s accounts. The writing was less careful, as well, as if some strong emotion had driven the writer. And yet it was difficult to associate Maria Porringer with any strong emotion.
He glanced through the tall window behind him. It was almost dark now, but there was still enough light to read. Nell would not be much longer, and Jack Hurst was on the way with the keys.
Earlier this evening I became aware of the children grouping together in the hall, as they have done several times lately. I went quietly along to the upper landing, and, taking care to keep to the shadows, but leaning over the banister as far as I dared, I listened. It is not a very appealing picture – that of the eavesdropper – but it is necessary to know what goes on.
The Wilger boy was there, of course – even crippled and maimed, he is still at the heart of any trouble – and several of the others were with him. It is still strange not to see the Mabbley girls among the children, and there has been no news of them. It is my belief they are bound for London, where I suppose they will eventually succumb to the lure of the disgraceful trade of the streets. Like mother, like daughters, and what is in the meat comes out in the gravy.
It was exactly the scene I had overlooked a few nights ago, but this time there seemed to be more purpose to it. I heard the Wilger boy say, ‘Does everyone understand? At eleven o’clock we will meet here in the hall.’