I crept up the stairs after them, pausing just before reaching the second floor. There is a curve in the stair, and by dint of standing there I could look through the banister posts and watch them. Douglas Wilger was set down and left half-sitting against the wall, while the others went along the corridor to my own room. I was glad to remember I had locked it, and that the key hung on the ring, clipped to my waist.
They did not need a key, though, because they had no intention of going into the room. Three of them seized a big blanket chest standing by the wall, and dragged it across the floor, positioning it across the door of my room. Rosie and Daisy Mabbley, working together, pulled out a large court cupboard that stands a little further along, and between them they pushed this against the blanket chest.
A barricade. They thought they had barricaded me into my room, and it was only by the purest good luck they had not done so.
By now I was more than concerned, I was frightened. And minutes later I knew it did not matter whether the prisoner howled like a banshee, because it was startlingly apparent that they knew she was there. How they knew, I have no idea, for I had taken such care, but know they did, and they were bounding up the attic stair, carrying young Wilger with them, and then hammering on the door of the inner attic room to get to her. The floor was reverberating with the sounds and the force of the blows, and through it the prisoner was screaming – terrible, trapped-hare screams that shivered throughout the whole house.
Then the children themselves began to shout, loudly and angrily, as if they no longer cared about being heard. And why should they? They believed I was safely behind the barricade, and unable to get out to them.
I heard one shout, ‘You are a murderess.’
‘We know what you did,’ cried another.
‘And we know what you still want to do.’
Douglas Wilger’s voice rose above the rest. ‘We’re doing this to stop you doing to Rosie and Daisy what you did to your own children,’ he screamed. ‘We’ve all heard you, you murdering bitch. All those nights, calling to us to come to you – did you think we didn’t know what you wanted!’
‘You wanted us,’ cried Rosie Mabbley. ‘Daisy and me! You thought we were your own daughters come back from the dead. You wanted to kill us all over again.’
‘We heard you – we know how you got out of your room when she was asleep,’ shouted Daisy.
‘When she’s gin sodden,’ said another of the girls.
‘That’s when you come prowling through the house looking for us,’ cried Rosie.
This all came as an unpleasant shock, for I had no idea that the prisoner had ever done any such thing. (As for the accusation of gin, I should like it understood I only ever take a little nip last thing at night, and then as medicinal, and to sweeten the sleeping draught.)
There was one final massive blow, and the sound of wood splintering. Something fell on to the floor with a clang, and I realized they had smashed the padlock and they were in the prisoner’s room.
You will admit, you who may one day be reading this, that the only thing I could do was fetch help. I did not dare confront the children on my own – they were in the grip of something wild and savage, and they would have turned on me as greedily as they were turning on Esther Breadspear.
I crept back down the stairs, across the hall, and out through the main door. It had been locked and bolted for the night, but the keys were on the ring. I was as quiet as I could be in opening it. Once outside, I locked it again – perhaps I had some idea of making sure the children did not get out.
And now I had two choices – two people to whom I could go for help. One was Augustus Breadspear, who would certainly come out to the Hall and would most likely bring some of his household with him. But Salamander House was a fair distance – I am not a young woman and I did not think I could reach it before midnight.