John Hurst spoke slowly, as if he was considering each word. ‘I believe Mrs Porringer will not wish for a scandal,’ he said. ‘It could, after all, ruin her future. No one would employ her, of course. She might even face prison. Well, Mrs Porringer?’
I said, ‘I shall keep your secrets.’ I thought: may God forgive me for the secret about Esther I already have to keep.
It was Hurst who carried Esther Breadspear’s body down the stairs, down to the hall. The children followed, Douglas Wilger being carried, as usual. They were all silent – not exactly cowed, for any group containing young Wilger would never be that, but certainly prepared to do whatever they were told. I have to say here that John Hurst was mainly responsible for that. I do not approve of the man, but there is no denying he has an authority.
They laid Esther on the ground, near the window, still covered with Hurst’s jacket, then he and two of the boys went down the steps to those grim underground rooms – the rooms that once were cells, used for housing condemned prisoners, including Esther herself.
St Bertelin’s was chiming one o’clock when at last we heard the dull roar of the furnace.
TWENTY-THREE
The sweep of car headlights outside the house pulled Michael out of Maria Porringer’s grim, candlelit midnight, and into the present.
He knelt on the window seat and waved, and the headlights flashed, then Nell parked the car so that the lights shone on to the window. She got out, then went back into the car to switch to sidelights, and came up to the window.
‘Can you hear me through all that glass and bits of lead?’
‘Loud and clear,’ said Michael. ‘And I’m selfishly glad to see you.’
‘So this is the nightmare mansion,’ said Nell. ‘It’s a grim old place, isn’t it? I feel like something out of one of those old horror films. The face at the window. Tod Slaughter?’
‘Yes. It’s a good film, but I could wish you hadn’t reminded me of it at this minute. Thanks for tracking down Jack Hurst,’ said Michael.
‘He should be here with the keys soon. But,’ observed Nell, stepping back to look up at the Hall’s facade, ‘this house looks as if it needs more than just keys to open its doors. Are you sure we don’t need to chant a dark spell or read runic symbols? Or even dance round the bonfire reciting from Dr Dee’s occult language?’
‘What on earth …?’
‘Elizabethan occultist,’ said Nell, grinning. ‘One of Elizabeth Tudor’s favourites.’
‘I know who he is, I just didn’t know he had an occult language.’
‘According to his journal he talked with angels. Although I believe that the original angelic language was lost when Adam was booted out of Paradise.’
Michael said, ‘You know, you are still a constant source of surprise to me.’
‘Oh good,’ said Nell. She was still staring up at the house. ‘Whatever language you use, it’s still the nightmare mansion or the ogre’s castle, isn’t it? As if it might have been made from the ground-up blood and bones of an Englishman.’
‘If so, we’d better forget Dee’s angelic language, and recite one of those ancient High German things instead. “Bone to bone, marrow to marrow, flesh to flesh …”’
‘Never mind ancient High German, I’m going to stand in the shelter of the main doors, because it’s starting to rain,’ said Nell. ‘So—’
‘What?’ said Michael, as she broke off.
‘I’m not sure, but … Michael, I can see a light right at the top of the house.’
‘That’s impossible,’ said Michael, but he felt suddenly icy cold. They lit candles that night, he thought. The flames flickered on the walls as Esther Breadspear strangled to death – she kicked one over, and it burned part of the attic. But he said firmly, ‘There can’t be any lights. There’s no electricity on – I’ve tried the switches. And there’s no one else in the house.’
‘Did you go up to the top floor?’ said Nell.
‘Yes, because I wanted to find a book I remembered seeing. It’s quite a find as well – Maria Porringer’s journal, and you’ll be—’