He flinched, then said, ‘Pray God you’re wrong.’
But I was not wrong. They were both in there, standing up against the iron door – which was closed. They were beating on the round glass window with their small fists, and screaming for help, their faces wild with fear, their eyes wide and terrified. But they were silent screams, for the massive old door smothered their cries. That’s another of the things that I believe will haunt me – those silent screams.
Behind them, the furnace was roaring up, and the black iron lid – the lid that I thought we had closed before leaving the room – was no longer in place. The fire belched out, uncontrolled and fierce, and the iron door, even from this side, was already almost too hot to touch. The open furnace was heating up the room.
John Hurst and I fought to get the door open, but it resisted all our efforts. It had jammed, or its lock had snapped – I do not know which, and it does not matter. The moment when I realized we could not reach those girls is one that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
We put everything we had into trying to get that door open, but it was all to no avail. Neither Hurst’s greater strength nor my lesser, puny strength could free the lock. I remember he ran down to the scullery, and I heard him crashing into cupboards, ransacking the place for an implement that would force the door. He came back with chisels and knives and a couple of wooden mallets used for tenderizing meat. He tried everything; his hands were blistering from the heat of the door, and his hair was beaded with sweat.
‘The only thing left is to try to smash the glass and help them climb through,’ he said, and I nodded, and seized one of the mallets.
But the glass was fearsomely thick – intended to act as a barrier between the furnace’s heat and the rest of the house – and the mallets were not designed for such a task. We barely managed to splinter the window’s surface.
‘They’ll die,’ I said, in despair. ‘They’ll roast alive.’
As I said the words, something seemed to huff malevolent breath on the furnace so that it roared up, like a fire will roar up inside a chimney when strong bellows are used on it.
The room became bathed in angry scarlet – I do know that sounds fantastical, but it is what happened. The screams did reach us then – but only for a few seconds. Then there was silence.
Nell laid down the journal for a moment, and reached for her wine.
‘It’s appalling,’ said Michael, after a few moments.
‘Yes. Those little girls – and that poor creature, Esther. But,’ said Nell, ‘did you pick up an odd crumb of actual humanity in Maria Porringer towards the end of it all?’
‘Just a crumb or two,’ said Michael. ‘But she still kept Esther imprisoned, even when she knew she was innocent.’
‘But what was the alternative by then?’ said Nell. ‘Esther was completely insane, poor woman. If they hadn’t deported her, they’d have thrown her into one of those appalling Victorian asylums.’
‘Professor?’
Leo was leaning back in his chair. His eyes were in shadow, and it was a moment before he spoke. Then he said, ‘Those two girls …’
‘I know,’ said Nell at once. ‘I can’t bear it either.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘I think we saw them. As we were leaving the Hall tonight.’
‘Two small girls, with long chestnut hair?’ said Leo.
‘Yes.’ Nell looked at him in surprise. ‘They were a bit blurred, but just for a moment they were there.’
‘They were going away from the house,’ said Michael. He was looking at Leo, as well. ‘Hand in hand – as if they were going quite freely and – well, almost happily.’
‘One of them turned and put up a hand as if saying goodbye,’ said Nell.
‘I didn’t know you’d seen that,’ said Michael, turning to look at her.