He thought for a moment there was someone else in the room with the twins, but it was only a smeary kind of shadow, and Leo thought it was simply a drift of smoke.
And now it was too late. The furnace roared up greedily, and there was a massive clanging sound as the iron door of the furnace was slammed back in place. And that woman – Sister Dulce – was inside. Burning. Sick dizziness closed over Leo in a huge engulfing wave, and he fell against the cold stone wall of the passage, his mind spinning. She was in there, that woman who had hurt Susannah and threatened to hurt Sophie, and who might have been going to feed them to the Ovens. But she had been fed to the Ovens instead, and she was burning alive. Leo knew that burning alive was the worst thing in the whole world. He crouched shivering in the darkness, wanting to wrap the shadows around him so no one could see him, wanting them to smother the pictures in his mind.
But the pictures were there in his head – he thought they would always be there – and the pain in his head exploded. A shuddering, uncontrollable sickness swept over him, and he bent over, retching helplessly, his eyes streaming, unable to see or hear or think.
When at last he managed to straighten up and wipe his face with his handkerchief, the room was in darkness and the iron door was still locked. All he wanted to do was lie down and go to sleep, but he could not leave the twins. Were they still in there? Hiding until it was safe to creep out? Leo did not think they had crept out while he was being sick. You could not be sick and look around you at the same time, but he was sure he would have known if they had come out.
He looked through the window again, but the furnace was cool and dark, and nothing moved. He leaned against the door, listening. And then – he had no idea how he knew this – but someone inside the room did the same. Leo could not hear it and he could not see it, but he knew someone had come to stand on the other side of the door, and that someone was pressing its face against the hard cold surface of the iron. Whoever it was, they were inches from him.
He forced himself not to flinch, and he laid his hands flat against the door. In their own language, he said, ‘Sophie – Susannah. It’s all right. I shan’t ever tell anyone what you did. I promise I’ll never tell anyone.’
The words came out very softly, but the twins would have heard. They would know they could trust him. They would know he would keep his promise and never tell anyone what they had done tonight.
There had never been any sign of Sophie and Susannah again, not that night or the next, and not throughout the confused, pain-filled days that followed, with the agonizing lumbar puncture Leo had to endure. He had to stay in Deadlight Hall for what felt like a long time, together with the other children – it was not until a long time afterwards that he understood they had all suffered from an illness called meningitis.
It was a strange time. Leo thought some of the children died, but no one actually said this, and the freezing, blizzard-torn winter made it difficult for people to visit. Two of the younger nurses devised games and simple puzzles for the children, and one found a store of children’s books somewhere in the house. They had been very old books and Leo had not understood them all, but he had liked listening when the young nurse read them aloud. He would have liked to take some of the books back to Willow Bank Farm, but it seemed they must go back to wherever they had come from.
He heard afterwards that there had been a search for Sophie and Susannah, although the frozen ground and incessant blizzards made it difficult. But the police combed the area, using dogs, and the children were all questioned, although none of them knew anything. Leo said he had seen the twins, but that was all. He had not said anything about the Angel of Death, or about the twins’ plan to run away.