Nell said, ‘It’s not coming from the back of the chest.’ She turned to look at him, her face pale. ‘It’s coming from inside it.’
They stared at one another. ‘It can’t be,’ said Michael at last. ‘It simply can’t. Nothing could have got in there. Or if something did – if something gnawed its way through the wood, it would be able to get out the same way. At worst, it’s mice.’
‘How strong do you think that padlock is?’ said Nell. ‘It’s very rusty. I should think it would snap off pretty easily.’
Michael stared at her. ‘You want to open it?’
‘It’s the last thing I want to do. But there’s something in there, Michael. And whatever it is, it’s alive. Can you really walk away and pretend you didn’t hear it?’
‘It probably is a mouse.’ Michael was looking round the stone room. In a very quiet voice, he said, ‘Nell, I think we have to walk away anyway.’
‘Why?’
‘Because there’s someone in here with us.’
Nell stood up slowly, automatically brushing the dust from her skirt. She looked about her, and her eyes came to rest on the corner behind Luisa Gilmore’s writing table.
In a very gentle voice, she said, ‘Stephen?’
The shadows moved slightly, like smoke uncoiling. Nell reached for Michael’s hand. Neither of them moved.
There was a sound like a faint sobbing – the faraway, long-ago resonance of something sad and somehow pleading, and then he was there, indistinct and blurred, like a photograph or an early ciné film not quite in focus. But recognizable. The young man with the leaf-blown scar and the nightmare-filled eyes.
Half to himself, Michael said, ‘Of course he’d come in. We left the main door open.’
‘I’ll never believe you didn’t leave it open deliberately,’ said Nell, her eyes on the figure. ‘Does he see us, do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’ Michael had forgotten about beating a retreat. He said, ‘Stephen – it’s all alright. We’re friends. We’ll try to help you.’
There was no way of knowing if Stephen Gilmore heard or understood or knew they were there. His eyes were on the chest, and as he moved towards it, Michael was aware of Nell stepping back. But she’s not frightened, he thought, and was grateful for her understanding.
The spoiled hands were reaching for the thick old chains around the chest.
‘He’s guarding it,’ said Nell in a whisper. ‘He thinks we’re going to open it, and he’s trying to prevent us.’
Michael had not taken his eyes off Stephen. He said, ‘No, it isn’t that at all. I think it’s the other way round. He’s trying to get it open. He’s trying to get at what’s in there.’
‘Are you sure? Because if so, let’s help him,’ said Nell at once. ‘Let’s get the thing open. We both heard something in there – I don’t care if it’s dead or alive or something between the two – let’s smash that padlock and break this bloody haunting wide open.’
But Michael was already halfway to the stairs. ‘Hammer,’ he said. ‘In the kitchen. Come with me.’
He grabbed her hand, and together they half ran up the stairs. It was Nell who found a sturdy-looking hammer and a wooden mallet.
‘This should do,’ she said. ‘If it won’t, we’ll have to call in a safe-breaker.’
They ran back through the hall and down into the cellar again.
‘Is he still here?’ said Nell, hesitating at the foot of the steps.
‘I don’t know. Let’s just do this anyway.’
‘Yes.’ Nell went purposefully across to the chest. ‘Hold the padlock away from the wood, will you? I don’t care if the entire spirit population stands around gibbering at us, I’m not causing any more damage to this beautiful oak if I can help it.’
‘Like this?’ asked Michael.
‘No, see if the chain’s long enough to lay the padlock flat on the floor. Then I can bash it against the stone.’
The chain was just about long enough. Nell said, ‘Good enough. Here goes. But be careful – stand clear of it in case it shatters.’
The padlock did not shatter, but the sound of the impact as she brought the hammer smashing down tore through the enclosed room and reverberated round the walls. Dust, dry and pale, clouded up from the stones.
‘The lock’s still holding,’ said Michael, peering through the debris. ‘Damn. Let me try.’
‘No, you’ll end up bashing your thumb or your foot or hitting the mains water supply.’
‘I do love you,’ said Michael, with sudden irrelevance, and she sent him a startled look.
‘Well, good. But stand clear this time.’
This time, as the hammer impacted, the padlock cracked and the lock flew open.
‘Got it,’ said Nell with satisfaction. ‘Now for the chain.’
Between them, they unravelled the chains from around the chest. It was necessary to tilt it slightly forward at one stage to drag the chains from beneath. It was heavy, but not as heavy as Michael had expected. But as the chest moved, there was the sensation of movement from inside, as if something had slithered from one end of the chest to the other. Nell shivered, but shone the torch on the lid, and Michael understood she was focusing on practicalities in order to ignore anything that might be watching from the shadows.
‘I can’t see a lock anywhere,’ said Nell. ‘I think we should be able to just lever it up. I can’t hear the scratching now, can you?’
‘No. But something shifted when we tilted the chest,’ said Michael.
‘I know. Let’s try lifting the lid.’
She placed the torch on the floor so that its light shone directly on to the chest, then she and Michael each took a corner of the domed lid.
‘It’s stuck. Or even locked, after all,’ said Michael after a moment. He glanced uneasily at the shadows in the corners, but nothing moved.