Deadlight-Hall(86)

Michael was just thinking Nell would be here any minute – it was half-past seven – when his phone rang again.

‘I’m not far away,’ said Nell. ‘But there’s a bit of a hold-up just outside Oxford – some idiot’s run into the back of another car, and it’s created a bottleneck. We’ve been crawling along at five miles an hour, and now the traffic’s stopped altogether. Are you all right?’

‘Never better.’

‘Good. I left Beth immersed in Animal Grab and a jigsaw puzzle of Queen Victoria’s coronation – both circa 1840, and in beautiful condition.’

‘Nell, you really don’t need to struggle through all that traffic, and if there’s a hold-up—’

‘No, it’s fine – the road blocks are still in place, but the police are starting to wave cars through in single file, so they must have cleared part of the road. It looks a bit of a squeeze, but the cars in front seem to be managing. I’d better ring off – I’m fourth in line for the squeeze. After this I’d better get one of those hands-free phone kits for the car, hadn’t I?’

Michael smiled, rang off, and returned to Maria Porringer.





TWENTY-TWO


The next entry seemed to have been written much later, and Michael saw at once that it was in an entirely different vein to the businesslike lists of costings and tradesmen’s accounts. The writing was less careful, as well, as if some strong emotion had driven the writer. And yet it was difficult to associate Maria Porringer with any strong emotion.

He glanced through the tall window behind him. It was almost dark now, but there was still enough light to read. Nell would not be much longer, and Jack Hurst was on the way with the keys.

Earlier this evening I became aware of the children grouping together in the hall, as they have done several times lately. I went quietly along to the upper landing, and, taking care to keep to the shadows, but leaning over the banister as far as I dared, I listened. It is not a very appealing picture – that of the eavesdropper – but it is necessary to know what goes on.

The Wilger boy was there, of course – even crippled and maimed, he is still at the heart of any trouble – and several of the others were with him. It is still strange not to see the Mabbley girls among the children, and there has been no news of them. It is my belief they are bound for London, where I suppose they will eventually succumb to the lure of the disgraceful trade of the streets. Like mother, like daughters, and what is in the meat comes out in the gravy.

It was exactly the scene I had overlooked a few nights ago, but this time there seemed to be more purpose to it. I heard the Wilger boy say, ‘Does everyone understand? At eleven o’clock we will meet here in the hall.’

They all nodded, then Douglas Wilger said, ‘And we wait for the Silent Minute. If we do that, we shall be safe. We can’t be caught or punished for anything done in those seconds of the Silent Minute.’

Something cold seemed to brush against my whole body, because I knew what the Silent Minute was. It’s an old country superstition I was told as a girl. I thought it had been long since forgotten and lost, but here were these children knowing it – more than knowing it; making use of it against something they were planning to do.

The Silent Minute, the very stroke of midnight when the night hands over to the day – when the world takes a step from one realm of existence into another – when there is a gap between darkness and light, and when God walks the ragged edges of that strange place, to protect the soul from all evil …

‘Remember,’ Wilger was saying, ‘in that minute we’ll be protected from all evil. Nothing can hurt us.’

I do not believe the old superstition, of course. But the children believe it. They are planning something, and whatever it is, it is something so serious they are going to wait for the Silent Minute so it will protect them from the consequences.

10.55 p.m.

I am writing this in my own room. I have left the door slightly open so as to hear if anything happens. Perhaps nothing will, and it is all no more than some childish adventure or game. If so, there will have to be a punishment, for I cannot allow the children to rampage around the house during the night. Quite aside from it being bad for them to behave in such an unruly manner, there is the prisoner to be thought of. Secrecy must be preserved.

11.05 p.m.

I was wrong to write that nothing would happen. Doors are being furtively opened, and I can hear stealthy footsteps and the faint creak of a floorboard. I think the children are creeping down the stairs to the main hall. So I shall put this journal in my pocket and go downstairs. I shall not immediately confront them, though. I shall try to find out what they are about.