Deadlight-Hall(90)

I turned to the children, who would certainly be faster than I would. ‘A good stout knife from the kitchens,’ I said. ‘A large bread knife – quick as you can.’

‘Take one of the oil lamps,’ said Hurst. ‘You’ll see your way better.’

One of the girls grabbed the nearer of the two lamps and scurried away.

With the loss of one of the lamps, the candle flames threw even more grotesque shapes across the attics. As they flickered, Esther gave a last convulsive jerk, knocking over one of the candles. A thin line of flame ran across the floor, and licked at the window. The wisp of curtain I had hung there to give the room a less cell-like appearance, flared up, lighting the attic to vivid life, but before I could get to it, Rosie Mabbley snatched the cloth from Esther’s small table, and smothered the fire with it. One of the other girls stamped the tiny flames out on the floor. There was a smell of burnt cloth, and there were scorch marks across the floor, but nothing more.

It was then that Hurst said, ‘I think it’s too late,’ and as he spoke, a wet bubbling sound came from Esther Breadspear’s throat.

‘Death rattle,’ said Hurst, half to himself. ‘But we’ll keep trying.’

The girl who had run downstairs returned then, proffering two knives, both with sharp edges.

But again valuable minutes ticked away as John Hurst sawed at the thick tough rope constricting her neck. The strands parted reluctantly, but Esther was limp and still by that time.

‘She’s gone,’ said Hurst, briefly. ‘God have mercy on her soul.’

He caught her as she fell from the cut rope, and laid her on the ground, covering her with his own coat. Only then did he turn to the children.

Most of the mutinous anger had drained away, but when Hurst said, ‘Between you, you have just committed murder. And I think at least two of you might be judged old enough to hang for it,’ a spark of rebellion flared in one or two faces.

‘We executed a murderer,’ said Douglas Wilger, and again I had to fight not to speak out. ‘And we shan’t hang,’ he said, thrusting out his lower lip stubbornly.

‘The Silent Minute won’t protect you, stupid boy!’ said Hurst. ‘It’s nothing but a superstition, fit for credulous old women!’

‘Not that. We shan’t hang because you’ll never tell anyone what happened here tonight.’

For a bad moment I thought the children were about to launch an attack on Hurst – and perhaps then turn on me – but they remained where they were.

‘You had better explain that,’ said Hurst. ‘And you can do it here, within a few feet of that woman’s body. I have no intention of shielding you from the ugliness – the brutality – of what you’ve done.’

‘Yes, you will shield us,’ said Douglas.

‘Mind your manners,’ I said at once, but Wilger was still looking at John Hurst.

‘Of course you’ll shield us,’ he said, softly.

And in that moment, seeing them both staring at one another, I saw what I should have seen at the start. Douglas Wilger was John Hurst’s son. The likeness was remarkable. Even the name was a clue – Wilger, or perhaps wilge, an old country word for willow – originally foreign, I believe. Mr Porringer had liked to know the old words for herbs and plants and suchlike, and I had learned some of them from him.

Hurst clearly knew who Douglas was. He had probably known all along, and that was behind his frequent visits to the Hall – and his help with the children’s schooling. I remembered, as well, how vehement he had been against Mr Breadspear when Douglas was burned.

But clearly Hurst had not been aware that Douglas himself knew, and equally clearly the discovery disconcerted him. Then he made the gesture of squaring his shoulders as if to bear a sudden and very heavy weight.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘We both know who – and what – we are. But the immediate problem is with us in this room. Had you a plan in mind? For after the deed?’

‘We had.’

‘Also,’ I put in, for I had no mind to be kept out of any of this, ‘I should like to know about the presence of Rosie and Daisy Mabbley.’

‘It’s because of Rosie and Daisy that we did this,’ said Douglas.

‘Explain that,’ said Hurst.

‘She was after us,’ said Rosie, with a glance towards Esther’s body. ‘She wanted to kill us like she killed her own children.’