Deadlight-Hall(98)

Nell made a gesture of acceptance, and reached for the book.

‘Her writing’s very clear,’ she said, after a moment. ‘All right, here goes.’ She reached out to tilt a small table lamp slightly nearer, then began to read the closing pages of Maria Porringer’s journal.

It was John Hurst who carried Esther down to the stone corridors beneath the Hall, and along to the furnace room. I went with him, of course.

We had told the children to stay in the hall, and most of them did so. It was only as we went down the steps that I saw two small shadows behind me, and realized that Rosie and Daisy Mabbley had followed us.

‘You are to go back upstairs at once,’ I said, sharply.

‘No,’ said Rosie with defiance, and Daisy shook her head. ‘We want to see that she’s gone. We want to make sure she can’t come back.’

‘She was evil,’ said Rosie. ‘She killed her own children.’

‘She chopped them up with a knife,’ put in Daisy, her voice trembling.

‘Dead people don’t come back,’ said Hurst, in an unexpectedly gentle voice. ‘And although she did that wicked thing, her mind was sick – very sick.’

‘Now do as you’re told,’ I said.

‘You can’t tell us what to do any longer.’ Rosie again, of course, very mutinous. ‘We don’t live here now.’

‘We’re going to live in London with our mother,’ affirmed Daisy.

‘Let them come with us,’ said Hurst, impatiently. ‘It’ll teach them a lesson if nothing else.’

So they came with us, walking down the steps and along the stone corridor. I had the oil lamp, and in fact it was useful to have the two girls with us, for Rosie was able to carry the second of the lamps.

We went past those silent rooms where condemned prisoners were once kept until their execution. Even to me it’s a bad place – I do not accept that emotions can linger in a building, but since coming to live at Deadlight Hall, there have been times, walking along that corridor for some ordinary domestic reason, when I have felt the weight of those prisoners’ fear and despair.

The furnace room is a dingy, dismal place, and if there had been any other means of heating I should have insisted that the furnace be ripped out by its roots, and the room closed off. But I do not think there was any other way, and as far as I could ever make out, the furnace and all its pipes are built into the structure of the building.

Hurst had fired the furnace effectively – I suspect he would be efficient at whatever he did – and it was roaring away, heat belching out, the scent of hot iron tainting the air. Scarlet fire showed all round the edges of the door.

Hurst laid Esther’s body on the ground, then turned to face us. ‘When I open that door, you two, Rosie and Daisy – and you, as well, Mrs Porringer – must stand well clear. The heat will be immense. You understand?’

We all nodded, and indeed I had already moved well away from the furnace, and was standing on one side of the door of the room, up against the wall. Hurst levered back the front cover, using the long hooked rod kept for the purpose. As it came open, heat poured out, blisteringly hot, so that my eyes felt scorched and my skin prickled.

‘Quickly now,’ said Hurst, bending to lift Esther. He glanced across at me. ‘Mrs Porringer, we have no clergyman to speak the funeral service, but—’

I said, ‘She has already had the funeral service. It was read during the procession to hang her – outside this very room, in fact. But,’ I said, as his expression darkened, ‘perhaps we should all say the Lord’s Prayer, as a wish that the woman’s soul will find repose.’

‘And sanity and some peace,’ said Hurst.

I began the prayer. Behind me, Rosie and Daisy drew closer together, and I saw them link hands. I cannot be sure that they joined in the prayer, but I think they did.

Hurst lifted Esther’s body, and carried it to the furnace. His skin was flushed from the heat, and he was keeping his head slightly turned away from the open door.

As we reached the words ‘forgive us our trespasses’ he swung the body towards the furnace.

And Esther Breadspear opened her eyes.

It was too late to stop the momentum of the throw. Hurst had put all his force behind it – like a man throwing a ball at cricket – and that force had propelled Esther inexorably into the furnace. Hurst realized what was happening, and he also realized he was powerless to stop it. His face twisted with horror, but she was already tumbling into the depths of the furnace.