Deadlight Hall (Nell West/Michael Flint #5)(53)
Very truly yours,
Maria Porringer.
Deadlight Hall
December 1882
Dear Mr Breadspear
The children’s behaviour is becoming very worrying indeed. I hesitate to use the word sinister, but it is the word that comes to my mind. They have taken to gathering in small groups, in the darker corners of the Hall, whispering together. I have tried to overhear what they are saying, but so far I have not managed it.
Last night I was wakeful, which is not a thing as normally happens to me, having a clear conscience and a healthy mind, not to mention a very good draught which was Mr Porringer’s own mixture, and which I usually take on retiring. I heard some of the children tiptoe past my room and go quietly down the stairs, so I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and crept out to see what they were about. There they were, huddled together in the hall below. The Wilger boy was with them, of course – he would have been carried down by two of the other boys, since he is no longer able to walk up or down stairs for himself.
Now, I am not a great believer in poetry and such – although Mr Porringer sometimes read a volume of poems and was inclined to quote a verse over supper if one had taken his attention – but seeing those children last night brought back the line I had heard John Hurst read – you may remember I wrote to you about it. Milton’s Paradise Lost, so I believe. The line stayed with me, and I thought of it, seeing the children:
‘When night darkens the streets, then wander forth the Sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine …’
There was no wine involved, of course, but insolence – my word, there was insolence in those children’s manner, and there was sly, cunning devilry in their faces. A terrible thing it was, and very frightening, to see such bitter hatred in the faces of children. Indeed, it was so strong that this morning I can almost believe the hatred still lies on the air like greasy smoke.
I shall lock my bedroom door each night, and I keep a large bread knife to hand during the daytime. If you could come to the Hall as soon as possible to discuss this, I should take that very kindly.
Yours very truly,
Maria Porringer.
Michael sat down for a moment, slightly puzzled, because it was surprising to find Maria Porringer – surely a severe and even a cruel woman – had been so frightened by a group of children whispering in a dark old house.
But whatever else she was, it had to be said that the old girl had a fine line in rhetoric when she got going, while as for John Hurst, Michael was inclined to think kindly of a man who had tried to teach Shakespeare and Milton to orphans.
He delved into the package again, to see what else it might contain, and drew out what looked like a local newspaper cutting of around the same date.
MYSTERY AT DEADLIGHT HALL: Disappearance of two girls.
Police were yesterday called to Deadlight Hall, the local Orphanage and Apprentice House owned and run by the Deadlight Hall Trust (Chairman Mr Augustus Breadspear), to investigate the whereabouts of two of the girls, Rosie and Daisy Mabbley.
The girls, who are sisters and have been in the care of the Hall for most of their lives, were discovered to be missing by Mr John Hurst of Willow Bank Farm, who visited Deadlight Hall to give his weekly reading and writing lesson to the younger children.
[Readers will be aware that Mr Hurst, something of a local philanthropist and benefactor, was active in creating the local school a few years ago.]
Mr Hurst told us that as a rule there were around eight children at his Saturday afternoon classes at the Hall, with the Mabbley sisters always present.
‘They enjoyed the lessons and were keen to learn,’ he said. ‘I was interesting them in poetry and plays – in fact we were planning to stage a small nativity play as part of the Christmas celebrations at St Bertelin’s Church. The Mabbley girls were enjoying that, very much, so the fact that they were not there that afternoon and that no explanation could be found for their absence caused me considerable concern.’
Mr Hurst had asked Mrs Maria Porringer, Deadlight Hall’s superintendent, to assist him in a search of the house and the grounds. When no trace of the sisters could be found, Mr Hurst reported the girls’ absence to local police and then to our newspaper, asking if we would advertise their disappearance. This, of course, we are very pleased to do, for it is a shocking thing if some tragedy has befallen two young girls, particularly so near to Christmas.
[We draw readers’ attention to our weather report on Page 6, which gives a doomful warning of thick snow and blizzards over Christmas.]
Mrs Maria Porringer also spoke to our reporter when he called at Deadlight Hall, and expressed herself as very concerned for Rosie and Daisy’s whereabouts.
‘A very thorough search I made of the Hall,’ she said. ‘Mr John Hurst along with two of the older children helped me. Cellars to attics we searched, and between us we looked into every nook and cranny. There was no trace of the girls anywhere. And after Mr Hurst left, the police came in, and a young police constable helped me to go over the house again. A most helpful young man he was.’
Asked about Rosie and Daisy, she told our reporter they were very well-behaved girls.
‘And only two weeks ago I was able to find them places in the employment of Mr Augustus Breadspear at Salamander House. It was a good place for them; they would have learned a trade, and also been able to work together, which I thought a very fortunate circumstance.’ Here, Mrs Porringer had to break off, being overcome with emotion.