Spider Light(125)

‘Well, whatever help you gave him must have been quite considerable,’ said Daniel, ‘because he’s left the Rosen money in a trust fund for Maud, but he’s left Toft House to you.’

There was a long silence. Bryony tried to think of something to say, and failed utterly.

‘Well now,’ said Cormac at last. ‘Isn’t that a fine thing for a man to be told,’ and Bryony heard that the Irish which to some extent he had lost since living in England, was strongly back in his voice.

‘Isn’t it just?’ said Daniel.

‘Yes, it’s a very fine thing, in fact–In fact, tell me now, Glass. Would you think a place like Toft House could be sold?’

‘Yes, certainly.’

‘And–I have no knowledge of property prices in England–but would you think it would fetch a fairly good sum of money?’

‘Yes,’ said Daniel. ‘I would think it would fetch a very good sum indeed.’

‘That’s very interesting,’ said Cormac softly. He looked across at Bryony and although he did not say anything, Bryony knew with incredulous delight they were sharing the same thought.

The tumbledown house in Ireland.





CHAPTER FORTY




Antonia had left the kiln door open, because she could not bear to lose the thin light that came down from above. She had no idea what she would do when the light started to dim, but for the moment at least she could see where she was. She managed not to look at the sad huddle of bones near the oven door, and was convincing herself that even when the light began to fade, there would be moonlight. She was not sure how she would manage to sit in the pitch dark with human remains so close, because she was afraid she would start to hear them creeping towards her…Stop it, Antonia!

She was not especially conscious of hunger, but she was by now very conscious of thirst which was what she had dreaded. Her watch said it was three o’clock. At this time of year that meant about two more hours of daylight, or maybe a bit less. Would anyone miss her? What about the police? And Jonathan–what about him? Had he arrived as promised, and was he instigating a search? Surely he would not just drive away when he found the cottage empty? But would a search come out here? Mightn’t they assume she had killed Greg Foster, and then run away? In which case, Amberwood was the last place they would search.

She had reached this point in her reasoning when she became aware of a shift in the rhythm of the clock’s beating. Had it slowed down? It had not stopped, that was for sure. Antonia could still hear it and she could still feel it, hammering relentlessly along its mechanism, like the beating of a fleshless fist on the inside of a kiln door…She glanced at the thing on the ground.

The clock’s rhythm had definitely changed. It was quickening–so much so that it almost sounded as if someone was winding it forwards.

Winding it…Someone was winding it!

Antonia dived for the kiln and scrambled inside, tearing her hands and legs in the process, but hardly noticing. She straightened up inside the shaft again, and turning her head up to the light, shouted at top of her voice. ‘Help! I’m trapped down here!’

Her words echoed sickeningly in the enclosed space, and showers of soot fell onto her. She shouted again. ‘Is someone there? Please–can you hear me? I’m shut in down here!’

Another moment for the echoes to die away, and then the light overhead shifted slightly, as if something might be blocking it out. A voice–a voice that Antonia dimly recognized, called, ‘I’m here. I’ll get you out. Are you all right?’


‘Never better. For God’s sake come down to the kiln room and get the doors open!’

‘I’m on my way,’ said Kit, and this time Antonia heard the clang of ladder rungs. There was a long silence during which she had time to imagine half a dozen disasters, and then came the sound of the steel doors being pulled open.

As Kit appeared in the doorway, Antonia said, ‘Thank God for memorial clocks,’ and to her fury, began to cry.



Godfrey Toy was almost beside himself with delight. Antonia was safe and sound–all thanks to that nice Kit from the library–and although Godfrey had not got all the details yet, it had been all to do with winding the old Twygrist clock. Kit, it seemed, had been amazingly good, dragging Antonia out of the grisly kiln room, and phoning police and ambulances and whatnot. He had phoned Quire House as well–they had all been there when the call came, and Godfrey thought he had never seen anyone move as fast as Oliver and Jonathan Saxon. Out of the house and into the car inside minutes: Oliver had not even paused to put on a coat, and Kit told Godfrey it had been Oliver who got to Twygrist ahead of anyone else. Godfrey was still considering this, not daring to hope that it meant anything, but hoping all the same that it might.

After the phone call, he had scurried round Quire, putting a large pot of coffee to filter in Oliver’s kitchen, and then dashing down to his own flat to gather up a few snacks for them all to eat while they talked. Antonia could not have eaten for at least twenty-four hours, and there would be all kinds of things to hear about. It sounded as if quite a lot of people would be converging on Quire. Godfrey himself and Oliver and Antonia, of course. Dr Saxon and Kit Kendal. Inspector Curran, and perhaps Sergeant Blackburn as well. He counted up the numbers in his head, and made a few more sandwiches.