The Black Room

MR. ARMSTRONG WAS STANDING JUST BEHIND THEM, ON the other side of the ditch. He was looking at Hope.

“What have you done to her?” he said accusingly. “Why have you brought her here?”

“She’s all right,” Emma said. “We’re looking after her. We’re not going to shut her up in a hole.”

Mr. Armstrong didn’t bother to answer the taunt. “Get out of my way,” he said. “I’ve come to take her home.”

Hope was peering at his face in the half-light, watching every movement he made. Once or twice her mouth twisted soundlessly, copying one of his words. Tom saw her lips forming the shapes. Here ... get out ... home ...

“I’m afraid you can’t have her,” Tom said. Very cool and polite. “We won’t let her go back to that horrible place.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Mr. Armstrong said smoothly. “It was just a game. She likes to play hide-and-seek.” He moved forward, to step across the ditch.

Emma stood up and blocked his way. “You don’t expect us to believe that rubbish, do you? Go away, or we’ll call the police.”

Stupid, Tom thought. Stupid, stupid. It was a bad mistake to make him angry. What they had to do was keep him talking and spin things out as long as they could.

Emma’s dramatic gesture was completely pointless, anyway. Mr. Armstrong stepped straight over the ditch, pushing her away contemptuously. “Stop interfering,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Emma staggered sideways, and Hope gave a funny little squeal. Then she thrust her fist into her open mouth so hard that Tom heard it thud against her teeth.

She’s terrified of making a noise, he thought suddenly. How did he teach her that? What did he do to keep her quiet under the floor?

For the first time, he felt seriously frightened. All they knew about Mr. Armstrong was that he kept his daughter under the floor. And that his son was terrified of him. Now that they’d found Hope, he was in grave trouble. They had no idea how he might react to that or what he would do to get her back.

Tom wanted to lift her off the ground and run away, before any more horrible things could happen to her. But if he did that, they’d never get her back into the woods. They had to stay where they were, by the hedge bank. Waiting.

Shuffling closer to Hope, Tom slid his arm around behind her, ready to hold on tight if there was any attempt to snatch her away. But Mr. Armstrong didn’t lay a finger on her. Once he was over the ditch, he folded his arms and took a step back, staring down at them all. Hope looked away from him, gazing down at the nut she was holding.

Robert was still half turned toward the bank, trying to watch the cavern entrance without making it obvious. But Mr. Armstrong wasn’t interested in him. All his attention was directed at Hope. She hadn’t moved at all, except that her fingers had curled tightly around the nut, hiding it away.

“Come here,” Mr. Armstrong said again. “Stand up and walk.” This time there was an edge to his voice. A hint of something very cold and determined.

Mr. Armstrong didn’t even glance at him. He was staring steadily at Hope, waiting for her to lift her head. Even from where he was sitting, Tom felt the brutal, unwavering force of that stare.

Hope felt it, too. After a second, she started trying to struggle out of the blankets. But she was very tired, and Robert had wrapped her up tightly, to keep her warm. The blankets tangled around her legs, and she put her head down and began to whine.

Immediately, her hand came up and hit her face. Tom winced, but Mr. Armstrong hardly seemed to notice. He just went on waiting until Hope began to struggle again. Tom couldn’t bear to watch. He reached over and loosened the blankets so that she could scramble out.

As she crawled free of them, Mr. Armstrong frowned and snapped at her again. “Stop that! Walk!”

Slowly and unsteadily, she hauled herself onto her feet. The ground was uneven and she wobbled slightly, spreading her arms for balance. She stood in a curious, unnatural way, with her knees turned outward so that all her weight was on the outside edges of her feet.

“She’s lazy,” Mr. Armstrong said coldly. “That’s why I have to make her walk.” He snapped his fingers and beckoned to Hope, and she took one shaky step forward.

Tom was shocked. Last time he’d seen her standing, they’d been desperate to get her away, with no time to notice what she looked like. Now he saw how she’d been affected by living under the floor. She was taller than he’d realized, but her body was pitifully slight and frail. Her head poked forward, and her spindly legs were awkward and ungainly. When she took her first step, she would have fallen if he hadn’t jumped up and caught her.

As soon as he felt her weight against his hands, he knew he couldn’t let Mr. Armstrong have her. Not even for a minute. Not even while they phoned the police. He could feel the narrow bones in her arms and the way her body trembled, and he knew she was afraid.

He put his arms around her and swung her off the ground, holding her tightly. The dry clothes Emma had given her were wet now, too, and he could feel her shivering as she huddled against his chest. He looked at Mr. Armstrong over the top of her head.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Mr. Armstrong held out his hands. “She’s my daughter. She belongs to me. Hand her over.”

He said it like an adult giving orders to a stupid child. Come on, now. That’s enough of that. Stop playing games. But behind that bullying, everyday impatience, Tom could hear something darker and more menacing. It took every scrap of determination he had to stay where he was, with Hope in his arms.

She was watching her father with a strange, detached expression, as though the argument had nothing to do with her. But both hands were jammed over her mouth, and she was trembling harder than before.

“Give me the blankets, Em,” Tom said without looking around. “She needs wrapping up.”

Emma scooped them up and draped them awkwardly around Hope’s body, tucking them in where she could. Hope grabbed at the edges, and Tom saw her hunting for the plaited fringes and running her fingers up and down them, to feel the patterns she had made.

Then, before Tom could answer, he lunged forward and grabbed at her body through the blankets. Tom was taken by surprise, but Hope reacted faster than he did. She flinched away from her father’s hands, burying her face in Tom’s chest.

For the first time, he raised his voice enough to carry beyond the woods. Immediately, on the other side of the hedge, Helga started to bark frantically. He could hear her tugging at her leash and rocking the bench on its concrete base.

Mr. Armstrong ignored that. He had a firm grip on Hope now. As he dug his fingers in and pulled, her mouth opened in what should have been a scream. But all that came out was a tiny, useless squeak.

Tom peered through the leafless hedge, trying to spot someone who might come and help. But it was still too early. There was no one else in the park. Only Helga, barking and tugging at the bench. Tom knew he couldn’t hold on to Hope much longer. Mr. Armstrong was dragging at her body with all his weight. If they both kept hold of her, she was going to get hurt.

Tom gave up on Lorn and shouted as loudly as he could. “Help! Is there anyone there? Come and help us!”

There was another burst of barking—and then a crash as the bench went over. Helga dragged her leash free and came straight for them, pushing her way through the hedge.