Over the years, Leo had come to accept that his family had been lost to him. He had never known what had become of his parents or any of the people in the small village just outside Warsaw. There had been times when he had thought he would go back and try to find out, but when it came to it, he had not wanted to do so. He had been afraid of finding that those beloved people had been incarcerated in the concentration camps, and that some had died in the gas chambers. The Ovens, thought Leo. That was our childhood fear. We didn’t really understand, but we were all afraid.
And yet the years with the Hursts had not been as unhappy as they might have been. Simeon Hurst and his sister had been severe and strict; they had not understood about Leo being Jewish, and they had force-fed him with Christianity. But he had come to understand that this had not done him so ill a turn; it had given him his ability to view religion with a wider lens than he might otherwise have done, and had probably led him to studying philosophy and theology – a study that had proved so rewarding and that had led him to his beloved Oriel College. He sometimes thought that because of the Hursts he had worked hard, and because of that he had managed to get to Oxford. More, he had managed to remain at Oxford, and it became his life and his family.
The years at Willow Bank Farm had settled into a degree of stability. There was school and singing in the choir, and there were school activities and friends. The sad memories of his home began to fade a bit. The other memory of that pain-filled, macabre night at Deadlight Hall did not fade, though; Leo did not think it ever would. He did not think the memory of the twins would ever completely fade, either.
But he liked school and he had liked most of his lessons. The Hursts made sure he did his work diligently and thoroughly, and occasionally handed out a few sparse words of praise. Surprisingly, they never missed attending a school concert or a prize-giving, Simeon wearing his Sunday suit and polished boots, Miss Hurst in a knitted hat and black lace-up shoes. They always sat in the front row, and afterwards talked earnestly to the teachers about Leo’s progress. One year, when rationing was starting to ease, the school offered a cold buffet after its Christmas carol service, with a fruit cup rather daringly flavoured with sherry. It was unfortunate that the headmaster, wanting to be hospitable, and pleased to talk to the guardians of his promising young pupil, poured Miss Hurst several glasses of this, after which, inspired by the carol singers, she began her own rendition of ‘Once in Royal David’s City’, slightly off-key, and had to be helped out to the battered truck which Farmer Hurst drove. She sang ‘We Three Kings’ all the way back to the farm, then collapsed in a bundled heap in a fireside chair and smiled foolishly at the plate of stew which had been simmering on the stove while they were out.
After that night, Leo had usually managed to steer her away from any alcoholic beverage that was on offer, although it was sometimes difficult, because Miss Hurst made her own elderflower and parsnip wines, which she liked to bring out for visitors. Sometimes, if the vicar called, she became quite bright-eyed and giggly, and said, ‘Oh, Vicar, the things you say.’ Leo thought Farmer Hurst did not like to see his sister being giggly and prodding the vicar with a pretend-stern finger. If the vicar’s sister was there, she always folded her lips tightly like a drawstring purse.
Simeon and Mildred Hurst both said Leo must continue to study hard. Simeon said if God had given Leo the gift of intelligence Leo must be sure to make use of it.
Occasionally they talked about their disgraceful ancestor.
‘A wastrel,’ said Simeon. ‘And he lost us a lot of money.’
‘And land,’ chimed in Miss Hurst. ‘Don’t forget the land.’
‘I don’t forget the land, Mildred, I’ve never forgotten the land. We don’t covet our neighbour’s goods, of course, Leo, and a man cannot serve God and Mammon both—’
‘But that land was once Hurst land and rightfully this family’s,’ put in Miss Hurst, firmly. ‘Our ancestor sold a large piece of land all those years ago,’ she told Leo, by way of explanation. ‘To pay his debts, so we’ve always understood. Women, mostly.’
‘And drink.’
‘Yes, that, too, and woe unto them that rise up early in the morning that they may follow strong drink,’ said Miss Hurst, putting a half-empty bottle of parsnip wine back in its cupboard.
‘He squandered his substance and sold his birthright for a mess of pottage,’ said Simeon. ‘So think on, young man, think on, and avoid suchlike temptations.’
Leo said he would think on, although he did not really know what Simeon meant. But shortly after his twelfth birthday, it appeared that the Hursts now had a chance of regaining the land so wantonly sold by their forbear.
‘A reasonable price they’re asking,’ said Simeon. ‘I don’t know but what we mightn’t manage it, Mildred.’
‘They’ll expect you to haggle.’
‘D’you think so? Yes, I dare say they will. I dare say it’s usual.’ For the first time Leo saw Simeon Hurst uncertain of himself, and he guessed it was because the farmer was not familiar with the buying and selling of anything, and particularly not land.
He said, a bit timidly, that he remembered people at home always haggling a bit; it was part of almost any purchase you made.
‘I told you that, Simeon. They’ll expect you to haggle, I said.’
With slightly more confidence, Leo said that what you had to do was to start at a much lower price than you were prepared to pay. Then you increased the figure a little at a time.
‘Is that how it’s done? I tell you what, Simeon, you take Leo with you. It’ll be good for him to know about the land and the running of the farm.’
‘That’s a good suggestion. Leo, you’ll come along with me, and while we’re there, you’ll mind your manners and not speak unless you’re spoken to, remember. Get your coat, and we’ll be off to see if we can buy back our field.’
Leo, interested in this unexpected departure from routine, sped up to his room to get his coat.
‘We’ll take the old carriage path,’ said Simeon Hurst, lacing up his boots. ‘You’ve never been along there, have you, and it’s a nice walk of a fine morning. You’ll see how the two fields march alongside Willow Bank land, and you’ll understand why it’d be good for this farm to have the fields back. We’ll be back for dinner.’
Miss Hurst said there would be rabbit pie, which Simeon and Leo thought would do very nicely after their long walk.
But if Leo had realized the land adjoined Deadlight Hall, he would have found a reason to remain at the farm. He had never managed to completely push down the memory of the night when Sophie and Susannah vanished. Even though he had clamped a lid over it, the lid sometimes became dislodged, so that the seething memories escaped in little scalding dribbles, like Miss Hurst’s stews sometimes hissed and spilled out on the stove.
As they walked along the carriage path, Simeon pointing out wildlife and flora as they went and explaining about the different crops and how crop rotation worked, a slow horror was stealing over Leo. They were going towards Deadlight Hall. Deadlight Hall, with its iron-bound room and the furnace that roared greedily away. The place where his beloved twins had burned someone to death and then disappeared. But I promised I’d never tell anyone what they did, thought Leo. I promised, and I’ve kept the promise.
As the Hall came into view, a man walked along the path to meet them, hailing Farmer Hurst cordially. This was the present owner of the land, who might be prepared to sell it back to the Hurst family. Leo was secretly pleased when Mr Hurst introduced him as if he had been a grown-up. He shook hands politely as he had been taught, and stood quietly while the two men talked. Most of it was incomprehensible – there was a good deal about boundaries and rights of way, and Leo tried not to be bored. Then the man said, ‘Perhaps your boy would like to look around, would he?’ And, to Leo, ‘There’s a badgers’ sett nearby. And someone saw a heron near the canal last month.’
Leo understood that the man would prefer not to talk about the land in front of him, so he said thank you, yes, he would do that, and went off. No, he would not get lost, and yes, he would come back here.
He had not meant to go into the Hall, but it seemed to call to him. All the time he was looking for the heron he could almost feel the house pulling him. Perhaps he should let it. People said you could get rid of a nightmare by looking it in the face, and at home there had been a very old man, a rabbi and a scholar, who had told the children that you could drive out evil spirits by confronting them. You simply had to hold fast to your courage and your faith.
Leo did not think he had very much courage, but in this bright, clean, sunshiney morning, he thought he might have just about enough to look his nightmare in the face. He walked across the overgrown grass, and up the steps to the double doors. As he grasped the handle he was whispering a plea that the doors would be locked, but they were not, and they swung inwards with only a small protest.
The scent of damp and age and despair came out, and the bad memories swirled up, like a cloud of rancid flies. He flinched and almost turned back, but having got this far he must at least step inside. And once inside, it was not so bad. He did not remember much about the main part of the Hall – he supposed he had been too ill that night – and he looked around with curiosity. The schoolhouse at home had had an entrance a little like this – not as large, but there had been the same kind of floor, and the same wide shallow stairs leading to the upper floors. There was the door that led down to the furnace room. Someone had propped it open, and he could see the stone steps.
As he hesitated, trying to make up his mind to go through the door, something glimmered in the darkness beyond it. Something that was small and pale, and something that had long chestnut hair … As Leo stared, caught between fear and fascination, the outline half-turned, and he saw that a second figure, almost identical, stood there as well. Hands, small, soft, fragile, came up and beckoned to him.
There are moments in life when what you most want in all the world suddenly seems within your grasp, and logic deserts you. In that moment, Leo was aware only of a surge of delight. Sophie and Susannah! he thought, and went eagerly into the dark corridor and down the flight of stairs.
At first he could see them clearly, but as he plunged through the dimness, they seemed to recede and several times their outlines blurred. Then they were there again, moving away from him. Sophie turned and beckoned once more, and Leo went forward eagerly. This was where he had come that night, struggling against the pain in his head, fighting the fever and nausea.
Expecting at any minute to see the twins, he went on, towards the row of doors he remembered. He was level with the third door, when he realized that footsteps were coming into the corridor behind him, from the main hall. He stopped and looked back. Had someone followed him in? Perhaps it was almost twelve o’clock and Mr Hurst had come to look for him.
And then cold horror washed over him, because a soft voice came out of the dimness.
‘Children, where are you?’
It was the thick, breathy whisper Leo had heard all those years ago. It was with him, here in this narrow passageway. As he tried frantically to think what to do, a figure appeared in the corridor. It was indistinct in the uncertain light, but Leo could see that it was small and hunched over, as if the person was deformed. To walk towards it was unthinkable, so Leo turned and plunged towards the furnace room. Towards Sophie and Susannah, said his mind. They would be waiting for him. ‘We’ll always be linked,’ they had said on the night they had left Warsaw. ‘We’ll always know if you’re not all right, or if you’re in trouble.’
But that was six years ago, said Leo’s mind. They vanished six years ago; they can’t still be here, looking exactly the same, they can’t.
The words reached him again.
‘Children, are you here? I’ll find you wherever you are …’
And underlying the words, as if tapping out a rhythm, was a clicking. Machinery, thought Leo, and his mind looped back over the years. Old machinery starting up.
The furnace room was only a few yards away now. If he could get in there, he could slam the door against that horrid whispering figure. The iron door was closed, but a faint glimmer of light showed through the thick round window.
‘Children, where are you?’
The words trickled through the shadows, and Leo gasped, and went towards the iron door. Light, crimson and baleful, poured out, lying across the worn old stones, and he could smell the burning iron. An ancient heat, Sophie had called it.
Sophie and Susannah were not really here. It had only been his mind that had pretended to him that he could see them. He would not see them again.
But he did.
Framed by the iron staves of the old door, as if to make a macabre painting, was the same scene that had printed itself so deeply on his mind all those years ago. The black lump of the furnace, its innards glowing with the fierce, ancient heat, and the figures of the two girls moving through the red light. There was the struggling, squirming figure again, exactly as Leo remembered it.
The heat of the furnace was scorching his eyes, making them water and blurring the scene before him. But even though he could not see it clearly, he knew what was happening, and he knew who was in there. Sophie and Susannah, and the sharp nursing sister – Sister Dulce – whom they had believed was going to feed them to the terrible ovens – the ovens their parents had dreaded. The twins had killed her all those years ago, rather than face the ovens, and they were killing her again today. She would burn alive, all over again.
Leo began to pray that he was asleep and having a nightmare, and that he would wake up at any minute, because none of this could possibly be happening. Then he thought: but what if I’m being given a second chance? A chance to stop it happening? He took a fearful step closer, and behind him the iron door made a slow grating sound. Leo spun round, and managed to grab the door’s handle, dragging it back before it could close. It was much heavier than he had expected, and he had the sudden terrifying impression that someone was standing on the other side, just out of sight, pulling the door back into its frame. In another minute it would clang shut, and he would be trapped.
He did not dare look back to where the twins were. He only wanted to run away and find somewhere safe to hide. He had hold of the door handle and if he could manage to pull it a bit wider, he could dart out into the passageway before it closed altogether. The hunched-over figure might still be out there, but Leo would rather face that than be shut in here with the blazing furnace and the twins, who had suddenly become sinister and menacing. He knew they were still here; even though he had not looked back into the room, their shadows were moving on the walls.
He had not realized he had been shouting for help, but he heard his voice reverberating along the narrow corridor. There would not be anyone to hear, but he went on shouting anyway. Once, something seemed to move in the dark corridor, and Leo yelled to this something to help him, no longer caring that it might be the hunched figure.
He was nerving himself to let go of the handle and trust to luck that he could run out before the door swung shut, when other footsteps rang out in the corridor – real footsteps. A moment later came Simeon Hurst’s voice, calling his name. Leo drew in a shuddering breath of relief, and shouted for help.
‘I’m in here! I’m trapped – I can’t get the door open.’
The farmer was coming towards him. Leo could hear Mr Hurst’s firm heavy footsteps. He was aware of relief, because no one – not horrid whispering voices or shadowy figures – would dare to oppose Mr Hurst.
He shouted again. ‘I’m in the furnace room! The door’s trying to close – I can’t get out! And the furnace is burning—’
Simeon had reached the door – his thick, comforting bulk filled the doorway, and Leo had never been so glad to see anyone in his life. Simeon did not waste time in asking questions; he dragged at the door. It seemed to resist, then Hurst’s extra strength and weight prevailed, and he pulled it wide, banging it back against the stone wall. Leo tumbled through, and half fell against the passage wall.
The furnace was still roaring up, and Simeon, clearly puzzled, went towards it. Leo, huddled in the stone passage, saw two shapes creep out of the shadows. Their outlines were densely black against the red glow, but they were small and fine-boned, and they had long hair.
‘No!’ cried Leo, in panic. ‘Come out! Come out now, oh, please.’ He scrambled to his feet and started towards the iron door, but Simeon did not seem to hear him. Instead, he went up to the furnace, and picked up a long iron rod with a black hook at one end that was lying nearby.
Simeon Hurst’s outline was silhouetted blackly against the roaring crimson furnace, like a cut-out figure. He was intent on shutting the furnace door, and he was slotting the rod in place, so he could push the cover back. Leo started forward, then paused, fearful that the door might start to close again and trap them both inside.
Simeon almost had the furnace door closed, when a sheet of flame seemed to spit outwards, and a tiny crackle of flame caught the edge of his coat. He cried out and the rod slipped from his hands and clanged noisily on the stone floor as he beat at the tiny licking fire. Leo darted across to him, but Simeon had already fought himself free of his coat and had flung it down, stamping out the flames to douse them. Without looking round, he said, ‘Leo – stay clear – it’s not safe.’
‘But—’
‘Stay clear, I tell you.’
There was such a commanding note in his voice that Leo did as he was told. Mr Hurst’s jacket was no longer burning, and he would know what to do about the furnace. It would be all right.
Hurst reached for the hooked rod again, but in doing so he seemed to miss his footing or perhaps he tripped on the uneven floor. He stumbled forwards, flinging up his arms. Leo cried out and bounded across the floor, but it was too late. Simeon Hurst fell head first into the scarlet roaring depths.
The furnace blazed up and there was the nightmare, never-to-be-forgotten sound of Hurst screaming through the fire, and of the triumphant roaring crackle of the fire itself. Leo grabbed the iron rod, hardly noticing that its heat blistered his fingers, and tried to thrust it into the furnace. He was panic-stricken and terrified, but through the panic he had a confused idea that Mr Hurst might somehow be able to grasp the rod and be pulled out.
He could not, of course. There was a moment when Leo could see his silhouette within the flames – writhing, the hands clawing as if for freedom, his hair blazing and flames shooting out of his eye sockets. Then he simply folded in on himself. The fire died down, licking greedily over what was left.
The worst part was the smell. It was exactly the same smell as the kitchen at Willow Bank Farm when Miss Hurst roasted their Sunday dinner. Hot and greasy. A scent that would normally make you think of gravy and potatoes. Leo’s mouth filled with water, then he bent over retching.
He had no idea how long he remained like that, cold and sick, but when finally he was able to go back up the stairs the hunched-over figure had vanished. Leo was shivering so violently he felt as if his bones might break apart, and despite the blazing heat of the furnace a short while ago he was so cold he thought he would probably never be able to get warm again. But he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and went to find someone who would tell him what should be done.
What had been done became a nightmare of confusion and grief, but men had come in response to Miss Hurst’s telephone call, and had taken charge.
Later, ashes had been scraped out of the now-cold, now-quiescent furnace so that a funeral service could be held and decent burial be given. There was some kind of official enquiry, and Leo had to explain to a policeman what had happened. He tried to do this as clearly as he could. Mr Hurst had stumbled, he said, and fallen into the furnace. No, he did not know how the furnace came to be alight. No, he had not touched anything – of course he had not. Asked why he had been there in the first place, he said he had been exploring; he remembered being there when he had meningitis as a small child, and he was curious to see the place again. He did not say anything about seeing Sophie and Susannah, because he was no longer sure if he had seen them, and he did not say anything about the figure who had called for the children.
The policeman said he had done very well, and he was not to worry. He would not have to attend the enquiry or the inquest.
People in the small farming community were shocked and horrified at Simeon Hurst’s terrible death, although several hardier souls asked if it was true that it had not been possible to distinguish the contents of the furnace from his remains, so that the funeral might be read over nothing more than, well, over bits of clinker?
The verger said that this was unfortunately true, but the vicar was going to hold the service anyway, and they must just trust in God that they would be chanting the Twenty-Third Psalm and praying for the resurrection of life over some remaining bits of Simeon Hurst at the very least, and not over pieces of anthracite. As for those attending the wake at Willow Bank Farm afterwards, the vicar had said they were please to remember not to refer to funeral bak’d meats under any circumstances whatsoever.
Several ladies from the neighbourhood came to the farmhouse on the morning of the funeral to cut sandwiches and make tea and coffee, because Miss Hurst, poor soul, could not be expected to cope. Leo could perhaps help with handing round the sandwiches, could he? When Leo said he could, the ladies were pleased and told one another what a very nicely behaved boy he was, and how well repaid Simeon and poor Mildred had been for taking him into their home.
Mildred Hurst lay on her bed and sobbed for two days, after which she got up, put on a black frock of ancient cloth and forgotten style, netted her hair, and presided ferociously over the sandwich-cutting party. The sandwiches were egg and cress, cheese and chutney, and shrimp and anchovy paste. Leo heard one of the ladies say that ham was the usual offering, but that nobody had had the heart – or the stomach – to bake a ham.
During the sandwich-cutting Miss Hurst was given several glasses of elderflower wine by one well-meaning lady, and several glasses of brandy by another, neither of whom realized what the other had done, both of whom thought it would help the poor soul to pluck up a bit. After the second round of brandy, Miss Hurst said that she was perfectly all right, and Simeon would not have wanted a lot of wailing and beating of breasts. Everything must be devout and respectful, and please would people cut that bread thinner for the sandwiches otherwise it would not go round and she was not made of money.
Leo sat next to her during the service, and hoped nobody noticed that she took frequent and furtive sips from a small silver flask. Before the congregation went out to the graveside, she sprayed the front of her fur tippet with a scent bottle labelled Attar of Roses. It smelled peculiar, but it helped cover up the brandy fumes.
During the wake at the farmhouse, Leo heard the vicar’s sister say that Deadlight Hall had been shut up and a fence put round it. ‘Downright dangerous,’ she said, disapprovingly, and the lady to whom she was speaking said, in a low voice, that it was not the first time there had been a dreadful tragedy there.
‘I suppose they’ll try to sell it,’ said her listener.
‘Oh, they’ll try,’ said the vicar’s sister. ‘But I shouldn’t think they’ll succeed. Nobody will want it.’