Chapter Fifty-Six

At first, the darkness seemed total. My head throbbed. I did not move, except for shivering, being unsure how much of me was broken. Something bitter as an ice wind wrapped itself around my body, shooting icicles into my bones. The pain was excruciating. Gingerly, I reached over and touched one arm, one leg. It was when I tried to move my left arm that I let out a yell of pain. So that was the worst. It needed some support. I diagnosed a broken arm, unsure which bone had cracked.

I cringed as I became aware of a soft, scraping sound. Something walked onto my leg. I screamed. The thing quickly moved on.

As my eyes grew accustomed to the dimness, I realised the darkness was not total. Light spilled from what must be one of those half windows some cellars have. Because of the pain in my left arm, the only way to stand was to roll onto my right side and push myself up onto one knee, then both knees, shift one leg, and then the other. Having achieved that, I decided against standing and shuffled to the wall. Sitting with my back to the wall, I brought my left arm close to my chest, pulled off my scarf and took I do not know how long to make a sling.

I could hear the sound of silence, a kind of low hum. By concentrating on minutiae, I would pass the time until Sykes found a way in. He must by now have heard their motor as they left.

Becoming aware of the smells, I thought there must be food here. Cheese, ham, sour milk. Of course there may not be food. Smells linger.

What I could not understand was why Sykes and Alec failed to find a way in, to search for me, to call out. Perhaps they had. Now I wondered had I passed out for a few crucial minutes.

If they were searching, they must know to look in a cellar. Painfully, I got to my feet. Staying close to the wall, I edged my way towards the glimmer of light that seemed to come and go. Perhaps this was an optical trick, or the sun disappearing behind a cloud.

Gertrude and Eliot must still be here, otherwise Sykes would have come to find me.

Fear was in abeyance, but in the hope of attracting attention, I screamed. This had its disadvantage. If Gertrude and Eliot were still in the house, they might come and finish me off.

Greed had brought them to this, greed and a sense of entitlement. They were not very good at murder. The attack on me was clumsy. If I died, an amateur could solve the crime. A detective from a sixpenny novel would solve it.

As a reward to myself for this thought, I screamed again.

That would be my pattern. Scream, take a long pause, and scream again. Save my voice, save my throat, save my sanity.

Edging my way round, I knew I was coming closer to the half window that, when I lay on the stone-cold floor, seemed distant as a star. And then suddenly I was there. At windowsill level was a large sink. With the hand of my good arm, I steadied myself. Doing so shot darts of pain through my wrist.

Screams of pain are often quiet. I indulged in one of the hair-raising kind.

It was my reward to see a pair of men’s black shoes. The shoes stopped. I screamed again, wishing I had found something long enough to hit the window, to break it. Above the shoes were black trouser turn-ups, the calves of legs. The person bobbed down, knees in my direction. Lastly came a face. The face jutted forward, close to the glass. I saw him. He saw me. Raynor.

Part of his plan was to appear benign, in his look, benign and concerned.

He shouted something that I could not hear.

He would have been the one to put the body on the train, and now it was my turn. He had come to finish me off.

I blinked, and he was gone.

Now that I was at the sink, I realised that I had a burning thirst. I turned on the tap and put my head under it, gulping water into my mouth, letting it run onto my temples, and then down my neck which was horrible. The idle thought came to me that perhaps icy water running down one’s neck in a freezing cellar might make death seem perfectly acceptable.

I heard nothing more, and in those moments of nothingness, wondered whether there might be a side door, another way out, a place where the coal came in. If there were such a place, I might find it by touch before Raynor got to me. And where was Sykes?

But even as these thoughts came, I heard the creak as the cellar door swung open. Footsteps came steadily nearer and nearer. I must be living in slow motion, and perhaps I would go on living in slow motion after death.

There was a light, a swinging light reflected on the far wall, a lantern perhaps.

In spite of my plan to look for a door or coal cellar, my feet had taken no notice of my brain. If I could keep my broken arm steady, I might hit out with my other hand.

And then he was standing in front of me, looming over me.

“People will miss me. You won’t get away with it.”

“My dear Mrs. Shackleton, of course they will. The world will miss you. I will miss you even though I know you so slightly. Now let me help you.”

This was clever. This might put a person off her guard.

He took a roller towel from the wall by the sink. “This will make a better sling.”

It took a moment to realise he was not going to try and strangle me, but made a better sling than mine.

“Now will you take my arm, or shall I carry you?”

“I can walk.”

Stay calm, I told myself. The moment will come. You can walk but you cannot run. There will be an escape. It will not end like this.

He talked. He held my right elbow, and he talked.

“Mr. Brockman told me you were coming here. I thought you would be all right. Alec was with you. Where has he got to?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have they taken him?”

“I don’t know.”

He would learn nothing from me. I hoped Alec was safe, and Sykes too.

“Did they send you?” I asked. “Benjie, Gertrude, Dell?”

“Heavens no. Do believe me. I am here to help.”

“They killed Harry Aspinall and Mrs. Farrar.”

Raynor said nothing.

“Did you know that, Raynor?”

“I wondered. I had begun to think that a possibility, once Mr. Brockman told me the identity of the man on the train.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“One hopes one is wrong. But why did you come here?”

“Didn’t Benjie tell you? I wanted their signatures in triplicate, so that the eight orphans could be brought back from Liverpool.”

“You should have asked me. Forging signatures is one of my skills.”

We had reached the top of the steps, without my remembering the pain in my arm.

He left a note on the front step, secured with a pebble. “Just to say you are safe, in case whoever is searching for you comes back.”

There was no sign of Sykes’s car.

Raynor helped me onto the back seat of Benjie’s car, and covered me with a motoring blanket. “I cast your astrological chart for you, Mrs. Shackleton. It alerted me to the fact that today was not propitious. Also, you are advised not to take on any new ventures at present, or to make hasty investments.”

Well that was good to know.