Abigale Hall (31 page)

The gunshot faded into the night. Someone hunting foxes, Eliza thought, as she forced the veranda door open. She used one hand to guide her along the hall. The other held the fire poker from Mr Drewry's loft. Her clothes were heavy and stiff, stained in Ruth's blood.

The house gave no sign of Rebecca or Mrs Pollard or Victoria. Then she remembered, and the house no longer held any fear over her. There were no ghosts keeping it alive, only Mrs Pollard. Thornecroft was another dead thing, like the rest of Plentynunig.

At Abigale Hall, she paused. It held no feeling any more. It was just another part of the sickened house. The echo of warmth and protection she once thought existed here – of the heart of the house fighting some encroaching illness – was as much an illusion as Ruth's ghostly Victoria. No part of Thornecroft held any care for her. Abigale Hall would give her no strength. She skirted its circular edge, avoiding the illumination of the night-time sky now cleared of clouds. She wanted to remain a part of the shadows.

The east wing was darker and colder, as if Mrs Pollard's presence sucked all the warmth from the air. Eliza passed Victoria's portraits, gently touching each frame. Her ghost might not roam Thornecroft, but the poor girl was murdered here. She deserved retribution.

The doors in the servants' passage were closed tight. Once, they all would have appeared the same, but Eliza had learnt this house and learnt it well. Quietly, she twisted the handle to Mrs Pollard's room. It was unlocked and swung soundlessly inward. Silently, she approached the single bed and peered over it. Only pillows and air.

‘Looking for me?

Eliza spun round and swung the poker. She felt it hit hard flesh. Mrs Pollard cried out. Eliza swung again, but the poker was grabbed before it struck. Mrs Pollard yanked on it, trying to tear it from Eliza's hands, but she clung tight until she was shoved into the door frame, the poker arm pressed up against her neck, choking her.

She kneed Mrs Pollard in the stomach, and the poker fell. Eliza ran for the kitchen. She slammed the door and turned the key. It wouldn't hold Mrs Pollard forever, but it would give her some time. She lit the stove and cranked the flame all the way up.

A metallic scrape filled the kitchen as the key twisted in the lock. The door sprang open. Mrs Pollard entered. By the gaslight, Eliza saw a pair of needle-nose pliers in her hand and the blood dripping from her forehead.

Eliza held the address book over the open flame. ‘Don't step any closer.'

Mrs Pollard paused. ‘Do you even know what that is?'

‘The list of your victims.'

‘Potentials, Miss Haverford. Potentials. I keep track of the chosen in an entirely different matter.'

‘So you won't mind if I burn it then.'

‘Go right ahead. There are always more where you came from.'

Eliza tossed the book onto the flames. Mrs Pollard didn't flinch.

‘Where's my sister?'

‘I assure you she's perfectly safe.'

‘That's very little comfort.'

‘You've never seen how special she is. She told me so.' Mrs Pollard took one step forward. Eliza took one back. ‘I must say, I was quite annoyed with your aunt when the two of you were presented on my doorstep, but Rebecca . . . She has proven to be more useful than I could ever have imagined. You might say she's what I've been waiting for.'

‘Where is she?'

Mrs Pollard came another step closer. ‘Nearly thirty years I've been here. Can you imagine what that does to a woman?'

‘Why did you kill Mr Brownawell?'

She laughed. ‘Quite a dim child, aren't you? After all your time here, you think I'd ever harm my master?'

‘Perhaps. Maybe I should ask Reg Kyffin what he thinks.'

Mrs Pollard feigned surprise then smiled. ‘Ah, so you've discovered my little secret. How ingenious of you. No one else has come that far.'

‘Except for Pip. And the other girls you murdered.'

‘Pip never knew nor did anyone else. Oh. Is that why you think they died? Oh, you poor, simple thing. Those girls died because they needed to. In death, they found their purpose. As will you. Come along, child. It's time to end your tenure here. There's already a new girl on her way.' Mrs Pollard held out her hand.

Eliza stepped back. She felt a hard object, the rolling pin, on the counter behind her. ‘Don't you remember? I already resigned.'

She swung at Mrs Pollard but missed. The housekeeper grabbed Eliza's arm and twisted it until the pain caused her to drop the rolling pin. Mrs Pollard kicked Eliza's feet out from under her and began dragging her out of the kitchen. Before Eliza could struggle free, a gunshot sounded.

Mrs Pollard shouted and dropped her. Something wet dripped onto Eliza's face. Instinctively, she wiped at it. Her hand came away with blood. There was another shot. Eliza turned and saw the end of Mrs Pollard's dress as she ran away.

A dog barked.

Eliza turned to see Mr Drewry standing over her, Kasey at his side, the rifle pointed towards where Mrs Pollard had departed. He lowered it and slung it over his shoulder.

‘You alright?' he asked.

‘Did you hit her?'

‘Just grazed. Should have killed her.' He offered his hand. Eliza hesitated then took it.

‘Ruth . . . she's . . .' She stuttered, unsure how to tell him.

‘I've been to the loft.'

Eliza noticed the blood on his clothes. ‘I tried to . . . It was too deep . . .'

He reloaded the rifle. ‘We have to go after her.'

‘She could be anywhere in the house. We'll have to . . .'

‘She won't be hiding in the house.' Mr Drewry headed out of doors.

Eliza followed. ‘How can you be certain?'

‘I know the old snake better than you.'

They crossed the east lawn, heading for the treeline.

‘Ruth said I could trust you. Should I believe her?'

Drewry paused. ‘Not before. It's different now.'

‘How so?'

‘Pollard broke her promise. You coming or what?' He walked off without waiting for Eliza's answer. She followed. Together, they entered the woods.

Kasey stayed behind to guard the carriage house but to guard it from what, Eliza did not know. There were thousands of questions she wanted to ask Mr Drewry, but the man was silent, brooding. Eliza supposed he was mourning the loss of his love, but she had assumed such things before.

‘Did you love her?' she asked, breaking their silence.

‘What does it matter?'

‘It matters a great deal. It matters because I want to know whether you're going to help me or whether you're taking me out to a quiet place to kill me.'

‘Could have killed you at the house if I wanted. Only Kyffin would've known.'

‘So you know that isn't Mr Brownawell?'

Mr Drewry didn't respond.

‘Do you know what happened to the real Brownawell?'

‘Gone before I came here. And yes.'

‘Yes what?'

‘Yes, I loved her. Pollard promised to let her be, so long as I stayed out of her way. Not ask any questions.'

‘Even about Pip?'

He coughed and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘If I had, Ruth would've died a lot sooner than she did,' he said softly. ‘Ruth is . . . was a good woman, but she was like everyone else in the village. Didn't care what happened at Thornecroft until it took someone that meant something to her. I even warned her not to let Pip take the job, that I knew Pollard had plans for her, but Ruth insisted. Said Pip could handle herself. When that woman got an idea in her head, Devil himself couldn't talk her out of it.'

They walked in silence for a few steps before he spoke again. ‘Do you love him?'

‘Who?'

‘That boy from London. One who's been following me round.'

‘You've seen Peter?'

‘Picked him up in Swansea, like a bad smell. He's been looking for you. Told him to wait at the Old Hare. Safer for him there.'

Peter, who got lost in his own town, who could hardly order a different sandwich at the Corner House without panicking, he had tracked her all the way to Wales. He had not forgotten her. He had fought for her. Her own fairytale prince.

‘I suppose I do.'

‘There's no supposing about it. You either do or you don't.'

Her hand felt bare without his ring. She rubbed her palms together as they walked the path Eliza had seen Mrs Pollard take the previous night. ‘Where do you think she's going?'

‘To check on the collection.'

‘You mean the books? But they're . . .'

‘I don't know what it is. But I know where it is.'

After a long walk, they came to a clearing. Eliza realised where they were – on the opposite side of the quarry. She could see the pithead and outbuildings from the site of the mine collapse. It was calm now, but the hectic signs of the previous day's events could be seen in the leftover debris.

‘This way,' said Mr Drewry.

She followed him down the steep incline that led into the quarry. The path was narrow and Eliza clung to the rock wall, careful of the loose stones beneath her feet. Mr Drewry made a torch from a fallen branch and handed it to Eliza. She looked across the quarry, towards the main road that led to Thornecroft. The ground was so flat here that a light on the quarry path would be visible from that road, even in the fog.

Halfway down they reached an old mine entrance excavated into the rock. There was a fresh smear of blood on the wooden frame supporting the opening. Together, they went inside.

All night-time sounds dropped away, leaving only their breathing and the scrape of their footsteps against the rocky ground. By torchlight, she could see broken lanterns strung along the wall, the indentations where pickaxes had been used to carve the way. It was numbingly cold as they descended deeper into the earth and only her hand, by the heat of the torch, was kept warm. Above them, rotting wooden beams supported the tons of dirt gravity wished to descend. She pictured how easy it would be for one to break and bury them alive.

For fifteen minutes or more they walked, becoming ever more shielded by layers of earth until suddenly the claustrophobic narrow tunnel opened onto a massive underground cavern.

Eliza stumbled to a stop. Above her a ceiling of stalactites hung like blades, ready to drop on any unsuspecting creature below. The bottom of the cavern was too far down for the torch to light. They stood on a narrow path that clung to the side of the cavern wall. Before them were a few rusted mining carts covered in bat droppings. She and Mr Drewry kept close to the cavern wall and followed the path's descent.

They were halfway down when Eliza noticed a dim light on the opposite side of the cavern. She tapped Mr Drewry on the shoulder and pointed. He nodded and continued onward. Eliza was careful to make her steps silent. Silence was their only protection.

They wound their way to the cavern floor. It was a mess of twisted tracks and abandoned mining equipment, and Eliza trod carefully for fear of tripping.

The other light came from a separate tunnel. A quick-moving shadow darted back and forth. Eliza heard it muttering to itself as they drew nearer.

‘Insolent child . . . as she's told. No matter. No matter . . . the others. Never changes . . . for you . . .'

Mr Drewry slowly removed the rifle from his shoulder. Eliza stood back with the torch as he aimed.

‘That would be a mistake, Mr Drewry.' Mrs Pollard remained out of sight, but her voice was clear. ‘There was quite a bit of explosive material left here when we shut down the entrance in '31. Miss Haverford's exposed flame is worrisome enough. We don't need to be adding gunpowder and sparks to the mix, unless you want to blow us all to pieces.' Her skeletal frame appeared in the entrance to the tunnel. ‘But you've done that once already, haven't you? Or are you still blaming the Germans for unpinning your grenade?'

Eliza saw the sweat that was forming on Mr Drewry's face despite the chilling cold. His arm began to shake.

‘How many of them did you kill? Wasn't it your entire squadron? Amazing what a grenade can do when you drop it by accident. All those men who looked up to you. Depended on you. All of them dead. What were their names? Oh yes. Scott. Galloway. Benge. Davis. Shall I continue?'

The rifle quivered back and forth.

‘Put it down, Ben. You'll only hurt someone else.'

It clattered to the ground as he buried his face in his hand, cowering from ghosts only he could see.

‘Don't forget, Mr Drewry, this is your home, too. If anyone ever discovered you dropped that grenade, accident or not, there would be no end of volunteers to walk you to the gallows. Come now, Miss Haverford. It's time for you to meet the real master.' Though her voice was confident, Eliza could see the unhealthy paleness of her skin, the wet stain on her dark grey dress. Eliza stepped forward. A hand held her back.

‘Don't,' said Mr Drewry, his body shaking, face wet with tears. She knelt down to meet him eye to eye and clasped his hand in hers.

‘It will be alright.' She leant closer and whispered in his ear. ‘You were a better shot than you thought.'

Mrs Pollard waited patiently as Eliza approached her.

‘Show me the way.'

The women walked side by side in the wide tunnel.

‘Why is Mr Kyffin in Thornecroft and Mr Brownawell in the mines?' Eliza asked.

‘The master prefers the cold. And to be close to his collection.'

‘Why not keep the collection in Thornecroft? Wouldn't that be more convenient?'

‘He did. Before I came along and convinced him it would be more discreet to store it elsewhere. One of the many contributions that changed my fate.'

‘You must have been so young when you first came here.'

Mrs Pollard paused. ‘I was Rebecca's age. Had I not proved myself useful in other areas . . . I wanted to be an archaeologist, you see. It was all the rage when I was a girl. The world had other ideas.'