Abigale Hall (32 page)

Eliza remembered the archaeology books untouched by cruelty.

‘I found the reading room,' she said as they came to a sharp bend in the tunnel.

‘I thought you might. You're so alike, you and your sister.'

‘You said books should be properly maintained. Then why destroy them in that way?'

Mrs Pollard laughed then grimaced and gripped her side. ‘That's not destruction. That's salvation. His father built the library and put those books there, but all they did was shout at the master and cause him pain. He could hear his father's voice in every one, he used to say. His father's or Victoria's. I helped to silence them. But my time of servitude is at an end. I've been waiting for so long for someone suitable to take my place. I thought she wouldn't arrive in time, but for once fate has decided to show me kindness.' She smiled, and Eliza saw the solemn girl from the photographs. ‘Still, there are a few things we need to put in order. You'll have to change before we begin. It's so much easier when they die already dressed.'

They turned the corner. The fear Eliza had lost found her again.

The wall was lined with corpses. Each stood propped against a metal pole with a noose to hold her head back against the wall, like porcelain dolls on a stand. Dolls wearing Victoria's dress.

‘My talents for organisation proved very useful. Before I came, the master could only manage one every decade or so. This is the real Victoria Kyffin.' Mrs Pollard pointed to the first corpse. Her dress was yellow and tattered. All her skin had rotted away, leaving only a blackened skull and matted tangles of brown hair, her jaw locked open in a smiling grimace.

‘When Mr Kyffin came to claim her, the master let the fool believe he would see his daughter if he waited long enough. The man lived in that cellar for years, poor thing. Until I discovered a better use for him. The master isn't much for entertaining these days. It makes him so weary. But a house must have its presumed leader.'

Each corpse they passed was less decayed than the one before. They were all so similar – same build, same hair – it was like watching a sick reconstruction of Victoria returning to life.

‘Someone would notice. All these girls. Someone would care.'

‘But that's the wonderful thing, Miss Haverford. No one did. No one who mattered. And the war made it easier. All those refugees. Before, most of them were from the kingdom – English, Welsh, Scottish. Even an Australian. But Olenka here was Polish. Amelia after her, French.' They reached the end of the line. ‘And then there was dear Pip.'

The freshest of the corpses, only Pip's eyes had completely decayed. The skin of her face was grey – sunken and drooped – but the scream she held as she died was visible on her dried, receding lips.

‘She was holding that book you found when I stabbed her. Thought it could act as a shield. But it was easy to slip the boning knife up between her ribs.'

Beside Pip was an empty metal stand, a noose dangling above. Hanging from the pole was the dress Eliza wore to dinner, the dress that haunted her dreams.

This was to be her resting place.

As Eliza stared at the waiting space, Mrs Pollard continued down the tunnel.

‘Mr Brownawell, aren't you proud of me? I've brought you another bride.' A silent wheelchair rolled forward.

This corpse wore a red dinner jacket and bow tie, his skeletal hand adorned with a gold ring while his face held the permanent smile that matched his brides'. Eliza's eyes met his empty sockets.

‘Nineteen forty-five wasn't a good year for his condition. But you're holding up admirably, aren't you, my dear?' She stroked his shoulder. ‘For nearly thirty years, I've been his one, faithful companion. I promised I'd serve him till death. Sadly, that day has come sooner than expected.' She coughed into her handkerchief. Eliza glanced at the bloody wound staining Mrs Pollard's side, but the woman merely smiled. ‘No, not that. I have the cancer. Known it for some time. But, unlike others, I'm able to make my peace with death. For in death, we can be together.'

She leant down and kissed the decayed scalp of her master. Eliza pictured the germs that must have transferred onto Mrs Pollard's lips, saw them sinking into the delicate, thin skin of her lips and worming their way into her bloodstream. Eliza understood why the woman had cancer. What shocked her was the thought that she had ever tried to reason with or appease Mrs Pollard. One could not reason with irrevocable madness. Mrs Pollard reached into the darkness and pulled forward another chair over which another gown, one different to Victoria's, was draped.

‘I will be his true bride. The only faithful woman he has ever known. And remain here with him forever.' She caressed his cheek.

‘If you're his wife, then he won't need any more brides,' Eliza said. ‘So why need someone to carry on his work?'

Mrs Pollard laughed. ‘Because of the children, of course. We both want children. And we have plenty of space for them down here. But first things first, Miss Haverford. I promised him you, and I've never broken a promise to my master. That's why he loves me.' She stepped forward and fingered the dress that was to be Eliza's. ‘I've already decided the best way to go about it. A hanging. In honour of your dear father. Won't that be nice? Now, put on the dress.'

‘No.'

‘Alright. Put on the dress or I kill Rebecca. She'll die willingly if I tell her to.'

Eliza couldn't move.

‘You would do anything for your sister, wouldn't you? You've hurt her so much already. The only way you can make it up to her is if you sacrifice yourself. She'll never forgive you otherwise. I know. She told me.'

Eliza felt the coldness within weaken her. She reached for the dress.

‘That's a good girl.'

It had to be eradicated. She pulled the dress from the hanger.

‘I told you, sir. There was no need to ever doubt me.'

There was only one way to remove it. Eliza held the dress to the light.

‘I always do as you ask.'

The delicate lace caressed the lick of flame from the wall lantern, and the dress caught fire. Eliza tossed it onto Mr Brownawell. Mrs Pollard screamed, and Eliza ran, yanking lanterns off the wall and throwing them onto the corpses. The passage burned behind her. Each body became consumed by flames as the fire crackled. The orange light behind her grew like the oncoming dawn as black smoke drifted ahead of her, trying to block her path. The heat boiled her skin as sweat coated her like a shield, and she struggled to breathe in the oxygen-starved air. Through the smoke, she could see the exit to the tunnel of flame, and the figure of Mr Drewry waiting beyond. Only a few feet stood between them.

Mrs Pollard tackled her. ‘You will do as you're told. You will take your proper place!' She tried to pin Eliza's arms behind her back. The smoke scalded her nose. All she could smell was ash. She tasted it on her tongue.

Eliza rolled over and kneed the gunshot wound. Mrs Pollard gasped, and Eliza punched her again. The housekeeper fell backwards. Eliza got to her feet and ran until she reached the cavern. Mr Drewry sat on the ground, rocking back and forth. Eliza grabbed his arm.

‘We have to go! Mr Drewry!'

He wouldn't budge. Eliza took his face in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

‘Ben, it's time to go.'

He responded, noticing for the first time the fire in the tunnel.

Mrs Pollard hobbled from the flames, coming for them. Ben grabbed the rifle and fired. Mrs Pollard fell then pushed herself up to her knees.

Together, Eliza and Ben pushed one of the heavy mining carts in front of the entrance. Mrs Pollard threw herself at it but was too weak to move it away. Her bloodied fingers reached for them as Eliza took her torch and lit the wooden tunnel entrance. The fire climbed up either side and lit the top of the frame, surrounding Mrs Pollard in flames.

‘She'll never forgive you!' she screamed, blood spitting from her lips. ‘She knows the good work I do here. She won't fail us!'

A flaming beam cracked and fell on top of Mrs Pollard. Her angry shouts turned to screams of another sort as Eliza watched the flames engulf her body, sending her to the same end as the brides in the tunnel. Her dying wish, at last.

‘And they lived happily ever after,' Eliza whispered. Ben pulled her away.

Together, they ran from the burning cavern and through the tunnel, not stopping until they reached the outside quarry path. The clear, fresh air on the surface calmed her.

An explosion shook the ground. Eliza fell sideways towards the gaping quarry. Ben grabbed her and pulled her back, losing his grip on the rifle. It tumbled into the void as the ground rumbled again. They kept running, the path threatening to collapse under them. Behind them, the path fell away. They were almost on solid ground.

Eliza reached the top first and helped Ben up after her. They ran from the unstable edge as the ground continued quaking beneath them, the underground flames burning away the last of Mr Brownawell's poison. At the treeline, they paused and watched the quarry breaking apart as a multitude of stars looked down upon them.

Peter walked for hours, his legs going numb from the effort. Many times he thought he was only wandering deeper into the unforgiving Welsh countryside. He had images of walking all the way to the sea or stumbling across the English border, his collapsed body found by miners, gnawed on by foxes.

When he saw the manor house, he wept. The place appeared abandoned, half-hidden as it was behind a high brick wall. He wiped dirt away from the plaque mounted by the front gates.

Thornecroft
.

He laughed. He had found it. After all this time, despite what everyone said, he had done it. He had found her. Peter pushed open the heavy iron gates and approached the house. All was pitch black except for a small light glowing in the window to his right. Someone was home.

He rang the doorbell but heard no sound. Thinking it broken, he knocked. No one answered. He tried the handle. The unlocked door opened onto a dark entrance hall.

‘Hello?'

His voice echoed through the blackness.

‘Eliza?'

No answer.

‘Anyone?'

To his right was the small orange light.

‘Hello?'

It moved deeper into the house.

‘Wait!' Peter ran after it, bumping into walls and furniture, finding it difficult to navigate the twisting passages. He entered a hall decorated with old paintings. Each he passed depicted the same woman and scrolled like a film reel as the woman drew closer and closer to an entrance in the distance. Peter stopped at the last painting. It was the entrance to a mine. Ahead, someone coughed, drawing his attention. The light hovered there.

‘Hello?' As he approached, he saw the illuminated face. ‘Please. I need your help. I . . .' He paused. ‘Rebecca? Oh, Rebecca! Thank God you're alright.'

Rebecca's face was blank. The poor girl must be traumatised, he thought.

‘Rebecca, it's me. Peter. Don't worry. You're safe now. I've come to save you.'

‘You're not supposed to be here,' she said.

‘I know. But we'll move quickly. I'll have you out of here quick as a flash. Where is Eliza?'

‘You'll have to go. We don't need you here.'

‘Rebecca,' he laughed. ‘What's got into you? Stop being silly. Here. Take my hand and show me to your sister.'

Rebecca set down the Tilley lamp then reached for Peter's hand, keeping the other behind her back.

What a queer motion, he thought, before a sharp pain erupted in his stomach. A knife handle protruded from his abdomen. He tried to speak. Only blood came from his lips. Rebecca pulled the knife out. He staggered back. A doorframe. He tried to support himself. His feet slipped on the bloody floor.

‘This is our home now. You don't belong here.'

‘R . . . Rebecca . . .'

She plunged the knife in again. This pain was less than the first but caused more blood to spill. She pulled out the blade. He fell back onto something soft. He was sweating. It must have been from the heat. The blood was so warm. But he was so cold.

Rebecca stroked his hair.

‘Don't worry.' She smiled. ‘It'll all be over soon.' Gently, she tilted back his head.

The knife went through his neck.

He was choking and drowning all at once.

Michael held his hand. Mother kissed him on the cheek. But where was Eliza? Eliza was close. Roses and old books. He had to give her the book. Her book. She needed. He needed. He promised. His mouth filled with blood.

Rebecca's smiling face became preternaturally clear then blurred as he slipped away to the sound of her counting.

Dawn was breaking as Eliza and Ben returned to the estate. The sky grew warm with a golden-pink tinge. Today would be beautiful. They parted at the carriage house. The grave she had dug yesterday would be useful after all. Eliza took the long way round to the kitchen. Crossing the garden only made her think of Ruth, and right now she didn't want to think. She wanted to rest.

When she spotted Rebecca waiting for her in the kitchen, Eliza rushed inside.

‘Rebecca!' She threw her arms around her and held her close. Rebecca returned the hug with equal ferocity. ‘Are you alright? She didn't hurt you, did she?'

‘I'm fine, Eliza. Where is Mrs Pollard?'

‘Oh, she's gone, dearie. She's gone. And we'll never have to worry about her again.'

‘Did you kill her?'

Eliza kissed her hand. ‘Let's get some rest. I'm exhausted. You must be, too.'

‘Because it's alright if you did. Some people deserve to die.'

‘It's nothing you ever need worry about. Now, we'll rest today, and tomorrow Mr Drewry is going to help us return to London.'

Rebecca led her out of the kitchen. ‘I made you a present while you were gone.'

‘Really?' Eliza yawned. ‘Can it wait till tomorrow?'

‘But I've already put it in your room. Go on. Go and see!'

‘Alright, then.'

The smell of blood was embedded in Eliza's clothes. She wanted to change, take a warm bath, but most of all she wanted sleep. She wanted to curl up in her bed and sleep until the afternoon. Today, she felt she'd earned it. Yet she owed this to Rebecca. She could no longer be selfish.

Eliza opened her bedroom door. Between the shock and exhaustion, she could not scream. She could only stare at the mutilated body, his skin and clothes soaked in damp blood, his cloudy eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling. The half-finished scarf lay neatly across his chest.

She did not run to him. There was not even a chance he was alive.

‘Peter . . .' Her hand felt bare.

‘Do you like it? I made it just for you.' Rebecca smiled, and Eliza felt herself tumbling into the quarry.

‘You . . . you murdered . . .'

‘Yes.' Rebecca cocked her head to the side. ‘And?'

‘I loved him.' The fog reached up and took her in.

‘He came to take you away.'

Eliza backed down the hall. Rebecca followed.

‘You're not allowed to leave, Eliza. Mrs Pollard wanted to kill you, and I very much disliked that idea. She could be very queer sometimes. But now you've taken care of her, we can live here together with the master. Carry on his good work. Doesn't that sound splendid?'

Eliza noticed Rebecca was carrying her hands behind her back. She caught the silver glint of a knife.

‘But, Rebecca,' she said, ‘why would you want to stay here when we can go home to London? Don't you like London?'

‘Well, it's alright. Perhaps we can visit every now and then. But why should we leave when this whole manor is ours now? Thornecroft can be our home. We'll have our own bedrooms and bathrooms and no one to bother us!'

‘A house like this, it's too much work for just the two of us.'

‘That's why we hire girls to help. Mrs Pollard showed me how it works. She showed me everything. Doesn't the collection remind you of Father? All their faces look so peaceful as they sleep. Father's face was peaceful, too.' Rebecca pulled the burnt address book from her pocket. ‘Now see, we hire them, they work, then we give them to the master. Our own place. Isn't that what we've always wanted?'

Eliza neared the main hall of the east wing. Her eyes darted for an escape. Rebecca noticed.

‘You don't want to stay, do you?'

‘I think we need to sleep on it, weigh our options.'

‘You want to lock me away and forget about me. Don't you? You're always happier when I'm not around. Admit it. I found the address for that hospital amongst your things when I cleaned your room. Mrs Pollard told me what kind of hospital it was. I didn't want to believe her, but she was right, wasn't she? Mrs Pollard is always right.'

Rebecca's eyes went black and dead. Her face contorted into a twisted snarl, revealing the vicious beast she was inside.

‘Let's calm down,' Eliza said. ‘Be reasonable.'

‘I am perfectly calm. Dearie.' Rebecca leapt at her with the knife. Eliza dodged it then ran.

‘Run, rabbit, run!' Rebecca shouted.

She headed for the kitchen, but Rebecca pounced on her. Eliza felt the knife sink into her shoulder as she fell to the floor. She got to her knees and threw herself against the wall, knocking Rebecca off. She pulled out the knife, dropped it and kept running. Outside on the lawn, she shouted.

‘Ben! Ben!'

The sun peeked above the horizon as Rebecca's grey figure continued advancing towards her. Kasey galloped in from the other direction. He went straight for Rebecca, grabbing her by the leg. Rebecca swung the knife at him, but he refused to let go. When Ben appeared round the corner, he saw Kasey attacking and ran to Rebecca's aid.

‘Ben, no!'

He reached the pair.

‘No, Ben. Let him!'

He looked at Eliza in surprise, and Rebecca stabbed him in his hand. The knife stuck. Rebecca abandoned it and retreated, limping through the damaged wall into the garden. Eliza rushed to his side as he removed the knife.

‘I've lost her. She's mad. She's killed . . .' Eliza used her handkerchief to bind his hand, and pushed the fog away. ‘The sedative you used for Kasey. Is there any left?'

‘Some. But it's only meant for animals.'

‘It's all we have.'

They hurried to the carriage house. The mare, unperturbed, watched as Ben extracted a vial from the first-aid kit and drew the liquid into the barrel.

‘She could be anywhere in that house,' he said.

‘Then we'll have to smoke her out.' Eliza took the syringe. ‘Get Mr Kyffin, then burn it to the ground. All of it. She can't call it home then.'

She threw a length of rope over her shoulder and headed out into the garden. The dawn light made it easier to see but cast strange shadows over the ground. Her shoulder bled sluggishly as she crept through the hedges, remembering the games of hide and seek they would play in Gran's garden. Eliza always won.

Eliza peeked round the fountain. The latticework doors were open. She approached cautiously and saw drops of blood leading inside.

Thornecroft was silent. She inched her way through the house, following the bloodstains to the north hall. When she reached the staircase, she heard a familiar creaking. Mr Kyffin's wheelchair. The sound quickened until he appeared at the top of the stairs. Eliza was powerless to stop the wheelchair as it was pushed over the edge.

Both Mr Kyffin and the chair tumbled. Eliza leapt to the side, but not far enough. The heavy metal contraption landed on her leg, pinning her down. Mr Kyffin continued to breathe, though Eliza saw how badly broken his body was. She manoeuvred herself so she could hold his hand.

‘I found her,' she whispered. ‘I found Victoria. She's at peace now. She said you don't have to wait any more.' Eliza kissed his hand. Mr Kyffin sighed, and his pain finally ended.

Rebecca looked down on them from the top of the staircase.

‘Did you hear that, Rebecca? The collection is gone. I destroyed it.' Eliza pulled her ankle free. Already it started to swell. ‘Mrs Pollard, Mr Brownawell. I destroyed all of it. You have no home here. No purpose.'

‘Liar!' Her voice boomed through Thornecroft's empty halls.

‘Yes, but not this time.'

Rebecca ran at her. Eliza rolled out of the way, leaving Rebecca to punch the floor instead. She cried out as her hand met the hard surface then ran off down the hall, cradling it to her chest.

Eliza pulled herself up by the banister, wincing as soon as she placed weight on her ankle. Ben ran into the room, tried to get her to sit.

‘There's no time,' she said. ‘Light the fires. We'll keep her contained. Go!'

He paused over Kyffin, crossing his chest, then hurried off. Eliza hobbled in Rebecca's direction. She would never be able to run her down now. Ahead of her, she heard a door close, followed by whispers. Rebecca was counting again.

‘Eighteen!' Eliza shouted. ‘Twelve! Forty-three!'

‘Stop it!' Rebecca screamed from the opposite side of the door. ‘One two three four five—'

‘Twenty-two!'

Rebecca cried out. Eliza heard her run away from the door. She opened it just as Rebecca disappeared behind another.

‘One two three four—'

‘Six seven eight nine!'

‘Stop it! I hate you. I hate you!' Again she ran.

Eliza limped into Abigale Hall just in time to see the door to the Ancestral Parlour slam shut. On the other side she heard weeping.

‘One . . . two . . . three . . .'

‘Rebecca?'

‘Stop it! Stop it. Stop stop stop! One, two, three . . .'

‘Open the door, dearie.'

‘Four five six!'

‘We don't have to fight.'

‘Seven eight nine!'

‘Sisters aren't supposed to fight, remember? It's against the law.'

Rebecca stopped counting.

‘I know you like it here, Rebecca. Let's talk about it. We can work something out. Like grown-ups. You're all grown up now, aren't you?'

There was a long pause.

‘You're not angry at me for what I did to Peter?'

Eliza let the coldness numb her. ‘No, of course not. I could never be angry at you. Please, let's talk.' She waited.

The door handle turned. Rebecca's face appeared. She looked calm again – the Rebecca who had been scared of Aunt Bess, not the one who stabbed Peter Lamb to death – but she remained in the doorway.

‘Will your shoulder be okay?' Rebecca asked.

‘I'm sure it will heal fine.'

‘I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you, only I was angry.'

‘We all get angry now and again. Now, may I have a hug?' Eliza outstretched her arms. ‘I love you,' said Eliza.

Rebecca hesitated then came forward to embrace her. She held her a moment. She let the syringe slip down from where it was hidden in her sleeve and jabbed it into Rebecca's neck, pushing the plunger in one fluid motion.

Rebecca shoved her away and yanked the syringe from her neck.

‘You . . . you fibbed.'

‘You'll be alright now, Rebecca.'

Rebecca staggered into Abigale Hall, her face contorting once again into the monster. Her eyes glazed over as she struggled to remain on her feet, her breathing becoming laboured, and she fell to the floor beneath the dome. Eliza gathered her into her arms.

As dawn shone through the dome, the hall was filled with reflections of light, the unique pattern of the bevelled glass creating unusual round spheres that danced in mid-air.

‘Hush now, it's alright. Shh. Look, Rebecca. Look, the sun is coming up. Look how it shines through the dome. And we'll be the last people to ever see it. Isn't it beautiful?' She stroked her sister's hair until she fell unconscious. Gently, Eliza used the rope to secure her arms and legs. She lifted Rebecca into her arms as the smell of smoke drifted in from the east wing. Ben had lit the first fire.