Return to Ribblestrop (26 page)

Some of the younger orphans immediately filled their lungs and stared at their watches. Oli’s radio crackled again and Professor Worthington did her best to ignore it.

‘Well, I can tell you that the average for a human being is between twenty-five and forty
seconds
. Less if you’re panicking, and a lot less if you know they’re the last
seconds of your life.’

She saw that she had the children’s attention again. ‘Now the system in Kent was almost certainly built by the same team – it controls a large, ornamental moat round a castle.
One of the reasons very few of these pumps were made is because of the problem Miles has identified. When one steps into that chamber, one is entirely dependent on those controlling the dials
outside. I’m sure you can understand the logic: when this thing was made, the people who used it would have had total faith in their servants. Those servants were loyal and did what they were
told. However, it is open to abuse – as the family in Kent found out, to their cost.’

She paused.

‘What happened?’ said Kenji.

‘Well. It appears that the family had trained up a young girl called Ethel Mosse. Ethel was, apparently, an expert in handling the equipment, though it’s not hard to master –
the principles are very simple. She was very skilful and she certainly seemed trustworthy. The family who trained her got used to showing the pump to their guests and demonstrating the wonders of
the journey to the moat’s bottom. Unfortunately, on one occasion, Ethel decided to take revenge.’

‘For what?’ said Millie.

‘Nobody quite knows. Some say she’d had her wages stopped. Others say she’d been, er . . . molested by the father of the family. There were all sorts of rumours – there
always are. The events that followed, though, are quite straightforward: for whatever reason, the girl responded to her ill-treatment in spectacular style. It was a Saturday evening and the family
had decided to demonstrate their toy to some visiting big-wigs. They were a fabulously wealthy family – the castle was just their country home. The lift-car was full. Eight people –
four adults, three children, and a baby. It was the summer and they were in their bathing costumes, Anjoli. Just as you would so like to be. They were going to plunge to the bottom of the moat,
then finish with a swim. The butler was going to meet them in a rowing-boat, with a picnic. Young Ethel was at the controls.’

She paused. The children were silent and enthralled. Those that had held their breath had let it escape, quietly.

‘She ushered them into the car,’ the professor went on. ‘She sealed the door, as was customary. Then she dropped them to the bottom. She let them see the . . . fish, I suppose.
There was an intercom system, but whether it was used nobody knows. She brought them back to the starting point and it would appear that she turned the bottom dial, which controls the pumping
mechanism. Do you want me to go on?’

The silence convinced her she had no choice.

‘Ethel pumped a thousand gallons of water over them. There were no witnesses, of course – I mean no survivors. But when the police pieced things together and interviewed her –
she admitted it. She stood there and watched them drown.’

Professor Worthington closed her eyes. ‘Can you imagine it? Trying to keep your nose above the waterline, as the water rises and rises? Ethel stood and watched them. And then . . . and
this is the detail that has always haunted me. She raised the car and sluiced the dead bodies into the moat. The butler found them as he rowed up with the champagne and strawberries.’

Professor Worthington paused. ‘The girl was found guilty, of course; she was hanged. It’s the reason why these contraptions went out of fashion. What’s the matter, Miles
– you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

‘I can hear one,’ he said. ‘I think he’s talking to me.’

Miles was standing, looking at Oli’s radio. The boy had turned it off, but for some reason it was crackling again and there was a sound like grunting. Oli put his ear to it.

‘I’m sorry, Miss,’ he said. ‘It
is
switched off, definitely.’

‘Then what’s that noise?’ said Professor Worthington. The grunting had turned into deep breathing.

‘It picks up strange things. I think—’

‘Shhh!’

A low voice came through, loud and clear. There was hatred in every word and some of the younger orphans pressed together for comfort. ‘I’ve been wanting to do this to one of you for
weeks!’ said the voice. ‘This is going to do me good . . .’

In Father O’Hanrahan’s confessional, Tomaz was fighting for his life.

He had managed to grab the bolt, but his hands had been snatched away and he’d been thrown across the table. Squirming like a fish he’d managed to get free, but there was simply
nowhere to go, and when the belt hit him across the back, he was stunned by the pain. O’Hanrahan grabbed him by the neck and the fight was over. As he did so, the window shattered.

It simply blew inwards and shards of glass were whirling in a blizzard, dancing between the walls. Father O’Hanrahan felt them on his hands and face, and had no choice but to cover his
eyes. Then, before he or Tomaz could move, the door was rattling in its frame. The handle was turning back and forth, and all Tomaz could think of was Captain Routon. He slipped to the ground in a
ball, hoping with all his strength – and he heard the wood splitting as if an axe was hacking it to pieces. The bolt burst and the door crashed open with such force that one hinge was torn
loose. The tape recorder was lifted to the ceiling and plunged onto the floor where it exploded in fragments.

‘Help!’ cried Father O’Hanrahan.

‘What’s happening?’ shouted Cuthbertson, down the wire.

The priest was standing still now, too shocked to move. The cupboard was a destroyed wreck around him and the violence had lasted no more than five seconds. The candles were out.

That was the moment the wind started.

It came through the window and it came through the door. It rose quickly to a hurricane and spun into a whirlwind. The old man’s paper was lifted and torn to confetti. Tomaz crawled away
from it and found a tiny space where it was calm; the old man, however, was caught in its frenzy – he was spread-eagled against the wall, his robes flattened and his face buffeted by freezing
air. For the wind was Siberian, and the old man felt his eyes smarting and his teeth aching in his gums. He knew then what it was, and though he was frightened, it stirred an instinct in him. His
right hand fought the vortex and he got it to his chest. He needed his crucifix! This was a haunting more powerful than any he’d experienced. For a mad second he’d assumed it was
children’s games. Then, like Tomaz, he’d wondered if Routon or Flavio was behind it. Pressed to the wall, feeling the agonising chill, he knew something far more powerful was in the
room, and he was fighting for survival.

‘
In nomine
. . .’ he whispered.

The chairs and table disintegrated. The wooden pieces clattered round the walls. The cans of drink spun on the floor, the liquid foaming out of them. Tomaz was on his feet, somehow, staggering
wildly. The old man could only watch as the boy was blown through the doorway, his blazer flap-ping after him. Then the broken door took on a life of its own and smashed back into its own
frame.

He was sealed in.

Father O’Hanrahan clung to his crucifix, but couldn’t speak. He was dimly aware of Cuthbertson’s voice in his ear, shouting and cursing: ‘What are you doing, man?
Don’t kill him!’

He knew that all he could do was sit it out – the ghost was roasting him. It was a trial of strength he had not been prepared for. He had holy water with him, deep in his satchel, but
there was no way he could get to it. He mouthed the words again, ‘
In nomine
. . .’ but they seemed to make the furious presence even more violent.

His belt was lifted from where it had fallen. It sprang upwards and came down like a whip. He was caught a stinging blow across the face, then two more across his hands. The wind continued to
blow and he sank to his knees to endure it. He had no idea how long he knelt there, whimpering into his microphone.

It was dark when he crawled out of the cupboard and across the classroom. He got to his room, somehow, and used his remaining strength to pack a holdall. Then he limped to his
car and fell into the driving seat. He could stay at Ribblestrop Towers no longer.

‘It was Lord Vyner,’ said Tomaz. ‘I know it.’

They were in the orphans’ dormitory, up in the east tower. The boy had refused to speak about his experience all through supper.

His friends waited patiently. When he asked for a meeting, everyone went straight to the orphans’ dormitory. The only problem was the presence of Brother Doonan.

Asilah had taken him to one side. ‘Just now and then we have to meet alone, sir,’ he said. ‘It’s not that we don’t trust you, and we don’t want to hurt your
feelings. . .’

‘You don’t want me in the room?’

‘No, we want to talk together.’

‘I don’t understand – you want to talk to me on your own? In the room?’

‘All the kids want to talk. Alone.’

‘With me?’

‘No, Father. Would you mind leaving us on our own for about two hours?’

Doonan laughed. ‘I’m so sorry to be slow, Asilah.’ He patted the boy’s shoulder. ‘It’s just as it should be and it’s kind of you to explain. I’ll
go round the lake and I’ll knock before I come in.’

Asilah shook his hand and kissed it.

Once they’d heard the full story, Millie swore.

A number of orphans moved closer to Tomaz and Sanjay put his arm round him. ‘That old ghost loves you, Tom,’ he said. ‘He’s looking after you, boy!’

‘What’s the priest up to?’ said Eric.

‘He’s never a priest,’ said Sam. ‘I do not believe he’s a priest!’

‘Yeah,’ said Anjoli. ‘If that old skrag is asking about Tomaz’s house, it’s because he’s after something. We’ve been so slow! He was coming out of
Neptune that time – now how did he find out about that?’

‘Yes!’ said various children.

‘That’s all true,’ said Asilah, holding up a hand for quiet. ‘We never found out what he was doing down those tunnels. He’s got something on his mind.’

‘Did you tell him anything?’ said Sanchez.

‘No,’ said Tomaz.

‘You stayed silent under torture,’ said Ruskin. ‘Because that’s what it was – torture.’

There was a buzz of indignation all around the room.

‘He smacked Tomaz,’ said Eric, shaking his head. ‘That’s as bad as it gets, man.’

‘Sounds like the ghost gave it to him, though,’ said Podma.

Imagio smiled a thin, cruel smile. ‘Where I live,’ he said, ‘he’d be in the ground by now out in the damn desert.’

‘Let’s go see him!’ said Anjoli. ‘We need weapons!’

Everyone stood to leave and it took Sanchez half a minute to get their attention. ‘Listen!’ he said. ‘Listen!’

The children were calm.

‘We made a big mistake last term. We did everything by ourselves, when we should have talked to the headmaster.’

‘Oh, come on!’ said Millie. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Of course I’m serious! We always think we’re best handling these things alone. But all we have to do is say Father O’Hanrahan assaulted Tomaz. He’d be sacked,
immediately.’

‘He would not!’ said Millie. ‘Our headmaster can’t sack anyone – look at Miles, how come he’s still here?’

Miles was sitting on the floor, legs crossed. He did his best to smile as the children laughed.

‘Miles is loaded!’ said Anjoli. ‘His ma just shells out the cash.’

Sanjay said something in his own language and there was applause.

‘What did he say?’ said Millie.

‘I said she pays a million to forget she’s a mother!’

‘Shut up!’ said Sanchez, fiercely, looking at Miles. ‘That’s a dirty thing to say, Sanjay! You apologise right now.’

Sanjay’s smile had died. ‘I didn’t mean it, man. All I meant—’

Asilah was standing and administered a stinging slap. He said something fierce and furious in his own language, and Sanjay put his hands over his mouth, the tears welling. ‘I am so
sorry,’ he said, quietly. ‘I don’t know why I said it.’

There was a terrible silence. At last, Oli said, ‘Can I ask a question?’

‘Yes,’ said Sanchez.

‘I’ve been thinking. Tomaz was being interrogated and tortured. And the ghost of Lord Vyner helped him get out of it. That must mean the ghost will make sure nothing bad
happens.’

‘True,’ said Eric.

‘So why don’t we try and talk to Lord Vyner?’ said Sam.

‘I wanted to do that at the start of term,’ said Millie. ‘So let’s go down with Tomaz, have a little consultation with the ghost.’

‘What does this ghost look like?’ said Imagio. ‘You’re all talking like you believe, but how many of you have really seen it? I’ve never seen no ghost.’

‘He’s real,’ said Ruskin.

‘What’s he look like? Who’s seen him?’

Tomaz hesitated. He’d got so used to the ghost of Cyril Vyner: they’d kept each other company in a strange, silent, shy kind of way. He had reason to be very fond of him and he
didn’t want to show him any disrespect now.

‘It’s hard to describe,’ he said. ‘I never saw him full on, but I know exactly what he looks like.’ He paused. ‘You see him, but then you think it’s
because you were expecting to see him. And his face is . . .’

‘Damaged,’ said Miles, quietly.

‘Yes,’ said Tomaz.

‘Is it true he’s had half his head blown off?’ said Eric. ‘’Cause that is grim.’

Tomaz winced. But it was clear that everyone wanted to know.

‘Like I say, you don’t see him full on. I think he knows he’s a mess and doesn’t sort of . . . want to upset you. Maybe – I don’t know – he’s sad
a lot of the time. They shot him in the head, so of course he’s a mess.’

Anjoli said, ‘Where I live we got a ghost. By the river. And he takes little children and he cuts them up.’

Israel punched him. ‘That is such crap!’

‘He chased me! You don’t even know—’

‘Baby crap, from a baby!’

‘OK, so why do you always run in the dark, huh, big boy?’