Thorn (44 page)

If he would help her, said the Lady, he would be very well rewarded. He could have anything he wanted; she might even be able to see that he was taken out of Thornacre and allowed to live somewhere much nicer.

That would need thinking about. Snatcher did not want to live anywhere where he might have to do work or where he might have to pay for things; he liked Thornacre where other people did the cooking and the cleaning and the paying, where there were all kinds of opportunities, and where he knew to a whisker what he could get away with. And so he had looked slyly out from under his tufty eyebrows, rolling his lower eyelids down so that the crusted red rims were more noticeable than usual. This was something that females never liked; they fidgeted and their eyes slid away, because they were uncomfortable if they had to look at him for very long.

The Lady did not look away and she did not seem to be uncomfortable. She returned the stare coldly, as if she was seeing straight into his mind and picking over what she found there. There was a bad moment when he could very nearly feel her hard, bony fingers sorting through his secrets. But after a moment she said they should talk more; was there somewhere they could be private? What about the grounds? Was Mr Harris allowed out into the grounds? Then she would meet him in about twenty minutes' time, halfway along the drive.

The drive was a long, gloomy stretch of road, fringed by overgrown shrubbery and bushes. There was a thick briar hedge on one side and it was a place that most people avoided. One or two of the nurses who had been here for several years told how it was said to be one of the places where Sybilla Campbell's ghost walked; you could hear her sometimes throughout the hot summer nights: you could hear the tick-tick of her fleshless bones grating together as she searched for a new victim. People argued that the sound was nothing but crickets in the long grass, but the older nurses knew differently.

Snatcher did not mind the drive at all; it was a place where you could hide and watch people coming up to the house without them knowing you were there. It was astonishing the things you could find out that way.

The Lady was there very soon; Snatcher's idea of time was not very precise, but he thought she was early. She parked her car and walked towards him, and for the first time – possibly for the first time in his whole life – Snatcher Harris felt a prickle of fear. She was taller and thinner than she had seemed in the dayroom. As she came towards him, the shadows of the darkening afternoon twisted about her so that for a moment it looked as if she was wearing a long, swirling black cloak and a hood, with dark pits where her eyes should have been, and scooped-out black caverns where her nostrils were. Llewellyn Harris did not recognise many figures of authority – he would do what Leo Sterne told him and he would more or less do what the nurses told him, although he generally pretended not to understand them – but this was different. This was something he had never before encountered. Power. She glowed with it.

He listened to what she wanted, and when she asked if he would do it and then if he could get out of Thornacre without anyone knowing, he gave the grunting nod which meant, ‘Yes.'

Getting out was the easiest thing in the world. There was a disused culvert in the grounds, near to the main road; Snatcher had found it it by accident and it had been worth all the furtive prowling around the grounds. It was overgrown with ivy, and because it was almost bang up against the brick wall, no one else had discovered it. It looked as if it had once been some kind of drain. Snatcher did not trouble his head about it too much because drains were other folks' concern, but what he did know was that it formed a tunnel that went under the brick wall and under the road and came out in a clump of trees on the other side. Once there would have been huge metal covers at both ends and you would have needed a proper turning tool to get them up, but now all you had to do was pull the ivy to one side and let yourself down. It smelt a bit strong in the culvert because foxes and weasels got down there, and it was dark and narrow, but once you were through and out the other side you were free and there were all kinds of things you could do. There was a bit of a pull-in in the trees and cars often parked there. Snatcher enjoyed himself very much watching for cars – Friday and Saturday nights were best – and watching the things that people did on the back seats. Stripped bollock-naked, some of them did, and went at it like stoats!

Sometimes Snatcher stayed silent and still, watching and gloating, but sometimes he went right up to the car windows and tapped the glass and leered in at them. Doing that, it was better to wait until it looked as if the man was on the short strokes, because that spoiled it properly for them. They'd drive off like scalded cats, the engine revving and the girl screeching, and of course they never told, on account of not being supposed to be in the woods and doing it in the car in the first place! He knew what he was about, Snatcher Harris.

And so it had been very easy to get out through the tunnel on the night in question, and very enjoyable indeed to help the Lady carry Quincy into the old coach house with the brick ovens. Tonight they were going to chop off her hands. Snatcher Harris was looking forward to that.

He was looking forward even more to taking Imogen to October House and seeing the Lady dig out her heart.

Dan emerged from the stifling darkness that followed the hunchback's blow to the realisation that he was still in the cellars below October House and that although his hands were not tied, a loop of thin chain circled one ankle and embedded itself in the wall. There was a padlock. He took all this in and then sat up gingerly and attempted to assess his injuries.

He felt a bit sick and dry-mouthed and he thought there would probably be a lump like an egg on his head in a few hours. But all things considered, he did not feel too bad. The blow seemed to have landed on the back of his skull where his hair was thickest, which had probably afforded some protection. And although it was no doubt impossible to diagnose concussion in yourself, he did not think he had any of the symptoms. Slight amnesia and double vision, wasn't it? He was pretty sure he was remembering everything that had happened, right up to the minute he had been struck, and he was certainly seeing everything with perfect clarity. No concussion, then, or at least not so far.

He got up experimentally, encountering only slight dizziness, which might be from Thalia's drugging anyway. After a moment he took a deep breath and carefully made his way to the door, testing the length of the chain. It slithered rather nastily across the cellar floor, and brought him up with a jerk about two feet short of the door. The door would almost certainly be locked anyway. What else did you expect, Daniel? A light over the door saying Exit and a car waiting to drive you back to civilisation? He returned to his corner and sat down again to consider the situation.

There was absolutely no way he could see of escaping from the cellar and its grisly occupant. There was only one door out, and the place was too far below ground to have any windows. The floor was solid concrete. If he had been a smoker he might have had matches or a lighter which might have started a fire and created some kind of diversion, but he did not. If he had had a little more knowledge of electricity he might have found a way of short-circuiting the power supply and done the same thing. But it was a risky thing to do; down here he had no means of knowing whether Thalia was in the house or not, and it would be sod's luck if he started a fire when she was out and he ended up trapped.

Face it, Daniel, you've absolutely no idea what to do, and absolutely no plan for rescuing Imogen Ingram. Impotent fury gripped him. You're within hours of dying alongside the girl who inspired you to write what'll probably be your best piece of work ever, and you can't think up a way of saving either of you! So much for romance, Daniel. So much for all those fictional heroes-including Adam Cadence – who snatch their ladies from under the noses of the villains. Or, in this case, villainess.

It was important to remember that this was reality and not his book, and it was vital not to start thinking he had slid over some kind of invisible line. In any case, the plot seemed to be diverging: Margot was supposed to be thwarted before her evil machinations could reach their culmination and Thalia was not being thwarted at all. In fact she was so far from being thwarted that she seemed to be flourishing like the bay tree in the wilderness, and her accomplice seemed to be flourishing as well. Dan felt the back of his head again where the hunchback had struck him, and winced.

He settled down to think, trying not to look at his watch too many times. It was a digital one, and the figures were faintly luminous. If he started to check it every five minutes he would end up counting the strips of wood making up the roof joists, and getting cross because they did not make an even number. Or he would start imagining that he could hear sounds from inside the freezer . . . Stop it, Daniel.

It was unlikely that Thalia would return before nightfall. She had said that the hunchback would fetch Imogen at midnight, but there would presumably be some preparations before that time. Dan thought he had probably got until nine or ten o'clock tonight before things started to happen. A good twelve hours in which to do something. But what? He got up and prowled around the cellar as far as the chain would stretch in every direction, searching every corner.

But it was not until he sat down on the floor facing the freezer again that the nucleus of an idea began to form, tenuously and lightly, like a bubble about to break in a pan of boiling water.

L
eo was becoming increasingly concerned about Quincy. She had been missing overnight now, and immediately after breakfast they had called the police again. A detective inspector had come out, and he had not been quite so reassuring.

‘We'll find her, of course, Dr Sterne,' he said. ‘But I'm bound to say it's beginning to look a bit more serious than it did yesterday. We're searching all the obvious places, and we've alerted railway stations and motorway cafes now. Oh, and we're questioning all strangers to the area.'

The thought of Quincy in the hands of some murderously-intentioned abductor or some prowling pervert was a spade in Leo's guts. He said, abruptly, ‘She's an unworldly child, Inspector. She's had to suffer a good deal of ill-treatment.' And, half to himself, ‘I promised her she would be safe here.'

‘Well, we'll do all we can, Dr Sterne. I'll question the nurses again as well. They might recall something unusual that would give us a bit of a lead.'

The nurses were plainly upset, but Leo, sitting in on the questioning, thought they were truthful. There had been absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about Quincy yesterday, they said, and there had been absolutely nothing out of the ordinary about the outing with Mrs Caudle. Patients were taken out by relatives from time to time, depending on their condition. The fact that Quincy had never been taken out was only because she had no family. Everyone had thought it kind of Mrs Caudle, and everyone had been pleased for Quincy to have the small treat.

Nurse Carr who had helped Quincy to get ready said she thought the girl had been a bit nervous about going out to tea, but no more than you would expect. She wasn't used to the world, said Nurse Carr, that was the trouble. In response to the inspector's next question, she said firmly that Quincy had been happy in Thornacre, or as happy as anyone could be inside a mental institution, and there was no reason to suppose she might run away. In fact there was every reason to suppose she had wanted to stay. She had been helping Dr Sterne with some new treatment on another patient, said Nurse Carr, and sent a covert glance to Dr Sterne to be sure he understood that she was not intending to breach patient confidentiality any further than this. No, she had no idea whether Dr Sterne had genuinely needed Quincy's help or whether it had been a ruse to help Quincy herself. It did not matter; the point was that Quincy had felt important and wanted by doing it, and because of that she had been about as likely to run away as that chair.

‘Thank you very much, Nurse,' said Leo, and Nurse Carr took herself off, thinking, yes, and when Fatso Freda comes in, she'll tell you a different tale entirely, but if you've got only half the sense I credit you with, you'll see through it.

Freda Porter was about as irritating as Leo had ever known her, and it was only with a massive effort that he kept his temper. She made it clear at the outset that no blame could possibly be apportioned to her, and gave a list of alibis by way of back-up. She had given the staff explicit instructions. She could not be everywhere at once, and you couldn't trust any of these girls nowadays.

Leo said angrily, ‘Matron, if you can't stand the heat up here, you'd better get out of the kitchen.' And added, ‘Before you're asked to get out anyway.'

It was very understandable that Dr Sterne's nerve endings should be so frayed; Freda was in a state of nerves herself. Quite a shock it had given them all to find a patient missing, not that Freda could be blamed for any of it, not that Dr Sterne would think of blaming her, even though he had spoken so sharply for a second or two. There was in fact a school of thought that maintained that people only lashed out at those whom they trusted and felt at home with. Dr Sterne would apologise later, and Freda would be gracious about it. You had to make allowances.

You did not have to make allowances for the slapdash slipshod methods of the staff, however, and Freda set about dealing with the miscreants forthwith. They'd all say afterwards that she was a bit of a tartar, the new matron, but it could not be helped; when you had been appointed to a position of authority and trust, you had to be firm. They were all the same, these girls; trying to slide out of trouble and you simply could not have it. That Nurse Carr was a flighty piece if ever she had seen one; she would have to be watched.