‘Enfield,’ I said, starting to rise.
On the bed, Enfield raised his head and peered around sleepily. ‘It’s all right. He woke up so I tied his legs and put him in the chair.’
I collapsed back into my chair. The jolt of fear had woken me fully but every muscle in my body was stiff and hurting. I suppressed a groan. It felt like I’d been torn limb from limb and re-assembled by someone with little idea of anatomy. I moved my arms and legs gently until the worst of the pain had passed, then risked getting to my feet again.
My watch told me it was midday, and I was hungry.
Outside the window lay a tranquil world of water, sparkling in the sun. The sea had swallowed the land, erasing roads and fences. Beyond the boundary of the estate, the church towered over the roofs of the village.
Leaving Enfield to mind the others, I hobbled to the bathroom, then made my way downstairs in slow stages. I found Mrs Jones asleep in her own bed. She had drunk my leftover cup of tea and slept soundly through the whole night. Though I tried to rouse her, she seemed quite unable to understand that anything unusual had happened, so I raided her wardrobe again and left her dozing.
In the kitchen, I made a pot of tea and marmalade sandwiches. I didn’t feel up to anything more complicated.
‘What are we going to do? We’ve got food. When the flood’s gone down a bit, I guess someone will turn up to see if we’re alive,’ I said to Enfield.
He washed down bread with a gulp of tea. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but what about Jones?’
‘Is he any worse?’
‘I don’t think so. But he’s not any better. He needs a doctor.’
‘Let me look at him,’ Langstone said. He had remained silent until then, save for cursing.
‘No.’ Enfield and I spoke in unison.
‘We could all fit on the Walking War Machine,’ I said.
‘What? You must be kidding. I’d rather swim.’
‘Now, don’t speak ill of her. She’s misunderstood.’
‘It’s a she now?’
‘C’mon. Let’s see if she got through the night.’ I grabbed his hand and dragged him complaining after me.
The hall was slick with mud, littered with twigs and leaves. The Walking War Machine was precisely where I had left her, outside the front door. I patted her chassis in greeting with a little glow of pride.
‘Rickett wasn’t as crazy as I thought. She’s just the thing for getting through a flood.’
The waters had receded overnight but still stood a couple of feet deep around the house.
‘A boat would be better.’ Enfield looked sceptical.
‘Yes, but we don’t have a boat.’
‘You’re out of your mind. We can’t drive this monstrosity all the way to the mainland.’
‘I can drive it. But it’ll be easier if you help.’
It took another hour to persuade him. Then we had to convince Mrs Jones, and organise a way to safely transport her husband and the trussed up Langstone, who we left to last.
‘Come along quietly, there’s a good fellow,’ Enfield said soothingly, trying to get Langstone to his feet.
‘What are you going to do with me?’ Langstone cowered, caught between Enfield and the sunlight streaming through the window.
‘You’ll be handed over to the authorities, and they’ll take good care of you. Clearly, you aren’t in your right mind, so you can’t be held accountable.’
Langstone snarled with the malice of a vicious watchdog. Teeth bared, he lunged at Enfield, who stepped back in surprise. In an instant, Langstone turned and threw himself through the window. Glass shattered. Enfield reached for him, too late. A splash came from below.
Enfield and I blinked at each other, then ran downstairs. We thrashed through the flood all the way round to the side of the house. Enfield yelled for Langstone and fumbled under the water, but there was no sign of him. I couldn’t believe that anyone could have fallen so far, with his hands bound, and walked away before we arrived. But although we searched for some time, we found no body.
We had to abandon the useless search. Whatever had become of him, he was beyond our reach now.
As we waded back to the Machine, I spotted a wad of paper floating on the tide. I fished it out. It had once been a book with a red cover containing handwritten pages, now disintegrating inky pulp. I threw it away.
‘What was that?’ Enfield said.
‘Nothing important.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE OFFICES OF Bentley and Mayweed were much as I remembered them, except that Bentley’s desk was tidier, and it was warm. May sunshine, streaming through the grimy window, exposed a good deal of dust. A fat bluebottle droned as it batted against the glass.
Bentley peered at me over his spectacles. 'You seem quite recovered from your ordeal. Have you forgiven me?'
'I'm quite well. We both are.' I smiled at him. 'Is there anything to forgive?'
'I sent you to the Institute suspecting something was wrong there. Of course, I didn't know what would happen, if I had, I would never have suggested…'
'You weren't to know. I certainly don't hold it against you.'
'Is there any news from Uggley?' I said.
'No. Well, no word of Dr Langstone, if that’s what you mean. The last of the villagers are being moved to Up Uggley, I hear. There was talk of presenting you with some engraved silver to commemorate the business.'
‘Oh, dear. I hope not. They were well on the way to the mainland in that fishing boat when Enfield and I caught up with them. They hardly needed a tow.’
Bentley shrugged.
'What will become of the house?’ I said.
'That's a decision I must make with the new Director. Uggley Hall sustained structural damage in the flood. It’s insured, of course. But it may be best to relocate the Institute to somewhere more convenient.'
'The Institute will continue?'
'Oh, yes. The funds of the Dernstrum Trust can't be used for any other purpose. And it was the Professor's dream, you know, to help researchers who might be overlooked by the establishment.'
'Dreams can be dangerous things.'
His clerk came in with tea and for a while we were distracted by chinking silver and china.
'We have a long list of applications for next year's funding.' Moving his tea cup out of the way, he leafed through the papers in front of him. 'Here’s a man, wants to fire rockets into space. Is that a good idea? I don't know. And this one intends to replace the hearts of monkeys. He doesn't say with what.'
I sipped my tea, not paying much attention.
'Dr Vanger thinks young women with ping–pong balls over their eyes can read the symbols on cards without seeing them, and would like to prove it. I'm not really sure how that would improve the human condition.'
'Does it matter if it does? I mean, is that how you choose which to fund?'
He shoved the papers back into a pile. 'We can't fund them all, so we have to choose somehow. It's the Director who normally decides. What do I know about science? I think all these people should be locked up somewhere safe and warm where they can't do any harm.'
If it were up to me, how would I choose? Some of those dreams might change the world for the better, most would be a waste of time, and a few might turn into nightmares. No one could say in advance which were which.
‘All those men believe in their dreams and they all have the best of intentions,’ I said. ‘Well, most of them, I hope.'
Bentley sighed, running his hand over his shiny scalp. 'This brings me on to what I wanted to discuss with you. We have to assume Dr Langstone's body was washed out to sea, following his unfortunate accident. The Trust is short of a trustee and the Institute is without a Director.'
I raised my hand to touch the scar on my neck. The wound had healed and the marks were fading. I could still feel it though.
'What will you do?'
'The Will requires at least two Trustees. Fortunately, when I drew it up I did include pr
ovision for replacing them, which might be necessary for any number of reasons. And I will have to appoint an appropriately qualified person to be the new Director.'
'Who did you have in mind?' I stiffened in my chair. 'Not Mr Enfield?'
'No, not Mr Enfield. You don’t think he’d be a good choice?'
I blushed. ‘He’s a good man, but I don’t think he’s the administrative type.’
Bentley coughed. 'As it happens, I had come to the same conclusion, although I have every respect for him. Actually, I wanted to offer you the post.'
'Me?' I stared at him with my mouth open.
'It's rather an unusual position for a woman, but these are rather unusual circumstances, and there’s a sort of poetic justice to it.'
'I don’t know.’ Constance Wright, Director of the Dernstrum Institute. What a strange idea. Could I do the job? I’d be an improvement on Langstone anyway, since I was at least sane. ‘I’ll have to think about it.’
One question had been bothering me since my return from Uggley. ‘Mr Bentley, did you know why my father fell out with the Professor?’
He coughed. ‘Well. They never told me, but I couldn’t help drawing my own conclusions.’ He looked at me sharply. ‘You know, don’t you?’
‘I found out. It doesn’t matter now, does it?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
We sat in silence for a minute.
‘What are you going to do now?’ Bentley said.
‘I have plans, at least for the next few months.’
‘Mr Enfield? Should I be congratulating you?’
I smiled. ‘Not yet. We discussed it, and we both agreed that saving someone’s life isn’t any guarantee of a successful long-term relationship. So we’re not rushing into anything. I want him to drive to Monte Carlo with me. He’s thinking about it.’
‘Well, I wish you every success. Both of you.’
‘Thank you. I’ll talk to him. About the Directorship.’
He emerged from behind the desk to show me out of the office. 'You know, before I'm too much older, I’d like to hear the whole story of what happened at the Institute.'
I took his hand, smiling at him. 'Mr Enfield and I have told the authorities everything they need to know. Certain details... Well, I don't think the world is ready to know but for you, perhaps I’ll write it all down. One day. When I don't have anything better to do.'
Afterword
Thank you for reading this book. If you enjoyed it, or even if you didn’t, please take a moment to leave your honest review on Amazon. Whether it’s one star or five, reviews help authors and other readers.
You can find me online at http://catherinegriffinauthor.wordpress.com, @ingeniouscat on Twitter.
Many people have contributed help, support, and feedback while I was writing this book. In particular, I’d like to thank Sue Edwards, Darren Green, Sally Howard, Martin Phillips, and Karen Stephen for reading early versions. Also Barbara Large, my fellow students in her Creative Writing class, and of course, my family and friends for their interest and encouragement.
Meanwhile, at the Dernstrum Institute Page 19
