We began to climb. Faraday stayed behind me, holding my belt. I reassured myself with the thought of all the people who must have climbed the stairs and walked across the arcade above the tower – the bell-ringers, the workmen, the tourists: hundreds of them, at least, if not thousands over the eight centuries this tower had stood here. It hadn’t harmed them, and they had all come safely back to the ground. So why should it harm us?
But something had harmed Mr Goldsworthy.
This staircase was much shorter than the first, for the arcade was not far below the tower’s painted ceiling. We came to another little landing, this one with a door. There was also a third, even narrower spiral staircase that continued the ascent of the tower. But we were going no higher.
I opened the door. As I did so, something touched my ankles. I glanced down, but nothing was there. I thought I would have heard a rat on these hard surfaces. And would a rat climb this high without the lure of food? The touch had been so light it could have been a draught of air.
‘Is this it?’ Faraday said. ‘Are we here?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘This is what you wanted, the place where they used to ring the bells.’
‘Where Mr Goldsworthy fell from.’
‘I tell you one thing, Rabbit: I’m not going any higher.’
‘All right. It’s here somewhere. I’m sure.’
‘For God’s sake, be careful.’
We advanced slowly into the ringing chamber. In daylight, it was bright enough – there were great windows on all four sides. It occupied the entire internal area of the tower. I looked up, remembering from my last visit a floor of huge, roughly trimmed planks on the network of beams. I couldn’t see anything at all above our heads. A sense of futility washed over me.
‘You won’t find anything here,’ I said. ‘This is stupid. It would have been better to come in daytime, if you had to come at all.’
‘It’s not stupid. Anyway, we agreed – we’d have been seen if we’d come in the day.’
‘Well, you’re here now. Hurry up and find it.’
‘We can search with the lantern. Maybe … maybe there’s a loose stone or a board that lifts up or—’
‘And maybe pigs fly,’ I interrupted. ‘You can look if you want. I’m staying here. But don’t take long or I’ll leave without you. And I’ll leave you in the dark.’
Faraday took the lantern from me and held it up. All it did was emphasize how much darkness there was. He looked so forlorn, holding up the lantern, so pathetic, like one of those sentimental engravings my aunt had in her drawing room with titles like His Father’s Son or The Light of the World.
He went down on his hands and knees and crawled slowly across the room, examining each board. He was such a ridiculous sight, a black blob on all fours, an enormous nocturnal insect. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. Most of all, I wanted to escape from the Cathedral, go back to the Sacrist’s Lodging, crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head.
Suddenly, Faraday raised his hand. ‘Did you hear it?’ He was so excited he forgot to whisper. ‘And there it is again.’
I thought he had gone mad. ‘What?’
‘Those notes – the music I heard. Those four notes.’ He sang them to me in his pure treble voice: ‘La-la-la-la.’
‘I can’t hear it.’
‘Shh – there’s more. Listen.’
He tried to sing the new notes but this time his voice betrayed him. He croaked like a frog. Not that it mattered one way or another to me because the la-la-la-la was just noise as far as I was concerned.
Anyway, I didn’t believe him, not really.
‘There’s something here,’ he said in a different voice, excited and breathless. ‘I think it’s moving. Yes, it is. It’s showing me where to look.’
I couldn’t see what he was doing because his body was in the way. ‘Rabbit! For God’s sake, come back! You must be near that trapdoor if you’re not on it already.’
I had a sickening vision of the trapdoor breaking free, Faraday falling, just like Goldsworthy, to the floor of the tower below.
At that moment, the lantern went out.
13
‘I’m scared,’ Faraday said. ‘I’m so scared.’
In the darkness his voice seemed to come from very far away. I had not realized what a difference that little lantern made.
‘It’s all right,’ I said, though it felt all wrong. ‘Find the other candles. Light one of those.’
I heard a scrabbling sound. Then silence. Then ragged breathing and more scrabbling.
‘Hurry up,’ I said. ‘Come on, Rabbit, we haven’t got all night.’
‘I … I can’t find them.’ He sounded further away than he had been.
‘Don’t be stupid.’ I heard the panic in my voice. I swallowed it. ‘The ones from the choir vestry. Remember?’
‘I put them down when I was looking for the key. I must have forgotten to pick them up.’
I bit my lower lip and tasted blood. ‘We haven’t time for jokes.’
‘It isn’t a joke. I’m sorry.’
I nearly shouted at him. But I knew there was no point. ‘You’ve got matches,’ I said. ‘Light one and find where I am. Walk towards me. When the match goes out, I’ll say something. Come towards the sound.’
There was another delay. Then a scrape and a flare of light, shocking in its intensity.
‘It’s the last one,’ he said.
Faraday rose to his feet as he spoke. He was in the centre of the ringing chamber, I saw, which might well be the very place where the trapdoor was. He moved too quickly. The flame guttered and died.
For the first time we were in complete darkness. I felt dizzy again. The tower sensed our new weakness. It seemed to shift beneath my feet like a sleeping giant making a minute adjustment to its position.
Faraday whimpered.
‘Come towards me,’ I whispered. ‘Keep together.’
I heard him crawling. A moment later the sound stopped.
‘Hurry up,’ I hissed.
‘I can hear it.’
‘What?’
‘The music.’
‘For God’s sake – shut up about that damned music. Come here.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ he murmured. But he started to crawl again.
I turned round, stretched out my hands and tried to find the door. I knew it wasn’t far away. But the darkness had disorientated me. Faraday was still shuffling towards me.
‘Where are you?’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
‘Here, you fool.’
He sounded much nearer than I had expected. Something brushed the skirt of my coat. I jumped back and screamed like a girl. Something rattled in my coat.
‘It’s me,’ Faraday said. ‘Oh, I’m so glad we’re together.’
So was I, though I didn’t say so.
‘What was that?’ he said. ‘When I touched you … it sounded like—’
‘Matches,’ I said. ‘Matches.’
I fumbled in the pocket of my overcoat. Hours ago, in another lifetime, I had stood on top of the little wooded hill with Faraday and smoked two Woodbines. Afterwards, I had hidden both the cigarettes and the matches in my coat. I had a hole in one of the pockets, which made it possible to push contraband items deep into the lining.
My fingers were cold and shaking. The hole in the pocket was small. It took me an age to find and extract the matches. I shook the box. It sounded hollow, nearly empty.
I opened it, first making sure it was the right way up, and counted the remaining matches. There were only six left.
‘I can still hear it,’ Faraday said. ‘The music.’
‘Shut up. If we’re careful we can just do it.’ I calculated that we would have to use the matches only when we really needed them; for most of the time we would have to rely on our sense of touch. ‘Hold on to my belt again.’
He obeyed. I scraped the first match on the side of the box. It misfired, the head crumbling to nothing.
�
�Are they damp?’ Faraday said.
I didn’t reply. That was what I was afraid of. I tried again: this time the match fired up. I turned. The door was on my right, perhaps three yards away. I took a step towards it. The movement made the flame flicker and die.
My fingers brushed against the wood of the door.
‘Light another match,’ Faraday said.
‘Not yet. Just follow me. We’ll go down the stairs very slowly. Don’t hurry. Keep your right hand on the wall.’
Faraday was so close to me I felt his breath on my neck. The stairs were steep. I concentrated on the wall, on finding the rise of each stair with my foot, on keeping Faraday from going too quickly.
The archway leading from the landing to the arcade was just visible ahead of us. I reached the landing and stopped. Faraday bumped into me. I took out the box of matches. Just as I was poised to light one, he said, ‘It’s not quite dark.’
I ignored him. I thought that, after the confined space of the ringing chamber and stairs, it was naturally a little less dark in the body of the Cathedral.
I struck the third match. The flame burst out, dazzling me. Beyond the archway was the passageway behind the arcade and, at the end, the open door to the next staircase. All we had to do was keep to the wall on our right and not think about what lay on our left.
‘Boys?’ a man shouted far below. ‘Boys?’
Faraday said something I couldn’t catch. I held on to the pillar of the arch and looked down into the church. Light was moving in the nave.
‘Boys! Where are you?’
It was Mr Ratcliffe. His voice sounded younger and more vigorous than usual, but very far away.
‘Up here, sir,’ I called. ‘In the west tower.’
I heard his hurrying footsteps. He came out of the south aisle and into the nave. He tried to run but couldn’t manage it. He slowed to a fast walk. He was carrying a lantern, which swung wildly to and fro in his hand.
Mr Ratcliffe reached the space under the tower. He stood panting in a puddle of light.
‘I can’t see you,’ he called. ‘Where are you?’
I struck a match.
‘Good God – you idiotic children! Stay where you are. Don’t move an inch.’
It was a relief to be told what to do. Mr Ratcliffe’s footsteps hurried across the floor. The sound changed as he mounted the staircase but we could still see him.
‘We never found it,’ Faraday said. ‘The anthem, I mean.’
‘If you don’t shut up about that bloody anthem, I’ll bloody kill you,’ I hissed.
He started to cry, irritating little sniffles. It enraged me that he could be such a self-centred beast. I was about to be in the worst trouble I had ever been in and it was his fault. I saw now what I should have seen earlier: that being caught didn’t matter to him, because he was already in disgrace. But it was different for me.
The footsteps were nearer now. I heard Mr Ratcliffe’s laboured breathing. Light glowed at the far end of the arcade, growing stronger every minute.
There he was, in the doorway, gasping for air, holding the lantern high.
‘Don’t – move—’ he said again, sucking in breath between words.
It was Mr Ratcliffe but it did not look like him. He had taken his teeth out for the night, and his face had collapsed in on itself, making him a stranger with a familiar voice.
‘I – I shall come over – to you. Bring you back – one by one.’
He was hatless, his hair unbrushed. He wore his overcoat, which hung open, revealing a dressing gown and striped pyjamas.
‘Don’t move,’ he repeated yet again. ‘Please. Please.’
He edged on to the passageway and staggered slowly towards us. ‘Don’t move,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t move.’
‘Look,’ Faraday said loudly and urgently. ‘Look—’
Mr Ratcliffe’s head jerked to the right. His body twisted after it. He fell heavily against the railing. There was a moment when nothing happened, when everything simply stopped moving. Then the railing gave way.
The lantern clattered to the floor of the passage. The candle guttered but the flame lasted another second or two.
Time enough and more for Mr Ratcliffe to fall into the darkness.
14
Faraday wouldn’t move. He sat down on the bottom step and started to cry. I left him to it. I crawled across the arcade – it seemed safer that way. I found the lantern. The glass was broken but the candle was there.
Once I was safely at the other end of the walkway, I lit the stub, which was still warm. It took me several minutes because my hands were shaking so much, and I wasted two more matches, including the last one.
When the candle was alight, I called out, ‘Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?’ I knew it was stupid, but I did it all the same. ‘Sir? Are you all right?’
‘He won’t hear,’ Faraday said. ‘He can’t hear.’
I looked back at him. He was still sitting on the bottom step.
‘Come across,’ I said.
‘I can’t. I’ll fall. My legs are shaking. My head hurts.’
‘You’ve got to. Come on, Rabbit. I’ll come over and fetch you.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I won’t. I won’t let you. You’ll make me fall.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘You can’t make me.’
I didn’t want to leave Faraday behind, for my sake as much as his. But I had to find out what had happened to Mr Ratcliffe. I had to fetch help.
I went down the spiral staircase. It was relatively easy going after what had gone before, for the steps were wide and shallow. I forced myself not to hurry.
At the bottom, I cupped the flame with my free hand and moved slowly towards the west door. Mr Ratcliffe lay, a darker shadow than the rest, about a yard away from it. He was on his back. The overcoat had spread around him like a pair of black wings.
I put the candle carefully on the ground beside him. ‘Sir,’ I said. ‘Sir – please wake up.’
I knew he was dead. I had known all along. But I touched him. It seemed important to do that, a sign of respect, of sorrow. I felt the stubble on his cheek. I tried to put his overcoat over him: to keep him warm, perhaps, or to make him decent.
I looked up, into the darkness. ‘Faraday? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m going for help. Just stay where you are.’
I picked up the lantern. There was a savage draught by the door and the candle had no glass to protect it. The flame died as if a pair of fingers had snuffed it.
‘I say …’ Faraday’s voice drifted down to me. ‘I can hear it again. The music.’
I have no idea how long it took me to escape from the Cathedral. I wandered in the dark, in the belly of the stone beast. More by luck than good judgement I found the south nave aisle. I knew I was there because I could feel the shape of the memorial tablets that lined its wall.
From then it was simply a matter of working my way up to the choir vestry. I went through the vestry and tugged open the door to the south porch.
There was a little light here, for one of the College lampposts was fifty yards away on the road to the Porta. I walked through the porch. I glanced to my left. Our footprints were still visible on the grass. That was how Mr Ratcliffe had known we were in the Cathedral.
Something touched my leg below the knee.
I looked down. A cat walked briskly but without haste through the archway of the porch and slipped through the bars of the gate leading to the Deanery garden.
Was it Mordred? It seems far-fetched to think it might have been. But cats are strange animals, and he was a stranger cat than most. I remember that touch on my ankle as we were climbing the first staircase of the tower.
I fled through the College to the Veals’ house. I have a vivid memory of hammering on their door, of screaming and crying until Mr Veal came down in his dressing gown, carrying a poker.
Later I remember hot, sweet tea in the kitchen. Mr Veal wasn
’t there – I suppose he must have gone to the Cathedral. But Mrs Veal bustled about in a dressing gown, with a cap on her head. It was she who saw that my hands were bloody, and so was the sleeve of my coat.
But that can’t be right, I thought. My hands can’t be bloody now. They had been bloody on Boxing Day, after the ratting at Angel Farm.
I think the doctor came. I think I was given a sleeping draught and put to bed in a little room beside the Veals’ bedroom.
There’s not much more to tell. I spent the next few days at the Veals’ house. I slept and ate a great deal. I answered questions, often the same ones, over and over again. The Veals asked the questions first. Then the headmaster, a remote figure who had never condescended to speak to me before, then the doctor again. Then two police officers, one after the other, and a man in a suit with a gold watch chain, who I think was perhaps a solicitor.
I didn’t ask about Faraday but the headmaster told me anyway. Mr Veal had brought him down from the tower. He was running a high fever and he had been taken to the cottage hospital.
His illness, I heard later, was diagnosed as brain fever, a convenient term in those days that covered a multitude of conditions. I don’t know what a doctor would have called it now. Faraday recovered, I heard later, and his guardian sent him abroad to convalesce in one of the German spa towns.
My aunt was still in hospital herself, though she was well enough to return home by the middle of January. There must have been frenzied discussions about what on earth to do with me in the meantime. In the end, the school persuaded the vicar of my aunt’s village to take me in until she was able to cope with me again.
Mr Ratcliffe, I presume, was buried, and his house was given to strangers. I don’t know what happened to Mordred.
In one way, everything turned out well – at least for me. I didn’t have to go back to school. The vicar and his family were kind, and all my Christmas presents were waiting for me there.
Better still, when my aunt came home and I moved back to live with her, she decided I could have a puppy. I called him Rusty, not Stanley. For a month or two I had lessons with the vicar for four mornings a week. Then my aunt sent me as a dayboy to the grammar school in the nearest town. I was quite happy there, once I had grown used to it, though I never made any close friends.
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