The Devil Walks

by Anne Fine

  I looked across the lawn. My step-uncle was pacing up and down beneath the portico.

  ‘See?’ Thomas said. ‘His mind’s on more important matters than where you are. He’s waiting for the cart. I know his moods, and he won’t rest till it’s arrived. If you’re determined to go, there’s time enough for you to cram your few possessions in your bag.’

  Again I looked across to my step-uncle as he strode up and down, and it was hard to believe that anyone in such a frenzy of waiting might be distracted.

  ‘Go through the courtyard,’ said Thomas.

  So I did, and once in the kitchen did indeed feel myself secure enough to make my way along the passage. Now I could see the shadow of my uncle as he paced to and fro outside the open door. I hurried up the stairs and thrust my few belongings into Dr Marlow’s bag in such short order that I knew that I’d be out of the house in half the time it would take any cart to spin up the long drive.

  I hurried down the attic stairs and along the landing till I reached the door to my step-uncle’s room.

  Why did I stop? Had I lost all sense? Or was it just that, with the gradual unravelling of this great mystery that had consumed my life, I felt impelled to snatch this one brief chance to see the only portrait in the house – the one I knew would mirror perfectly the most feared half of my step-uncle’s doll?

  I leaned over the banister, and from the hall I could hear nothing but the sound of pacing.

  So I took my chance. Dragging a chair from the alcove, I climbed on it to dip my hand into the porcelain jug. Yes! There was the key he hadn’t realized others with sharper ears might guess he kept in there.

  The key turned in the lock and I crept in. Drapes made the room so dark that it was difficult to pick my way across to tug one back. The narrow ribbon of daylight I let in lit up a tide of papers lying carelessly across the floor, a strip of faded wallpaper and there, above, caught in the tail end of the shaft of light, the portrait.

  There the captain stood in full dress uniform, the Severin doll, with that familiar face smirking contemptuously as if to say, ‘Who would have thought you would be such an innocent as to be fooled by a little white hair?’ I knew at once why Martha had spoken of the painting with such bitterness. How well I knew that haughty, taunting and malevolent smile that had tormented me so often over my supper. Indeed, the very sight of it was enough to bring me to my senses and send me flying, first to tug the drapes back into place, then to the door.

  The room was now again so dark that I was feeling for the handle like a blind mole. My fingers brushed the coat he had left hanging on the door and touched thin papers tucked inside a pocket.

  Each nerve in me insisted: Go! Get out of here at once! But still I stayed, to feel around the folded edges.

  Opening the door a crack, I listened out again and heard the same impatient footsteps – up, down, up, down – as I unfolded the pages.

  They were in Sophie’s hand.

  My dearest Daniel,

  What joy to get your letter, and oh, how we’ve missed you! Since you’ve been gone the house has seemed so empty and dull. Even games with the dolls have turned into a miserable matter. I swear that hateful Severin doll gets stronger. I leave him out of all my adventures, yet still his horrid nature seeps into the stories. I cram him back in the box and move it further away; but over and again I get the creeping sense his little wooden limbs are twitching there in the dark. And when I lift the lid to check I’m being fanciful, I find him insolently staring up at me as if to say, ‘Yes, Sophie. You have every reason to imagine that I am gathering my powers.’

  Now terror rose. Not only was the doll at his uncanny tricks again, but I was plunged into the deepest danger. My only hope was that the captain had stuffed this letter into his pocket without the bother of unfolding it and casting his eye over the outpourings which would so quickly have led him to the proof of my deception.

  I turned the page.

  And things get worse. Yesterday I burst into tears at his foul meddling in my imaginings for Hal and Topper. I raised the box lid, only to find him smirking at me with so much spite that I ran to Cecilia to beg her for pins. And then I hammered him back under the window seat where we first found him. But, Daniel, would you believe it, that very hour he took revenge by making Mother lose her temper over some small tease so that, instead of sending me as usual to shell peas or string the beans, she locked me in my room for the whole day!

  So things are horrid and I am miserable. If that mischievous doll is free he poisons all my games. And if he finds himself locked up, then so must I be – out of sheer malice – as if he has the power to punish me with some small shade of what is done to him.

  I held the letter away from me and tried to still my thumping heart. Why did she call the doll mischievous? The doll was evil. Oh, this was fearful stuff, confirming all my worst fears. I forced myself to read on, skimming the next few lines about some book Sophie had tossed aside, some walk that came to grief, and gossip from the kitchen, to reach the bottom of the page where suddenly the writing broke off.

  I turned the letter over. There, in a far more hasty hand, was added:

  Oh, Daniel! Such a surprise! A rapping on the door, and Kathleen opened it to find the cheeriest man you ever saw who said he was on business in our town. And only guess! It was your uncle!

  My heart stopped. The captain? Truly? So far from London?

  So Father invited him to dine. And he has spent the last hour telling us how settled you are, and that you have become an expert angler, and chatter merrily all day, and that the two of you already have become such good friends and companions that you’ve decided to stay. And though our faces around the table must have shown disappointment, Father frowned warnings at us all to rally and assure the captain that we are glad you’re happy. So we have made the effort to persuade him – though I for one have to admit I cannot yet feel anything except my own dismay.

  And then the captain said you’d begged him, as he left High Gates, to make the fastest possible arrangement to fetch your precious doll’s house.

  I had to read the words a second time. But they were clear as paint! So it no longer mattered a jot whether the captain had read this letter of Sophie’s through, or thrust it idly into his pocket. The secret he’d so triumphantly unearthed was indeed mine!

  In deepening shock I read on further through the pages Sophie had added in such haste.

  But I accused your uncle, ‘That’s not the truth you’re telling!’

  ‘Sophie!’ cried everyone. But I was firm, and told them all how, only a moment before, when Mother sent me to the Kitchen to ask for more redcurrant jam, I’d overheard George the carrier gossiping with Kathleen and Molly. And he was saying that a man with ash-white hair had spent three days striding about the town, seeking out carriers to ask about the clearance of Hawthorn Cottage all those months ago. And George said when he told this man about the doll’s house coming here, the stranger’s eyes had flashed and he had smashed his fist into his palm in triumph, as if this came as splendid news.

  So I knew I was right. How, I asked everyone around the table, could Captain Severn be so astonished and delighted to hear from a carrier that the doll’s house was here if, even before he left his own house, he had been begged to fetch it?

  Now I was trembling as I read on.

  At that my mother and father glanced at one another across the table, both deeply puzzled. But almost instantly your uncle chuckled and said, ‘Sophie’s a sharp young miss, and I admit she’s fairly trapped me in a small deception. Daniel begged no such thing.’ He turned to Father and added, ‘But I could not help but recall you told me in a letter that all my sister’s goods were sold.’ (How Father blushed at that.) ‘And knowing that she would have kept her doll’s house to the very end, I hoped that I could track it down in secret and buy it back to give to Daniel as a grand surprise.’

  And so, of course, Mother assured him that the doll’s house was yours to keep, and therefor
e his to take. Then he astonished everyone by saying briskly that the carriers he’d hired to take it with him to High Gates were already waiting outside.

  How we all stared. But just then Kathleen hurried in to say that Molly had fallen into one of her faints, burning her hand as she fell. So Father rose, saying, ‘Forgive us, Captain Severn. Now we will be in turmoil. Please ask your men to come again in the morning.’

  Your uncle wasn’t pleased. ‘But I’ve a berth on the night train and would be glad to see this matter settled, and the cart safely on its way.’ But Father insisted burns need fast treatment, and ushered Captain Severn from the house, with Mother following, assuring him that she herself would pack the doll box and the furniture safe on the cart along with the doll’s house first thing tomorrow morning.

  And, Daniel, I can’t say that I am sorry. I’ll be so glad to be rid of the nasty Severin doll that I won’t mind losing Rubiana, Hal and Mrs Golightly – even beloved Topper. It’s good to think that within a day or so they will be with you again, if only to remind you of happy hours we spent together. And now I must close because kind Kathleen has promised that if I finish this before she leaves the house, she’ll give it to the station master who can press it in the captain’s hand before he steps on the train. And here she comes!

  The letter ended in a scrawl of signature. But even if she had kept on, I wouldn’t have been able to read another word. Terror had frozen my brain. I thrust the letter back into the pocket of the coat and hurried out. I locked the door behind me and dropped the key in the jug, half sick with fear at realizing that, since the moment that the captain spoke to George the carrier, he’d known that I’d been lying.

  Worse! My step-uncle now knew that what he prized so much was on its way! Clearly until his heart’s desire was in his hand, he’d thought it best to play along with my evasions and deceit. But, once the cart arrived, bearing the doll’s house, he would prise up the window seat he had once thought such a safe hiding place—

  And I’d be cat’s meat! I had no secrets now!

  I pushed the chair back into the alcove and leaned over the banister.

  The sound of pacing had stopped. Quick, quick! I urged myself. Get out of here at once!

  I took off down the servants’ stairs. Reaching the kitchen safely, I pushed at the back door to sneak into the courtyard. At the gate I looked in every direction.

  There was no one in sight.

  Desperate to find Thomas, I moved into the shadow of the trees and worked my way around the grounds, not daring to call out, just stopping now and then to catch my breath, or listen for the thud of a spade or scrape of a hoe against gravel.

  Just as I reached the high beech hedge I saw a shadow move around the curve and turned in time to see the sunlight flash on Thomas’s spade as it was carried through the arch into the Devil Walks.

  I’d found him!

  But where was my step-uncle? Had he lost patience and hurried off to meet the cart at the gates? Or was he spying out on me from some dark place? Determined not to be seen in this, the last few moments before I ran for safety, I took my time to creep around the outside of the hedge.

  Then I was through the arch. I raced along the spiralling path, round and round, further and further in, until at last I heard the thud of a spade digging in earth.

  So nearly there! On I ran, on and on, until I skidded round the very last tight curve and almost fell out in the clearing’s sunlight.

  The spade’s blade cut into the ground even as I reached out. ‘Thomas! Leave that and help me! I’m in the deepest trouble! The secret that the captain has unearthed has turned out to be mine! And I know his! I am no longer safe!’

  The hand that fell on mine was round my wrist in an instant, as strong as steel. ‘Smart boy!’ he baited me. ‘I do believe that, like your mother, you must have some way to tell your future!’

  How could I have been so stupid! I pulled back hard, but Captain Severn held me tight. I looked across the clearing to where the cluster of memorial stones stood in the sun. Then I looked down and saw the first few spadefuls of turned earth.

  Into my mind sprang something he had said on our first walk. ‘I cannot wait to see you in the Devil Walks.’

  My blood ran cold. Was the man digging my grave? I wriggled fiercely. ‘Let me go!’

  He chortled. ‘Forgive me. But can you truly believe that I will lay aside my aims, forget my purpose, just because a worthless little sprout like you demands it?’

  ‘What aims? What purpose?’ Still I was struggling, and still his grip was tightening around my wrist.

  ‘Come, now. Back to the house. I have a plan for you.’

  ‘What plan?’

  ‘It’s time for you to write a note for me to send off to your precious Marlows.’ His grin was merciless. ‘The farewell note you kindly wrote to me blessing me for my kindness and telling me that, fired by my fine example, you’re off to sea.’ Again he chuckled. ‘Never to be seen again.’

  ‘I will do no such thing!’

  The chuckling stopped. His voice was razor sharp. ‘I think you will!’

  He gave me a sharp tug. My feet scuffed the moss as he dragged me as easily as he might drag a log back through the Devil Walks. I tried to shout for Thomas, but Captain Severn clapped his free hand over my mouth before the cry was out. Now he was treading backwards round the widening spiral, pulling me after him between the cold dark hedges. Strips of sky spun above as I tried to dig my heels down into the gravel underneath the moss to slow our progress through the Devil Walks.

  I fought the whole way to the house. As he manhandled me towards the stairs I kicked out, sending chairs flying and grasping at everything in our path in hopes the clatter would bring Martha to the passage door.

  But he was strong enough to lift me bodily. I might have been a child of five for all the good my struggles did me. Within a minute we were on the landing, and he was pushing me through the attic door onto the stairs.

  The bolt rasped as it slid across.

  His voice came, barely muffled, through the door. ‘There! Kick your heels until I finish my work.’

  Digging my grave? His work? With one last effort of will I doused the fears that sickened me enough to shout the warning, ‘Thomas and Martha already know you for a murderer!’

  ‘What’s that to me?’ he called back carelessly. ‘I’ll chain the Walks so well the devil himself won’t get inside to see my handiwork, then send those old fools packing. As with the other accidents in this house, they can prove nothing!’

  I heard the thud of footsteps down the stairs and hurled myself against the attic door. Small as it was, it held fast. Surely there would be something I could find to beat a way through it? Some heavy lamp stand or some rusty tool?

  I rushed into one dusty and neglected attic room after another. But there was nothing but a few old chairs whose worm-ridden legs would serve no useful purpose. I would be trapped up here until he’d finished the black task he’d set himself, then doubled back to force me into writing the letter he would need to cover his tracks.

  Then I’d be mincemeat.

  What could I do to save my life?

  And it was in that self-same thought that my deliverance came. The very words triggered a memory. What had my mother said to Martha once? That if the doll’s house was made perfect down to the last trap door, then one day it would save a precious life?

  Sophie had made the trap door slide! She’d stuffed our brigand doll out on the roof and made him climb the ancient coils of ivy, down to the ground. The thought of looking down from such a height made my head swirl. But this was not a moment for squeamishness or lack of courage. I had the shortest time to get myself out of my step-uncle’s clutches, and if this was the only way it could be done, then I would do it.

  Hauling the rickety desk out of my room, I set it under the trap door and climbed on top to see what could be done.

  There was no catch. No hook. No bolt. Nothing that I could see to push or t
ug or lift to slide the hatch across.

  Was I on a fool’s errand? Desperate, I peered more closely, running my fingers around the edge. Surely if there were any way at all to shift this heavy wooden mass, there would be something to see, something to feel.

  And then I noticed it. A hole as tiny as a woodworm’s passage. Was there some cunning sort of spring inside? But how to reach it? My little finger was a hundred times more stubby than this hole, no bigger than a stitch in lace.

  A stitch in lace!

  I dug my hand deep in my pocket. And there it was – my mother’s last, most precious gift: the dainty ivory case.

  I spilled the tools into my palm. That one? No! This! It could have been made for the task! Balancing myself with care, I raised it over my head and slid it in the tiny hole.

  I heard a click. The hatch sprang to the side a finger’s width. The job was done! I slid in both my thumbs and pushed.

  As if it had been oiled yesterday, the hatch slid back, and I was blinded by a shaft of light that fell through a cracked roof tile.

  Now it was just a matter of a leap. The desk beneath me toppled as I kicked out to scramble up. It clattered down the stairs, leaving no clue as to the route I’d taken to get away. I slid the hatch back over carefully, knowing that if nothing over his head looked odd or different, my uncle would be bound to waste at least a few precious minutes going through all the attic rooms in search of me – his vanished prey.

  Then I was off, crawling along the splintery joists that lay beneath the rafters until I found that second heavy trap door that led out onto the wide roof.