It was evident when Miss Linnet returned to the hall that she and Susan Trainer had had a long conversation. Her small pretty lips were set in a grim line and anger blazed fiercely in her hazel eyes. As usual, her long knitted shawl covered her withered arm and hand, but her other hand was clenched into a tight fist. She marched across the hall and went straight through to the office to confront Magda once again, who had already returned to her desk.
Maurice still lingered by the classroom door, and half turned to hush the other children who were whispering excitedly to one another. Wary of him, they fell silent immediately.
He listened again to the sound of Miss Linnet and Magda’s voices.
‘. . . down to the village pharmacist . . .’ the young teacher was saying. ‘I shall purchase the appropriate items for poor Susan and show her how to use them.’
‘You will not leave the classroom this morning,’ said Magda and Maurice thought there was a trace of uncertainty in her otherwise stern tone. ‘The girl may use old towels ’til the flow ceases.’
Flow? Flow of blood? Maurice was too confused to understand any of it. Was Susan bleeding from somewhere inside her body? If so, how had it happened? Perhaps Magda would explain it to him later. All he knew at that moment was that Susan had committed some grave sin for which she was being disciplined.
‘Don’t be absurd.’ Miss Linnet’s voice was raised. He had never heard her speak like this before; she was usually so quiet and well mannered. ‘She needs proper sanitary towels and she must have them as soon as possible. Her first period has frightened her and made her unwell. I don’t think spending the night without clothes in a cold damp cellar has helped matters.’
‘How dare you speak to me in this manner?’ Uncertainty had now been ousted by Magda’s indignation. ‘Mr Cribben will hear of your impudence the moment he returns. You, a chit of a girl, barely an adult yourself, daring to speak to me in this fashion.’
‘I shall look forward to that moment. I’ve a few things to say to him about the running of this establishment. You and your brother are unnecessarily cruel to these orphans . . .’
Maurice was amazed at the defiance in the teacher’s attitude. He would never have guessed she had the gumption to act so boldly. Until now, she had appeared to be a timid little creature.
‘. . . and it has to stop. They deserve to be treated kindly and without these dreadful corrections you impose on them. I’ve spoken with Susan and she has told me of your despicable punishments when I am not here. I’ve suspected it was so since I first came to Crickley Hall. The children are too meek and fearful – no, terrified – of you and Mr Cribben, and I didn’t quite understand the reason. Now I know all of it, and I will not allow it to carry on. I intend to contact the authorities by letter and insist they send inspectors to investigate my complaints. I shall make sure the children speak up.’
‘You will do no such thing.’
Maurice almost shuddered at Magda’s menace.
‘Nothing will prevent me. I trust you will take charge of the class while I go to the village for poor Susan?’
She came to the door again and Maurice heard hurried footsteps behind her as Magda followed. Miss Linnet had got as far as the open cellar door when Magda called her. She turned to face the woman who stormed towards her.
Magda shouted into the teacher’s face. ‘You will not leave this house!’
Maurice had never seen Magda so angry. Cross, yes, severe, it went wither nature, but never before had he watched her lose control like this, not even when she had cause to strike the children with her leather belt (but then, that was always carried out coldly). Her hard features were contorted, her face more white than usual, and her words had been spat out – literally, for he had seen the spittle fly from her mouth.
At first, whether in shock or to create space between herself and the raging woman, Miss Linnet retreated a step so that her back was to the open doorway behind her. But then she stood her ground, her face red as Magda’s was white. She seemed consciously to control herself.
‘Susan needs help, not punishment,’ she said firmly. ‘All the children need care and attention, not constant hardship, which is all they get from you and your brother.’
‘You will not leave this house!’ Magda repeated, taking another step closer to the teacher. ‘Go back to the classroom immediately!’
Maurice felt his heart pound and he forgot to take a breath.
‘You wretched child with your shrivelled arm. What have you done to cause the Lord’s castigation?’
‘I was born this way,’ Miss Linnet replied evenly, Magda’s jibe somehow calming rather than upsetting her. Perhaps experience of similar cruel remarks had taught her how to deal with it. ‘Now please move out of my way. I’m going to the village.’
Magda’s fury finally erupted. ‘You evil girl!’ she screeched and took another step towards the teacher, her arms stretched forward as she came. With great force she pushed at Miss Linnet’s shoulders.
Astonished, the teacher teetered on the threshold of the cellar stairway. But Magda did not stop at one push. Incensed – and afraid of betrayal – she pushed the teacher again, even harder this time, and Miss Linnet toppled backwards.
Maurice watched infascinated awe as the teacher fell into the darkness behind her. He heard her body tumbling down, striking the side walls as well as the steps as she went. Curiosity overcame trepidation and her an forward to see what had happened to the young woman; the sound of her body hitting the concrete floor below with a resounding crunch came back up to him.
Magda seemed frozen to the spot when he reached her. She was staring into the cellar’s blackness, but her eyes were unfocused, seeing nothing at all.
‘Have you killed her, miss?’ (Even when they were in bed together he called her ‘miss’.) He turned away from her to squint into the gloom.
She did not answer and when he looked round at her, he saw something that might have been panic in those cold black eyes of hers. Then she appeared to gather herself – her shoulders twitched and stiffened, her chin lifted a fraction.
She spoke slowly and firmly, brooking no dispute. ‘You saw what happened, Maurice. It was an awful accident. Miss Linnet missed her footing on the stairs.’ Her voice hardly wavered at all when she said, ‘Go down and see if she’s badly hurt.’
His eyes returned to the pit. All he heard was the urgent susurration of rushing water from the well. He didn’t want to go down there. Not alone.
‘Maurice, did you hear what I said? I want you to go down to the cellar and see how Miss Linnet is.’ She reached forward and gripped his shoulder. Her hand felt like an iron claw through his flannel shirt.
‘But . . . but what if she’s dead, miss?’
‘Don’t be silly, boy. It was only a fall due to her own carelessness.’
‘Miss . . .?’
‘Did any of the children see the accident?’ There was a noticeable quiver in her voice and a restlessness about her eyes.
‘No, miss, they were all at the tables.’
‘So only you witnessed her accidentally fall.’
He took in a long breath. ‘Yes, miss.’
‘Good boy. Well, now you must go and see how Miss Linnet is. Here, I’ll turn on the light for you.’ She reached past him and stabbed at the light switch.
It was still dingy, but he could just make out a curled bundle lying at the foot of the stairs, a bundle he knew was a human body. He was startled when he thought he saw the shape twitch. He turned back to Magda. He was almost as tall as her and their eyes were level.
‘Will you come with me?’ he asked her nervously.
‘Is that necessary, Maurice? Can’t you go alone? The other children are unsupervised.’
‘I’d prefer it if you come with me.’ It was almost a whine.
She gave it a moment’s thought and he could see the panic was still there at the back of her eyes. ‘Very well,’ she said stiffly, ‘we’ll go together. You can lead the way.�
��
As he hesitated on the top step, he was sure he saw movement below again.
‘I don’t think she’s dead, Miss Cribben,’ he whispered and Magda froze. It was then that he realized that Magda Cribben did not want the teacher to be alive.
Maurice momentarily closed his eyes as he remembered the frightening descent to the well cellar. Had it really been all those years ago? It was still vivid in his mind.
The brandy glass before him on the small table was nearly empty. Mustn’t have another, though, had to keep a clear head. Yet he couldn’t go up to the house too early. Make this one last then, drink the remains very slowly, appreciate its flavour.
Nancy Linnet was moving. She was pushing and pulling her battered body further into the dark cellar. She was desperate to get out of the light from the stairway, dim though it was, for she could hear footsteps approaching, heavy on the creaky wooden steps, and something – call it primal instinct – told her Magda Cribben was not coming down to help her. So Nancy dragged herself across the hard dusty floor, biting into her lower lip with the pain the effort caused her.
She knew that one of her legs was broken, because it was useless to her and hurt terribly, especially so each time she drew it along after her. Something was wrong with her back too, for her spine was numbed and her shoulders barely working. Tears of pain dropped from her eyes into the dirt beneath her and, although it was difficult to see, she continued to shuffle herself forward. She had to hide before Magda could hurt her again and at least the dingy light from behind helped her make out a deeper shadow ahead. When she blinked the tears away, she was able to see the black haven more clearly for a moment or two.
It was the entrance to the boiler room and if she could reach it, she would be able to hide there. She would have to be very quiet and very still, though, once she got inside. If only she could use both arms the effort would be so much easier, but her right arm had always been ineffective, just a withered limb that marred her life with its ugliness. So she managed with her left arm and her left leg to haul herself across the floor. She suddenly realized it was not only tears that were blurring her vision, but it was the blood streaming down her forehead also.
The boy, the sneak, the bully, watched from the bottom of the stairs. Magda had switched on the chamber’s inadequate ceiling light and he could make out the figure on the floor as it crawled through the entrance to the boiler room. One of the teacher’s legs dragged uselessly behind her and it seemed to be bent the wrong way. As if mesmerized, they both watched the teacher’s progress. Gradually, her body slithering awkwardly, she disappeared inside the boiler room and the darkness devoured her.
Without further hesitation, Magda made her way to the boiler room and Maurice went with her. A churning mix of emotions caused his heart to beat even faster. There was anger at the teacher for threatening to betray his guardians and there was dread of the outcome now. Reigning over both was a feeling of excitement that made his limbs tremble and his brain tingle.
Although in shadow, they saw the shape of Nancy Linnet’s prostrate body lying near the centre of the rough-bricked room. The light switch was just inside the entrance and Magda quickly pressed it on. As in the well cellar, the overhead light was dull and covered in dust, so that a dirty greyness prevailed with dark shadows at its edges.
Miss Linnet was still trying to drag herself on her belly but, too weakened, she was making no more progress. The fingers of her good hand scrabbled uselessly against the litter-strewn floor and one foot scuffed away at the dirt behind her without catching. Her once glorious hair was matted with silky blood, and because she lay with her cheek against the ground they could see that her lips were moving, although no sounds, no moans, no murmurs, came from them.
Magda raised a hand to her throat and her mouth dropped open. Maurice saw there was alarm rather than compassion in those black eyes of hers.
‘What shall we do?’ she said tonelessly, the question inwards, not meant for Maurice who stood by her side. ‘She’ll tell. She’ll destroy us.’
It was the first time Maurice had seen weakness in the woman who had bizarrely become his mentor and mistress, and it distressed him.
‘It was an accident, miss, like you said.’ Anger began to override any fear that he felt. But it was excitement that continued to make him tremble.
‘She’ll say otherwise.’
‘No, she can’t! I’ll tell everyone it was her own fault. I saw it happen.’
‘She’ll say I deliberately pushed her because I didn’t want her going to the authorities. She’ll tell lies and half-truths about Augustus and me. She’ll make terrible trouble for us. They won’t understand our methods, she’ll tell them we’re unkind to the children, and if they believe her they’ll close the home. Our reputations . . .’ Magda’s mouth clamped shut: what would happen to their reputations seemed too horrible to contemplate.
‘No!’ shouted Maurice. He didn’t want to leave Crickley Hall. He liked the things he did with Augustus and Magda. He liked lording it over the other orphans. ‘I won’t let her!’ His words came out as a screech. He rushed forward and kicked the broken bundle on the floor. ‘I won’t let her!’
Taken aback by the suddenness of his anger, Magda could only watch as he ran to the pile of logs heaped against the back wall next to a hill of coke. Maurice picked up a short but stout log with both hands and a faint smile touched her thin mouth as she realized his intention. A cruel gleam of satisfaction shone from her narrowed eyes.
Lifting the heavy log high over his head, Maurice tottered back to the recumbent body, which was now twitching rather than moving. Magda made no attempt to stop him – she didn’t want to stop him – as he stretched his arms, then brought the bludgeon down with all his might on Nancy Linnet’s blood-soaked skull.
The sound of wood smashing against thin bone was hideous, a kind of popping-crunching that made Magda flinch despite herself. The teacher’s injured leg jerked, the fingers of her outstretched left hand quivered.
Maurice raised and brought down the thick log again, perhaps even harder this time, and the teacher’s exposed temple caved inwards. Maurice fell to his knees, but still he raised the log again and smashed it against the head that had already become a mess of pulpy gore. Nancy Linnet lay perfectly still beneath him, yet still he struggled to lift the deadly weapon. Only when Magda stepped forward and gripped his wrist did he stop.
‘Enough,’ she said quietly but firmly. ‘She’s dead, Maurice, the girl is quite dead.’
He froze and looked down at the blood that had spattered his knees and the front of his sleeveless jumper. He threw the log to the side as if afraid to be caught with it. His lower lip trembled and his eyes were wide in shock. But although fearful, he was glad, glad that the teacher was gone, glad that she couldn’t interfere any more. His excitement had not abated. He even felt mildly proud of what he’d done – until he began to think of the consequences.
Would the police come and take him away? Would they lock him up in jail for the rest of his life? He looked pleadingly at Magda and saw she wore the faintest of smiles.
‘She deserved it, Maurice,’ she soothed him. ‘She would have betrayed us, she would have undone all the good work Augustus and I have achieved. Now quickly, we must dispose of the body.’
‘Miss . . .?’
‘Have trust in me, Maurice.’
To him, it was the kindest she’d ever sounded.
‘Come now, help me lift her.’ Magda reached down for the teacher’s legs. ‘You’re a strong boy – take her beneath the shoulders.’
First, they rolled the body over so that Nancy Linnet’s half-open glazed eyes looked up at the ceiling.
‘What are we going to do with her?’ He felt no remorse and his fear was rapidly diminishing. Even the prospect of going to prison did not worry him. Magda had said to trust her, and he did, implicitly. He had no doubts at all that she would make things all right.
‘We’re taking her next door,’ re
plied Magda, grunting softly with the effort of lifting the corpse’s lower body.
Maurice’s hands slid under the teacher’s shoulders and he heaved her up. When alive, Nancy Linnet had looked as light as a feather but, although he certainly was a strong boy, he discovered a dead body was a dead weight. He and Magda struggled to carry it through the opening into the well room.
‘Where will we hide her, miss?’ Maurice managed to ask between gasps for breath.
‘Where she’ll never be seen again,’ came the calm response.
‘But what if the police find out?’
‘They won’t.’
Magda had not only thought of a place to put the corpse, but had already worked out a reason for Nancy Linnet’s absence. Without prior notice, the young teacher had announced she was returning to London that very day. Magda would go down to the village in the afternoon and tell Miss Linnet’s landlady that the teacher wanted her clothes and few small possessions sent on to her. A sudden crisis in the family, Magda would explain to the landlady and anybody else who might be interested (it was just as well that Nancy’s sweetheart, young Percy Judd, had recently been called up for military service and had left to help fight the nonsensical war or he might have caused a fuss).
She brought Maurice and the body to a stop by the well’s low wall, but did not lay down her burden. The rushing of the river below seemed to satisfy her.
Maurice realized the intention immediately. His eyes widened, both excitement and trepidation still burning in them.
‘You know what we’re going to do?’ Magda regarded him levelly.
The boy nodded twice.
‘The currents are strong in the Channel,’ she continued, Miss Linnet’s ankles tucked beneath Magda’s arms, her hands holding the teacher under the knees. ‘Her body will be swept out to the ocean and, with luck, it will never be found. Now, over the wall with her.’
They rested the body on top of the stone wall for a moment, then tipped it over the side. It was a deep drop, but the turbulent sound of water below almost covered the resulting splash.
The Secret of Crickley Hall Page 39
