The Secret of Crickley Hall (21 page)

'But didn't you find Nancy after the war?' asked Eve, touched by Percy and Nancy's romance.

'Oh, I tried, Missus Caleigh, believe me, I tried, but I weren't demobbed 'til late '46 an' by then… well, by then the trail'd gone cold. People went missin' durin' war an' more went missin' after. It was all the confusion, y'see, the country was a mess, gov'mint an' people tryin' to get back to normal. The authorities had no record of Nancy after '43 an' there were too much goin' on for them to care much. Said she probably returned to London and were mebbe killed in the bombing—it was them doodlebugs, them flying bombs that were doing the damage in '44. Bigger ones after that—V-2s they called 'em…'

Percy Judd had searched for but never found Nancy Linnet. After the flood in October 1943, Crickley Hall remained empty and almost derelict for several years. He was kept on as gardener and handyman by the managing agents who looked after the property for the owners, the direct descendants of Charles Crickley, who had moved to Canada at the beginning of the Second World War and had lost interest in the house (which was soon requisitioned by the government for official wartime use). Percy confessed to Eve that he stayed with the place in the foolish hope that Nancy might some day return, or at least make contact with him there. But it was not to be: it was as if his sweetheart had disappeared off the face of the earth itself.

Eventually the house was restored to its former condition—Percy could not force himself to say it was restored to its former
glory
, because he had never found anything remotely glorious about the place—by successive owners, the last of whom were the Templetons. But rumours about the Hall had spread among the villagers. Rumours that the children had been deliberately trapped in Crickley Hall's cellar on the night of the flood. Rumours that had never entirely gone away.

'Only nine bodies was found inside the house, all of 'em in the cellar,' said Percy, a mistiness in his eyes now. 'It were reckoned the other two'd been washed into the well by the floodwater an' the underground river had carried them out to the bay. Maurice Stafford and the little Polish boy, Stefan, that were. Their bodies were never recovered. The question at the time were why was the children down there when Cribben coulda taken 'em up to the top of the house, or even the landing, which was high enough.

'Augustus Cribben's body were found dead in the big hall, his neck an' back broken, his body cut to pieces when the floodwaters smashed through the window over the stairs. They said he were discovered naked.'

Eve frowned and suddenly felt colder.

'Magda Cribben,' Percy continued after a moment, 'were found next mornin', waitin' alone on the platform of the railway station at Merrybridge. No one knew how she got there. She were only in her usual black dress and brogues—no coat an' no hat—an' she couldn't answer no questions, couldn't speak at all. Never spoke another word.'

'Good God,' said Eve. 'What happened to her?'

'She were put in what they used to call an asylum.'

'She was mad?'

'Mad an' dumb. Couldn't or wouldn't say a word. When she got too old they put her in a nursing home.'

Percy drained his tea, which was cold by then. He placed the cup and saucer on the table and rose to his feet.

'I best be goin', missus. That's all I can tell you 'bout the evacuees who came to Crickley Hall, poor souls.'

'But there must have been an investigation of some kind into why the children were in the cellar. It doesn't make sense.'

'If there were, the outcome were kept quiet. Yer have to remember there were a war goin' on. People had enough to worry about. An' parents wouldna let their kiddies be evacuated at all any more if they thought bad things was goin' happen to 'em. No, I think the gov'mint in them days didn't want to cause no fuss, morale of the country an' all that. An' there were no proper evidence agin' Augustus Cribben anyway. Even the vicar, old Rossbridger, still spoke highly of the man. The only person left who knew what'd been goin' on at Crickley Hall was Magda Cribben an' she weren't sayin'. But y'know, I think Rossbridger were in league with the authorities who wanted things hushed up, 'cause Cribben were buried without ceremony an' his grave were right at the back of the graveyard.'

Percy managed a faint smile for Eve, but the melancholy remained in his faded eyes.

'I'll be getting' on with the garden. I've given yer enough to think on.'

Eve stood too. 'Thank you, Percy,' was all she could think of to say; her head was reeling by now.

Donning his cap and adjusting it on his head, he walked to the door and turned back to her before opening it.

'Are things all right fer yer here, Missus Caleigh?' he asked.

Eve wondered what she could tell him, what he would believe. 'Yes, Percy. Everything's fine.'

'You'd let me know…?' He did not complete the sentence.

Know what? That Crickley Hall was haunted? That the spirits of the children who had died here were somehow making her aware of their presence? That there might possibly be a connection between them and her own missing son? It was too soon to tell. Besides, she could scarcely believe it herself.

'Everything's fine,' she repeated. And her mind was suddenly made up: she knew what she should do.

25: BULLY

Now it was not in Loren Caleigh's nature to hit anybody; in fact, never in her life had she raised a hand or fist in anger, let alone physically struck someone. She abhorred violence in any form and she hated confrontation almost as much. She didn't like it when Dad and little Cam used to play-wrestle on the carpet, Dad allowing her tiny brother to think he'd pinned him down before Dad reared up and held him high over his head until Cam, who loved it when that happened, 'squealed' for mercy, both of them ending up giggling and rolling around the floor again. It always made Mummy laugh too (Mummy laughed a lot in those days), but Loren herself had only smiled, pretending to enjoy the game.

Then one day, Loren had returned home from school and burst into tears. It turned out that a particularly nasty girl in a class a year above Loren's had been picking on her for several weeks, for no other reason, it seemed, than Loren had an American father, someone who 'talked funny'. (Gabe and Eve suspected there were probably other reasons, such as their daughter's own shyness and her quiet personality.) Eve had wanted to complain to the school's headmistress, but Loren had begged her not to. 'It will only make matters worse,' she had wailed. So Dad, much to Mummy's protests, had shown Loren what to do when you were picked on by a bully who was not only older but bigger too. This, of course, was if you'd been pushed to the limit and there was no other way to settle things.

The trick was to get in the first blow. Once you knew there was only one way for the situation to go and it was bound to get physical, you had to strike first. But—'this is important, this is very important'—aim for the bridge of the nose. Not the tip of the nose, nor any other place like the jaw, and never the chest (belly if you just wanted to wind them, but it was not advised). Just that spot at the bridge of the nose, 'smack-down between the peepers'. That should do enough damage to finish it right there and then—'And if it doesn't, get the hell out.'

Warming to the subject—and to Mummy's further chagrin—Dad had told her: 'If your opponent is much bigger than you, or there's more of 'em, never, but
never
, take it outside. In a room you got furniture to throw, chairs to use as a shield or to whack their heads with, walls to back up against, tables you can push 'em over, and even bits and pieces—say like vases or ornaments—you can throw at the other guy, make 'em back off.'

Mummy realized Dad was half fooling around, but she was angry anyway. Violence could never be an answer, she'd said, and Dad had winked at Loren.

As it happened, the bully girl in question was removed from the school after it was discovered that she was forcing girls even younger than Loren to hand over their dinner money and pocket money. Also, a supply teacher's purse had gone missing from her handbag and the bully girl was discovered in the girls' toilets counting out the change by another teacher. So, much to Loren's relief (and her parents'), the problem was resolved. Whether or not she would have had the courage to 'punch the bully's lights out', as Gabe would have it, was another matter entirely.

But two years later, on a damp Monday afternoon in October, she had certainly used the tactic on Seraphina Blaney. To her dismay, Loren had found herself in the same class at Merrybridge Middle School as the girl she had met—acrimoniously—just before. She remembered her in the store at Hollow Bay, a big girl, stocky, with a face that might have been pretty had the jaw not been too heavy, the forehead too bulbous and the thin lips too scowling.

The moment they set eyes on each other, which was when Loren was being introduced to the class by the teacher, Loren knew she was in for a hard time. Her eyes had locked with Seraphina's, and Loren had recognized the girl who had stared at her with such spite on Saturday. Seraphina had whispered something to the girl sitting next to her and they had both sniggered into their hands. It had turned into a bad day.

Loren had been subjected to mean stares and flicked elastic bands to the back of her neck throughout lessons. At lunchtime, Seraphina, seated at a table, had deliberately stuck out a foot as Loren passed by with her tray of food; Loren had stumbled, tipped the tray, and the full plate on it had skittered across the floor. Losing the macaroni with cheese and jacket potato wasn't the worst part: it was the humiliation that turned her face beet-red in front of the school that Loren hated.

It hadn't ended there. Throughout the rest of the afternoon Loren had been subjected to hissed name-calling, masticated paper pellets aimed at her whenever the teacher's back was turned and pathetic take-offs of her London accent. Fortunately, Seraphina appeared only to have a small coterie of friends to enjoy the tormenting; most of the other pupils were friendly and curious about her in a good way.

She managed to make a friend of another girl from Hollow Bay, a shy little thing those name was Tessa Windle. They had connected when Tessa had helped Loren pick up the remains of her lunch after Seraphina had tripped her. She was the same age as Loren, but seemed a year younger; her Devonian accent was slight and her manner gentle. By the end of the school day, she and Loren had become firm friends.

•

With an exaggerated flourish the driver drew back the blue people-carrier's passenger door.

'All aboard who's goin' aboard,' he called out to the mass of blue-uniformed pupils spilling out of the school gates. Members of his boarding party broke off from the main crowd, skirting round waiting mothers and fathers, arriving at the minibus in groups of two and three, eight of them in all for the journey home to Hollow Bay. Loren, with her new friend Tessa, waited as three boys ahead of them climbed into the vehicle, while the driver looked her over with an unattractive grin. His teeth were yellow, each one isolated from its neighbour by a discernible gap that emphasized their crookedness. Long, lank hair fell to his narrow dandruffy shoulders and he scratched an unshaven chin as he appraised the unfamiliar passenger.

'You'll be the new 'un, will yer?' He scrutinized Loren's face as if suspecting her of carrying some contagious disease that might infect his regulars. 'Laura Caleigh, 'ennit? I was told to expect an extra passenger this afternoon.'

'Loren.'

'Eh?'

'My name's Loren.'

'Laura, Loren. Same thing.'

She wanted to tell him it wasn't—her name was Loren, not Laura; there was a difference, but she didn't like the smell of his rank breath so didn't want to open up a dialogue.

She made to move past him but he said, 'My name's Frank. You can call me Mr Mulley, all right?'
Awroit
. 'In yer get then. No messin' about when I'm drivin', okay?'

Loren was about to follow Tessa into the bus when a stocky arm blocked her way. Seraphina Blaney glared at her.

'After me, grockle.' She gave Loren a shove.

Grockle, Loren knew, was a derogatory term for tourist or outsider. The girl with Seraphina gave a chortling snort, while Seraphina herself gave Loren a tight-lipped contemptuous smile. Loren chose not to respond and waited as the big girl and her friend climbed aboard. She followed them in, another breathless, older girl arriving and climbing in behind her.

The minibus was not full: the three boys took up the back seats, an empty double-seat in front of them where the last girl to arrive sat; Seraphina and her friend occupied the next seats right behind Tessa. Loren took the seat next to her. Nobody, apparently, wanted the seat closest to the driver. Loren and Tessa balanced their school bags on their knees, Loren glad that the school day was over; it would almost be a relief to get back to Crickley Hall.

Frank Mulley pushed the passenger door shut with a loud sliding thud, then walked round to the driver's side and got in. Wrists resting over the top of the steering wheel, he craned his head round and silently counted off his passengers, lips mouthing each number. When his eyes met with Loren's, he gave her a smirky wink and, although she shuddered inside, she returned a polite smile. He engaged gear and the people-carrier pulled away from the kerb and soon turned into the town's main thoroughfare.

'What yer sittin' next to her for?' Seraphina dug stiff fingers into Tessa's shoulder. 'She yer new best friend? Like grockles, do yer?'

Tessa shrugged her shoulder away from the other girl's touch as Loren glanced round.

'What yer lookin' at, skanky?' This time the fingers jabbed at Loren's shoulder. 'Think yer better than us, do yer?'

Tessa leaned into Loren and whispered, 'Take no notice. She's even worse when her brother's with her. Quentin's on suspension for two weeks for fighting. It's usually Seraphina who gets him into trouble.'

They both giggled together, more out of nervousness than pleasure.