Luckily, bedtime always came early in the Jones household. Lucy hid under Dorothy’s bed when Mr Jones came upstairs. She heard him asking Paul if he felt better. He called goodnight to the others, and closed his bedroom door. Gwen came up ten minutes later. She cleared a space on Dorothy’s floor for Lucy and spread a duvet over it. “You’ll have to lie on this,” she whispered. She smoothed two blankets over it and threw down a pillow. “Sleep well, both of you.”
Lucy crawled under the blankets. The duvet was thick and soft. It was very comfortable, and it was nice not to have to listen out for the Magnifico.
*
In the front bedroom Gwen padded around, laying out Evan’s clothes for tomorrow, while he tossed and turned, and muttered in his sleep. She was worrying about Sandra Williams’s visit. Now that she’d had time to consider, she was confident that none of her nearest neighbours had reported her to Social Services. They would never have done such a thing.
The terrifying thought was that if Social Services were involved, not only would she lose the children, but Evan might be taken away too.
Thanks to her nursing background and training on how use the tranquilizing syringes, the doctor had agreed to let her keep him at home despite his terrible rages; but neither she nor the doctor had expected her to have a house full of children. She couldn’t possibly turn them out into the street when they were in danger but, at the same time, she had no right to keep them if they were at risk from her own husband.
Their dread of the police and Social Services was understandable, considering their past experiences, and the last thing she wanted was to betray them. That Mr Lovett was supposed to be back in his office by tomorrow, so she’d get hold of him in the morning. He’d know what to do. She climbed into bed and switched off the bedside light.
*
In the next room, David lay on a duvet on the floor, half-listening to the movements as Mrs Jones prepared for bed. He knew he’d sleep well tonight, now that Lucy was back. They were all together again and the world felt full of hope, despite today’s visitor.
Just as he was dropping off, there was crash.
Chapter Twenty
David shot upright and listened. There was another crash, a bang and a clatter, all interspersed by bellows of rage. He could hear Gwen softly pleading, and then a terrible roar.
“I will not have that man’s blood in my house!”
Gwen’s soft voice rose and fell, but David couldn’t catch the words. The roar began again.
“I knew there was something wrong. I felt it. We’ve been tricked. Tricked by the devil’s spawn,” bellowed Evan. “I can sense it. The devil’s spawn is in my house, this very house!”
Gwen’s voice became clear. “You’re having a nightmare, Evan, there’s no devil’s spawn.”
“It’s not a nightmare. It’s real. The voice was wrong!” There was another crash. “It wasn’t her voice.”
David scrambled out of his makeshift bedding. It was all his and Dorothy’s fault. They should never have come. A kind grandmother had taken them in, and this was her reward.
Paul was sitting up. “It’s the frogs,” he whispered.
David pulled him out of bed, and shoved him into the girls’ bedroom. “Stay with Lucy,” he hissed.
He shut the door and crossed the landing. Should he interfere? Supposing he made it worse? He had to do something, but he was afraid. His hand was on the door knob. He hesitated. What did Aunt Bertha say about difficult situations? “Behave like a gentleman. Manners give you a structure. They hold you together.”
He knocked firmly on the door and stepped inside. A stool flew across the room. Gwen was ducking and holding out a tablet at the same time. A bedside lamp lay upside down. It flickered and died. David switched on the main light.
Mr Jones stopped in mid-bellow, and turned. David circumvented a broken chair and put a shaky hand on his arm.
“Are you alright, sir?” he said. “You must be having a nightmare. If you lie down, I’ll sit with you for a while, and we’ll think of something pleasant to make it go away.”
Gwen pushed a tablet into the side of her husband’s mouth and held a glass of water to his lips.
He stared at David’s pyjamas and drank without noticing. They reminded him of Maria. “Who is this boy?” he said.
“I’m David, sir, a friend of your daughter’s.”
“Have we met before?”
“Yes, sir.”
As they spoke, Gwen hastily snatched something out of the dressing-table drawer, tore off its wrapping and then plunged a syringe straight into the back of her husband’s left thigh.
He rubbed the spot. “I think something just bit me,” he said drowsily. “We’ll have to get the spray out tomorrow.” He lay down on the bed. “Maria’s friends are always welcome,” he mumbled as he fell asleep.
Gwen pulled the blankets over him, and gasped with relief. David clenched his teeth together to stop them chattering.
“Thank you,” whispered Gwen.
David found the others huddled together on Dorothy’s camp bed.
Lucy was trembling. “I’ll have to go,” she said. “I should never have come.”
“Well, you can’t go in the middle of the night,” said David. He tried to sound firm, but his voice quavered. He pulled Dorothy’s blanket round his shoulders.
“The police would pick you up and ask what you were doing out so late,” whispered Dorothy. “Tomorrow, if he’s back to normal, David and I will take Mr Jones for a walk up the avenue, and you and Donald can creep out. When we can, we’ll join you up at the big house and contact Mr Lovett.”
Paul was beginning to object. “I want to go with Lucy.”
“Well, I’m afraid you can’t,” said Dorothy firmly. “But you’ll be able to speak to her on the phone.”
“But,” said Lucy, “if you come to the house, Sandra Williams might come there to look for you.”
“She might, but on the other hand she might think we’d not be so daft as to go back there. She’d assume we’d hide somewhere less obvious. Once we’re there, we can ring Mr Lovett without upsetting Mr Jones or getting Mrs Jones into trouble. Tomorrow’s Tuesday, so he’ll be back in the office. He’ll know what to do. If he’s not there, we’ll say it’s urgent and for him to ring us back.”
Everyone went back to bed, but the only one who slept was Evan Jones. Lucy could hear him snoring. She decided not to wait for the others to take him up the avenue. The sooner she went, the sooner they’d all be safer. Early in the morning, while it was still dark, she got dressed.
“I’ll see you later,” she whispered in Paul’s ear. “Remember, I’m with you in spirit.” He mumbled sleepily. She fetched Donald from his comfortable bed, and they slipped out, closing the front door quietly behind them.
If that woman was watching, she thought, well that was just too bad; and if police infiltrators came to the big house and found her there, well that was too bad too. There really seemed no point in life if she always had to be running and hiding. She was fed up with not trusting people, and always being on guard, and worrying about being safe. All those weeks with Miss Clements had been too good to last. It would be easier to give herself up to the Magnifico, and say, “Come and get me, I’m all yours.”
She mentally gave herself a good shake. Now that she had found the others, she knew she couldn’t give in. They needed her as much as she needed them.
*
Isobel was not watching as Lucy left the house early on the Tuesday morning. She was still asleep, having lain awake half the night formulating her plan. It was really annoying that they had only sent one abductor down this time, instead of two. They just hadn’t got the staff, she’d been told. The abductor who had come said that if things got any worse, head office would be closing down. She would have to worry about that later. At the moment, she had a pr
oject to carry out.
Sandra Williams would go back to the house with the blue door, accompanied by the abductor. He would be dressed in an official-looking suit, and would carry identification and a court order. The car would be waiting on the double yellow lines right outside the house, with its doors unlocked, ready to leap into. She would show Mrs Jones official-looking documentation requiring her to hand over the following three children, namely Dorothy and David Drax, and Lucy Copse. They were to be taken into secure care for their own safety until they were required for the forthcoming trial of Lucy’s father.
All the children, except for that dreadful humming boy, would be ushered out onto the pavement. The abductor would get into the driver’s seat and turn on the engine. Isobel would help each child into the back seat, while blocking the view of the child behind. Her handbag would be hooked over her left wrist with the syringes lying in a plastic tray on the top, lightly hidden by a piece of silk and ready for a quick jab as each child climbed in. As soon as she slammed the door after the last child, she would jump in on the passenger side, and the locks would be slammed down. The car would move gently away with three, apparently sleeping, children in the back.
She had successfully carried out similar operations before, and was fully confident that it would work. It was just a matter of detailed preparation and keeping her cool. If she were to produce the bodies of all three children to the holy leaders, her services to the Magnifico would be rewarded handsomely, in this world and the next.
*
Drax rang the following morning after breakfast. He approved the plan.
“Good riddance to the lot of them,” he said. “Head office have told me my papers have come through, and I’m off to Chile next week. By the time I reach Mexico, I’ll have had a complete surgical make-over. You won’t recognise me.”
She laughed. It was an effort, because her head was splitting with the sound of the sea. She put on her affectionate-wife act. “I’ll always recognise you, lover boy! It’s not just your height. It’s the way you move.”
Their banter turned to argument.
“You wouldn’t have recognised me yesterday,” declared Drax triumphantly. “I was in full disguise. Hat, moustache and make-up. I took the bus to Regent Street, and wandered round Liberty’s and had tea there. Then I went to a concert in the evening.”
Isobel tried to suppress a splurge of anger. “I wish you wouldn’t! You’ll get caught.” How often had she said that? He just would not listen.
“Nag, nag, nag! I’m so bored. Cooped up like a battery hen.”
Isobel snapped. “Who’s fault is that? Whose fault is it that the Magnifico was exposed? Whose fault is it that everyone, not just you, has had to go into hiding?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You and Copse, and your idiotic rivalries. That’s who.”
Drax was too taken aback to speak.
Isobel’s softly-cultured voice had developed into a shriek. “You and Thomas have ruined the Holy Cause with your stupid attack on Copse’s house. If it weren’t for you, the Holy Cause would never have become public knowledge, the communes and the schools would still be thriving, and the breeding rooms would be producing future followers at a rate of knots. And all you do is moan like a spoiled brat.”
She slammed the phone down and switched the ring tone to mute. There were more important things to think of than that idiot on the other end.
Drax sat silent with shock. No one had ever spoken to him like that in all his life. Indeed, it was unlikely that any wife had ever spoken like that to any Father. His head surged with red-hot anger. Isobel would have to be disposed of immediately. Almost blinded with rage, he stood up, stumbled to the bathroom, and took the box of syringes down from the top of the cupboard. She thought she was so clever, so efficient, always keeping her stocks well supplied. Well, she’d been a bit too clever this time. He grabbed a syringe, tore off its packaging and removed the safety tip. Then he laid it carefully on the coffee table in the sitting room and covered it with his handkerchief. He was huge and she was tiny. She would never escape him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Breakfast in the little terraced house was a subdued affair. Mr Jones was still asleep. Lucy and Donald had gone, and Paul was anxious. Gwen Jones was deeply upset by the night’s events, as they all were, but at least she was used to it, she thought, whereas these poor children were not. Thank goodness she’d had the syringes handy. If it weren’t for them Evan would have had to be put away, and she just couldn’t bear to think of it.
“Have Mr Jones’s frogs gone?” asked Paul.
“Yes, they’ve all gone, cariad. They won’t come back.”
“Mrs Jones,” said David. “What was in that syringe you injected Mr Jones with?”
“It’s a tranquillizer, love. The doctor gave me them. Just in case of emergency. Sometimes the tablets are enough, but not always, so then I use the syringe. It’s very quick and makes him go nicely to sleep for hours, and when he wakes up he’s forgotten everything. He’d be terribly upset if he knew what he’d done.”
Her eyes filled with tears. “He’s always been such a lovely man – so gentle and good to me and Maria.” She fished in her pocket for a handkerchief, blew her nose and added bitterly, “I don’t believe in hell or things like that, but if there is a hell then I hope those people who did this to him, and to our Maria, will go there forever.”
She wiped away her tears, and stood up briskly. “Now I’m off to the supermarket before it gets busy. He’ll be sleeping for hours yet. Paul needn’t go to school today. I’ve phoned the school. He can come shopping with me, and we’ll be very quick. Don’t open the door while I’m out. You can answer the phone. It’ll probably be Lucy calling to let you know she’s alright. By the time we’re back, Mr Lovett should be in his office and we can give him a ring.”
Lucy rang just after they left. Yes, everything was fine. She and Donald had slept well. Later on she’d go to find out about the visiting hours in the hospital. Was it too early to ring Mr Lovett yet? What would they do if that woman came back?
“Don’t worry,” said David. “If she comes we’ll sort it, and Mrs Jones is going to ring Mr Lovett. See you later.” He put the phone down, and looked at Dorothy.
“I’m going to get one of those syringes,” he said quietly, “I’ve got a plan, just in case.”
He tiptoed up the stairs and listened outside the front bedroom. The door was ajar. He pushed it slowly and peered into the room. Mr Jones lay on his back, his head turned slightly away towards the window. He was breathing heavily. David tried to see his eyes. They seemed to be shut.
The dressing table was to the left, just behind the door. It was still covered with broken glass. Silently, David slid out the drawer. There was a row of slim packages, each holding a syringe. He took two, just in case something went wrong with the first one, and shut the drawer quietly. It gave a little click. Mr Jones moved his head and his eyes opened. David stood still. The eyes turned in his direction.
“Good morning, sir,” he said. “Did you sleep well?”
Mr Jones raised his head slightly and dropped it back again. “Like a log, boy. Thank you for asking.”
“I’ll go down and fetch you some coffee,” said David.
“Thank you, dear boy. I’ll have it in bed, and then I’ll be as fit as a fiddle.”
David’s head was buzzing as he ran down the stairs.
“I nearly passed out when he looked at me,” he whispered to Dorothy. “Quick, pour him a coffee, and I’ll take it up. Then I’ll tell you my plan.”
When he took the coffee up, Mr Jones was fast asleep and snoring gently.
Back in the kitchen, David and Dorothy examined the syringes.
“I saw her doing it last night,” whispered David. “You flick off the tip, and then you just stick it in the back of the thigh and press the flat bit down.”
Dorothy picked one up one and inspected it. She ran her thumb gently over the flat top. “We’ll have to be careful not to stab ourselves. I’d just love to stick this needle into Sandra Williams.”
“Now, hear my plan. We’ll keep watch from the window – all day if we have to. If she comes before we’ve got hold of Mr Lovett, we’ll invite her into the front room, unless Mr Jones is in there, in which case, it’s the back room. We’ll ask Mrs Jones to take Paul to the kitchen, because we’d like a quiet word with Sandra Williams on our own, without the humming. We’ll each have one of these syringes. Whichever one of us manages to get behind her will stick it in the back of her thigh. She should conk out pretty quickly. Mr Jones flopped straight away last night.”
“He’s much bigger than she is,” said Dorothy, “so it should work even better on her.”
“Where did you put our anoraks? We can say we were just about to go out.”
They put on their anoraks and laid the syringes carefully along the bottom of their pockets, so as not to press them accidentally. Then they wrote out Mr Lovett’s number and put it next to the house phone on the table by the window.
“Right,” said David. “Now let’s practise. We can’t afford to fail. Planning, preparation and practice. That’s the secret.” He stopped, surprised at his own eloquence. “Hey, that sounded good,” he said, “I wonder how I thought that one up!”
Two hours passed before Mr Jones woke up properly. Paul and his grandmother returned from shopping. She phoned Mr Lovett and was told he was in court. By eleven o’clock, Mr Jones was seated at the kitchen table devouring a late breakfast with gusto. David and Dorothy were still in their anoraks, keeping watch at the front window.
“Perhaps she won’t come,” muttered David. “Perhaps Sandra Williams isn’t Miss Morris after all. Perhaps she’s a harmless old biddy and we’re getting paranoid.”
Just as he finished speaking, a car drew up and parked outside on the double yellow lines. They both tensed. A woman emerged from the passenger side. She was carrying a large handbag. Their hearts thumped.
The Big House Page 19