Tower of Silence

by Sarah Rayne

  And then she saw the thin ingress of light just ahead of her, and she came up onto the cramped half-landing, and saw Krzystof lying huddled in a corner, a messy, bloodied handkerchief tied around one leg.

  And Selina March standing over him, moaning.

  The madness had faded from her eyes; Emily saw that at once, although she did not know whether she could trust it. But her expression was bewildered, and as Emily came onto the last step Selina put both hands over her eyes, as if to shield them. Emily saw that she was trembling, and was aware of a dreadful pity for the poor creature. Yes, but she’s mad, remember? She tried to strangle you? She’s killed people for goodness’ sake! She said so.

  From his huddled-over corner, Krzystof said, ‘Emily–thank God to see you! Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes, and so’s Joanna–she’s downstairs in a secret room,’ said Emily because this was the one thing he would be wanting to hear. Even in the dimness she saw his eyes flood with delight, exactly as Joanna’s had flooded with delight when Emily had said Krzystof was in Inchcape. Marvellous to know you could make someone look like that.

  She said, rapidly, ‘We’ll sort her out in a minute, and we’ll sort you out in a minute as well. Uh–are you much hurt?’ It looked pretty gory, but it might not be too bad.

  ‘It’s bloody painful,’ he said. ‘But I’ll live.’

  ‘Did Selina—’

  ‘Selina? God, no! It was that bitch, Mary Maskelyne. Emily, listen, she’s gone off in a car somewhere with some lone driver, and we’ve got to get the police or somebody after her—’

  There was a bad moment when Emily thought: but I can’t possibly cope with all this! I can’t cope with Selina and Mary Maskelyne, and with Krzystof injured and Joanna chained up—It’s too much. I don’t know what to do. And then her mind snapped back on course, because of course she had got to cope with it, and of course she would think of something to do. And Krzystof was here, which was a remarkable comfort.

  He was speaking to Selina now, saying with extraordinary gentleness, ‘Selina–I think we should all go back down to the ground, and get you home. Don’t you think we should do that?’

  ‘We’ll both come with you,’ said Emily. ‘I’ll make us some tea–you’ll like that. Remember how you said I made a nice cup of tea?’

  She was just wondering if she dared reach out to touch Selina when Selina lowered her hands from her face and said, ‘I can’t go home yet. I’ve got to reach the others.’ Turning, she went up the remaining stairs, towards the very top of the tower.

  Emily said, ‘Oh shit,’ and started up the stairs after her.

  The Round Tower’s summit was the most frightening place in the world. As Emily reached the top of the stairs she saw with panic that it was open to the skies at the centre, and then she saw that there were gaping holes in the surrounding wall where, at various times, the stones had crumbled and fallen to the ground. The wind was icy; it whistled through the jagged holes, and the tiny platform was perilously uneven. Here and there were the ghost-shapes of bird skeletons, heaped forlornly on the stones.

  Emily felt sick and dizzy from the sheer height and because of the jagged holes through which she could see the countryside spread out far below them. Her stomach was turning over and over with vertigo, but she kept tight hold of the oil lamp, and she tried not to think how extremely high up they were, and above all she prayed to anything that might be listening that she would not have to fight with Selina March up here. Because we’d both be over the side and smashed to a pulp on the ground below within seconds, she thought.

  Selina was pressed back against the wall facing Emily; the stonework immediately behind her looked fairly sound, but there was a large gap in the wall on her left.

  Emily said, ‘Selina–for pity’s sake, come back down, and let’s go home and get warm.’

  ‘No—’ It came out in the high-pitched frightened wail of a child, and it made the hairs prickle on the back of Emily’s neck. ‘No, I must wait for the others,’ said Selina. ‘They’re so close to me now, you see. I told you, didn’t I, that we had gone back–that this was our second chance. And we’ve cheated the men so far, haven’t we?’ The eager, trusting voice of the child was blotting everything out now. ‘We’ve hidden from them, and we’ve only got to be quiet a very little longer now. Mouse-quiet, we’ve got to be–that’s my daddy’s word. Be mouse-quiet, Selina, he says. He’ll be proud of me when he sees I’ve got away this time.’ She stretched out a hand. ‘You can be with us as well,’ she said. ‘You can meet all my friends–Douglas and the rest. He’s Canadian, Douglas, and he’s very clever. When he grows up he’ll be rich. I might marry him when he’s grown-up. And there’s Christy, of course. Oh, you’ll like Christy. She’s so pretty and she’s such fun. She thinks up such good games for us all. She’s the leader of the group, really.’

  Emily said, very gently, ‘You’ve missed them very much, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes. I never said, because the aunts and Great-uncle Matthew wouldn’t have understood. But it doesn’t matter any longer, because they’re all very close to us now–can’t you feel that they’re close? Listen—’ She lifted her head, her eyes bright, and just for a moment the wind whipped at her hair and it was no longer a mousy, rather drab, middle-aged woman who stood there; it was a pretty, bright-eyed little girl, eager to be off with her friends. ‘That’s Douglas calling now, I’m sure of it,’ she said, and whirled round to lean out through the gap in the stones.

  Emily started forward at once. ‘Selina, don’t lean out—’

  She heard Selina call out, ‘I’m up here! Can you see me! We’ve escaped this time! Oh, do wait for me—’

  There was a soft cracking sound, and the old stonework seemed to sigh and groan. And then it fell away, and as Selina fell forward in a jumble of flailing arms and legs Emily had the incredible impression that she heard a pleased laugh inside the wind, and several childish voices calling delightedly, ‘Selina! Selina, run to catch us up! Hurry! Oh, do hurry! We’ve been waiting so long for you…waiting so long for you, Selina…’

  And then the sounds vanished, and there was only the wind sobbing in and out of the old stones, and Emily was alone on the platform.

  By the time Mary got outside Teind House, Gillian Campbell’s car had already reached the main road. She could hear the engine, very faintly, roaring into the distance.

  She stood for a moment, uncertain what to do. It was completely dark now and Gillian Campbell would presumably be going off to tell people that the escaped prisoner had been hiding out in Teind House. I’ll have to move on, thought Mary. I’ll come back later and deal with Selina March, of course, but I can’t risk doing it tonight. But where do I go now?

  She walked down the narrow path that wound away from the house, the lost feeling increasing. She was so used to the structured days inside Broadacre and Moy, where people constantly told you what to do and where to go, that it was bewildering being on her own. Wait, though, how about returning to the tower? Yes, she had to go back there to check on Krzystof Kent; she had almost forgotten that. For a moment this was worrying, because she had never forgotten anything so vitally important before. Was it because she was concerned about Gillian’s bringing police and Moy people out here, or was it because she was so completely on her own, now that Christabel had left her? But she did not need Christabel, the faithless cow; she had managed perfectly well by herself.

  Yes, but Gillian had got away, and then Mary had almost forgotten about Krzystof Kent. Not good to have done that. Best to go back up into the tower, and deal with Krzystof. In any case, the tower might be a good place to go. The police would go to Teind House first; they would not immediately search the tower. And Krzystof might as well be finished off in case he gave the police any more information. Mary tried to remember what she had told him. Nothing much, really. Nothing important.

  But now the night had a purpose to it again–Mary had not liked those moments of aimlessness, of not knowing where
she should go or what she should do. There had been a dangerously off-balance feel about everything: as if the ground might be moving, or as if there were flaws in the dark skies, and the darkness might suddenly tear open and dreadful faces leer down at her. As if the world might be enclosed in a crust, and sometimes, when you were at your most afraid or most angry or most powerful, the very force of your emotions could break through that crust, so that you saw other worlds and other existences.

  As she went back through the little orchard and approached the tower, she wondered what she would see tonight if the crust really did split. Would she see her mother and father, locked grotesquely in that last embrace, her father with the knitting needle dug into his brain, her mother half asphyxiated with the chopped-off fingers thrust down her throat…? Or would it be Darren Clark drained of blood, looking like a white slug, squirming on the ground…? Or the child they had taken from her all those years ago–Darren Clark’s daughter. How odd that she had not thought about that child for years, and now she was thinking about her quite strongly. It might even be Ingrid she would see within that chasm; Ingrid, drugged and helpless, her cheating deceitful lips cut off her face…

  Ingrid. Yes, if anyone was close to her tonight, it was Ingrid. Was that possible? Just as Christabel had once walked with Mary, might Ingrid now be doing so? Where did the murdered go after they were dead? Christabel had been murdered by Indian separatists fifty years ago, and Ingrid had been murdered as well–Mary had done that herself.

  But the skies remained dark and smooth, and Mary reminded herself that she was strong and invincible and there were no cracks in the world, and she remembered as well that she had got to remain free because of the headlines they would put out in tomorrow’s newspapers, and reports on tonight’s television.

  Sixties killer Mary Maskelyne escapes from Moy…Police combing the countryside…Daring break-out foils prison governors…Yes, it would be a pity to be cheated of those headlines.

  The headlines might even say, Another death to Maskelyne’s credit…Krzystof Kent. She padded back to the tower, and went in through the old door.

  She knew at once that something had happened here. The whole aura of the place had shifted. There was movement–Mary took a moment to pinpoint it, and then knew the movement was not in the tower’s top, but beneath it. She saw then the faint oblong of light in the floor, and, within it, shallow steps leading down into the bowels of the earth.

  And the panic was roaring back now, and with it the feeling that the world’s crust might be bursting open after all, and that things might be climbing through—

  Because from out of the oblong of light, moving slowly up what looked like narrow stone steps, were two men–Mary saw they were Dr Irvine and Mr Frost from Moy. But she spared them only the briefest of glances, because between them, being helped to walk, was a thin, dishevelled figure, and it could not be, it simply could not—

  ‘You’re supposed to be dead,’ said Mary, staring. And then, her voice rising to a scream, ‘You’re dead, you bitch, you bitch-cunt, you cheating cow, you’re dead, I know you’re dead because I killed you—’

  She did not see Patrick Irvine dart forward across the stone floor, and she barely felt the hypodermic go into her arm before the real darkness closed down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  They sat in the little cottage on Moy’s outskirts, Joanna and Krzystof, Emily and Patrick, Gillian, and Emily’s father.

  Krzystof’s leg had been stitched and bandaged in Moy’s emergency room, but afterwards he had asked to be driven back down to the cottage; Emily thought he had booked himself and Joanna into the Black Boar for what was left of the night, but she understood that for the moment the six of them were clinging together. There was a kind of camaraderie about it; a feeling of not being quite ready to face the rest of the world yet. Emily and Gillian had cooked a huge fry-up for everyone: sausages, bacon, eggs and mushrooms, and Patrick had made coffee.

  Krzystof had not said very much since they had carried him down from the Round Tower, and Joanna had not said very much either. She had bitten her lip when she saw him, as if to stop herself crying, and then had said, ‘Hello, Krzystof darling. What kept you?’ And then she had bent over Krzystof’s supine body on the makeshift stretcher, and there had been a moment when they stayed like that, not speaking, Joanna’s beech-leaf hair falling over Krzystof’s face, his arms round her. Everyone had turned tactfully away, and Emily had felt stupid tears sting her eyes.

  Krzystof was seated on the slightly battered window seat, where he could stretch out his injured leg. He was white and a bit dishevelled, but had eaten hugely of the fry-up. Joanna was sitting by him, her hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. This was a good arrangement because it left the settee and the two armchairs for the others. It was a bit of a squeeze having so many in the little sitting room all at once, but it was not as bad as it might have been, and anyhow Emily did not in the least mind curling up on a cushion on the floor, next to the chimney. Also, she could see Patrick from here. He looked practically transparent with fatigue; there were dark smudges under his eyes, and his hair flopped untidily over his forehead. Emily loved him so much that she could hardly bear it.

  They had given their statements to the police, and someone–Emily thought it had been Patrick–had arranged for Selina March’s body to be taken away. There would have to be a post-mortem and an inquest, of course; Emily supposed she would have to give evidence. She also supposed she would start feeling something sooner or later, although she was not sure whether that would be better or worse than this present frozen state. But when Patrick said, ‘Let me give you a mild sedative, Em–something to help you sleep tonight, at least,’ Emily had instantly said, ‘No, I won’t have anything, thanks.’

  Someone–Emily thought it had been her father–had banked up the fire and drawn the curtains against the night. The little room was warm and brightly lit, and the coffee pot was keeping warm in the hearth. The whisky bottle had gone round three times already.

  It was Don Frost who said, ‘Patrick–about Mary—’

  ‘Sedated to the gunnels at the moment,’ said Patrick, looking up. ‘We’ll have to confront the problem in a day or two, of course. But I ought to have realised as soon as she escaped that she was going after Selina.’

  ‘I ought to have realised who Mary was when she got into the car,’ said Gillian. ‘If I had done—’

  ‘You couldn’t possibly have known who she was,’ said Don, and Emily, who was liking Gillian and feeling sorry for her because of all the stuff that had come out about her godmother, said, ‘In any case, you didn’t even know that anyone had escaped.’

  ‘No, that’s true. And it was dark, and she was so plausible about being part of the search party.’

  ‘She always was plausible,’ said Patrick. He sipped the whisky in his glass, and then said, ‘But I still wish I’d realised sooner that Selina March was the child who escaped in Alwar all those years ago.’

  ‘Mary’s hate-figure,’ said Joanna, softly.

  ‘Yes.’ Patrick glanced at Gillian, who said, ‘Selina never got over what happened in Alwar. She was an odd, difficult creature. I used to try to ginger her up into doing things–having a wider life–but I never managed it. And she would never leave Inchcape, not even for a weekend. I understand that a bit better now.’

  ‘It was where she felt safe,’ said Emily.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And yet,’ said Joanna thoughtfully, ‘it was a dreadfully precarious safety, because only a mile or two from her house was a woman who was hell-bent on killing her.’

  ‘If it comes to blame,’ said Krzystof, ‘I was the one who told Mary that I was staying with a lady who had lived in Alwar as a child. I even said that Selina knew about the Tower of Silence.’

  ‘Any one of us might have told her that at any given moment,’ said Patrick at once. ‘You can’t possibly be blamed for that. None of us can.’

  ‘But–it was finding out that
Selina was living in Inchcape that tipped Mary back into the mania, wasn’t it?’ said Krzystof.

  ‘Believe me, Maskelyne never needed tipping,’ said Patrick. ‘The mania never left her.’

  For a moment no one spoke, and then Emily said, ‘But when Mary finally got to Selina’s house, she found out that Selina had had a god-daughter, while Mary had had to give up her own child—’

  ‘Yes, that might well have fuelled the fire.’

  ‘It did,’ said Gillian, shuddering. ‘I saw it happen, and it was dreadful. But pitiful, as well. Mary went for me, but I managed to dodge out of her way and get back into my car. She followed me, of course–I saw her in the driving mirror.’

  ‘That was when she went back to the tower,’ said Don.

  ‘Yes. And saw us bringing Joanna up from the hidden room.’ Patrick looked across to where Joanna was listening quietly.

  Krzystof looked down at Joanna. ‘And that, Joanna,’ he said, ‘is the part that none of us understands.’

  ‘Well, no.’ Joanna was not looking at any of them.

  ‘Mary said something to you like, “You’re supposed to be dead,’” said Patrick. ‘She saw you and she just seemed to suddenly–explode.’

  Krystof looked down at Joanna’s bent head. ‘Well? Who did she think you were?’

  Joanna hesitated, and Krzystof said, ‘You might as well tell us, my love. It’s a night for telling things.’

  Joanna made a oh-what-the-hell gesture, and said, ‘I’m supposed, in certain lights, to look like a sister I once had. A sister who was much older than me.’