The bridge continued to lurch and tilt, and it was obvious to both men that the weakened structure was going to break away at any second.
‘On your feet, Percy!’ Gabe yelled, one hand under the gardener’s shoulder. Letting go of the branch with his left, he now grasped the top of the rail.
The other man rose shakily, using Gabe for support. A sharp judder, then another lurch. Something – a hefty tree branch probably – smashed against the engineer’s curled fingers, but he ignored the pain, well aware that if he should let go, he and Percy would slide off the bridge into the water below, for the rail on the other side had broken, leaving a gaping hole just inches above the turbulent river.
He yanked Percy up all the way and shouted: ‘Keep hold of my arm and work your way along it to the other bank!’
Percy didn’t bother to reply: he followed Gabe’s instructions. First he clung to the engineer’s taut upper arm, moving along the elbow and then the wrist, his boots threatening to skid from under him with every step he took. When he reached Gabe’s upraised fist holding the rail, he lunged for the right-hand rail and clung to it. He had stuffed the torch into one of his storm coat’s huge pockets, so he had both hands free.
The bridge was now leaning perilously at one end, the nearest to the lane, and it began to sway with water splashing over its planks.
Percy quickly stumbled and slid his way towards the path, and finally he reached it. Even though he was out of breath and his arms and legs were shaking with the effort, he brought out the torch again and pointed it at Gabe, who was still struggling to pull himself along the rail, his feet constantly slipping on the wet boards. The incline was becoming more and more acute so that it was almost impossible for the engineer’s boots to gain purchase, but he battled on, slowly drawing closer and closer to the bridge’s end. Then, just as he was about to grab Percy’s outstretched hand, the structure lurched once more, violently this time, and Gabe thought he would be swept away with it. He hadn’t counted on the old gardener’s tenacity, though.
Percy dropped the torch onto the ground and leaned forward as far as he could from the very edge of the path. He clasped Gabe’s coat with both hands and, with surprising strength for a man of his age, pulled the engineer off the bridge.
There was a loud ear-splitting cracking as the bridge behind Gabe collapsed. The broken structure was instantly carried away by the rising river and all the detritus that had been banked up behind it followed.
Gabe bent over, hands on his knees, and fought to suck in lost breath. By the time he straightened, Percy had the torch back in his hand and was shining its light at him.
‘Th-thanks, Percy,’ he stammered, then realized his gardener wouldn’t have heard him over the storm. ‘Much obliged,’ he said, louder this time.
‘Yer did right by me, Mr Caleigh,’ Percy growled loudly. ‘A favour for a favour.’
Gabe saw evidence of a faint smile on the old man’s face.
As one, they turned to look at the house, both of them breathing heavily. Lightning flared and its thunder boomed.
‘Did yer see the same as me?’ Percy was looking at Gabe for affirmation. ‘The lightnin’ lit it up, over there near the tree.’ He aimed the beam at something – no, someone, Gabe realized – stretched flat out on the lawn close to the big oak tree.
They hurried towards the prone figure and for one heart-freezing moment Gabe thought it might be Eve lying there in the rain. It was certainly a woman – he could see slim fashion-booted legs beneath the hem of her coat. But Eve didn’t have a coat of that light colour: she favoured darker tones for overcoats. As they drew near, he noticed the coat sleeves were pulled up slightly and the woman wore bracelets on both wrists – no, not bracelets: wristbands, coloured wristbands. He was beginning to understand who she was before they reached her. He had thought the small car in the lane’s parking area was familiar, because it was the same one that had been parked there when he returned from work on Wednesday; it belonged to the psychic, Lili Peel. But by the torchlight he saw this person’s hair was dark, whereas the psychic’s had been light blonde, so maybe he was mistaken, this was someone else.
He had almost reached her when Percy, who was slightly behind him, shouted something and pulled him back by the elbow. A dark object swished past Gabe’s head, missing him by inches. It rose higher, then paused in the air as if held by the wind. As it swung back, Percy’s torchlight caught it and Gabe saw it was the swing that was suspended from a lower branch of the oak.
As they watched, one of its rusty chains snapped, spoiling the swing’s momentum. The edge of the loose seat was now low enough to be snagged by the ground, the broken part of the chain acting as an anchor. The swing dangled there, stirred by the wind but unable to rise any more.
‘Thanks again, Perce.’ Gabe realized that the swing might well have brained him had it connected with his head. He wondered if that was what had happened to the unconscious woman lying at their feet.
She was moving slightly, lifting her head and shoulders off the ground. Gabe dropped down on both knees beside her while Percy kept the light on her face. She groaned and her head bowed as if she were going to rest it on the grass again.
Gently, he touched her shoulder.
‘What happened to you?’ he asked, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the gale.
She turned her face towards him and was blinded by the light. She raised a shaking hand to shield her eyes.
‘Who – who are you?’ she asked so quietly Gabe hardly caught the words.
He saw that it was Lili Peel. Her hair was dark because it was rain-soaked and flattened against her scalp and face. He inched closer.
‘It’s Gabe Caleigh, Lili. Eve’s husband, remember?’
As if relieved, she closed her eyes for a second or two. When she opened them again they were wide with shock.
‘I ran away,’ she managed to say, and Gabe had to move even closer to understand. Their faces were only inches apart. ‘I left them there in the house. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but I was afraid. I thought he was going to kill me.’
She attempted to sit up, but it was too soon. She rocked forward and looked as if she were about to pass out again. Gabe quickly helped her to turn round, his arm lifting her at the back. Lili wiped her damp face with the flat of her hand and mud was smeared over her cheeks and nose.
Gabe kept his arm around her, supporting her, and Percy played the light on them both.
‘Who was going to kill you, Lili?’ Gabe urged. ‘Has anything happened to my wife and daughters? Quickly, you gotta tell me.’
He was about to leave her there and get into the house fast, but she gripped his wrist.
‘Oh God, I know what happened to the children,’ she said breathlessly, ignoring his question. ‘He murdered them all. The evacuees who came here during the war.’
Percy, only just able to hear her even though he bent near on one knee, said: ‘Who murdered them, miss?’
Lili looked from one man to the other, the torch held low so its glare would not blind her again.
‘The – the guardian – he killed them,’ she stammered. ‘The man called Augustus Cribben. I recognized him from the photograph Eve showed me. He killed them all except for the one who ran away.’
Percy was confounded, wondering how this woman – this girl, really – could know the children’s fate when it was so long ago.
‘He – he strangled them,’ Lili went on, her eyes staring into the rain. ‘He broke the necks of the smaller ones. I sensed it. I saw him do it.’
Gabe glanced at Percy. ‘Lili’s supposed to be psychic,’ he hurriedly explained. He suddenly remembered the other car, the Mondeo parked in front of her Citroën. ‘Is someone else in the house?’ he asked urgently. ‘Is someone threatening my family?’
‘Yes!’ she exclaimed, looking directly into Gabe’s eyes. ‘The boy named Maurice Stafford. I mean the man – the man who now calls himself Pyke. Oh God, you’ve got to help them befo
re it’s too late. He’s going to harm them, I’m sure—’
But Gabe was already sprinting towards Crickley Hall.
75: THE SACRIFICE
The front door was shut but unlocked.
Gabe burst through, sending the heavy nail-studded door crashing back against the wall. Rain gusted in with the wind behind him as he came to a startled, skidding halt.
A great darkness, like a black fog, spread across the ceiling, wispy grey tendrils of it drifting down from the mass. It almost covered the iron chandelier, dimming its already weak lights so that the whole room was gloomy with shadows. With it, or from it, there came a foul fetid smell, an odour like raw sewage, that clogged the nose and throat. He nearly retched with the stench. A different kind of coldness settled over his body like a tight silk shroud.
A shrill cry from Cally brought him back to his senses. She was standing next to her mother halfway up the hall’s broad staircase. Eve was sitting on a stair, a hand up to her lowered head, Cally’s arm round her shoulders. Dark liquid oozed through Eve’s fingers, blood from a cut in her head.
‘Daddy, the nasty man hit Mummy!’ Cally’s face was screwed up as if she were about to break into tears.
He ran across the hall, splashing through large puddles without questioning how or why they were there, his only thoughts for his wife and daughter. Loren’s absence had not hit him yet. He bounded up the stairs.
Eve heard him coming and looked down at him. The panic on her face shook him.
She extended her bloodied hand as if to ward him off. ‘No!’ she screeched. ‘Loren, help Loren!’
Gabe dropped to his knees on a lower step so that his face was level with hers. ‘Eve, what is it? Where is Loren?’
‘He’s taken her to the cellar! The well!’
He took her by the shoulders. ‘Who has? What’re you talking about, Eve?’
‘Pyke! He came back. He’s mad, Gabe! He’s going to kill her!’
Gabe was confused, astonished. But he did not waste another moment. He hurtled back down the stairs, taking two at a time and leaping the last few into the hall. All kinds of dreads ran with him. Loren! Pyke! Why the hell would Pyke – no time to think, he was at the open cellar door.
He went through, hardly slowing, descending the creaky cellar steps in a rush, his hands brushing the rough walls on either side for balance, almost stumbling near the bottom but catching himself before he could fall.
Emerging into the cavernous basement room, he took it all in in an instant: the roaring of the underground river whose sound was amplified by the circular wall of the shaft and then further enhanced by the cellar’s stone walls, the dank earthy smell of the poorly lit chamber – the two figures, Pyke and Loren, standing by the lip of the old well.
Loren was struggling, her back to Pyke, his big hand round her neck, pushing her head and shoulders forward so that she was forced to look into the deep well. She was crying hysterically.
With no interest in conversation – reasons why, warnings, pleadings, humouring the bastard – and barely breaking stride, Gabe launched himself at the man threatening his daughter.
Although Pyke had heard the footsteps coming down the stairs, he had not expected such a swift reaction, and he involuntarily pulled away in surprise, bringing the girl back from the edge with him. He attempted to raise the walking stick he held in his other hand to meet the attack, but the engineer was hurtling in to him before he had a chance to use it.
All three of them went to the floor, Pyke uttering a cry at the impact, but Gabe rolled over in the dirt and dust, coming up on one knee to face his adversary again. Loren was lying on one side, a hand grasping the edge of the low wall; her hysteria had abruptly stopped.
As Pyke started to rise, Gabe threw a punch at him and the tall man staggered away, sprawling backwards onto the floor again. Gabe quickly moved towards Loren, who still lay on her side next to the well. He bent over her and pulled her to a sitting position.
‘Are you okay, baby?’ he asked over the noise of the underground river.
She looked back at him with bright scared eyes, her cheeks smeared with tear-streaked grime. She must have fought Pyke all the way, he thought. Loren flung herself against him and sobbed on his shoulder.
‘It’s all right,’ he reassured her, not sure if she heard him, ‘nobody’s gonna hurt you.’
Suddenly, he felt her stiffen, her hands gripping him.
‘Dad!’ she screamed.
Over her father’s shoulder, she had seen Pyke getting to his feet.
Gabe whirled, but he was at a disadvantage, on his knees, one arm still round Loren.
The thick walking stick came down heavily and he just managed to get his left arm up to block the blow. The stunningly sharp pain paralysed his arm right up to the shoulder and he gasped at the shock of it. Ignoring his numbed arm he forced himself to his feet.
Pyke faced him, the walking stick wielded before him like a sword, keeping Gabe at bay. There was sheer malice in his narrowed eyes and the engineer wondered how he had ever thought those same eyes were kindly. Gabe’s injured arm hung uselessly by his side and Pyke realized his own advantage.
Gordon Pyke was a big man and, despite his years, he still had a big man’s strength. He was also swift, and when he drove at Gabe’s lower belly with the walking stick the engineer was not quick enough to avoid the unexpected move.
Gabe doubled over, the wind taken out of him. He felt as though he had been kicked in the gut by a horse. He stayed on his feet, hands clutched to his stomach, but he was vulnerable.
Raising the stick high over his head, Pyke brought it down with all his might and it splintered and broke in half against Gabe’s half-turned back and left shoulder.
Gabe staggered with the blow, but he refused to go down. He tried to straighten up to be ready for another assault and only just managed to dodge the next strike. But he was dazed and he reeled backwards, unbalanced, then fell to the floor to sprawl helplessly in the dust.
Loren screamed again and tried to go to her father, but Pyke, the remainder of the broken walking stick still in his hand, stood in her way. He held it like a knife, its jagged, splintered end pointed towards the ceiling. She gazed up at the tall, bearded man and he was smiling queerly, his sharp eyes blazing into hers. She tried to duck away so that she could get round him to her father who lay on his back on the other side of the well. But Pyke, who certainly was both quick and strong for a man in his seventies, easily caught her, grabbing her arm and dragging her back to the edge of the deep, dark pit.
Below, the loud turgid river surged upwards and around the well’s stone wall, creating a spinning, black-centred vortex that rose and fell with changing pressures.
‘Please let me go!’ Loren pleaded, but Pyke merely took pleasure in her panic and pushed her closer to the low circular wall.
‘Pyke!’
The big man took time to look across the dingy chamber at Gabe, who had risen on one elbow, pain evident on his creased features.
Although the lighting was feeble, Gabe could see the gleam in Pyke’s eyes skittering between insanity and excitement.
‘If you harm her I’ll kill you,’ Gabe said in a low growl. A fine warning to give, but the engineer knew he was helpless to stop Pyke. The pain across his back and shoulder was now excruciating and his left arm was useless for the moment.
‘Don’t think of this as a sacrifice,’ Pyke returned. ‘Think of it more as a demand accommodated.’
Gabe didn’t know what the hell the man was talking about, or if he’d heard him right, and he didn’t care. He had to do something and he had to do it fast. But what? Even if he got to his feet and rushed Pyke there would be no time to save Loren. The lunatic only had to give her a small shove and she would be gone.
He shifted his position slightly, getting ready to charge Pyke anyway, and his elbow nudged something that scraped metallically against the stone floor. In desperation, he glanced down and saw that the object by his elbow
was the same length of thin but heavy iron, a small round hole at its centre, he had casually tossed aside when Cally had called him from the top of the stairs five days ago. In a flash and quite incongruously, given the circumstances, it came to him that the metal bar was the blade of the old Flymo hover-mower he had seen leaning against a wall in the garden shed. Someone – probably Percy – had brought it down to sharpen its edges, then discarded it.
Pyke was pushing Loren closer and closer to the edge of the well, while she did her best to resist, screaming and digging her bare heels into the floor, the struggle hopeless against the big man’s superior strength.
In the blink of an eye, Gabe was on one knee, his body crouched forward, the heavy blade in his right hand, held in his fingers by one end. He skimmed it through the air and it spun like a boomerang. He had aimed high for fear of hitting Loren and his aim was true.
It seemed to take an impossibly long time but it struck Pyke squarely on the forehead, sending him toppling backwards, his grip on Loren released.
Unfortunately, she was leaning too far over the opening and she teetered on the brink, her arms flailing the air to prevent herself from falling.
But it was no use. She began to drop.
76: DESPERATION
Those brief but vital moments of trying to save herself were just enough for Gabe to spring forward like a runner off starting blocks and dive towards Loren.
With a heart-piercing scream she fell, her arms outstretched, the whirlpool below eager to receive her. Even as he landed on the low wall encircling the well, Gabe was reaching out to grasp her wrist as she went. Unfortunately, he had to use his left arm, the fingers of the right wrapping themselves over the top of the wall for support, and the agonizing wrench almost forced him to let go of his daughter. But he hung on, taking her weight with his numbed arm and injured shoulder, straddled face down on the wall, half his body hanging over the edge, only his right knee pressing into the outer stonework and his right hand clenched hard against the top of it keeping him there.
The Secret of Crickley Hall Page 50