Upstairs, Lucy called Paul to come and look. “That says who you are,” she said excitedly, pointing at his name on the page. “You had a mother called Maria, and so did I. That means I’m your sister and you’re my brother.”
Paul stared. He could read his own name.
“Where is she?”
“She’s somewhere.” At least she hadn’t been listed under Disposals. “We’ll see if we can find her. Look! This is called the ‘Wives’ section. It says Maria has ‘hair – dark brown, eyes – green, medium height’. You’ve got green eyes.”
“So have you.”
Lucy took out the Commune file again. “Perhaps this will tell us where she is.” They looked through the Mothers and the Aunts sections, but there was no mention of a Maria, nor was there in the Household file. There was nothing to say where she was or what had happened to her.
They would just have to keep looking. Clutching the BWD file to her, Lucy started moving round the room again looking for anything that might contain files or notebooks. There was a small lamp on a table next to the fireplace. She pressed a switch in the wall and immediately switched it off again in panic as rustling sounds filled the room.
The children grabbed hold of each other in terror.
“Ghosties!” whispered Paul.
They crouched behind a giant armchair and held each other tight. Two faces peered cautiously through the hole in the ceiling in the middle of the room, and a woman whispered, “It sounded like children.”
“I’m going down,” whispered someone else.
“You’ll never get through that space!”
There was shuffling and scraping, and gentle thumps of falling plaster. Lucy and Paul peeped round the side of the armchair. Two legs emerged through the hole in the ceiling. Lucy clapped her hand over Paul’s mouth before he could start screaming. The legs were followed by a body, and then a head with a mass of red hair. Two arms extended up into the hole and, one at a time, let go.
Claudia landed on the wet carpet. She jumped to her feet, rubbed her behind, and looked around. Paul gave a semi-smothered hiccup. Claudia tiptoed cautiously towards the armchair and looked behind it. Two pairs of green eyes looked fearfully up at her. For a second she said nothing. Then she burst out laughing.
“Two leprechauns!” she said. “Who are you?”
The children stood up slowly. Before they or she had a chance to say anything more there was a battering and smashing noise down in the lobby, and the rough sound of men’s voices. It was followed by a clattering and swearing on the stairs as someone fell over the vacuum cleaner, and a loud crash as it was hurled over the banisters.
David’s warning! Lucy was galvanised into action. She grabbed Paul and dragged him to the wall. Heaving him up onto a chair and onto the sideboard, she opened the dumb waiter, shoved him inside, and closed it. She quickly pressed a button and hoped it was the right one for the kitchen. The dumb waiter purred upwards to the floor above.
The desk pressed up against the curtains and left no room to hide. Lucy dashed across to the window opposite. The curtains there were big and heavy and velvet, and she disappeared into them. Claudia was standing stock still in the middle of the room when two men burst in.
“It’s the redhead!” shouted one triumphantly. “The luck of the Devil!”
Claudia backed away and then sidestepped and darted forward towards the open door. As she did so a third man entered. The three of them grabbed her and threw her to the floor. One pulled a legnth of cord out of his pocket and quickly tied up her hands and feet, and then they dragged her out of the room.
On the way out one man turned to look back. “Holy Mag! There’s been a flood!” he shouted.
“Never mind that now. Just get her out of here. Quick!”
Lucy could hear the thumps as they dragged Claudia’s body down the stairs, bumping against each step one at a time. Then there was silence. David had been right. She should have taken Paul and left the house. Now it was too late. She didn’t dare move.
Upstairs Maria had thrown the rug back over the hole in the floor as soon as she heard the men below. Lying with her ear pressed to the rug, she listened in horror as Claudia was taken away. She heard the man say, “Holy Mag! There’s been a flood,” and the dismissive response, and the distant thumping sound as Claudia was dragged down the stairs. In the ensuing silence the blue front door of her parents’ house swam before her eyes and closed over their sorrowful faces. Then she heard a clicking sound and a small scared voice whispered, “Lucy?”
Maria jumped to her feet. The door of the dumb waiter had been pushed open slightly and a frightened little face peeped round it. She pulled Paul out gently and he started to cry.
“Hush,” said Maria softly. “They’ll hear us.”
“I want Aunt Sarah,” whimpered Paul. “I want Lucy.”
The room was quiet except for the sound of someone breathing and a soft footfall over the carpet. There was a smell of cigarettes. Lucy held her breath and clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering. The smell of cigarettes was coming nearer. Her legs started trembling uncontrollably, and suddenly the side of the curtain twitched and a hand shot in and grabbed her by the hair.
She nearly fainted, first with fright and then with relief. Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak.
“Oh, Thomas!” Her voice was just a squeak. “Thank goodness it’s you!” She threw her arms around his middle.
He grabbed her angrily by the shoulders.
“I told you not to poke your nose in things!” He shook her till her head rattled. “I’ve been watching you, you snooping, interfering little brat. You’d have been alright if you’d kept away. You’ve had it now!”
She was too shocked to move. This couldn’t be Thomas! She had made a terrible mistake. It was a monster who looked like him. The blood drained from her face and her eyes were wide with fright. He caught hold of the back of her jumper and shoved her in front of him, down the stairs across the lobby, through the kitchen, and into the hall.
“You’re not Thomas.” Lucy’s voice was a strangled choke. “The Magnifico is watching you.”
“You little idiot! There’s no such thing as the Magnifico. They’re living in luxury and fooling the lot of you.”
With one hand Thomas opened the door to the cellar, and with the other he threw her down the stairs.
“Get in there till I decide what to do with you. I’ve got more important things to think about while I’m here.” He slammed the door after her and turned the key.
For a few moments Lucy lay dazed. Then, feeling around with her hand, she found the bottom step and pulled herself upright. Her brain felt numb. She rubbed her head. There was no nasty sticky feeling so she knew she wasn’t bleeding. Her left shoulder and hip hurt but she hardly noticed the pain.
The true pain was inside her.
Thomas, the only person she’d really and truly trusted (other than Aunt Sarah of course), the man she’d once thought she’d like to marry – a traitor! She’d never trust anyone again except Paul. Even at this horrible moment there was a flash of joy as she remembered she had a brother. But somehow she had to get to Aunt Sarah to warn her. With a shaking arm she reached down and felt under the step for the plastic bag. It was still there, and the candle and matches were dry. Her fingers scarcely had the strength to hold a match let alone strike it, and she had to close her eyes and breathe deeply into the mouldy air for a moment. She had just managed to light the candle and was about to struggle to her feet when she heard feet and voices in the hall above her.
“The old lady’s dead in her bed,” said someone.
“Good. At least she’s out of the way.” Thomas’s new voice, no longer kind and gentle, penetrated harshly through the cellar door. “Where’s the boy?”
“Don’t know.”
“Well he’s not a problem like the girl. He can’t speak much.”
For a moment Lucy wondered who the old lady was. Then she indignantly realised they meant Aunt Sa
rah. She wasn’t old, just tired. Perhaps she was pretending to be dead so they wouldn’t bother her. Holding the candle carefully upright in her left hand and feeling the wall with her right, she stumbled across the cellar.
Her escape apparatus was exactly as she had left it months ago. The strip of underlay was still there, and the crate, and the box on top of it. The underlay was wet and clammy under her knees. She pushed herself up and, giving the cover of the coal hole a good shove, she caught hold of the rim and looked over the edge. Outside it was not quite dark, but dark enough to blur a skimpy little figure as it emerged from the coal hole, flitted down the path, out through the gate, and across the road to the bushes by the pond.
Peering round the dense branches of a heavy rhododendron, Lucy could see that the high double gate to the left of the house was closed, but there was light and activity in the driveway. She darted back across the road and peeped through the diamond-shaped holes just above the crossbar.
It was as though she had seen it all before, only backwards. A splendid Mercedes with blacked-out windows stood in the drive facing the garage. The right-hand rear passenger door was wide open, and two men were emerging from the lobby dragging a wriggling, trussed up, red-headed bundle between them.
Claudia was struggling with all her strength and objecting as forcefully as she could, grunting into a gag which had been shoved into her mouth and halfway up her face.
“Let’s give her a shot of tranquilliser,” said one of the men.
“It’s in the bag. I’ll get it,” said the other. As he dropped her, Thomas appeared.
“Just dump her there,” he said. “Come upstairs both of you, and help me look for the key to the top-floor flat. Drax will give us a whopping great bonus if we can get both women at the same time. He might worm some useful information out of the older one and she can be disposed of afterwards.”
The men dropped Claudia in a curled-up heap on the side path up against the house, and left her.
Lucy’s mind raced. The key would not be upstairs. They were going to look for it in the wrong place. That would keep them occupied for a while. With her own ears she had heard the father say, “For the top flat,” and with her own eyes she had seen Aunt Sarah drop the key into her apron pocket. Lucy had no intention of letting those men get hold of that key. Paul was in the top-floor flat. She would never let Traitor Thomas win this game!
She ran in a crouching position along the outside of the privet hedge to the front path, then into the garden and through the laurel arch that separated it from the driveway. The car loomed up in front of her. Darting up to the human bundle writhing on the ground she started pulling and tugging at the knotted cord behind Claudia’s back. She loosened it quite easily and Claudia shook her hands free. She pulled the gag down from her face and they scrabbled together at the knot round her ankles. This was more difficult.
“Jump!” said Lucy pulling at her arm. Claudia shuffled till her back was against the house wall, and pushed herself up with her feet.
“Jump round there,” whispered Lucy pointing to the laurels. “Keep working at the knot. I’m going to try and get the kitchen knife.”
Claudia jumped with one hand against the house wall. She fell onto the ground on the other side of the laurel arch and grappled once more with the knot. Lucy bent low and crept towards the lobby door, past the car on one side and Aunt Sarah’s bedroom window on the other. The curtains were still closed. She fervently hoped that Aunt Sarah wasn’t dead.
She scuttled through the lobby and into the kitchen. Down from the father’s flat came the sounds of grumbling and swearing, opening and banging of drawers, and shoving of furniture. Snatching the big knife out of the drawer next to the cooker, Lucy darted out again. As she shot through the door she heard footsteps on the stairs. She ran down the side path, through the arch into the front garden. Claudia was still struggling with the rope.
“Quick!” gasped Lucy, handing her the knife. “Cut it. They’re coming.”
She kept watch through the bushes as Claudia hacked at the cord and stood free but dazed. No-one emerged from the side door. Perhaps they were in the kitchen. Lucy’s mind worked frantically. Grabbing Claudia’s hand, she pulled her down the front path and out through the gate, and pointed across the road to the common.
“Follow that path till the end. It comes out in South Hill. Turn right and go to the third house down. Number 38. Tell George you’re from Lucy. Tell them to send for the police – but not if they’re infiltrated.”
“What about you?”
Lucy gave Claudia a push.
“Go! Quick! George, number 38. Remember, not if they’re infiltrated. His father will know.”
“Come with me.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to get Paul. Quick! Run!” She gave Claudia another push, and vanished into the bushes.
Claudia ran.
Lucy nipped up the side path and slipped across behind the car into the gap between the garage and the garden wall. The rat no longer frightened her. Someone was moving around in the garage. Peering out from the gap she watched as a slight, hooded figure emerged with a hammer in his hands. He crouched low and tapped something into the front tyres and then darted round to the back of the car. Lucy could hear more tapping noises and then the rattling of a chain, the rustling of bushes in the front garden, and light footsteps running across the road.
Paul was her objective. She looked up at the garden wall that towered above her, but no way could she climb it. Passing through the gap she followed the wall round until she reached the lime tree. Crouching behind its trunk she could see the lights in the father’s living room and the little barred windows above. Desperately she tried to think of a way to reach Paul. He might still be in the dumb waiter, half-suffocated and too scared to cry, and the tenant would never know he was there till she opened the door looking for her food and found him dead.
Suddenly there was a shout.
“She’s gone!”
Lucy flattened her body and moved round the tree trunk until she could see at an angle down the side of the house. One of the men was standing beside the door holding the cord that had bound Claudia’s wrists, and another was shouting into the lobby. They dashed about looking in the garage, under the car, and through the laurels to the front of the house. If they searched the garden Lucy would be found. Thomas knew where all the hiding places were.
She could slip out now through the back gate if she wanted to, but she had to get to Paul first, and for that she needed the key. Aunt Sarah always carried her keys everywhere with her. It must still be in her apron pocket.
Now the men were out in the street and Lucy knew they would be back any minute to search the garden. Lucy sidled along the garden wall and back through the gap to the front of the garage. She considered trying to get back into the house via the coal hole, but remembered the cellar door was locked on the outside, and there was no time to try George’s key trick again.
A man appeared in the driveway and she ducked down behind the bonnet of the car. It was Thomas with a torch. She heard him move swiftly over to the bushes behind the garage. Peering round the side she could see the light from the torch searching behind the lime tree and over the flowerbeds into the shrubs. She nipped across the path, through the lobby and into the kitchen, and pressed the button for the dumb waiter in the hope that Paul might still be in it.
It seemed to take a thousand years to come purring down, and when it arrived it was empty.
Lucy dashed down the hall, past the cellar, and into Aunt Sarah’s room.
Aunt Sarah lay on the bed just as Lucy and Paul had left her. Her eyes were closed and the dressing gown was still smoothed over her. She lay very, very still.
“Aunt Sarah?” whispered Lucy. There was no answer.
Lucy touched her face. It was just warm, but there was no breathing. She shook her a little but nothing happened. She laid her ear where she thought the heart was, but there was no sound or thump, and she knew in her ow
n heart that the men were right – Aunt Sarah was dead. She touched the gold chain with the daffodil circle that now hung round her own neck, and her eyes filled with tears. But she had to move.
Pulling back the dressing gown she felt in Sarah’s apron pocket and found her keys. There was no time to guess which was the right one. She covered Aunt Sarah up again, kissed her cheek and whispered, “Thank you for bringing me up. Goodbye.” With the keys grasped firmly to stop them rattling, she tiptoed out into the kitchen. She stopped to listen before she ventured out into the lobby. There was someone on the stairs, and Thomas was talking outside.
“She’ll have gone for the police. We haven’t got much time. Find them keys quick or we’ll have to go without them. He’ll have left spares somewhere for the old lady in case of emergencies.”
There was a murmur of voices.
“Check her room again. I’ll check the kitchen.”
Lucy pushed the keys into the dumb waiter and pressed the button for the second floor. She ran out of the kitchen into the hall. The front door wouldn’t open and she realised it was bolted up at the top. Dashing back to the cellar she pulled the key out of the door, jumped inside, and felt in the dark for the keyhole.
Footsteps ran past towards Aunt Sarah’s room. With shaking hands Lucy locked the cellar door from the inside and shuffled her bottom down the steps. She started stumbling towards the far end in the pitch dark
“No luck,” shouted someone.
“OK. Let’s go!”
Lucy could hear Thomas shouting up the stairs.
“No more time. Get out of here!”
“What about the brat?” called someone.
“Holy Mag!” said Thomas. “I forgot. She’ll spill the beans if they find her. She’ll have to come.”
The handle turned on the cellar door.
“Where’s the blasted key?”
“Just bash it in.”
Within seconds the door had been smashed in and Lucy was being hauled out by the back of her jumper.
“Gag her. Hurry, damn you! Put her in the boot. We’ll dispose of her later.”
The Father's House Page 16