by Maynard Sims
'It belonged to Tiaa, my darling Tiaa. She gave it to me, just before they took her from me. Would you like to meet her?'
And he was on his feet, tugging her upright.
'No, I don’t want…'
But her protests fell upon deaf ears as he pulled her out into the hallway.
He crossed to a door and opened it, holding onto her wrist with fingers of steel.
The door gave onto a darkened stairway. He reached out, snapped down a switch on the wall, and the stairway was illuminated by a dim, milky light.
'Down there,' he said, and planted a hand in the small of her back, urging her down the stairs.
The stairs led down to a dark and dusty cellar. He flipped another switch, and a single electric light bulb hanging from a flex in the centre of the ceiling burst into life, the sudden flare blinding her for a second.
Gradually, her vision adjusted to the brightness and she took in her surroundings.
The room was at least twenty feet square and the walls were shiny with damp. In the centre of the room was a raised stone plinth, beside it a small, square table containing something covered by a red velvet cloth. But that was not what he intended to show her. He grabbed her wrist and tugged her across the room to what looked like a rough stone box, some eight feet by three and about four feet high.
He let go of her wrist, went across to the box and leaned with his shoulder against it.
She wanted to run, especially when the lid of the box started to move under his weight, sliding away towards the wall, moving inch by inch to reveal a cavernous interior. She wanted to run, but couldn’t. The wine was making her wobbly and she didn’t feel she could take a step without toppling over. All she knew was that she did not want to see what was in the box.
When the lid had been pushed halfway across, he stood back. 'Elizabeth, I want you to meet Tiaa. The love of my life.'
She shrank back, hoping to get back to the stairs, but he grabbed her again and pushed her forward, holding the back of her neck, forcing her to look into the stone box.
When she saw what was in there, she said, 'It’s hideous, awful.'
What she saw was a body wrapped from head to toe in bandages, but not modern, bright white bandages. These were filthy and dark brown, decaying and crumbling.
He was mad, she decided, quite mad. But then at the top of the body, where she presumed the head to be, two dim red lights started to glow, gradually increasing in intensity until they were nothing less than twin red eyes, staring up at her from the bandaged face – eyes that bored into her own eyes and burrowed deep into her soul.
As a scream rose in her throat, the pressure of Barrett’s fingers increased and she felt herself losing consciousness. It was like falling down into a bottomless black well. She was falling and there was no way back – no way back to the light and to life. With a small groan, she sagged to the floor.
***
‘Florrie!’ Oliver Benson’s voice bellowed down the corridor.
Florrie winced and made to dash into the dressing room, but it was too late. He had already seen her and was barrelling down the corridor towards her. By the time he reached her, he was breathless and red-faced, and a small vein throbbed at his temple. ‘I mean, where is she? Where the hell is she?’
Florrie didn’t have to ask him who. He was talking about Lizzie, and it was a question she had been asking herself all morning. The last time she’d seen her was yesterday evening in the dressing room when she was titivating herself in readiness for her date with Sam Barrett. And she hadn’t seen her since. She didn’t return to Mrs Kendricks’ lodgings last night, and hadn’t called to say she wouldn’t be back. It was now nearly midday, and Florrie was starting to worry about her friend. She knew how much Lizzie needed this job, and upsetting Oliver Benson was not the way to keep it.
‘First Sam Barrett walks out halfway through the evening, missing his last performance, and now Lizzie hasn’t turned up, without a word of explanation. Florrie, what’s going on? Who’s going to be my Indian princess?’
Florrie shook her head and edged backwards into the dressing room. ‘I’m sorry, Oliver, I can’t say where she is.’
‘Can’t? Or won’t?’
He was breathing hard and the vein was throbbing in time to his breaths.
‘Can’t. Honestly, I don’t know. And I can play the princess.’
‘You? Don’t be preposterous. Whoever heard of a blonde Red Indian princess?’
‘The wig, Oliver. I can wear the wig Lizzie wears. I’m sure I saw it hanging in her place this morning. We’re a similar size, so I’m sure it will fit me.’
Benson looked faint and put the back of his hand to his forehead to steady himself. He stood for a moment, considering her offer, and then said, ‘Brilliant.’ He glared at his watch. ‘Go and get changed. The doors open in less than ten minutes, and you’re on stage in five.’
‘I’ll be there in a tick… in less than a tick,’ she said, and rushed into the room, slamming the door behind her.
***
‘So where do you think she’s got to?’ Jimmy said to Florrie during her break.
‘I think I can pretty much guess. Oliver said Sam left halfway through the evening.’
‘And so he did. Eric Latham had to take his place. He’s a half-decent tenor, but he’s no Sam Barrett, and a lot of the audience, especially the female members, gave him the bird.’
‘I think she’s with him.’
‘Do you really think she might be?’ Jimmy said.
‘I’d put money on it.’
‘That’s it, then. It’s out of our hands.’
Florrie shook her head. ‘No, it’s not. Lizzie’s my friend. She’s also an innocent. A man like Sam Barrett could turn the head of a girl like that with the first ride in his Bentley. I’m sorry, Jimmy. I need to find out if she’s all right.’
‘And how do you propose to do that?’
‘Yesterday was Friday, and Friday nights are Giovanni nights.’
Jimmy cocked his head to one side, looking puzzled.
‘Giovanni’s, that swanky restaurant in Cooper Street. They’re not really Italian, of course. From what I hear, the owner and his staff worked as Frenchmen before the war. They became Italian and opened the restaurant when Mussolini died, as it was seen as slightly daring to come from that part of the world. Actually, they’re all as English as you or I, but it’s like the theatre. All make-believe.’
‘That’s all very well, but I don’t see how it helps us.’
‘Well,’ Florrie said, ‘if Lizzie and Sam went there last night, I’d bet someone saw them. They might be able to tell us what time they left.’
‘Yes, but not where they were going.’
She gave him a pained expression. ‘Look, I’m not pretending to be Miss Marple, Jimmy, but it’s somewhere to start. I’ll go along there after we close tonight.’
‘Lizzie’s very lucky,’ Jimmy said, ‘to have a friend as kind and as caring as you.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ Florrie said. ‘You’ll make me blush.’
***
‘Yes, she left not long after she arrived,’ Enzo said, when Florrie asked if she had seen them. ‘But not with Mr Barrett, you understand.’
‘Then with whom?’ Jimmy said.
‘Well, it’s not really for me to say, but at a guess, judging from how he was dressed, I would say it was Mr Barrett’s chauffeur.’
‘And she left before the meal? Didn’t your boss find that rather annoying? A table booked for a Friday night and no one eating?’ Florrie said.
‘I understand Mr Giovanni was adequately compensated for the lost business.’
***
Florrie was seething as they left the restaurant. ‘He obviously planned it. These rich people… they make my blood boil. They just use their money to get whatever they want.’
‘If you had their money, you’d probably do the same. I know I would.’
Florrie stopped in her tracks and wheeled on him. ‘James Nichols, that’s a disgusting thing to say.’
‘True, nevertheless.’
They squabbled all the way back to Mrs Kendricks’ house.
‘Are we going to leave things on a sour note, Florrie?’ Jimmy said at the front gate.
‘It depends.’
‘On what?’
‘Look, we have the day off tomorrow. Help me find out where Sam Barrett lives. I want to pay him a visit.’
‘Well, it’s not going to take all day to do that. I’ll tell you now, if you like.’
‘You know where he lives?’
Jimmy nodded. ‘I’ve been there. Twice.’
‘But how?’
‘He needed some private rehearsal, to work on some new songs. He asked me to go and play for him.’
Florrie shook her head. ‘So where is it?’
‘He has a big house, overlooking Richmond Park.’
‘Where’s the nearest station?’
‘You’re not going there alone,’ he said. ‘I’ll come with you. In fact, I’ll take you.’
‘On your motorbike?’ she said uncertainly.
He nodded.
‘All right. Pick me up at ten tomorrow morning.’
‘Friends now?’
She nodded. ‘Kiss me goodnight,’ she said.
So he did.
***
The warmth of the previous few days had gone by the time Sunday arrived, and Florrie shivered slightly as she left Mrs Kendricks’ house. She turned up the collar of her coat against the misty drizzle that hung in the air. Thankfully, Jimmy had had the foresight to put the domed Perspex roof on the sidecar, so she wouldn’t be soaked to the skin when she arrived at Richmond.
When he was satisfied that she was firmly and safely ensconced in the sidecar, he kick-started the bike and set off on the eight-mile journey.
***
Lizzie opened her eyes and found she was still in the cellar and it was cold. She was lying on the stone plinth in the centre of the room. It was hard and cold. She tried to move, but it was as if her limbs had turned to lead. She opened her mouth to cry for help, but there was something blocking it, and she realised with mounting panic that she’d been gagged. Something swam in front of her eyes, and she blinked to clear her vision and found herself looking up into Barrett’s smiling, saturnine face.
‘Ah, you’re awake,’ he said. ‘I didn’t expect you to sleep this long.’
She made a noise of panic in her throat and he leaned forward and untied the gag. ‘Sorry about that. I didn’t want you crying out in your sleep.’
‘And if I cry out now?’
‘It wouldn’t make any difference now. There’s no one to hear you. I gave the staff the weekend off.’
‘I can’t move my arms,’ she said.
‘And your legs as well, I suspect. It was a mild paralytic. In the wine, I’m afraid, not to mention the sleeping draught. Sorry.’
She swore. She used a vulgarity that had never passed her lips before, and hearing it issue from her own lips shocked her, almost more than anything else that had happened to her.
‘Why are you doing this, Sam?’
‘Because it’s your destiny, Elizabeth. I knew from that first day when you walked into the theatre. You’re so much like her – the colour of your hair, the shape and colour of your eyes. No, there have been many in the past, but they were never quite right. There was always something missing. But you, you’re perfect.’
‘What are you going to do to me?’
He reached across to the small table next to the plinth, the red velvet cloth gone now, and picked up a knife with a bejewelled handle, and a small gold chalice.
‘This won’t hurt,’ he said. ‘The blade is very sharp, so you’ll barely feel it.’
‘No!’ she said, but the knife whispered through the air and the blade made a long, deep cut in the flesh of her forearm. He picked up the chalice and held her arm over it, so the blood poured freely into the receptacle. Soon the golden cup had an inch of her blood in the bottom of it.
He laid down the knife on the table and picked up a pair of ornate scissors. ‘Soon, Elizabeth, it will be over and your ka will leave your body, and the ka of my darling Tiaa will take its place.’
He ran his fingers through her hair and freed one of her curls. Grasping it between his thumb and forefinger, he stretched it out until it was almost straight, and snipped it off close to her scalp. He then dropped the curl into the chalice, where it soaked up the blood and sank to the bottom. He glanced back towards the stone box against the wall. He appeared to be listening. ‘Soon, my love,’ he responded. ‘She will soon be ready to accept you.’
***
Jimmy pulled up outside the house, got off the bike and lifted the roof of the sidecar.
Florrie got out and stretched to remove the kinks from her back. ‘It’s no good, Jimmy. You have to get a car.’
‘Once I have enough money for an engagement ring, I’ll think about getting one.’
‘Who are you getting engaged to?’
‘Why, you, of course.’
‘This may come as a bit of a shock to you, Jimmy, but a girl likes to be asked.’
‘Are you saying no?’
‘Oh, Jimmy Nichols,’ she said exasperatedly. ‘Sometimes you can be such a dope. Come on, let’s try to get inside.’
Getting inside was surprisingly easy. The garden door at the back of the house was open wide, and they entered the house through the kitchen.
They worked their way through the ground floor of the house slowly and methodically, checking each of the rooms in turn. Of Lizzie Stirling, there was no sign.
They stood in the hallway at the bottom of the staircase. ‘Do you think she might be upstairs?’ Jimmy said.
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ Florrie said, and had one foot on the bottom step when there was a strange yowling sound and a small, silver-furred cat emerged from one of the doorways and padded across to them.
As it drew near, Jimmy squatted down and said, ‘Hello, puss.’
The cat responded by hissing loudly and arching its back.
‘Whoa,’ Jimmy said, but the cat lashed out with a paw, and four razor-sharp claws scored lines across the back of his hand.
‘Yow!’ Jimmy yelled and sprang to his feet, kicking out and catching the cat in the side, sending it skittering across the floor. It was on its feet in an instant and ran headlong through the door from which it had emerged.
‘Did you check that door?’ Florrie said.
Jimmy was sucking at his wounded hand. ‘No. I thought you did.’
Florrie shook her head. ‘Come on,’ she said, and went in pursuit of the cat.
‘I think it’s some kind of cellar,’ she said, pausing at the top of a flight of wooden steps leading downwards.
‘Lizzie! Are you down there?’ she called, and listened.
‘Florrie! Florrie, help me!’
With no further thought, Florrie grabbed Jimmy’s hand. ‘She’s down there. She’s in trouble.’ And then she was running down the steps, taking them recklessly, not mindful of her own safety, Jimmy following close behind.
She stopped at the bottom and stood open-mouthed, seeing but not really believing what she was seeing.
Lizzie was lying on what looked like a white stone tomb, her arm outstretched, her arm cut and dripping blood into a gold cup on the floor.
‘What in–’ she said, and made to move towards her, but Barrett was suddenly in front of her. His arm came up and the knife he was holding slashed across Florrie’s throat, opening it up to the windpipe.
‘No!’ Jimmy yelled, as Florrie’s hand went to her ruined neck, trying in vain to stem the bleeding. But it was no use. The blood was pouring out from between her fingers and splashing on the floor.
‘You bastard!’ Jimmy shouted, and made to lunge at Barrett, but
the man was too quick for him. He sidestepped, and as Jimmy rushed by, he struck out and plunged the knife deep into the boy’s eye.
On the plinth, Lizzie began to sob as she watched her friends die.
Calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, Barrett walked across, picked up the chalice that was now half-filled with Lizzie’s blood, and stared down at her.
‘Now, shall we continue?’
***
Tiaa opened her eyes and stared at him with no recognition.
Barrett leaned forward to bring his face into focus. ‘My darling, my princess, Tiaa, is it really you? Have you finally returned to me?’
‘Who are you? What is this place?’ she said thickly, her words spoken in the ancient Egyptian language he remembered so well.
He wanted to reach for her, to take her in his arms, but he held back deferentially. It wasn’t his place to lay a hand on the princess, despite his love for her that had sustained him across the centuries. He replied in the same tongue. ‘It’s me, Princess. Samhut. Samhut Baruti, your loyal and faithful servant. I have brought you back.’
She stared at him as she sat up, confusion clouding her eyes. And then she shivered. ‘Cold,’ she said. ‘So cold. Samhut, what is this place?’ There was a rising note of panic in her voice.
‘So many years since they took you from me,’ he said, his emotions cracking.
Tiaa was staring down at her hands, shaking her head. ‘But this isn’t right, Samhut. What have you done to me? You have stolen my youth, my beauty.’
Barrett was shaking his head. ‘No, my Princess. I have taken nothing from you. I have only given. I have found you a new body for your new life.’
‘The body of a woman twice my age? This is your gift to me?’
‘But…’ He was floundering. He’d thought he would earn her eternal gratitude, but her reaction was not one of pleasure. Her reaction reflected the petulant emotions of the teenager she had been when they came for her. She continued to stare down at her hands.
He didn’t understand. He had chosen the girl, Lizzie, so carefully, for her looks, for her body. She was no teenager, it was true, but a young enough woman, surely.
Tiaa was talking again. ‘Sixteen summers,’ she said. ‘I have lived only sixteen summers and my hands are those of an old woman!’ Her voice was rising as the enormity of what had happened to her started to cut through the clouds confusing her mind. ‘Mother, Father, what of them?’