by Sarah Rayne
I intend to send the Mabbley girls to you, as Wilger’s replacement in the kiln room. It will separate those three, and it is high time those girls started to earn their keep. I must warn you that both have a rebellious streak and will need a firm hand.
Very truly yours,
Maria Porringer.
Deadlight Hall
December 1882
Dear Mr Breadspear,
During the last few days, the children have been behaving rather strangely, and I am becoming somewhat uneasy. I will write to you with more details, being a touch hurried at the present, since the kitchens are awaiting a delivery of dried goods, and I like to oversee such things. Mr Porringer always held that a good master (in this case mistress) ensures honesty at all levels of the establishment, and most especially in the consignment of supplies. To my mind this is true whether it is laudanum and mercury for the apothecary’s shelves, or lentils and pudding rice for the larder.
Very truly yours,
Maria Porringer.
Deadlight Hall
December 1882
Dear Mr Breadspear
The children’s behaviour is becoming very worrying indeed. I hesitate to use the word sinister, but it is the word that comes to my mind. They have taken to gathering in small groups, in the darker corners of the Hall, whispering together. I have tried to overhear what they are saying, but so far I have not managed it.
Last night I was wakeful, which is not a thing as normally happens to me, having a clear conscience and a healthy mind, not to mention a very good draught which was Mr Porringer’s own mixture, and which I usually take on retiring. I heard some of the children tiptoe past my room and go quietly down the stairs, so I wrapped a shawl around my shoulders and crept out to see what they were about. There they were, huddled together in the hall below. The Wilger boy was with them, of course – he would have been carried down by two of the other boys, since he is no longer able to walk up or down stairs for himself.
Now, I am not a great believer in poetry and such – although Mr Porringer sometimes read a volume of poems and was inclined to quote a verse over supper if one had taken his attention – but seeing those children last night brought back the line I had heard John Hurst read – you may remember I wrote to you about it. Milton’s Paradise Lost, so I believe. The line stayed with me, and I thought of it, seeing the children:
‘When night darkens the streets, then wander forth the Sons of Belial, flown with insolence and wine …’
There was no wine involved, of course, but insolence – my word, there was insolence in those children’s manner, and there was sly, cunning devilry in their faces. A terrible thing it was, and very frightening, to see such bitter hatred in the faces of children. Indeed, it was so strong that this morning I can almost believe the hatred still lies on the air like greasy smoke.
I shall lock my bedroom door each night, and I keep a large bread knife to hand during the daytime. If you could come to the Hall as soon as possible to discuss this, I should take that very kindly.
Yours very truly,
Maria Porringer.
Michael sat down for a moment, slightly puzzled, because it was surprising to find Maria Porringer – surely a severe and even a cruel woman – had been so frightened by a group of children whispering in a dark old house.
But whatever else she was, it had to be said that the old girl had a fine line in rhetoric when she got going, while as for John Hurst, Michael was inclined to think kindly of a man who had tried to teach Shakespeare and Milton to orphans.
He delved into the package again, to see what else it might contain, and drew out what looked like a local newspaper cutting of around the same date.
MYSTERY AT DEADLIGHT HALL: Disappearance of two girls.
Police were yesterday called to Deadlight Hall, the local Orphanage and Apprentice House owned and run by the Deadlight Hall Trust (Chairman Mr Augustus Breadspear), to investigate the whereabouts of two of the girls, Rosie and Daisy Mabbley.
The girls, who are sisters and have been in the care of the Hall for most of their lives, were discovered to be missing by Mr John Hurst of Willow Bank Farm, who visited Deadlight Hall to give his weekly reading and writing lesson to the younger children.
[Readers will be aware that Mr Hurst, something of a local philanthropist and benefactor, was active in creating the local school a few years ago.]
Mr Hurst told us that as a rule there were around eight children at his Saturday afternoon classes at the Hall, with the Mabbley sisters always present.
‘They enjoyed the lessons and were keen to learn,’ he said. ‘I was interesting them in poetry and plays – in fact we were planning to stage a small nativity play as part of the Christmas celebrations at St Bertelin’s Church. The Mabbley girls were enjoying that, very much, so the fact that they were not there that afternoon and that no explanation could be found for their absence caused me considerable concern.’
Mr Hurst had asked Mrs Maria Porringer, Deadlight Hall’s superintendent, to assist him in a search of the house and the grounds. When no trace of the sisters could be found, Mr Hurst reported the girls’ absence to local police and then to our newspaper, asking if we would advertise their disappearance. This, of course, we are very pleased to do, for it is a shocking thing if some tragedy has befallen two young girls, particularly so near to Christmas.
[We draw readers’ attention to our weather report on Page 6, which gives a doomful warning of thick snow and blizzards over Christmas.]
Mrs Maria Porringer also spoke to our reporter when he called at Deadlight Hall, and expressed herself as very concerned for Rosie and Daisy’s whereabouts.
‘A very thorough search I made of the Hall,’ she said. ‘Mr John Hurst along with two of the older children helped me. Cellars to attics we searched, and between us we looked into every nook and cranny. There was no trace of the girls anywhere. And after Mr Hurst left, the police came in, and a young police constable helped me to go over the house again. A most helpful young man he was.’
Asked about Rosie and Daisy, she told our reporter they were very well-behaved girls.
‘And only two weeks ago I was able to find them places in the employment of Mr Augustus Breadspear at Salamander House. It was a good place for them; they would have learned a trade, and also been able to work together, which I thought a very fortunate circumstance.’ Here, Mrs Porringer had to break off, being overcome with emotion.
She revived sufficiently, however, to tell our reporter that the girls had seemed to like the work in Salamander House’s kiln room, and had been keen to do well.
‘They went off on Tuesday morning, exactly as usual,’ she said. ‘After eating a good breakfast, of course, for it’s always been my pride to send my young people out to their work with good nourishing food inside them, particularly of a cold winter’s morning. I watched them go myself, from the front door of this very house.’
This time Mrs Porringer succumbed completely to distress, and was unable to continue the interview.
Mr Augustus Breadspear admitted he had been annoyed when the girls had failed to appear on Tuesday morning. He had thought there might be some illness, and it was only much later that he had been told they had vanished.
‘I am very concerned for them,’ he said.
Anyone having any information that might assist in the search for the girls is asked to go at once to the local police station or come to our offices.
Rosie and Daisy Mabbley are ten and eight respectively, but are both of small build so could be taken for younger. Both have long chestnut hair. It is likely they are wearing the cotton frocks issued to all Deadlight Hall children, which are bluish grey.
Deadlight Hall
December 1882
My dear Mr Breadspear
You will have read the local newspaper, I am sure, so you will know what I have told the reporters about the Mabbley girls.
The Hall has been searched twice – once by myself and John Hurst, and a
second time by a local police constable. You will be relieved to know that on both occasions I was able to arrange things so that I was the one who appeared to be searching the upper floors – and that I did so alone. I gave you my word at the outset that no one but myself would ever go up to that part of the Hall, and I have kept that promise.
I made the real search early in the morning of the following day, since I do not care to go up to those upper floors after dark. I will admit that I was anxious about what I might find up there – I suppose the same anxiety was in your mind, as well. It is a terrible secret we share.
It was a difficult search to make, but it had to be done, and without the children knowing. I made my way there at daybreak, and in the cold, bleak December light everywhere was shrouded in a clinging greyness. That is a light I dislike very much, as do you yourself. We both remember what happened in another cold cruel daybreak.
Suffice it to say that I found no trace of the missing Mabbley girls.
Since having made the search, I am no longer disposed to be very concerned about them. They are sharp girls, who know how to look after themselves. Wherever they have gone, it is not to their mother, for I visited the shameless hussy’s cottage myself. A ramshackle place it is, disgracefully unkempt, and the woman herself no better. She was a kitchen maid in Sir George Buckle’s house, and one who did not learn by her misfortune, but returned to sinning like the sow that was washed will wallow again in the mire. She later became notorious in the taproom of the King’s Head – which is to say the kitchen maid became notorious, not the sow. It is a pity that Sir George does not take more care in the hiring of his maidservants.
However, whatever the children were plotting may now vanish. Rosie and Daisy were certainly at the heart of that, if not the actual ringleaders. Douglas Wilger I can deal with – he is too frail to pose any real threat.
As you know, I do my best to run the Hall properly, but lately it has been very difficult. The money allowed for the upkeep of the place is no longer sufficient, especially if there is to be all this conniving and contriving. I do not care to deceive the police, and I hope I shall not have to do so again. With that in mind, perhaps you will look into the current level of payments, with a view to increasing them.
Very truly yours,
Maria Porringer (Mrs).
SEVENTEEN
‘And that,’ said Michael, that evening in Nell’s house, ‘was all there was.’
‘That’s infuriating.’ Nell was in her favourite armchair, opposite him, her hands curled around a mug of coffee.
‘I went through the entire box. I read everything – old account books, seed catalogues, writing on the backs of old photographs—’
‘Photographs?’
‘Don’t sound so eager. Church outings and self-conscious groups in gardens, mostly. Some school groups – probably of the professor as a small, solemn boy. I think there were one or two shots of Mildred and Simeon Hurst as well.’
‘What were they like?’
‘He looked a bit stern, and she was thin and severe. Hair pulled back in a bun, and lisle stockings. But in a strange way they looked kind,’ said Michael. ‘Other than that, though, I found nothing. Well, nothing that gets us any further.’
‘Is the professor going to read it all for himself?’
‘He said he would. I’m not sure if he will, though. He flinches from the past.’
Nell said, ‘It’s interesting, isn’t it, that one person’s name keeps recurring in all this.’
‘Maria Porringer. Yes. And what intrigues me are those references she makes to some kind of secret.’ Michael opened his notebook again, and flipped the pages. ‘Here it is. After the Mabbley girls disappeared, Maria stressed to Breadspear that no one except herself went into the upper part of the Hall, and she said, “I gave you my word … It is a terrible secret we share”.’
‘And something about “what happened in another cold cruel daybreak”,’ said Nell, thoughtfully. ‘Michael, you do realize this is starting to sound like the ultimate classic Victorian gothic story?’
‘Yes, I do, and I wish I could think Mrs Porringer was simply making notes for a novel,’ said Michael. ‘But those letters are real.’
‘Could we track down the egregious Maria?’
‘I wonder if we could. She refers to her husband being an apothecary,’ said Michael, consulting his notes again. ‘With his own business. That might give us a lead. I should think there are societies and associations that list pharmacists, although it’s anybody’s guess how far such lists would go back. Oh, wait, when I drove out to Deadlight Hall, I did see a pharmacy in the village street. And Maria seems to have been a local girl. It’s stretching it a bit to think it’s the same shop, but it’s worth a try.’ He put out a hand to Nell. ‘You’re good at that kind of thing. If I go out to look at that shop tomorrow, could you come with me?’
‘Is that my cue for quoting the line about following you to the ends of the earth?’
‘Well, just at the moment I was thinking about following me upstairs. Or does that sound as if I’m taking things for granted?’
‘Never,’ she said, smiling and taking his hand.
‘Michael?’
‘Nell?’ He was sitting in the window seat of Nell’s bedroom, where he sometimes liked to sit after they had made love. The window looked between Nell’s shop and Godfrey’s, straight through to part of the old Court, and Michael liked Court at this hour.
‘Do you ever feel this place is a bit small?’ asked Nell from the drowsy warmth of the bed.
‘The shop or this house?’
‘Both.’
He came back to the bed. ‘The shop is fine,’ he said. ‘Although I suppose a bit more space would be good. You’d be able to have more stock, wouldn’t you? And maybe do more renovation work. Why? Have you got some kind of project in mind?’
‘Well, I have, but I’m not sure yet if it can be done.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Nell had decided she would not talk about it at all, until she had decided what to do. But Michael was looking at her with that intent gaze that made him so very dear and so very endearing, and his hair was tumbled so that she wanted to reach up to smooth it … And a very short while ago they had been locked together and there had been the feeling not just of their bodies fusing, but also of their minds flowing seamlessly back and forth. Marriage used to be referred to as being one, and when things were like this with Michael – when there was no longer any sense that they were two separate beings – Nell understood exactly what that meant.
Without knowing she had been going to speak, she said, ‘Godfrey’s leaving Quire Court. He’s going to Stratford. And he’s given me first refusal of the lease of his shop.’
Michael’s eyes registered surprise, then he said, ‘Instead of this one, or in addition?’
‘In addition.’
‘With the idea of knocking both units into one?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’d live over Godfrey’s shop?’
‘Over it and behind it. There’s masses of space.’
‘And this place? Oh, but you’d make this into a workshop, wouldn’t you? Like you had in Shropshire.’
Nell said, ‘Exactly.’
‘It sounds a tremendous idea,’ he said, sliding back into bed. ‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘The money.’
‘Ah. Godfrey’s asking too much? I wouldn’t have thought he was particularly venal.’
‘He isn’t,’ said Nell. ‘It’s the company who own the freehold. They’re asking a high figure for assigning the lease to me. Well – higher than Godfrey thought.’
‘How much higher?’
Nell shot him a cautious look. ‘I’d be between fifteen and twenty thousand pounds short. I can raise the rest, I think.’
‘Ah. Yes, I see.’ He leaned back on the pillows, one arm around her shoulders. ‘Nell, I’d like to hear about this, but I don’t want to push in and y
ou don’t have to tell me anything you want to keep private—’
‘I’ve just realized that I do want to tell you. It’s odd, isn’t it,’ said Nell, ‘how reserved people can be about money. Here we are, you and I, and we’ve just made exquisite love—’
‘Thanks for the “exquisite”—’
‘Well, it was. And we’re so close, so intimate on every level, until it comes to—’
‘The sordid subject of coinage.’
‘Yes. But here’s the picture. I can cash in some bonds and things that I bought after Brad died,’ said Nell. ‘And there’s one of the insurance payouts I had when he died, which is on long deposit or something like that. That’s the largest sum. Only there’s a penalty for cashing it before the expiry date, so there wouldn’t be nearly as much as I thought. The bank say they could most likely work out a business loan, but it would be a bit of a millstone. And if the business slumped – even if there were a couple of poor years …’
‘Yes, I see all that.’ Michael was not looking at her. In a voice that Nell thought was deliberately offhand, he said, ‘Have you thought about having an investor in the business?’
‘You mean a partner?’
‘Not exactly. But someone with an interest. Financially, I mean. Would that solve the shortfall?’
Nell stared at him. ‘You mean you?’
‘I think I do.’
‘But that’s quite a large amount. Fifteen thousand pounds at least.’
‘I know. It mightn’t be possible to do it, but there are some shares and stuff from my grandfather. I’ve never touched them – I just let the bank sort them into suitable accounts, and some interest accrues. I’d have to find out exactly how much they’d realize, but I think there could be enough.’
‘Would you cash in things like that, though? A family legacy?’
‘I’d be doing it for you,’ he said. ‘For you and Beth. So of course I would. Only I don’t know if you’d want me to do it. I don’t know if you’d want such a definite commitment.’