Halton Cray (Shadows of the World Book 1) (5 page)

‘Okay, so what are we doing in here? What have I
done now?’

‘No, you’ve done a good job in here, Dan. Except
for this lot, unfortunately. All these labels are incorrect. That one should be
there,’ he said, pointing them out individually. ‘That is not a spring snare. This
one has no label at all, practically anyone’s guess as to what it is. – It’s a
gin trap,’ Thom added, having noticed some confusion cross Dan’s face, ‘which
you can see is mechanical and uses a spring-operated jaw, and there are its
serrated teeth! If you’re unsure, I’ll set it and you can stick your hand in.
You’ll never mistake it again.’

Dan chuckled and nodded as Thom carried on.

‘It’s catalogued on the database under Agriculture
–.’ He reeled off a formula of characters and numbers. ‘Print that one off and
we’ll go through them together.’

Dan crossed the room towards the door. On seeing me,
he stopped and smiled. ‘He knows the catalogue numbers for everything, Alex,
off by heart. What a geek!’

I couldn’t help laughing, mainly because it
surprised me he could get away with it. He was jovial, a live-for-today sort. I
had a feeling we would always get along. He lingered a moment to chat but then
said –

‘Sorry to run off, but I’d better get on with it.’

‘You don’t want to keep him waiting,’ I added
quietly.

‘Oh, I’ve got all the time in the world!’ Thom
returned in his deep satirical voice, without looking over. He was examining
the cabinet for more mistakes. At moments like these I thought of him as
pompous, but I wasn’t sure Dan held the same opinion. He seemed very
comfortable with him, as if they had a steady friendship.

Just as Dan turned for the door, his phone buzzed
a noise that echoed through the room.

Thom remarked loudly, ‘Your wife again? Tell her
to go and make herself useful, instead of making you useless. Ah!’ he said,
looking over to me and then away. ‘If it isn’t the unusual girl who fears
nothing. I didn’t see you there,
ma dame
.’

‘You heard me well enough.’

‘Was that your voice?’ He turned about to forge an
appropriate look for confusion. ‘Apologies, I didn’t recognise it. For all I
knew Dan was talking to himself. This would be the place for that sort of
thing. Oh dear,’ he said, fixing his piercing eyes firmly on my face, ‘have you
caught a cold? Is
that
what kept you up half the night?’

‘I slept very well, thanks.’

It seemed useless to get clever with him, however tempted
I was. His sphinx-like chat would boggle my mind if I tried.

I carried on looking at the Creatures of the
Night. Presently he was going through a small bunch of keys he’d taken from his
pocket, searching through them intently for the right one.

‘So,’ he said abruptly, without looking up, and
finding the key he was after, ‘you didn’t like school. Not the only institution
you’ve had to escape from, I’ll bet.’

‘Do you have the place bugged?’ I asked squarely.
‘You know that if you listen in on other people’s–’

‘Listening?’ he interrupted. ‘But that requires choice.
This place is made of stern stuff, and so acts a prison for sounds and voices,
hurtling their way down the corridors, trying every room for means of escape.
How can I help but hear,
Cassandra
?’

‘My name’s Alex and you know that.’

He chuckled. ‘You just look like a Cassandra.’

‘You can’t assign someone a different name because
you
think it suits them better. Or if that’s the case I’ll just call you
Dick.’

My hand went immediately to my mouth. He looked a
little shocked, yet mildly amused at my horrid repartee. I was so annoyed with
myself for allowing my wit to get out of my mouth.

‘Actually,’ he said stiflingly, ‘and I’m not
saying this,
Alexandra
, to make you feel worse for that insult you just
dealt me – but Cassandra is a variant of your own name. You recognise
Sandra
in one is
Xandra
in the other? You don’t have to believe me of course.’
He was still faintly smirking.

‘Thom, I’m so sorry for my remark.’ I felt some
heat rising to my face. ‘I can’t believe I said that.’

‘Not to worry.’ He smiled genuinely, revealing
dimples in his cheeks. ‘At least you said it to my face.’

He hesitated but then motioned his dark eyes to a
painting on the wall near where I stood. It was of a woman I recognised but
couldn’t have named off-the-cuff. I examined it to discover she was the
prophet, Cassandra of Troy: the flame-haired beauty, considered insane.

He silently laughed and looked as if about to
leave the room, but I’m glad he didn’t – I don’t think I would’ve been able to
face him again. He changed direction and made his way over to me.

‘What do you think of them?’ He nodded towards the
glass. ‘Do you like the Creatures of the Night?’

‘No.’

‘No? You looked fascinated!’

‘I don’t like these ones.’

‘But not because the look of them frightens you. So
why then?’

He waited patiently to hear my answer; a serious
intent on knowing my views came over his face. He folded his arms to assert
this and turned slightly towards the window so that the light vivified his
features.

‘I don’t like the way they’re displayed.’

‘Go on.’

‘They’ve such a heart-breaking look about them. It
makes me sad. Don’t smirk. I know they’re stuffed. It’s just the idea of an
animal in captivity, and the look of these ones. It’s almost preternatural,
like there’s something living behind their dead eyes that knows they’re trapped
here, and they’ll never be free again.’

I knew I’d said too much and I expected him to
laugh at me. He surprised me by looking sympathetic instead. Despite the light
hitting his face, no reflection blanched those stubborn pupils. I realised how
I now stared into them, and so quickly looked away.

‘You see things as they are.’ He paused, sounding
subdued, and turning he edged away. ‘They have, as you say, that look of
despondency; captured in time. That is precisely why I wanted to exhibit this
piece, and in the very room named after the lady who said, “Art is eternal, but
life is short.”’

He went back to the other side of the room where
he fitted the key into the display unit, turned it and lifted the top off. I
felt like I’d hit a nerve with him.

At that moment a beefy man of about forty entered
the gallery. His square-shaped face smiled as he bowled over to me.

‘Excuse me, miss, d’you work here?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, good. I was in here earlier and there was no
one around to ask. You see that cage?’ He pointed to a horrid looking
contraption, which sat all tattered on one of the tables. ‘Can you tell me what
animal it was used to trap? My son was saying rats and I reckon birds, and he’s
made me put money on it.’ He laughed.

‘I’d love to be able to tell you, but I’m not the
expert here. He is.’ I gestured to Thom, who was ready to answer his question.

The man looked at Thom and his smile melted away.
I wondered if he knew him from the look on his face. Thom walked over, and the
man, I noticed, took a slight step back. I watched his reactions carefully now,
unsure what the matter was, as Thom began explaining the years of the cages use
and its target prey. The man appeared to absorb very little of this.

‘Dad?’ a boy of about twelve called from the
doorway.

‘Josh, wait there!’ The man snapped. Turning back
to Thom, he babbled, ‘Thanks for your help. Need to get going now.’

He left the gallery, grabbing his son’s hand and
towing him quickly away.

‘That was weird,’ I said to Thom.

‘Was it,’ he muttered, unsurprised.

‘I thought so. Or did you know him?’

‘Never seen him before.’

I looked back at the cage. ‘How long have you been
curator?’ – Just as I asked this, some passing visitors in the nearby corridor
laughed out so loud at something that my shoulders flinched to it.

Thom watched me. ‘Do you believe in the
supernatural?’

Without answering my question, he focussed on
trying to prise things from me, probably so he could turn it back on me in
mockery. I determined to keep my answer imprecise and to a minimum.

‘I’m undecided.’

He asked me the questions directly, and when I tried
to remain negligible, he in turn tried another tactic, viz. by assuming the
answer and putting it to me in the form of a question.

‘You’re startled easily, but you’re no sceptic
like Frances?’

‘Is Frances sceptical?’

‘If a ghost walked through that wall there,
rattling chains and moaning like Daniel’s wife, she would find a logical reason
for it. Something that her mind could accept. She would refuse point-blank to
believe anything else. I don’t believe you would.’ He paused, looking to the
door. ‘I think I hear the sceptic now, probably looking for you, her charge.’
He half-smiled and turned away.

I realised my break was over ten minutes ago. I
rushed to the door without looking back at him. Frances met me there.

‘Doreen’s wondering where you are. You’d better be
quick!’

I thanked her and hurried out to the front desk to
find the tapping noise still going on.

When Mrs Evans walked by she never said a thing,
just chewed away on some nicotine gum (I’d seen a packet lying about).

I was not long at my desk before –

‘Still being tortured?’ Amusement coated Thom’s
voice. He stopped a few feet from my desk.

‘As you can hear.’

‘It suddenly dawned on me what the cause might
be.’ He jangled his keys.

‘You mean aside from my mental health?’

‘It seemed the only explanation earlier,
Cassandra
.
You looked half mad with alarm, and perhaps half puzzled.’

‘I’m not alarmed, just annoyed – by that noise.
Now, however, I realise that there are more irritating things in this place.’ I
bit my tongue too late again.

He stared at me, a smile tugging at his mouth. Probably
because he’d succeeded in baiting me.

I must have given him a look, as if to say ‘what?’

‘Are you
sure
you’re only twenty-one?’ he
asked in a way that implied I looked unfavourably beyond my years.

‘So my mother tells me. I suppose you thought I
was older?’

‘Ah well, perhaps there’s some hint of maturity
reflected in that.’

He approached the wall having selected a key.
Sliding back one of the wood panels revealed a lock and handle, hidden away, as
one of the house’s many secrets. Behind the door was a small cupboard filled
with brooms, mops, and such miscellanies. It released a gassy smell that
resembled something like boiled cabbage. If the tapping noise had come with
stress positioning and sleep deprivation, I’d still have preferred it to the
awful stench.

A leaky tap was responsible for the sound. How
could I know a room with a basin existed behind that wall?

‘I suppose you know every secret room in this old
house, do you?’

He smiled and turned the faucet until the dripping
ceased, then closed the cupboard, locking it back up.

‘It’s funny to lock that isn’t it?’

‘It’s just one less room to check of a night,
before this part of the house is closed up. With so many rooms the caretaker
would be here all night otherwise.’

‘I don’t suppose there are many people willing to
stay here all night either. Except you, of course.’

‘Of course.’ He strolled away grinning.

Six

IF
YOU FEEL FAINT OR SICK PLEASE TELL A MEMBER OF STAFF IMMEDIATELY

…Such was the sign on
entering the London Dungeon. Stacey made a queasy sound and face to match, and
then looked to us for reassurance.

‘Just remember that the smell isn’t real,’ I told
her. ‘It’s meant to reflect the era it’s set in and get you in the mood.’

‘
Oh
!’ Stacey whined. ‘Look at that sign. There’s
a Jack the Ripper tour today. It’s going to be scary!’

‘We won’t leave your side, will we, Bee?’

Beth’s eyes watered in a struggle to suppress
laugher. ‘Of course we won’t, silly girl!’ She chuckled, linking her arm.

The pavement glistened under the feet of the
queuing public, from a shower of rain that fell early that morning. Stacey wore
her plum-coloured hair down and lashings of black eye makeup, more than ever.
It was probably to compensate because Mrs Evans forbade it being so extreme at
work.

Beth was very natural and rarely wore makeup. She
was especially pretty when she laughed, which was most of the time. Stacey
acted differently around Beth than she did when just with me. She behaved like
a baby, wanting Beth to mother her.

Stacey was uncharacteristically quiet while Beth
and I chatted in the queue, which circled the gloomy setting of a graveyard.

‘Don’t you guys leave me when we get in there!’
she whispered.

Beth burst out laughing, automatically giving
Stacey a sidelong hug. ‘You better not change your mind, Stace. We’ve come all
this way!’

We got to the first depictions of medieval
persecution, where sets of mechanical mannequins portrayed various execution
scenes, including boiling to death and hangings for witchcraft. Each were accompanied
with their own distant recording of moans and wails playing overhead. Beth
walked on and Stacey followed quickly. The scenes grew darker as did the
corridors the farther we went. Stacey was by now incredibly edgy, which instinctively
made Beth protective of her.

The scenery was very effective with the artificial
smell of damp clogging our nostrils. Many of the Dungeon’s actors were walking
about dressed as lepers and victims of the bubonic plague, often bothering the
public by making them jump. I wandered away from Beth and Stacey for a moment,
just to peer down the dark smoky corridor up ahead, in anticipation of the
Ripper tour we would be going on. Soon the three of us made our way down there
to start queuing for it. Having just surveyed the corridor, where it was empty
of anything before, I noticed it now contained a mannequin dressed as Jack the
Ripper. It stood at the far end. If it wasn’t a mannequin, then the actor in
top hat and cloak, with white face and glassy eyes, was a very accomplished
player. I knew his mission would be to scare the living hell out of us, so I
gave him a wide berth, pulling Stacey with me. Beth was nearest to
him
but strolled past without a care. She would not be his quarry. Stacey however
became unexpectedly interested in the doll-faced man. Curiosity, they say, is
the very basis of education, in which we learn by our mistakes.

‘What a creepy looking dummy!’ she said. ‘Weird,
it reminds me of someone.’

I wasn’t about to play any mean trick on her, so I
whispered in her ear, ‘That’s not a mannequin. He’s an actor, just like the
leper.’

I was further surprised when Stacey pulled away for
a closer look.

‘No way!’ she whispered. ‘That’s not a man.’

The actor, a proficient in his profession,
remained dead still. I stared at him too now, doubting myself, where he didn’t
seem to breathe or blink. Stacey was almost nose-to-nose with him.

Very suddenly the doll came to life in one sinuous
movement towards her. He silently drew from under his cloak a very long rubber
knife, which looked as real as the man had looked fake. I’ve never heard a
scream like it! If Stacey were at that moment auditioning for a part in a Saw
movie, she would have gotten the role over any celebrity. The doll’s movement
was to her a gunshot to Usain Bolt: she sprinted. She sprinted so fast back
down the corridor that we couldn’t have caught her for love nor money. The
actor then gave chase. It wasn’t unexpected that she ran. The quasi-Ripper
didn’t appear to be feigning his intentions. I quickly followed and when I
caught up, Stacey had dashed back into the Wicked Women section. The Ripper had
cornered her between two possible exits. He outmanoeuvred her each time she
tried for one of them. He was really enjoying this. Stacey’s face was clear
hysteria. The Ripper ducked back and forth between her exits, goading her to
choose one. I stood there puzzled at what to do. She screamed stupidly and grasped
at onlookers, ready to start using them as human shields. She squeezed her eyes
shut and didn’t see the Ripper turning away with a very satisfied grin on his
porcelain face. Having had his fun he passed me and paced back down the
corridor. Stacey reopened her eyes, and finding no sign of him, she legged it
towards the entrance like the Tasmanian devil. I had trouble keeping up, but
soon found her hiding in the toilets. Beth discovered us there, now finding it
all hilarious. Stacey begged us to guard the door in case the actor had followed
her, while she washed off her smudged eye makeup in order to reapply it. We
stood outside like a couple of bouncers.

‘I knew coming here was a bad idea,’ I told Beth. ‘Why
did I think she meant it?’

‘Maybe because she started working at Halton
Cray.’ Beth raised her eyebrows, trying not to laugh.

‘I suppose, and after hearing about that missing
girl too, no wonder!’

‘What missing girl?’

Since Beth had never heard of it, I proceeded to tell
her about the disappearance of Tess McQueeney and her curious hiding place.

‘Sounds ominous. And Stacey
knows
about
this?’

‘Oh yes, but she’s just glad to have her job. It’d
be a different story if the girl were still missing or something worse. But
since they’ve found her, she doesn’t give a monkeys. I can’t help wondering
what happened to this girl. It’s so strange. What could she have seen to make
her run off, leave her things behind and hide out in her own loft?’

‘Have you considered asking her?’

‘No. Frances, from the Cray, can’t even visit
because the girl is so on edge. What chance have I? Besides, I don’t want to
make her more jumpy with strangers asking questions.’

‘Just tell her your name’s Nancy Drew.’ She grinned,
pulling her thick brown hair out of her face and securing it in a clip. ‘But
these things generally have a way of sorting themselves out, Nance. Look at you
finding out that Mark’s not so nice before you got too serious.’

‘Yeah, Bee. Lucky me!’

‘Alex, you’re too bloody sensible. I would have
done a runner and left him with the bill!’

‘I’d like to see that.’ I laughed.

It took us the best part of an hour to convince
Stacey that the actor wasn’t looking for her. She wouldn’t come out until we
agreed to quit the Dungeon altogether.

Once outside in daylight and fresh air –

‘I know who that Ripper guy reminds me of now!’
Stacey blurted out with a quivering of her shoulders. ‘There’s a guy at the
Cray who looks just like that! He scares the hell out of me.’

Beth and I sighed, rolling our eyes in unison,
which made us all laugh.

‘I’m serious though,’ she persisted. ‘Have you
seen him, Alex?

I shrugged and shook my head, although I had an
idea whom she meant.

‘So how’s it going working at Halton Cray
together?’ Beth moved her eyes between us.

‘We hardly see each other, do we, Stace?’

Stacey had so much to say about working there that
I let her prattle on. From what she said, she’d made good friends with Mrs
Evans. For me, though I found the woman tolerable, there was something wanting.

Stacey’s words regarding the mannequin haunted me that
night. I could admit
some
resemblance to Thom, but I couldn’t put my
finger on what it was exactly.