Ghost Song (18 page)

‘If you don't let me go I shall kill you both,' said Flora, struggling and starting to feel sick at the probing hands. ‘Someone will be here at any minute anyway—you'll be charged with rape—you'll go to prison!' But her voice sounded thin and desperate, even to her own ears.

‘We shall not go to any prison,' said Stefan. ‘Although at the moment I do not care.'

‘Prison would be worth it,' said Anton. ‘If you are willing, Flora, so much the better. So much more enjoyable for all. But if not, no matter. We no longer care.' Again there was the sudden lowering of his voice. ‘Oh Flora, if you knew how I have ached for you.'

‘You make us so strong,' said Stefan. ‘Feel with your hand how strong I am for you.' He grabbed her hand and pulled it down between his legs. ‘Feel how strong Anton is.' He tried to pull her hand between Anton's thighs. Flora snatched it away and tried to hit out at him, but she was shaking so badly that he dodged the blow easily and grabbed her hands. Anton pulled off the silk necktie he wore and bound her wrists with it. When he pushed her skirts up Flora kicked out and landed a hard blow on his shin and Anton recoiled, spat out a word in his own language that was clearly an oath, then hit her hard across the face. Flora gasped and tears sprang to her eyes. But she would not give way to panic, she would
not
…

‘You are such a bitch, Flora,' said Anton. ‘But you are the most exciting beautiful bitch I have ever known. And tonight is when you pay us back for all the money we have spent. The suppers, the concerts, the flowers.'

‘I'm not a piece of merchandise to be bought!' said Flora. That sounded better; it sounded as if she was angry instead of sick with fear.

‘But everyone can be bought at some price,' said Stefan.

Anton lay down on her other side, and Flora felt both their hands beneath her gown, exploring, peeling back the silk underwear she was wearing. Twice she was aware of their hands linking with one another, and there was the unmistakable impression of a bizarre caress passing between the two of them. Then Stefan removed his right hand and she realized with horror that he was unbuttoning his trousers. There was the feel of a hot hard stalk of flesh against her bare thighs, and this time the panic and the fear were so intense she thought she might faint. She sought frantically for the tiny burning flame of anger—only it's barely there now, thought Flora in despair, and they're going to rape me; they really are. Oh God, I've never done it—I wanted to wait until there was someone I really loved—and now the first time will be in this dark place with these two madmen forcing me… Oh, why isn't there anyone here…

Somewhere in the deserted theatre came the click of a door either being opened or closed, and then—incredibly—the sound of someone singing softly in the darkness. Flora heard it, and it was instantly clear that the twins heard it as well. Stefan jerked back from her and Anton half sat up, staring into the shadows as if trying to see through the stifling velvet curtains. Flora drew breath to yell for help but Anton clapped his hand over her mouth. Stefan snatched his own necktie off, and when Anton removed his hand he tied it over Flora's mouth.

‘Tie her legs,' hissed Stefan.

‘No time. Someone's out there. We can't be caught like this.' The two of them went like dark wraiths across the stage and were swallowed up by the shadows.

After a moment Flora managed to sit up. She was shaking violently and her heart was pounding, but she was not hurt. She listened carefully, but there was only the silence of the old theatre. Had the singer gone? It was possible it might have been Shilling she had heard, although his discordant singing voice was almost as much of a joke as his midnight round was a legend. But whoever it had been could not be far away and if only she could get this suffocating gag away from her mouth, she could call for help. Could she make a noise—overturn a piece of scenery or something—to alert whoever it was? But the twins were still somewhere around and if it came to a fight with the unknown singer, Flora would not like to chance one unaware unprepared man against those two. She got off the couch a bit awkwardly and began to edge her way to the wings, every nerve in her body tensed, expecting at any second that Stefan or Anton would step out of the darkness and seize her. Once she thought she heard the soft singing again, this time coming from the direction of the stage box, but the theatre was filled with such mysterious creakings, it was difficult to be sure.

It was much darker in the wings—the kind of darkness where you wanted to put both hands out in front of you to feel your way. She tugged at the silk round her wrists, but although it gave slightly, the knots stayed firm.

Flora stood still, trying to decide what to do. Could she possibly hide from the twins until Bob Shilling's midnight round?
Could
it have been Shilling she had heard? But if so, where was he now? If she could get to his room without the twins catching her, she might be able to barricade herself in. There was a lock on the door because Shilling sometimes had to keep people's jewellery or money in a small safe, and Flora thought even with her hands bound she could turn a key in a lock. If there was no key, she might be able to drag his heavy desk against the door. She would try that—she could go through the green room and the small costume area which would avoid the auditorium.

She worked her way behind the stage and towards the green room. The door was slightly ajar and she managed to nudge it open with one shoulder and slip through. The room contained the usual friendly untidiness: battered comfortable chairs, and a few pieces of scenery propped against one wall—bits of castles and gardens and park gates made of ply and canvas. There was the scent of glue-size used on the flats, and Flora paused, finding the scent familiar and reassuring. She went through to the wardrobe room which was not much more than a wide section of corridor opening off the green room, linking it with the stone passageways at the side. Most of the acts brought their own costumes, so not much was stored here, although a jumble of brocades and velvets hung from the rails along one side. She walked past them, her heart bumping with apprehension, tugging at the bonds round her wrists again and wishing the gag over her mouth was not so tight.

Opening the green room door must have disturbed a current of air because some of the costumes stirred slightly as she walked past. At the end of the rail, by the door, was a long dark military-style coat hanging from a hook: the brass buttons winked in the glimmering gas jets. Or was it the gaslight? Might someone be inside the coat, and might that someone be getting ready to jump out? Flora stopped, then realized she would either have to keep going or retrace her steps to the stage where the twins might still be lurking. Or were they hiding from the singer? Even worse—had they pounced on the singer and silenced him?

But she was determined to stay with her plan of getting to the doorman's room, and so moving as quietly as she could, she went on again. And it was all right, nothing stirred, and she reached the stone passage safely.

There were discarded props lying about outside the wardrobe area: odds and ends people had not bothered to tidy away—cardboard swords and paper flowers painted in vivid colours so they would not fade to grey under the limelight. It was necessary to skirt carefully round these for fear of making a noise.

Ahead of her was the corridor leading to the stage door; gas jets burned here as well. This time when Flora dragged at the bonds on her wrists, the silk gave slightly. This was encouraging, and she went more confidently into the gaslit corridor, stepping round a tumble of costumes that had been dropped carelessly in a corner—a flower-trimmed hat and some long silk gloves and a mask on a holder, the kind people had once carried at grand masquerade balls—and a long dark cloak hung on a nail, falling in thick folds to the ground…

She was level with the cloak when it suddenly billowed out and took on substance, and in the flickering gaslight Flora saw with terror that it had two faces in its depths. Two faces, uncannily and evilly alike, staring out at her. And, oh God, oh God, there were two bodies beneath the thick blackness, and four hands reaching out to her. For several wild seconds the darkened theatre whirled away from Flora, then through the dizzy mists she heard the soft whisper of the cloak being discarded and one of the twins scooped her up in his arms, and turned to carry her back into the main part of the theatre. Anton's voice said something about keeping quiet and hiding somewhere until they could get out. They're still trying to avoid that unknown singer and they're remembering about Shilling coming back, thought Flora. Oh God, if I could just get this silk off my hands I could at least make a fight for it…

It was then that she heard, quite distinctly, the sound of the stage door being unlocked and opened, and Rinaldi's voice saying, ‘I think she's left, sir. They were all going along to the Linkman or the Sailor's Retreat. But we can go through to her dressing room to make sure.'

And then a voice—the one voice Flora had prayed to hear—said, ‘I'd be most grateful if we could do that, Rinaldi. I hoped to get here before the performance ended, but I was delayed. It was a bit of luck running into you in Burbage Street.'

‘Just on my way home, sir. Always go that way, along Burbage Street and then through to Candle Square.'

There was the sound of them stepping inside and closing the door, and whichever twin was holding Flora—she thought it was Anton—moved deeper back into the narrow side passage. Flora was not sure where it led, although she thought it might be to the under-stage area. It was very dark, but there was a faint overspill of light from the main passage, and Flora, still fighting to get free, dragging against the silk round her wrists, saw the other twin reach for the handle of a thick door set deep into the wall. This time she saw it was Stefan.

There was the creak of hinges swinging open and a faint breath of cold stale air. They know this place better than I do, thought Flora wildly. How? Did one of them explore beforehand? Wherever it is, they're going to hide down there, and take me with them. Did the knots of the silk loosen just then? With sudden excitement she realized that although the knot had not loosened, the silk itself had torn.

‘There are lights still on,' said Hal's voice from the main passageway, ‘but it does look as if you're right and everyone's gone. Still, I'll just go along to the dressing rooms to make sure, if I may?'

‘Yes, of course, sir. I'd best come with you. It'll be a bit dark.'

‘It's odd to see the place without lights everywhere, although I daresay you're used to it, so—What was that?'

Their footsteps stopped and Flora visualized the two men, Hal and Rinaldi, standing still, listening. She struggled against Anton again, trying to make some noise and achieving a stifled cry against the silk gag. The silk round her wrists tore again.

‘I didn't hear anything,' said Rinaldi at last.

‘No. I expect I imagined it.'

‘This is a very old building, sir. All kinds of creaks and groans.'

‘And ghosts?' said Hal's voice, lightly. Flora could tell he was smiling.

‘I've never seen any or heard tell of them, sir, but I wouldn't swear there aren't one or two.'

‘I suppose all theatres are a little haunted,' said Hal. ‘Through here, isn't it?'

The footsteps were just passing the entrance to this passage when Flora finally managed to snap the thin silk binding her wrists. Before Anton could do anything to silence her, she tore the gag from her mouth and shouted for help.

At the sound of her voice, Hal Chance said, ‘Flora?' and ran straight along the passage towards her, with Rinaldi pounding after him. Flora heard him shout her name again—louder this time and more urgently—and even though the darkness must have seemed like a thick black curtain to both men, Hal seemed to take in the situation instantly. He cried out, ‘Let go of her, Reznik!' and grabbed Flora's arm, pulling her away from Anton and thrusting her behind him so that he was between her and the twins. Stefan let out a cry of fury, but Anton put out a hand as if to hush him.

‘Are you all right?' said Hal, and Flora said, in a gasping voice, ‘Yes, I am,' although she was not at all sure she was.

Stefan might be drunk, but he was fighting drunk and furious at being cornered. He swung a blow at Hal who parried it and hit him hard, sending him reeling back. For a moment Flora thought Stefan would fall against the stone wall and smash his head, but somehow he recovered himself, although he did not immediately get up.

‘Too drunk to stand,' said Hal, disgustedly. ‘We'd better find a way of getting him home. Where's the other one— Oh, you're there. Your brother's in no fit state for anyone's company and from the look of you, you aren't much better.'

Either the words or the tone, or perhaps both, acted like the striking of a tinder on Anton. He whirled round and aimed a blow at Hal, and Hal, although not entirely prepared, somehow dodged it by about a quarter of an inch, and turned back to defend himself. Flora gasped, wondering frantically if she could dart out to the doorman's room and find something to use as a weapon, but Rinaldi had grabbed Anton's arms and was dragging him away from Hal. Stefan staggered up, and hurled himself at Hal and the two of them fell to the ground, struggling together. Stefan suddenly broke away, half falling backwards, skidding across the ground in a semi-huddle, half on his knees. Flora had no idea if it was a deliberate defensive move on Stefan's part or if Hal had hit him hard enough to send him skittering across the ground, but whichever it was, the force of it took him at top-speed towards the half-open oak door. He scrabbled at the stone floor as he went, clearly trying to stop himself, but the stones were too smooth and old. For the first time Flora saw the deep steps immediately beyond the door and saw that Stefan was hurtling straight towards them. Hal saw it as well; he shouted, ‘Reznik!' and scrambling to his feet, lunged forward, his hands outstretched to grab Stefan. But it was already too late; Stefan tumbled down the steps in a confusion of flailing arms and legs and the sickening sound of dull thuds.