The Crystal Cage (21 page)

She shook her head and a look of near despair flooded her lovely face.

‘Alessia!’ he said urgently. ‘It cannot truly matter to Edward Renville whether you live with him or not. It is only his business that he cares for. And as for the children, he will see them whenever he wishes.’

Her continued silence moved him to desperation. ‘If you love me, you will come.’

‘I do, I do,’ she said sobbing into his shoulder.

And he put his arms around her and drew her close. Gentle caresses slowly soothed her, but soon his kisses became harder and more insistent. She was like a drug to him; he could not bear to be without her. He needed to feel her body, her heart, her soul, ever close to him. Beneath his touch she was beginning to burn. Her arms embraced him; her lips were on his neck. Then she was undoing his cravat, unbuttoning his shirt. Her kisses were heightening his passion unendurably and crushing all his good intentions into very small pieces. He took her hand and plunged them into the darkness of the gardens. The soft grass beneath their feet provided all the bed they would need. Slowly and thoroughly his hands began to move over her body, undressing her as he went, his mouth following where his hands led. The warm night air caressed their bare skin and together they took fire until every fibre of Lucas’s being sang with hot pleasure. His body ablaze, the world around him vanished into nothingness—the soft grass, the distant lights, the white rags of mist trailing the night sky. His world was contained only in this instant and he gave himself up to it. It was as though this was the last moment of true love that he would ever know. But that was stupid. In a few weeks she would be his forever and tonight they were free to love until dawn.

Chapter Eleven

Nick ran his fingers down my spine in an exploratory gesture. The metallic tick of the ancient alarm filled my ear, and I raised myself onto one elbow to squint at its dial. In the harsh sodium light that penetrated the room’s thin curtains, I made out the hands. They showed ten minutes to four, well before dawn. I gave a small sigh of protest, but it did nothing to deflect him, so I turned over and made ready to enjoy what was on offer. I hadn’t known what to expect after our night in Dorchester, but he’d turned out to be a surprisingly expert and considerate lover. Fun, too, and we had spent most of the three days since our return in bed. It made a happy change from Oliver’s careful schedule, but it was playing hell with my sleep patterns. Not that I really cared; I’d begun to embrace Nick’s chaotic lifestyle with worrying ease.

When we’d arrived back at Waterloo, he had accompanied me to Lyndhurst Villas. I hadn’t expected that, but I was glad to have him with me. The house was empty and echoing, and for the first time in years I didn’t feel at home.

‘I can’t stay here,’ I said.

‘Why do you think I came back with you? Pack a bag and stay at my place.’

I hadn’t been at all sure. If I went to his flat, I would be burning my boats, opting for one man over another. Or would I? I could stay with Nick as a friend, as long as I made that clear. Oliver was in Newcastle and would be there for at least another two or three days. Perhaps all I needed to clear my mind was a change of scene. I grabbed clean clothes from one of the capacious wardrobes that Oliver favoured and then went into the small room that functioned as my office. My laptop, books, my copy of Kelly, a few papers—even to me it seemed as though I were planning to stay away a little longer than a few days.

Nick’s flat turned out to be every bit as grim as he’d described. It was in a small, grubby side street a few minutes from Kings Cross. In daylight the area was hardly salubrious, but by the time we passed the station, the ladies of the night were already doing good business. His rooms, all two of them, were in the basement of a dreary Victorian terrace. Even on a fine June evening they were entirely lacking in natural light, and the very few pieces of furniture Nick possessed were lit by a harsh neon glow. Their air of moth-eaten dilapidation suggested they might well have fallen from a passing skip. I tried not to advertise my sinking spirits, but the contrast with Lyndhurst Villas was too stark to ignore.

‘I did warn you,’ he said, and shrugged. Nick’s shoulders were as expressive as most people’s faces. ‘But you’re welcome to crash for a few days.’

At least he wasn’t suggesting I move in permanently, and then to gladden my heart further he added, ‘I’ll sleep on the couch. I think there are some clean sheets for the bed somewhere.’

Our relationship was being carefully defined, and I was grateful. Thetford Road was hardly to my taste, but it would provide me with a perch until I regained my bearings. No doubt I would soon be fluttering back to Hampstead. That was evidently what Nick assumed; he wasn’t setting any store by what had happened in Dorset.

He busied himself cooking us an evening meal while I searched out the sheets he’d spoken of. They turned up in one of the kitchen cupboards, but they were clean as he’d promised and by the time I’d wrestled with making a bed hemmed in by three walls, he had produced a decent Bolognese from the store cupboard. I was seriously impressed. It was a great deal more than I could do.

But had I really believed that I could live here as a friend? It was naïve in the extreme, hardly worthy of a woman nearing thirty. Entombed in my large and lumpy bed that night, I could hear him in the next room, thrashing around on what I judged the hardest couch in London. Whether it was sympathy for his plight or self-pity at being abandoned to a horribly empty bed, I don’t know. But two hours into a night of wakefulness, alert to every small sound while trying to pretend heavy sleep, I gave in. The door opened and Nick swayed hazily on the threshold.

‘I don’t suppose you’d like to share? My back is in at least six pieces.’ He was trying to sound winning, but he needn’t have bothered. I was already a fair way to being a pushover.

‘We could always find a spare pillow to divvy up the bed,’ he said hopefully.

I threw back the coverlet. ‘No pillow.’

‘Thanks,’ he said and fell in on top of me. It felt good to have him close again, and we didn’t waste much time rediscovering each other. It was a pity that we seemed destined to love in the most dismal surroundings, but somehow it didn’t matter. I fell asleep in his arms.

That first night set the pattern, and now I was used to being woken halfway through the night, to eating, sleeping, loving as the mood took us. I could have happily continued the lotus life indefinitely but for the fact that I was running out of clean clothes and the launderette Nick patronised was a two-mile walk away. Far better to brave Lyndhurst Villas again and pack a couple of suitcases.

But come the morning it didn’t seem so simple and I put off making the decision to go. How better to prevaricate than by checking my email, which I’d been ignoring for days. I’m glad I did because alongside the usual inbox dross there was one message boasting a very red exclamation mark. It was from Leo Merrick. He was desperate. It was not only his wife now who felt a malevolent presence on site but the builders working there, and they were threatening to walk away from the job if the strange activities did not cease. What these were he didn’t specify. It was evident though that he was taking it seriously. Mrs Merrick might be dismissed as fanciful but a clutch of brawny builders was another matter. I felt like telling him to call in the local priest, but instead I checked out the school again. I’d promised to do that days ago, but the Dorset trip had pushed it from my mind. The Raine Foundation School still existed, albeit under a different name. It had moved around the East End over the last century and a half, but its records had been preserved from a long way back. It wasn’t difficult to call up those relating to the 1845 wing; they were more or less complete and had been uploaded into the school’s archives courtesy of a lottery grant. I sent silent thanks to Camelot. There was a good deal of information that was of little interest: building specifications, architectural plans, budget details. I was looking for something more personal, and I found it when I alighted on a roll call of teachers who had been in charge of the girls’ school.

Leo Merrick seemed relieved to hear my voice. ‘I’m not sure that you can do anything with the information I’ve found,’ I cautioned.

‘Anything has to be better than nothing. Can you come?’

‘Come where?’

‘To Silver Street. The schoolhouse. Can you meet me there? I think it’s important you see the place. I’ll bring my wife and you can tell us both what you’ve discovered. She’ll know then I’m not trying to pull the wool over her eyes.’

It was an unusual request and I hesitated. ‘I could, I suppose, but I should really be somewhere else this morning.’ I should, but I didn’t want to be.

‘It would take less than an hour of your time, Dr Latimer, and I’m happy to pay whatever fee you feel is appropriate. Things have got quite bad, you know.’

I assumed he meant between him and his wife. The pressure was subtle, but to be honest, it suited me this morning to sidestep what I wasn’t ready to face.

‘I’ll be there by eleven.’

‘Thank you. Thank you, Dr Latimer.’ He sounded genuinely grateful, though heaven knows there was little to tell and what there was, was unlikely to make much difference to Mrs Merrick’s fear of the place. But I was keeping my client happy and that was the name of the game.

I reached Silver Street before the Merricks, and the tarpaulins flapping in the wind led me straight to the schoolroom. Apart from an ineffectual attempt to shelter a part of the roof that had been opened to the sky, it was obvious that the builders had abandoned the site without securing it. I was able to open the heavy front door and wander into the narrow vestibule. This was where the girls would have hung their coats and capes and left their galoshes on inclement days. I should have waited for the Merricks here, but I didn’t. I was being nudged to explore. Another door faced me; I pushed it ajar and was drawn into a wide, open space. The schoolroom had remained much the same as it had when the last child had closed the lid of her desk.

I walked across the scratched tiled floor towards the dais that stood at the very end of the room. Remarkably it still boasted a desk, placed in a position of authority. This was where the teacher would have sat, cane no doubt by his or her side. It was as I approached the raised wooden structure that I first felt the prickling. A definite prickling of the skin that started at my scalp and inched downward to my feet. Then my chest began to feel tight and my breath to come less easily.
This is absurd
, I thought. I was in an empty room, a space that was entirely innocuous. Was I allowing Leo Merrick’s tale of unquiet spirits to get to me?

I was at the dais and starting up the steps to the desk when I stumbled. My legs felt suddenly heavy, so heavy that I could hardly drag one foot in front of the other. It was as though an invisible force was manipulating me, a force I wasn’t able to control. Somehow I managed to clamber onto the dais and collapse into a seat. The prickling had ceased but my chest was still tight, encased in a steel band. I sat staring down at the desk top for what seemed an age, until its grimy ridges began to flow one into another in a mad crisscross dance. When my pulse gradually steadied, I dared to look around. I’d been fearful at what I might see, but all I gazed on was emptiness. Light from the tall, arched windows fell crookedly across the floor, casting the corners of the room into shadow. But nothing moved, nothing breathed.

I should have walked back to the vestibule then, but instead I lifted the desk lid. What made me do that, I have no idea; I just knew in that instant that I had to. The desk was empty, of course. Except for the scent. It was a scent that was very familiar and for a moment it caught in my throat. Then common sense returned, and I lifted the lid a little farther and glimpsed a patch of white. Scrabbling in the deep well of the desk I brought out a linen handkerchief and put it to my nose. The perfume was unmistakeable—jasmine. I shook the handkerchief out and looked at it closely. Patched with a century’s dirt, it must have been tucked at the very back of the desk for years. One corner held a small, embroidered initial. When I saw what it was, my heart gave a sharp jolt. It was the letter A.

‘Dr Latimer? Thank you so much for coming.’ Leo Merrick had walked through the inner door without my hearing a footstep. I’d been too occupied, too overwhelmed by the coincidence. I slipped down from the desk.

‘It’s a splendid specimen, isn’t it?’ He gestured towards the desk. ‘Original I believe. It must have belonged to the last person to teach in this room.’

I nodded mechanically. My mind was still all over the place. I looked around for Mrs Merrick, but he appeared to be on his own.

‘Your wife?’

He seemed embarrassed. ‘She’s not coming, I’m afraid. I couldn’t persuade her here, not even to see you, but I’ve promised to make a faithful report.’

‘As I told you, there’s very little
to
report.’

He looked disappointed. ‘I was hoping there might be more. With your coming here, I mean. I thought it might jog your mind, help you make connections.’

I wasn’t sure what he meant. The only connections I’d made—jasmine and the letter A—were with Royde’s story and had absolutely nothing to do with the problems Leo Merrick was experiencing.

‘So tell me the little you know.’

‘This part of the site was the girls’ school,’ I began, ‘but you know that already. I imagine the oldest section, where the boys were educated, is derelict.’

He nodded. ‘What was left of it was dangerous, and it’s had to be completely demolished.’

‘As I told you, the entire school moved from here in the latter part of the century and continued to move to several different locations before settling in its present site.’

He nodded again, and I felt his solid presence bring calm into the room. I could move and breathe without effort now. ‘But while it was here in Silver Street,’ I went on, ‘there seems to be something odd about the teachers who were in charge. At least according to the records I’ve seen.’