This time when he put out his hand, Nell came into his arms, and clung to him. She was still not crying, but her eyes were dark and blurred with emotion. Michael felt something twist at his heart. ‘I can’t bear seeing you like this,’ he said.
‘Drama queen,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘Sorry. I think I’m glad Hugbert did it, too. I suppose he saw it was impossible to fight the other three soldiers – they were armed. But he wanted to save Stephen from the bayoneting.’ She thought for a moment then, in a voice much more like her normal one, said, ‘It even gives some logic to what Hugbert’s wife said. She said he never spoke of what happened that night— But he had those nightmares, when he dreamed he was walking towards the house. When he thought Stephen came out to meet him. That was his guilt, wasn’t it?’
‘I think,’ said Michael, ‘that Hugbert came to reasonable terms with his guilt. He had done what he genuinely believed was the right thing. Let’s think he had a fairly happy life – or as happy as any of us can expect.’
‘You’re getting awfully philosophical, aren’t you? Shall we finish Iskander’s statement?’
‘Can you cope with it?’
‘I can’t cope with not knowing how it ends. Yes, of course we’ll finish it.’
‘In that case I’ll make us some coffee,’ said Michael, heading for the kitchen. ‘I don’t know if Iskander’s got any more revelations, but I think I’ll keep a clear head, just in case.’
The coffee brought a note of normality to the unreality and the horror of Iskander’s account. Michael set the cups down on a low table and turned up the heating. Wilberforce, with the air of one who had been waiting patiently for this, padded across to the electric fire and lay down in front of it.
Michael sat down next to Nell again, and reached for the closing pages of Iskander’s notes.
It’s one o’clock. The smallest of the small hours. I have searched the house for Leonora, and once I was sure Niemeyer’s men had left, I searched the grounds as well – difficult to do at this hour of the night, but not impossible, and I certainly could not leave it until daybreak. I wrapped Stephen’s army greatcoat around him – he is lying against an old tree, and tomorrow I shall do something about making a grave for him.
But I had to find Leonora – I still have to find her. I walked along several of the lanes – the unknown church was chiming midnight as I did so. But I can find no trace of her, and no clue to where she might be, and so I returned here. The few belongings we managed to bring with us are all still in a bedroom cupboard, so clearly when she left this house she had no time to take anything with her. Did she flee for safety when Edreich and the soldiers arrived? Is she cowering in some dark, lonely hideaway, frightened to return? That thought is almost more than I can bear.
For the first time in my life I don’t know what to do. Sleep is unthinkable …
… but after all it seems I must have succumbed to sleep, for I see that the time has ticked around to three o’clock. The fire has burned lower, and the room is colder.
I have the strongest feeling that something woke me. Something insistent, demanding, pulled me out of that dreary, exhausted sleep. I have no idea what it was though, for the room looks exactly the same.
It is half past three, and I know what woke me. A few minutes ago I heard sounds, unmistakable and insistent. Somewhere inside Fosse House, something is tapping on a wall.
It might be a bird, or a trapped animal. It might be an open window, or a door caught in a current of wind. It might even be Niemeyer’s men, returning for me. If so, they shall have a good run for their money. But I don’t think it is the soldiers.
I have lit a second candle and armed myself with a heavy brass paperweight and a silver-handled letter opener – absurd, makeshift weapons, but better than none at all. I am about to embark on another search of the house to trace the source of the tapping.
Four o’clock. I’ve been all over the house again, and I can find no explanation for the sounds. Everywhere is locked and secure, windows are fastened, doors are closed. But I can still hear the sounds – they are a little fainter now, as if whatever is making them is growing weaker. I think they are loudest in the main hall, but there is nowhere in the hall for anything to be trapped—
Or is there? Old English houses have panelling, and Fosse House has some very fine panelling in its hall. Supposing there’s a concealed cupboard? If I take Fosse House apart, I have to find out what the sounds are. Because Leonora must be somewhere.
Later
Dawn is breaking through the windows, and I am writing this from out of the most astonishing mixture of emotions I ever expected to feel. But it is second nature for me to record everything, and this, too, is part of Stephen’s story, so I am setting it down.
As the clock chimed the half hour after four, a faint dawn was filtering into the house. Even so, I fitted a fresh candle into the holder and set off to examine the panelled walls of the hall. It was still shrouded in darkness, and the light from my candle flickered wildly as if invisible creatures were trying to snuff it. At first I thought the sounds had stopped, but when I began to tap the panelling – hoping to find a cupboard – they started again.