Full Dark House(132)

‘Over here.’ May was coughing, trying to catch his breath. He grappled for the Valiant and pointed its beam up once more. Bryant saw that he was sitting beside the mouth of the artesian well. He limped over and joined May at the glistening ring of stone.

‘Down there.’ May shone the torch over the side and saw Todd hanging by one claw-like hand from the slippery green brickwork.

‘Good Lord, look how deep it is.’ Bryant got onto his knees and leaned as far over the well mouth as he dared. ‘Todd, give us your hand. We can get you out of there.’ He turned to May. ‘You’re taller than me, you can reach further.’

The boy was shaking his head rhythmically, scraping the damaged skin of his forehead along the brickwork until a dark caul of blood veiled his eyes. ‘No,’ he called up. ‘I come from deep inside the Palace. This is where I belong. I see the stars from the skylight, lying up on the grid, just under the roof. The moon is always in a box, and the box is only full of tricks. I want something to be real. Death is real.’

As the detectives cried out in unison, Todd opened the fingers of his left hand and dropped down the centre of the well, a fall of almost seventy feet before he hit the black water below. There was nothing either of them could do. For a moment they lost him from view. Then they turned the torch on the distant oily surface until it settled once more into an unbroken mirror, the remaining effect of a vanishing act.



Biddle pushed through the crowds, shoving his way out of the congested theatre foyer. His one chance to make good, to do something positive, and he had messed up. He threw his cigarette aside and looked around desperately as the theatregoers began making their way towards the shelters. There was no sense of urgency on the street, no rush or panic. Couples crowded the narrow pavement outside the Palace as ARP wardens directed them to the nearest shelter. He couldn’t see her. There were people everywhere. As Biddle searched the faces, the detectives arrived beside him.

‘Where’s Elspeth?’ asked Bryant, wheezing badly. ‘What have you done with her?’

‘It’s my fault,’ Biddle admitted. ‘She ran out as the stalls started emptying into the hall. My eyes were off her only for a second.’ He looked at Bryant’s dirt-covered clothes. ‘What happened to you?’

‘We have to find her, Sidney.’

‘She can’t have got far. Here, give us a hand up.’ Biddle leaned on the detective’s shoulders and hoisted himself onto the edge of a stone horse trough. On the other side of Cambridge Circus he saw the back of a woman in a brown cardigan and skirt, fleeing in the direction of the British Museum. ‘I can see her. Come on.’

The detectives lost precious seconds extricating themselves from the crowds. When they managed to catch sight of Elspeth Wynter again, she was running blindly across the intersection beside the Shaftesbury Theatre.

‘Where’s she heading?’ asked Biddle.

From somewhere near the river came the dull drone of a bomber squadron.

‘Out,’ said Bryant, ‘just out into the open, away from the theatre, but the more open it gets, the more frightened she’ll be.’

They were fifty yards behind her when she turned into Museum Street and froze, standing in the middle of the road, looking up.

Overhead, the thick grey clouds had parted to reveal a midnight-blue sky glittering with stars as bright and sharp as knives. As the gap grew larger, the oval of the moon appeared, flooding the street with silvered light.

Bryant, May and Biddle came to a stop some way back, amazed by the sight of the buildings’ dark recesses melting away beneath the lunar brightness. ‘She’s reached it,’ said Bryant, ‘she’s reached the light. If she can survive this, she’ll be free.’

‘She’s still going to gaol,’ said Biddle indignantly.

‘Freedom will be inside her head.’

They could hear Elspeth sobbing in awe and relief as she looked up, transfixed by the quiescence of the moon. The droning of the bombers was fading now, growing quieter and quieter until the four of them were standing in unshadowed silence.

Bryant knew he could not compete with the world that beckoned to her. He watched as she took a faltering step away from him, then another. Part of him wanted Elspeth to run and keep on running, until she was liberated from the city’s life-crushing influence, free to live a normal life. Go, he thought, don’t look back. Whatever you do, keep going.

‘Look, are we just going to stand here and let her get away?’ asked Biddle impatiently.

‘No, I suppose not,’ said Bryant with a sigh as they walked forward. ‘Elspeth,’ he called gently. ‘Please. Let us help you.’