The Secret of Crickley Hall

Hollow Bay called Crickley Hall, where they were cheerlessly greeted by their new custodians, Augustus Theophilus Cribben and his sister Magda.

Cribben was openly furious at the addition of the Polish refugee, while Magda was plainly hostile towards him. They had not been expecting the boy. The guardian, who had accompanied the children from London, explained that it had been a last-minute arrangement. Stefan's parents had been shot when they tried to flee Poland with their son, and he had been brought over to England by other escapees and turned over to the authorities. The boy was shy and spoke very little English.

Cribben had gone through the relevant papers concerning Stefan's status with a fine-toothed comb before reluctantly accepting the boy into his care. He had stated his disapproval of the situation forcefully and the temporary guardian looked relieved to get away at last.

On that first day, and despite the long journey the children had made, the harsh regime began. They were immediately ordered to wash themselves, two at a time in the house's one bathroom. A waterline was marked in the bathtub of three inches rather than the government's water-saving limit of five inches. The tepid water was only changed twice during the bathing and Magda supervised it from a chair on the landing outside the bathroom, issuing orders through the open doorway. Even Maurice, who was considerably bigger and older than the other boys, had to share the bath, as did Susan Trainer, who at eleven was the eldest girl. After the communal bathing, it was nit- seeking time. Magda carried out the searching with a metal comb. Then everybody's hair was cut short, the boys having a pudding basin placed on their heads to set a line for the barber's clippers that Magda used, the hair up to that line so short that the lower scalp and back of the neck was exposed to the air. The boys looked ridiculous and the girls fared not much better—they had to have short bob-cuts that just covered their ears. As well as a toothbrush each and a spare set of underwear, the LCC had provided the orphans with black plimsolls, which they were ordered not to wear inside the house (which would be for most of the time, their only outings being the Sunday-morning visit to the local church) so that they would not leave scuff marks on the floors and stairs, nor make undue noise.

After a meagre meal of mincemeat and boiled potatoes (this was to be their staple diet from that day on) they were sent up to the dormitory, which was a capacious converted attic where iron cotbeds were set out. There was no excited chatter between the children as they undressed for bed. At the orphanage, Susan had been allowed to tell bedtime stories, but not here in Crickley Hall: the children were instructed to go to sleep immediately after Magda had switched off the lights.

They were an austere twosome, Cribben and his sister Magda, and they made it clear from the start that they would tolerate no dissension or misbehaviour from the children in their charge. Ominously, Cribben had used his split-ended cane the very next morning when Eugene Smith, nine years old, was late down for the assembly in the hall (the orphans had to present themselves washed and dressed in two lines at precisely six thirty every morning). Breakfast would follow after prayers in the big drawing room, which also doubled as a classroom. Eugene hadn't appeared 'til the rest were all seated at the two long trestle tables that were used as desks during school time, and Cribben had flown into a fearsome rage. The nine-year-old was made to bend over in front of the others and Cribben administered six hard strokes of the cane.

Swish-thwack! Maurice had never forgotten that sound. Neither had he forgotten Eugene's screech of pain. Swish-thwack! Six times. By the end of the caning, Eugene had been reduced to a blubbering wreck.

Cribben and Magda's very presence was intimidating—no, it was downright scary— and Maurice knew he had to ingratiate himself with them as quickly as possible. He was not only big for his age, long and gangly, but he was also smarter than the other children and certainly more cunning. He did not relish that cane leaving red stripes across his own backside and he determined to do anything to avoid it.

As luck would have it, his chance to gain favour with the Cribbens came the very next day.

The parents and baby brother of two of the evacuees, Brenda and Gerald Prosser, had been killed one night in the Blitz when a German bomb had fallen on their home (the father had been on leave from the army at the time, prior to being shipped overseas). Their parents' bedroom, in which the one-year-old baby also slept, had been totally demolished, while Brenda and Gerald's bedroom had hardly been touched. With no relatives to take them in, the sister and brother had been sent to the orphanage. That had been almost three years ago, and ever since the deaths of their parents and sibling, they had feared the nights, afraid that a bomb might drop and this time kill them too. So they had taken to sleeping, sometimes together, beneath their beds. The punishment of their friend Eugene had traumatized them so much that on the second night at Crickley Hall, Brenda had taken the blankets (there were no sheets) from her own and Gerald's bed and laid them on the floor under her bed. They had slept the night there, cuddling together. Maurice, who was a natural sneak, had informed on them the next day. As punishment the Prossers had been caned across the palms of their hands, six strokes each, with Gerald collapsing in wails and tears after the third stroke. Magda had to support him and force his arm straight so that Cribben could finish the chastisement. Both children were left with livid red weals on the hands and their punishment noted in a big black book that Cribben kept.

And so it continued, Maurice telling tales on the other orphans and soon earning small rewards for the betrayals. Discipline at Crickley Hall was rigid, unbending, the rules of the house too many for Maurice to remember now, but severe punishment was the penalty for breaking them. Sometimes it would be Cribben's cane or Magda's strap (she always wore a thick leather belt round her waist which she would snap at any rule-breaker's hands and legs). Other times it might be fasting for a day, or being made to stand silently in a corner for six hours or more. Toys and board games were not allowed, even though Maurice knew there were some in the house because he had helped Magda carry them—they were sent by orphan-concerned charities—up to the storeroom next to the dormitory, where they were locked away. On Saturday mornings, however, the evacuees were allowed to play on the swing the young gardener had rigged up for them on the front lawn. Only two at a time though, just for the benefit of passers-by who would think it was part of the children's recreational fun. In particular, it was meant to impress the vicar of St Mark's, the church further down the hill; the Reverend Rossbridger liked to pop in for tea and biscuits with the Cribbens from time to time. It was not long before even those innocent sessions on the swing became another form of punishment.

Maurice quickly became Magda's preferred child and loyal servant to Augustus Cribben himself. The other children hated him for this (as they had hated him in the London orphanage before) because they knew he spied on them, that he reported the slightest misdemeanour on their part to the Cribbens, and that he stirred up problems for them with their guardians. Susan Trainer got into the most trouble, because Maurice disliked her in particular— she was too lippy and always defending the smaller kids, especially the Polish boy. Stefan Rosenbaum was constantly picked on by Cribben and Magda; that Stefan understood very little English didn't help matters.

But Maurice enjoyed it all. He liked the strictness and it was fun to see the other boys and girls get punished. He loved the brutality of the canings. And quite soon Cribben saw Maurice's potential.

55: LIGHTNING

Gabe was heading west in the Range Rover and making reasonably good time despite the Friday-night exodus from the city. Now on the motorway, he was able to pick up speed, illegally keeping to the fast lane, once again flashing his headlights at any vehicle that impeded his progress, tailgating them if they didn't pull into the middle lane. It was a foolish thing to do, reckless and heedless of others, but he wanted to reach Hollow Bay as quickly as possible. He was in no mood to dally.

Eve had not wanted him to return to Crickley Hall that night because she felt he would be too exhausted both physically and emotionally. She would comfort Loren and Cally when she broke the terrible news to them. They, in turn, would console each other. For him to drive back that night was too big a risk, especially as it was raining still.

But Gabe hadn't liked the sound of his wife's voice. It was too dispassionate. Eve was too calm, too collected. She had to be in shock. Maybe she had nothing left, her emotions wrung out. Whatever the answer, Gabe had to be there with his wife and daughters; they would need his love and support, as he needed theirs.

Rain suddenly hit the windscreen so fiercely he was momentarily driving blind. He eased up on the accelerator and turned the wipers on to a swifter speed. Other vehicles were also slowing down and he groaned aloud. He didn't need this.

The change from light drizzle to absolute downpour was dramatic and unexpected, like driving into a