She must not panic. Someone would find her. She was not going to die. No way – not Kate Palmer! And certainly not at the hands of that evil little woman. Kate felt a fingernail tear, with a shot of pain. She automatically put the finger into her mouth and tasted blood. She couldn’t let that stop her. But the knot was beginning to unravel. She’d have to be patient and probably lose all her nails in the process. She needed to be able to stand up and feel her way round the walls, then she could climb the staircase and at least try to remove the cover above. And she could shout.
Kate felt a tiny glimmer of hope. She wasn’t dead yet and she could have been if Hetty had followed her usual methods of disposing of people.
Another fingernail snapped. She tried in vain to pull her ankles apart but the rope was far too tight. She worked on the knot some more. And, as she did so, she suddenly remembered the dog. Oh God, poor Barney! She’d shut him in the kitchen before she set out for Seaview Grange and she tried hard to remember if she’d filled up his food bowl or his water bowl. If only Angie decided to stay in Plymouth for one night instead of two, it wouldn’t be too bad. There’d be puddles on the floor, of course, but that wouldn’t matter. Oh, the poor, poor dog! He’d never spent much time without one or the other of them ever since they’d rescued him from the dogs’ home three years before. He’d wonder what was going on and he’d most likely howl, but would anyone hear him?
At last Kate was having some success. She felt part of the knot loosen and dug her fingers into the next curl of rope. It was going to take time, but she could do this. She had to be able to move, to stand, to walk around in this dank dark prison, to find an escape. She shivered, chilled already.
Relieved that she had luminous numbers on her watch at least, Kate noted that it was almost seven o’clock, and she’d been in this hell-hole for nearly two hours.
And then she did it! The knot loosened and Kate was finally able to lift her feet out of their prison. The rope had scorched her right ankle but she couldn’t feel any blood so hopefully it hadn’t penetrated the skin. She wiggled her toes to combat the beginnings of pins and needles.
Slowly Kate attempted to get to her feet, staggering as she did so, and automatically stretching out her hand to steady herself against the invisible wall. For a moment she thought her legs might buckle under, and then she found the wall and rested against it until she got her balance back. Her head still ached but the pain had diminished slightly.
Kate set off, feeling her way round the walls inch by inch. On the fourth wall she stumbled on something, then realised it was the bottom tread of the steps. She hesitated for a moment before slowly ascending, terrified of losing her balance and falling in the absence of any type of handrail. When she felt her head brush against something solid she realised that she’d reached the top and the iron cover. Flexing her muscles, she raised both hands above her head and pushed hard. Nothing. No movement, no give at all. But perhaps she could be heard?
Kate shouted. She shouted, ‘Help!’ and ‘I’m in the ice cellar!’ and, finally, ‘Please, somebody help me!’ Then silence. Was it still raining? She listened for a minute and realised she could hear the muffled pattering of the rain on the iron overhead. So, everyone would be indoors and who was going to be around to hear her? Stan was her only hope. He just might be pottering around in the garden somewhere, although highly unlikely on such a murky evening.
She sat down at the top of the steps and considered her plight. No one was likely to miss her until tomorrow at the earliest, and no one was likely to be wandering around the grounds of Seaview Grange until tomorrow morning, if then. Somehow or the other it looked as if she was going to have to survive the night in here and save her strength for hammering and shouting tomorrow. But what could she hammer with other than her bare knuckles? Kate felt in her pockets. A couple of tissues, three Polo mints, a clothes-peg! Where had that come from? And a scrap of paper. Was there anything written on it? She had no idea. And tapping a clothes-peg against a heavy iron cover was not going to get her very far.
Kate leaned forward with her head in her hands and considered the hopelessness of her situation. Someone might find her eventually but how long could she survive without air and water? A day? Two days? She mustn’t get thirsty and she must conserve oxygen by not moving around too much.
Comfort was not an option. She had the choice of a cold, hard step, or a cold, hard floor. She checked her watch again: nearly eight o’clock. No one was likely to be around for at least twelve hours. And tomorrow was Saturday. Did Stan work on a Saturday? Would anyone be anywhere near the garden shed area? And could they hear her if they were?
Kate made her way carefully down the steps and felt for the wall again. She’d sit down with her back against it and do some thinking. She wished she could take off her anorak and roll it up to make a cushion for herself, but
