Amanda Cadabra and The Strange Case of Lucy Penlowr Holly Bell (top 100 novels txt) 📖

‘Of which we had direct experience; this is not just hearsay,’ put in Peter, as a point of information.

‘But most,’ continued Elodie,’... how can you understand, Chief Inspector? You had to have been there.’

Of course, Hogarth had seen it, in all the years he’d been a policeman. But Elodie was right. He’d never lived it. Never woken up to ice on the inside of the windows, mould on the damp walls, the choice between takeaways, to ease the ends of long working days, and the bills. Pay the rent, a holiday once a year somewhere cheap. Roast on Sunday, telly in the evening, beer and cigarette money. Depending. Hope for better, a better life for the kids. Lucky to have a mortgage however crippling. Trying to better yourself if you could.

And then a rich local family wheels out what many could and did benefit from, to be fair, but what for others would turn out to be the Trojan horse ....

‘I’m sorry,’ he found himself saying. ‘You’re right. Everything you’ve said. Nevertheless, I must make no distinction between rich and poor. I do not have that luxury. Children and families disappeared, but also members of the Dowrkampyer clan died that night, one in particular by mysterious means. I need to know what happened. And I appreciate your taking the time to share this story with me. Please continue, Elodie. I take it you were selected to attend Growan House?’

She nodded, looked down at her hands for a moment, then back at Hogarth.

‘I was never comfortable in a classroom situation. My parents were so eager for me to attend and do well. The pressure was immense. I remember my fifth birthday. — I’d been there since I was four — I said all I wanted was not to have to go to the school ....’ Elodie’s eyes were filled with the memory of past anguish. Then she breathed in, gave her head a little shake, a small brisk smile came into being, and she proceeded levelly.

‘I was good at being invisible. I have always been quiet, I was good at my homework, got good marks, not a major or a minor contributor in class, unobtrusive, and helpful to the slower children. Somehow I made myself indispensable. Therein lay my salvation. Something I was born knowing: never let yourself be seen to be the smartest person in the room. I never came top in anything. Second or third or a bit lower. Never bottom of the class, either. Never anything that drew attention.’

Elodie took up her mug, sipped some tea and held it between her hands, as though for comfort during what she was about to relate. She resumed:

‘Little by little, they gave us and our families the feeling of being the cream of the crop. The families were encouraged only to socialise with one another, discouraged from associating with other friends, even family, until former connections were either dropped or fell away. It was all The School, The School, The School. People didn’t really have friends even within the “club” because it was all about loyalty to Growan House. It felt … wrong.’

‘You told your parents how you felt?’ asked Hogarth.

‘I tried to tell them. I didn’t have the words, the exact explanation of what it was that I wasn’t comfortable with, but I tried to express it. They refused to listen. The education was good. Didn’t I know how lucky I was? Getting a private education they never had, and they would never have been able to afford? Nice little girls appreciated what they had. I did appreciate it, didn’t I? I knew the drill. Yes, the education was good. But then they began introducing the ... special tuition.’

‘That’s what the school called it?’

‘Yes. They selected just one or two students at a time. Students who never spoke about their sessions except in the most general terms. And then … they started to get sick.’

‘Just the ones who had the sessions?’

‘Yes, Chief Inspector. Again, I tried to tell my parents. Especially after that boy ... they said it was just an accident. I was getting more and more scared. I was trapped. What if I was next? I worked even harder to stay out of the line of sight.’

‘Elodie, how were the children getting sick?’ Hogarth enquired.

‘Nothing you couldn’t pin on something ordinary: eczema, growing pains, rashes, coughs, trembling, loss of coordination, that sort of thing. The special sessions would stop, and they’d get better a bit, and then they’d start again.’

‘This happened over what period of time?’

‘It was a terribly slow and gradual process that went on for years. Some of the students — very few – began staying at the school like boarders. Some were becoming like part of the family. They came to fewer and fewer of the ordinary classes. Then, one day, Kevin came to me.’

‘One of your fellow students?’

Elodie nodded.

‘The eczema was dreadful. He was covered in it, getting worse and worse. His parents wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t believe it was anything to do with the school. They even had the doctors on their side. That’s when he told me ... about the basement ... about what happened there.’

Hogarth thought he’d seen and heard a few traumatic experiences in his time and yet at that moment, chills ran down his spine.

‘Elodie, I have some idea of how hard this is for you, but please ... what went on there?’

‘It was like a laboratory. There was a special book. Security was very, very tight. During the sessions, the teacher would read from the book. There’d be experiments. With steam, vapours, herbs and liquids and what looked like electricity, like static.’

***

Hogarth stopped. Amanda’s eyes had grown wide. Her face as white as a sheet, shivers running across her skin. She put a hand to her mouth murmuring,

‘The book.’

‘Yes,’