‘Yes, there have to be, for ordinary people. But there are others besides ordinary people. There are some special ones, under special commands. There are special legions. Do you understand what I mean, my dear?’ ‘I don’t think I do,’ said Tuppence. ‘Don’t you think we ought to let the Perrys into their own house? They’re getting rather upset ‘ ‘No, we’re not going to let the Perrys in. Not till – well, not till I’ve told you all about it. You musm’t be frightened, my dear. It’s all quite – quite natural, quite harmless. There’s no pain of any kind. It’ll be just like going to sleep. Nothg worse.’ Tuppence stared at her, then she jumped up and went towards the door in the wall.
‘You can’t get out that way’ said Mrs Lancaster. ‘You don’t know where the catch is. It’s not where you think it is at all.
Only I know that. I know all the secrets of this place. I lived here with the criminals when I was a girl until I went away from them all and got salvation. Special salvation. That’s what was given to me – to expiate my sin – The child, you know – I killed it. I was a dancer – I didn’t want a child – Over there, on the wall – that’s my picture – as a dancer ‘ Tuppence followed the pointing f’mger. On the wall hung an oil painting, full length, of a girl in a costume of white satin leaves with the legend ‘Waterlily’.
‘Waterlily was one of my best roles. Everyone said so.’ Tuppence came back slowly and sat down. She stared at Mrs Lancaster. As she did so words repeated in her head. Words heard at Sunny Ridge. ‘Was ityourpoor child?’ She had been frightened then, frightened. She was frightened now. She was as yet not quite sure what she was frightened of, but the same fear was there. Looking at that benignant face, that kindly smile.
‘I had to obey the commands given me – There have to be agents of destruction. I was appointed to that. I accepted my appointment. They go free of sin, you see. I mean, the children went free of sin. They were not old enough to sin. So I sent them to Glory as I was appointed to do. Still innocent. Still not knowing evil. You can see what a great honour it was to be chosen. To be one of the specially chosen. I always loved children. I had none of my own. That was very cruel, wasn’t it, or it seemed cruel. But it was retribution really for what I’d done. You know perhaps what I’d done.’
‘No,’ said Tuppence.
‘Oh, you seem to know so much. I thought perhaps you’d know that too. There was a doctor. I went to him. I was only seventeen then and I was frightened. He said it would be all right to have the child taken away so that nobody would ever know. But it wasn’t all right, you see. I began to have dreams.
I had dreams that the child was always there, asking me why it had never had life. The child told me it wanted companions. It was a girl, you know. Yes, I’m sure it was a girl. She came and she wanted other children. Then I got the command. I couldn’t have any children. I’d married and I thought I’d have children, then my husband wanted children passionately but the children never came, because I was cursed, you see. You understand that, don’t you? But there was a way, a way to atone. To atone for what I’d done. What I’d done was murder, wasn’t it, and you could only atone for murder with other murders, because the other murders wouldn’t be really murders, they would be sacrifices. They would be offered up.
You do see the difference, don’t you? The children went to keep my child company. Children of different ages but young.
The command would come and then -‘ she leaned forward and touched Tuppence ‘- it was such a happy thing to do. You understand that, don’t you? It was so happy to release them so that they’d never know sin like I knew sin. I couldn’t tell anyone, of course, nobody was ever to know. That was the thing I had to be sure about. But there were people sometimes who got to know or to suspect. Then of course – well, I mean it had to be death for them too, so that I should be safe. So I’ve always been quite safe. You understand, don’t you?’ ‘Not – not quite.’ ‘But you do k, un0. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? You knew. You knew the day I asked you at Sunny Ridge. I saw by your face. I said “Was it your poor child?” I thought you’d come, perhaps because you were a mother. One of those whose children I’d killed. I hoped you’d come back another time and then we’d have a glass of milk together. It was usually milk.