Chapter Three

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"Albert?"

"Yes. Odd name really, but he was an odd boy. It kind of suited him. And the Denholms. All that money hasn't bought them happiness, though, I suppose, if they've had another child perhaps it has."

I remained silent, with only a nod of my head to let him know I was listening. I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. He just watched me, waiting. I felt foolish telling him about the Albert I knew. He wouldn't understand. I didn't understand. I couldn't lie and wouldn't give up information which was personal and private.

"Maybe," I said. "They don't seem unhappy, at least."

"Do you know them well?" Tom asked. It was a question I could have asked him.

"Not really," I said. "I just work for them. I'm the nanny, that's all."

"What's their child like? Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy," I said. I bit my lip, wishing I could divert the conversation but knowing that wasn't possible. I'd brought this subject up. I couldn't just drop it. Doing so would arouse suspicion. "He's okay. Quiet. No trouble."

"That's what everyone thought about Albert. Quiet. No trouble. They were wrong."

"How so?"

"You don't know about the fire?"

Fire? I didn't know. There was no evidence of anything which might have damaged the house anywhere I'd seen. Granted, I had yet to explore all its nooks and crannies, but I would have expected to see something, no matter how good the refurbishment. I told Tom.

"I'm not surprised," he said. "They rebuilt the destroyed section. There was a fire. It was... what... twenty years ago? Something like that? But there was more to it. Much more."

Again, too many seconds of silence passed. I could hear the clock on his desk ticking them off, one by one, as if carrying out a roll call. I wondered what would happen if one was missing. Would we fall into the abyss left by its truancy, floundering about, trying desperately to grab onto the closest fragment of time before we were lost forever? The clock was digital. Any such ticks were purely in my head. I shook it to clear the non-existent sound. I'd had enough of those.

"What more?" I asked. I could wait for the librarian to volunteer the information, but he appeared to be lost in memories rather than seeking to provide me with anything substantial which might solve my mystery.

Tom pushed himself up straight in his chair. Absently, he swung from side to side, the swivel action being unconsciously mimicked by my own body.

"Albert wasn't your ordinary child. You'd probably call him a sociopath or something similar. He didn't get on with other kids and had a way about him that'd make you want to bully him, even if bullying wasn't in your nature."

Tom crossed his legs and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He began making church and steeple shapes with his interlocked fingers and, every so often, would lick his lips. His tongue would dart out, lizard-like and disappear almost before his lips realised they'd been moistened.

"Some dead animals were found near the house. They were in various stages of decomposition and neatly arranged. Their guts were ripped out."

I gasped, my hand moving to my throat ready to clench if any stray vomit felt keen enough to leave the pit of my stomach.

"Sorry," Tom said. "I get carried away sometimes. Maybe I can interest you in a book about cats?"

"I'm a dog person, really, and I'm fine, thanks. Don't let my weak stomach stop you being nicely vile."

Tom's smile returned but this time there wasn't the previous effect. It was a fake smile, plastered on to lighten a darkening mood. It was like a strip light in a store room. You needed its illumination but too much could make you nauseous.

"Okay. Well. Albert had been playing with a little girl when the fire started. Neither of them survived, though we don't really know how the fire started or what happened to his body."

"His body?"

"Yes. They never found Albert's body."

"Did he escape? Was he burned to the stage he was unrecognisable? I've seen photos of bodies where you'd never be able to identify them."

"No," said Tom. "The fire didn't burn that badly. There was significant damage to the contents and there were the two deaths, but it couldn't have been hot enough to burn a whole body."

"Maybe whoever set the fire took him?"

"Really, it couldn't have been anything like that. Whatever happened, they didn't find the boy's body. They did the girl, though."

"Oh?"

"Yes. For some reason it was in the woods near the house, rather than in the house itself where the fire was."

"Maybe she was trying to escape? Getting free but the fumes or..."

"Maybe. Who knows? The initial reports said two bodies were found but they were mistaken. It was only the girl. There was no sign of the boy."

"I see," I said, quietly.

It explained a lot, really. Why the Denholms were so strict about the rules. Why they fixated on a doll as their child. My 'Albert' was the Albert, after a fashion. He was there to keep the spirit of their own boy alive. It was an extreme and unusual, slightly tapped, way of doing it, but people dealt with grief in vastly different ways. Who was I, or Tom, to say their method was wrong? How would I react if my own son or daughter died? Unfortunately - or fortunately - I could never have children of my own. It was one of the reasons I became a nanny, being the closest I could get. Whether I was a pseudo or surrogate mother, I would still be able to be a parent of a sort. Of course, I knew I'd never take the place of the real thing (and wouldn't try to), but my maternal instincts could come out and play every once in a while.

My heart went out to the Denholms and to Albert old and new. They were victims of tragedy. Death had tossed his coin and it had landed face down.

"That's very sad," I said. "Those poor people."

Tom sighed. He scratched the side of his nose then ran his fingers through his unkempt hair.

"I guess," he said.

"You don't think so?"

"It's not that. I'm sure they're lovely people, really. In their own way. It's just... There are stories."

"Stories?"

"Yes. You know, rumours and so on."

"Regarding what?"

My heart was thudding in my chest. Were there hidden secrets I had yet to discover? What if it was about Albert? What if the townsfolk knew the truth? Surely they'd sympathise, wouldn't they? They'd warm to the Denholm's plight?

"Various things. They're rich and they have a lot of power. He's a barrister and she was on the board of the railway corporation. That kind of thing attracts detractors. They'd have enemies even if they were kind and sweet and gave everything they owned to charity. You've met them. I don't think 'sweet' is a word you'd use to describe them."

I had to agree. They were stern. Strict. Demanding and expecting. But I felt nothing against them. I felt sorry for them, if nothing else.

"Perhaps not," I said. "But they're not bad people."

"I'm sure you're right. I wouldn't really know. I've lived here all my life but have spoken to them twice, if that."

"So," I pushed. "The rumours?"

"Ah, yes. Rumours." He leaned forward and looked pointedly at me. "Apparently, they have a pet doll?"

A pet doll? A pet? I laughed. Though the truth was not too far removed, the doll was certainly not a pet. He was their son. With the way they cared for him, loved him, he was much less a porcelain figure than he was the offspring of an unfortunate couple.

"What's so funny?"

"Well... A pet doll! That's ridiculous!"

"Well, you'd know if there was anything like that, wouldn't you?"

I blinked. That question was aimed as precisely as a spear in the heart of a deer. It was designed to take me by surprise. Knock me off guard and have me admit to knowing things I shouldn't divulge. I wasn't going to pander to this man's curiosity. I suddenly pictured him as a vulture, hovering over me for any scraps of information to satiate his vulgur appetite. I stood quickly, the chair spinning off to hit a shelf. A book fell to the floor with a thud. That was exactly what had happened to my mood - it had hit the ground and I needed to pick it up in case it was walked all over by the librarian.

"I need to go," I said. "Thanks for the chat."

I turned and strode away, pulling my coat tight about me so he couldn't see my fists clenched.

"So, they don't have a pet doll, then?" Tom called after me.

"No!" I shouted without looking back. "He's not a pet!"

As the door slowly and silently closed behind me, I felt my cheeks flush.

Damn! Had I just given everything away?

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