The Cellar Read online

  Each time, he warned the girl strongly to forget any ideas of marriage. She was an illegal immigrant in a foreign land and could do nothing without papers. But Muna’s new ability to read allowed her to search for the documents that Yetunde had used to steal her from the orphanage and bring her to England, and these included a birth certificate and a passport in the name of Muna Songoli, and a second birth certificate, faded and torn, in the name of Muna Lawal.

  She showed them to Ebuka and asked why he’d lied to her. When he didn’t answer, she set fire to everything relating to Muna Lawal, saying she didn’t choose to have an unknown man for a father or a prostitute for a mother. Her life would be better now that she could prove she was Ebuka Songoli’s daughter and had the same rights as he had.

  His eyes filled with tears and she asked him why. Was his life not improved by her burning the evidence that a slave had lived in his house? Ebuka should be pleased. He need never fear discovery again. How often had he wished Muna gone in order to bring an end to her punishments?

  But he wept and said his heart would break if she left him. He was more attached to his little slave than he’d ever been to his family, and longed for her company even when she treated him harshly. She’d been right to tell Inspector Jordan that he loved her. No other face pleased him so deeply. He couldn’t bear to lose her, and wished he’d destroyed all the papers so that her only choice was to stay.

  Muna watched without emotion as the tears spilled down his cheeks. Unable to feel love or affection herself, she thought Ebuka weak and foolish to say such things. Could he not see how powerful little Muna would become if all she had to do was threaten to leave? She would never put such a threat into action. Ebuka had no understanding of her if he imagined she could live with another man. Even the thought of being touched by her handsome young tutor made her sick.

  The cellar felt cold suddenly and Muna drew her dressing gown more tightly about her as she leaned forward to stare into Yetunde’s sightless eyes. There was no joy to be had from this mummified body. Dead, Yetunde could never acknowledge Muna as her mistress, or feel anger that a piccaninny had taken possession of everything she’d once owned. Perhaps it was a form of love to hate a person so much that life seemed empty without them.

  She took a pair of secateurs from her pocket and trapped Yetunde’s thumb between the blades.

  The mind is a mysterious thing, Princess, she said. However hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about you. It may have something to do with forgiveness, which the counsellor says brings closure. I’m not sure what that means except the Master hasn’t thought about you at all since he forgave you for stealing his money. Perhaps I’d feel differently if you were alive and you could tell me you were sorry for taking me … but I don’t think so. I’d know you were lying. It pleased you too much to possess a life that didn’t belong to you.

  She squeezed the blades, smiling when they crunched together. She’d watched the gardener use secateurs to snip dead wood from shrubs and it seemed parched skin and brittle bone were as easily severed. Poor Princess. Her thumb popped from her hand like a discarded twig, making a faint clink as it hit the stone floor. Dried of blood and moisture, it was as light as a feather and Muna examined it curiously before placing it carefully on Yetunde’s lap.

  She turned to nudge Abiola’s knee and marvelled as the body shifted easily in the dust. There was no weight in any of them. Even Olubayo, the last to die, moved at her touch. Next time she would bring a saw in order to dismember her trophies as efficiently as the gardener had hewn dead limbs from trees. And when the day came to place the parts into the trunks and suitcases on the other side of the wall, she would cover them with duvets and pillows and ask Mrs Hughes to make a mark which said they must be left in Muna’s bedroom. Ebuka would never think to search for pillows, and Muna would keep the secret for ever that his wife and sons lay buried in linen beneath her bed.

  She stroked Yetunde’s cheek again. There will be no tears for you and your sons, Princess. No one will find you. You are mine to do with as I like.

  Her words echoed off the chamber walls – you are mine … you are mine – and she shivered violently as the cold became so intense that her breath, warmer than the air, drifted like smoke across Yetunde’s face. Muna felt the metal of the secateurs burn like ice against her fingers and dropped them into her pocket before staring into the darkness beyond the chamber door.

  The fabric of the kaba lifted on Yetunde’s chest, and for a shocked moment Muna thought the corpse had taken a breath. Her heart thumped painfully until the air warmed and the scent of jasmine filled her nostrils, reminding her of the schoolyard where she’d been happy.

  She put her mouth to Yetunde’s ear. The Devil is here, Princess, but not to give you justice. It’s Muna He protects. He was in this place when you brought me to it and He gave me strength. You were foolish to take a child you knew nothing about. I was never so abandoned and unloved that you could steal me without fear of being punished.

  Muna paused on the cellar steps when the light from her torch showed her that the door at the top was ajar. The hall beyond was in darkness but she had little hope the latch had come undone of its own accord. As she raised the beam to the aperture, the gap widened, revealing Ebuka, hunched in pyjamas, in his wheelchair. He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the brightness and then leaned inside the doorjamb to flick on the cellar light.

  The rod was across his knees and his mobile was clasped in his right fist. When he saw Muna, he gestured to her to keep coming towards him. I thought you were a burglar, he growled, moving his chair backwards to let her out. It’s the middle of the night. What on earth are you doing?

  Muna pushed the torch into her dressing-gown pocket to mask the shape of the secateurs. I come here often, Master, she answered calmly. Sometimes I find it easier to sleep on a hard stone floor than I do in a bed. It was my home for many years and not all memories of it are bad.

  I heard you speaking to someone.

  Only to myself, Master. I learned to do it when I lived down here. A voice was comforting when the darkness made me lonely and afraid. I used to practise words each night after Princess forbade me from talking.

  She made to move past Ebuka, but he barred her way with the rod. Something scraped across the floor, he said. It sounded like a door closing.

  Do you not remember what the cellar looks like, Master? You came often enough. There’s no door … only walls and a floor.

  Then what was the noise I heard? And why did you sweep the stones afterwards? I didn’t imagine these things.

  Muna pointed to her bare feet. I have no shoes, Master. Princess’s feet were so big that none of hers fit me. I pulled a trunk into the middle of the floor to see if there were any inside from when Abiola was a small boy but all I found were slippers. I tried walking in them but they fell off if I didn’t slide them along the floor. Mrs Hughes says we should give such things to charity. It’s what whites do with clothes they don’t need any more.

  Ebuka was only half-convinced. He eased her aside to look down the cellar steps. I was sure someone was with you.

  Would you like to see for yourself, Master? If I fetch the hoist to lower you from your chair, I could help you down the same way Mr Hughes did. I’m stronger than I used to be.

  Ebuka returned the rod to his lap with a grunt of amusement. And then what? You abandon me at the bottom? I wouldn’t trust you not to lock me in all night if it suited you. I’m sure you’d think it a worthy punishment.

  Muna felt the first tiny tremors of the Devil’s laughter rise through the floorboards. I would, Master … but at least you’d know for certain there’s no one hiding there. If a person breathed, you would hear him. All sounds are loud when you’re alone and afraid in the darkness.

  Ebuka rubbed his arm. It’s deathly cold. Turn off the light and close the door. We’ll order some shoes in the morning … dresses too if you like.

  Muna touched the switch and plunged them into darkness
again. She heard Ebuka grumble that he couldn’t see anything, and Muna thought how vulnerable he’d made himself. With a single push, she could pitch him down the steps and his life would be ended for ever. The Devil was tempting her to do it. His laughter swelled and grew, creating such strong vibrations that Muna believed the walls of the house would crack.

  She placed her palm on the door frame to steady herself. Never had she felt the Devil’s power so strongly, yet her mind resisted Him. This wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t lose Ebuka now. He must remain her father until they moved and the whites lost interest in them. There would be too many questions otherwise.

  Even as these thoughts ran through Muna’s head, the laughter died and the house became still. Ebuka asked impatiently why she was taking so long to switch on the hall light, and, in sudden confusion, she wondered if the tremors had been in her and not in the walls. Was she sick in the mind like Olubayo?

  She reached out to pull the cellar door to, but her fingers were numb and unfeeling. Hard as she tried, she could not make her hand close around the knob. She stared into the darkness below. Something moved. Something stirred. And the air that came from it smelt of death and corruption.

  A weight descended on her neck, forcing her to her knees. She bowed her head in terror when a voice, absent of pity or love, spoke.

  Do you think to cheat Me out of what is Mine? I am Vengeance. I am Retribution. I am Wrath. I take lives in payment for those that have been taken. There is no escape.

  Sinewy coils bound around Muna’s chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. In her mind, she saw an image of Yetunde, eyes pleading for mercy as her life ebbed away. Muna tried to cry out that she was sorry but her mouth wouldn’t open, and in despair, she turned towards Ebuka. But his wheelchair was empty and he was gone.

  She felt the Darkness pull her down. She heard the cellar door close.

  And she knew the Devil was laughing.

  The dust settles.

  The air warms.

  Spiders spin their webs.

  No one is there.

  Darkness hides.

  Darkness deceives.

  Darkness is within.

  Waiting.

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  Copyright © Minette Walters 2015

  Minette Walters has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in Great Britain by Arrow Books in

  association with Hammer in 2015

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  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9780099594642