With the arrival of the new dawn James decided to make another bid to free his family. Most of the night guards had drifted away before the end of their shifts and the day crew hadn’t yet arrived. This would be his chance. He armed himself with a grave-digger’s pick and headed towards the house. He had no subtle plan of persuasion. He was exhausted. Days of no food, mere mouthfuls of water and little sleep had left him weary and drained. This would be brute force and desperation without any real thought. As he walked up the drive towards the kitchen door, his footsteps roused the snoozing watchman.
'Oh God, it's not you again is it?' the guard climbed reluctantly to his feet and came to meet James 'I thought we told you to clear off. You’re gonna be sorry if you…'
The sentence remained unfinished as James clattered the pick handle into the side of the watchman’s head. He dropped to the floor.
Brock had spent an uncomfortable night trying to sleep amongst the weeds and brambles at the back of the vegetable patch. He'd been awoken by the rowdy dawn chatter of birds, and now the second guard was stood directly in front of his hiding place dropping his pants. As Brock withdrew further into the weeds to escape the splashes, he was shocked to see James advance down the drive and flatten the watchman. The guard standing before Brock cast a glance over his shoulder and hurried to finish. He turned, still fastening his trousers, stumbling in the direction of the house. Brock hesitated for a moment then pounced from his hiding place. He threw his huge bulk on top of the guard, crushing him onto the ground. The watchman kicked and wrestled to get free but Brock was too strong. He grabbed a rock from the edge of the carrot patch and slammed it into the back of the guard’s head. The struggling stopped.
James fumbled through the pockets of the guard on the ground. The key had to be in his pocket somewhere. Brock climbed to his feet and headed towards James, but as he rounded the corner of the house, the day shift started arriving. Four new watchman entered the drive. They spotted James rummaging through the pockets of their fellow guard and charged to his aid. By the time James realised that he was no longer alone they were already upon him. James attempted to jump to his feet only to be knocked back to floor with the blow of a club across his back.
'Thievin’ bastard!'
A watchman produced the missing key from his pocket. He stepped on James as he unlocked the kitchen door. 'If you like it ‘ere so much you can bloody well stay 'ere!' He grabbed James by the back of his shirt and threw him into the kitchen. 'You can bloody well rot in there!' he shouted as he relocked the door.
Brock, meanwhile, slipped back into the undergrowth and watched from his cave of brambles. He agonised over going to James’ aid until it was too late and the decision was made for him. He remained hidden.
With James locked away, the guards took the meagre daily rations of food and water to the carriage house and banged on the door.
'Step back you lot. I’m passin’ in your brekky!'
But this morning the only reply was a few coughs and groans.
The guard quickly slipped the supplies in through the door and squinted into the gloom. He held his hand over his nose and mouth in a forlorn attempt to block the stench. 'I reckon we might be needin’ some transport for these fella’s tonight!' he laughed, happy that his work was nearly over.
James lurched painfully up the stairs from the cellar kitchen to the main house. He called out for Elizabeth and the children but there was no answer. He quickly checked the ground floor rooms. All empty except for the drawing room that was locked. There was no key in the door. James banged on the door and shouted. He could hear movement from inside; the door handle moved. He stood back and tried to kick the door open, but only managed to hurt his foot.
'Elizabeth, stand back!' James took a few steps back and charged at the door. The wood still held. He tried again. This time the door rattled and a large iron key fell from above the frame. James quickly pushed it into the lock and threw open the door. But instead of his Elizabeth or the children, before him, he found the ghostly white figure of Annabel Collins. James scanned the room frantically for his family. He grabbed Annabel by the top of her dress. 'Where are they? Where's Elizabeth?'
Annabel stared blankly back at him.
James pushed her away and charged up the stairs to the first floor. As he approached the landing he slowed. He saw the cushions and blankets where his family had been camped out, the pan on the floor that Mary had hurled in frustration, the drawings that Samuel had done to pass away the hours. The bedroom door was wide open. He tip-toed slowly up the last of the stairs. There was no sound. He walked into the bedroom, not daring to open his eyes. When he plucked up the courage, he found Elizabeth lying in the middle of the bed surrounded by his children. There was not a sound or a breath or a heartbeat between them.
James lay on the bed alongside his family. He stretched his long arms around his children and his wife, pulled them in tightly together and closed his eyes once more.