The Death Chamber by Sarah Rayne Read Free Book Online Page A

porridge and little squinty eyes like a pig, but the other was a
lady, with fair hair and a face that slanted upwards like one of the pictures in
Peter Pan
, which was Walter’s most favourite book in the world. He had not expected to find a naughty
fairy like Tinkerbell in this bad-smelling place, and he had wanted to go on looking at her. He had not done so because it was rude to stare at people.
    ‘It’s all right,’ said Walter’s father. ‘They hear everything I say. These two – or two like them are with me all the time.’ He paused, and then said
softly, ‘It’s to make sure I don’t die too early. Death watch, they call it.’
    At this, Walter’s mother pressed her handkerchief to her lips as if she might be sick which worried Walter greatly. She said, ‘The money – I don’t want the money. Every
time I used it I should see the drowned faces of all those young men you betrayed.’
    ‘That’s being melodramatic. See now—’
    ‘It’s the money they gave you for what you did, isn’t it?’
    There was a pause then he said, ‘It is not,’ but Walter knew from his voice his father was lying.
    Walter’s mother knew as well. She said, ‘It’s tainted. I’d rather give it away.’
    ‘Then give it to Walter. Let it help him when he needs it – sometime in the future.’ He made an impatient gesture, and said, ‘I never wanted paying, you know. I believed
in what I did – I thought I was serving a cause.’ A brief shrug. ‘All wrong, of course. I was angry with the British – you never saw what they did in Ireland, did you? And
we had a dream – Irish Independence.’ He frowned, and then said, ‘Remember, Walter, that it’s a marvellous thing to have a dream, an ideal. But you have to make sure
it’s the right dream.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ mumbled Walter, who had no idea what they were talking about but was trying to store the words in his mind. He thought one day he might understand; so it was important to
remember as much as he could.
    ‘I had the wrong dream, you see. Dying in a war – for a cause you believe in – that’s romantic. It’s very nearly noble. But if it turns to hatred, that’s a
bad thing.
    ‘The Easter Rising was meant to achieve so much. But it achieved nothing except failure. Dublin fell, and they executed the rebels in Kilmainham Gaol . . . De Valera’s in gaol, and
the sovereignty they promised Ireland isn’t likely to happen – remember I said that, will you? We all expected to die,’ he said. ‘Patrick Pearse, Michael Collins and all the
rest. Everyone who signed the Proclamation of an Irish Republic knew there was about a thousand to one chance of surviving.’ He blinked, and then seemed to realize where he was. ‘But I
never expected to die like this, in a squalid death cell, counting the hours away until the day after tomorrow.’ A look passed between them at that point; as if, Walter thought, they had
clasped their hands together. ‘You know it will happen the day after tomorrow?’
    ‘Yes. Sir Lewis Caradoc told me.’
    ‘Eight o’clock,’ said Walter’s father. ‘I understand they’re always punctual. They’ve got extra guards on, I think.’
    ‘In case you fight to get free?’ It came out on another of the stifled sobs.
    ‘I shan’t fight my love. But they’re worried in case a rescue’s tried.’
    ‘Will it be?’
    ‘I don’t think so. No. You mustn’t even think it.’ He looked back at Walter. ‘Walter, there’s a piece of writing I want you to have. Part of a poem. You
won’t understand it now, but one day – perhaps when you’re that doctor you’d like to be and you’re helping to make people better – then you will understand
it.’ He held a sheet of paper up for the two people at the door to see, and the mischievous-fairy lady nodded, and he said, ‘Thank you, Belinda,’ and gave it to Walter.
    Walter was not sure if he was meant to read it at once, and when he looked at the words, he did not