The Turnkey of Highgate Cemetery Read online

  “I’m a little older now, Papa,” she said. “No, it’s about Viktor Brun.”

  A dark shadow instantly passed over her father’s face. “Viktor Brun? What about him?”

  “He’s now of the twilight, but he’s found a way to try to win the war by passing messages from the other side.”

  “Why does that not surprise me?” Her father harrumphed. “That odious man.”

  “I have to stop him,” Flossie continued. “I was thinking the more information I have the better, and I was hoping you might be able to tell me more about him. Does he have a particular weakness? Anything that would be useful for me to know? I remember you knew him from your university days.”

  “That’s right. From Oxford. You know, I detested him at the time, but the truth was we were very alike in many ways.”

  Flossie recalled the fear in the girl’s eyes at the Invalids’ Cemetery, Viktor Brun’s ranting and raving at Wewelsburg Castle. Surely Viktor Brun was nothing like her father.

  “You might think he’s not like me, but the fact of the matter is that he’s just a man, like all men. And just like me, his weak point will be easily located.”

  Flossie waited for her father to tell her the wise words that would help her defeat this man.

  He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. Flossie savored the moment. He moved back again and their similar eyes met.

  “His weak point, my darling, will be his family.”

  After her father’s departure, Flossie stood on the cliff top, the wind whipping around her. She tried to work out how her father’s advice might be useful, but couldn’t see a way. She didn’t know anything about Viktor Brun’s family. And even if she did, she couldn’t harm the living and didn’t want to anyway.

  Eventually, she returned to Highgate and her cottage. She ducked around the back of the cottage, trying her best not to be seen. She wasn’t fast enough, however.

  “I have been waiting for some time now!” Mrs. Gough’s voice rang out as Flossie closed the door behind her. Flossie then proceeded to do something she rarely did — she sent Mrs. Gough to rest by force. She simply couldn’t deal with her problems right now.

  Flossie plopped in one of the armchairs with a thump, her head falling into her hands. She was a terrible Turnkey and she felt useless. Powerless. What was she supposed to do? Sit and wait until Violet told her it was time to go to the rock formation? And then what? Wait again for Hugo Howsham to “help” her if he deigned to?

  No.

  It wasn’t good enough.

  She wasn’t good enough.

  Maybe this was the end for her. She couldn’t seem to sort this problem out. Perhaps it was time to ask another Turnkey to come forward. Someone older. An adult who could make better, wiser decisions.

  Despite the fact that she could no longer feel physical pain, simply the thought of giving up her role felt like a blow to her chest. She couldn’t bear to think about Highgate going on without her. Of another Turnkey in her cottage. Of Hazel taking another form. Of never seeing Ada or Violet again.

  Overwhelmed, she brought her hands up to her face.

  “Hazel!” she called out, lowering her hands. She didn’t want to, but she had to ask. She had to do the best by her interred.

  “Mistress Turnkey?” Hazel appeared before her.

  “I want to return to rest. No, that is, I don’t want to; I think I have to. I’m not sure I’m doing the right thing by Highgate. That I’m making the right decisions.”

  Hazel didn’t flinch. “You are the chosen Turnkey, Mistress.”

  “But . . .”

  “Highgate believes you are the correct person to lead us through this troubled time.”

  “I —” Flossie began to argue, then she stopped, because it was at that moment that she felt it. Them. All of them. All of her interred. “Oh!” she said, immediately exiting the cottage.

  She ran toward the low brick wall opposite the building, on the other side of the gravel path. She stepped upon it to get a better view.

  It was as she’d thought. As she’d felt. Every last one of them had stirred from rest and stood beside their graves. The usually silent, quiet, uninhabited cemetery was suddenly full to the brim, as more than 150,000 interred rose to attention. There was a sea of them — she had never seen such a crowd. Young and old, they wore shrouds and suits and dresses of different times and fashions.

  Flossie’s eyes scanned her interred for as far as she could see. Those who she couldn’t see she felt through her key, whose iron strength ran through her veins. Marigold, Hugh, Agnes, Ellen, Adeline, Francis, Mortimer, and Jane. Lydia, Edwin, Stephen, Ann, Caroline, Jacob, Harriet, and Abigail.

  Her twilight family.

  How they knew what she was feeling, she didn’t know. She could only think that after all these years she was as much a part of them as they were of her. The key and the earth they rested in connected them all. They and the cemetery were as one.

  They’d pulled themselves from their happy dreams to tell her they believed in her.

  Silently, Flossie thanked them for their support, touching her keyed hand to her heart. Then she asked everyone to return to rest. As they did, the most heavenly feeling washed through her, cleansing her troubled soul.

  How strange, she thought, to feel so lucky to be dead.

  And that was when the voice rang out, cutting through the silence.

  “Things might be difficult, my girl, but there’s still a queue to be seen to, you know!”

  Flossie laughed out loud as she swiveled around to find Mrs. Gough — the only person still awake and now standing in the queue beside her cottage. She took heart in the fact that at least some things could be counted on. Mrs. Gough would be in that queue until the end of time.

  With a shake of her head, Flossie jumped down off the brick wall. “Come on in, Mrs. Gough,” she said. “It just so happens I have some time up my sleeve.”

  With a huff, Mrs. Gough entered the cottage, her long white shroud swishing around her.

  Flossie rolled her eyes. The truth was, she wouldn’t have things any other way.

  Flossie’s chat with Mrs. Gough didn’t take anywhere near decades. When the old woman felt she was being listened to, she didn’t rant and rave for quite nearly as long as she usually did.

  No one left to see in the queue, Flossie stood from her armchair and went over to the cottage’s small window with its diamond-shaped panes, her eyes trained upon the cemetery gates, despite the fact that she knew she would sense Violet at the gates if she came.

  Hazel studied her closely from her spot upon the rug.

  “I do wish I could tell you more, Mistress Turnkey, but I cannot,” Hazel said simply.

  Flossie sighed. “I know, Hazel.” It hadn’t taken her long to cease being cross with Hazel. Hazel was only doing her duty as best as she was able, the same as Flossie. The Magnificent Seven would always have its mysterious ways, and they were both small cogs within its very large wheel. If Hazel couldn’t tell her what Hugo Howsham knew, it was for a good reason. “Apparently Hugo Howsham will help me when the time comes, though he won’t tell me how.”

  Hazel dipped her head. “He has always been a man of his word, Mistress Turnkey.”

  Flossie might not have liked Hugo Howsham, but what Hazel said was true. In the past, if Hugo Howsham had said he’d do something, he’d always done it. Without fail. Maybe he would help her destroy the skull after all. It was only that she felt so powerless. . . .

  Flossie looked out the window again. She was sick of waiting. “Hazel,” she said. “Let’s walk.”

  The pair exited the cottage and walked for some time in silence, Flossie leading them toward a place she often went when she needed to think. Her thinking spot within Highgate’s walls was the architectural highlight of the cemetery — the Egyptian Avenue.

  They soon veered left onto a wide, grand path. And there was ancient Egypt come to life before her: the huge pharaonic arch, flanked by two toweri
ng obelisks, the lotus flowers delicately supporting the four columns, two on either side of the entranceway.

  Even before death, Flossie had known that the Victorians had been obsessed with ancient Egypt. She was glad they had, because this, oh, this. It was beautiful. Beautiful and somehow perfect in its decaying, timeless grandeur.

  Flossie slipped inside the arch’s iron gates, Hazel following behind her. She proceeded along the path until she reached the Circle of Lebanon — a small inner circle of vaults encased by a larger outer ring of more vaults, a pathway in between.

  The structure had been cut out of higher ground, and on top of the inner circle of vaults remained what was left of the original mound. Here stood a magnificent cedar tree, tall and resplendent — its branches stretching out across the sea of vaults as if to shelter them. The tree was obviously hundreds of years old. Far older than the cemetery itself. It had seen everything and would see more after she was gone.

  Her eyes on the ancient tree, Flossie felt much more calm. Almost as if whatever was about to happen were her fate. Just as it had been her fate to be Turnkey here.

  Or maybe she was simply in the eye of the storm.

  “Hazel, I . . .” Flossie began, but then her key rattled upon its iron ring in her hand. “It’s time.”

  Violet stood at the smaller gates for the dead, clasping two of the iron bars. Her long wavy hair fell over one shoulder, cascading down her dress as her large eyes peered in, waiting for Flossie to appear. Several paces behind her stood her brother, with his usual solemn expression.

  But there was something wrong.

  “It’s time to go,” Violet said, her voice flat.

  “And you’re not coming with me,” Flossie replied. She could see it on Violet’s face, plain as day. Hugo Howsham had forbidden Violet from going with them to Germany.

  Flossie’s jaw clenched. It was unbelievable. For years he had done nothing but prattle on about how Flossie wasn’t up to caring for a cemetery such as Highgate, and the very second both their cemeteries were in danger, he stopped her in her tracks by holding back information and his sister’s help!

  None of this was Violet’s fault. “It’s all right, Violet,” she told her, trying to remain calm.

  “It’s not all right!” Violet said. “I can help you both; I’m sure of it!”

  Hugo Howsham didn’t meet his sister’s eyes. “Miss Birdwhistle must go alone.”

  “What?” Flossie and Violet blurted out at the same time.

  “You’re not going with Flossie?”

  “No.” This was, again, Hugo Howsham’s only answer.

  “Hugo!” Violet screamed at her brother, her hands grasping at him.

  He disentangled Violet’s hands from his, holding them firmly, his eyes on Flossie. “It’s as I told you previously. When the time comes, I will help you, if required. This is all you need to know.”

  Flossie had heard enough. She bent beside Hazel, their eyes meeting, needing no words. Then she stood and unlocked the gates of the dead.

  Violet spoke quickly. “They’ll place the skull on a special altar,” she told Flossie. “It’s up high and not far at all from the edge of the rock formation. You won’t need to move the skull much. You’ll just need to tip it over the side into the void.” She reached through the bars and took Flossie’s hand. “You can do this. I know you can.”

  “I will. Somehow.”

  Hugo Howsham took his sister’s arm firmly, and the pair disappeared from sight.

  Flossie knew she needed to keep moving. Before she lost her courage.

  Hazel held her dignified face high. “I will await your swift return, Mistress Turnkey.”

  Flossie found she couldn’t reply. She locked the gates to the cemetery. Her cemetery. And as she closed her eyes, she tuned in to her interred. Her interred, all at rest, who were waiting patiently for her to come back.

  It was midflight that she changed direction. Flossie wasn’t entirely sure why she did it. She had never changed direction before — thought of one place, then another. It was as if someone had called out to her, beckoned her. So she thought not of a place, but of the voice. When her eyes flickered open, she wasn’t entirely sure what she would find.

  It had worked. She was standing outside the Invalids’ Cemetery once more.

  And there was the girl with the two long blond braids standing at the gate.

  “You heard me,” the girl said, relieved.

  Flossie was surprised. How had the girl made herself heard? And what had happened to her? Because it was almost as if a different girl stood in front of Flossie now; this girl wasn’t nervous or scared. She wasn’t about to run away the moment Flossie spoke. She had somehow grown up overnight, from a child into a young woman.

  “I must speak with you,” the girl said. “The Ahnenerbe — they’ve found a way to get more information out of the skull, a way to concentrate the power. The connection between the skulls in the two worlds must be severed.”

  Flossie moved closer to the cemetery gates. “Yes, I know, but —”

  “There’s no time to explain,” the girl said, cutting her off. “Let’s go.” She passed straight through the cemetery gates.

  Flossie gasped. “How did you do that?” It shouldn’t have been possible. The interred couldn’t pass through their cemetery’s gates without a Turnkey’s assistance. And it wasn’t that the gates had been left unlocked. The girl hadn’t even used the gates.

  It didn’t make sense at all.

  Flossie shook her head, flabbergasted. “What . . . ? How . . . ? Wait . . .” She thought of something and immediately held out a hand as if to stop the girl. “If you can do that, can you also move objects? In the living world?” Maybe she didn’t need to rely on Hugo Howsham’s help after all. Maybe the girl was the key to all of this.

  “Yes,” she replied. “I can, but now we must go. There’s no time. We must go now, before it’s too late. Come! We need to go to Wewelsburg Castle.”

  Flossie thought of the stone bridge.

  She had expected to be greeted by the dark, foreboding castle that leaked centuries of dread and misery but was actually dropped into a scene of confusion in the interior of the castle. The girl pulled her back sharply to stand out of the way, in front of a large painting. Seconds later, several uniformed men passed by, deep in discussion in German. Viktor Brun wasn’t one of their group, though the spiritualist was.

  “You changed the destination I was thinking of. How did you do that?” It seemed the further Flossie got into this situation, the less she understood about what was going on. Was there nothing this girl couldn’t do?

  “We have to follow them. They were talking about what’s going on downstairs, in the Hall of the Dead,” the girl replied, ignoring Flossie’s question, her eyes not budging from the doorway. “Come on.”

  Flossie was going to ask another question and tell her she’d visited here before, but it was too late. The girl had already started off. Talking would have to wait until later.

  Just as she’d done with Violet, Flossie followed the officers downstairs. She and the girl trailed them at a distance until, once again, they came to stand in the shadows at the bottom of that set of steep stone steps with its iron handrail.

  As before, the flame was alight in the middle of the twelve stone plinths. This time the crystal skull stood at the ready, its velvet bag tossed to one side. Behind it stood Viktor Brun, holding his twilight skull. He glared angrily at the spiritualist, who was talking to some of the other officers, unaware of his presence. It was obvious that his gift for sensing the twilight world wasn’t strong. Certainly not strong enough to appease the demanding Viktor Brun — that was for sure.

  A cloud must have shifted, because moonlight began to stream through the dome’s angled windows, a beam hitting the crystal skull. Flossie drew back, shocked by the light that burst from it, filling the room.

  The spiritualist shouted out in German, realizing that Viktor Brun was now present.
<
br />   Everyone moved into place then —Viktor Brun lunged forward, the spiritualist knelt on the floor, his hands darting out to the skull, and another officer stood with his notebook at the ready.

  Flossie expected the information to come haltingly, as it had before.

  It didn’t.

  With a jolt, the spiritualist began to speak, much faster than last time, the officer taking down more notes than he previously had. Flossie watched as information was leaked from the crystal skull. Every so often, she heard a word or two that scared her to her very core. Cambridge. Bath. Dover. On and on it went as her fist clenched ever tighter around her iron ring. The words came faster and faster until she doubted how much more she could listen to before she must do something to stop them.

  Then, just when she thought she could bear it no longer, the clouds moved again, the beam of moonlight disappeared, and the spiritualist ceased speaking.

  “Nein!” Viktor Brun cried out, but only Flossie and the girl could hear him.

  The spiritualist rose from in front of the plinth, seeming drained. The other officers crowded around him and a heated discussion ensued.

  “What are they talking about?” Flossie asked.

  “Some of them want to stay here, and some of them want to go to the nearby rock formation. The Externsteine. Do you know what that is?”

  “Yes. A friend told me that might be their plan: to use the site along with the full moon to make a stronger connection between the worlds of the living and the dead. She said it would be a good place to destroy the skull. That they’d place it on an altar high up, and it would just need one good push.”

  “A very good idea,” the girl replied, then she caught something that was being said inside the room. “Wait. They have decided. They will stay here a little longer. Until the moon reaches the full height needed for the best connection between the skulls.” She gestured back up the stairs. “Come, we will wait upstairs.”

  At the top of the stairs, the girl moved to her right and sat down upon the stone floor, her legs tucked under her.