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Thomson pointed at one of the caskets wordlessly.

Then Liz saw it: the lid was moving. It was being shifted from within.

Liz whispered an equal amount of oaths and prayers.

Once there was sufficient room, a figure sat bolt upright, like a vampire rising to life in a coffin. He turned to face the three open-mouthed onlookers, pale but obviously unharmed.

It was Dr Smith.

‘Goodness, what a noise!’ he exclaimed brightly. ‘How is anyone expected to sleep through all this racket?’

209

Twenty-four

This is the Way the World Ends

(The Tooth)

Extract from the Diary of Dr Thomas Christie Tuesday 3rd May 1904

Today I returned to Mausolus House for the first time since those terrible events of Christmas. Much has changed in my absence – and much has not.

It was immediately obvious that a great deal of money had been spent on renovating and improving the fabric of the building. All structural damage caused by the conflagration had been put right. In addition, there was much evidence of fresh paint and new plaster. Indeed, I believe in terms of cleanliness that Mausolus now outstrips even the building as it was when I was in charge of it. One could scarce imagine that this was the very place where so many had lost their lives (though I must always remind myself that many more would have died in the flames were it not for the bravery of a variety of folk, and the prompt arrival of the fire engine).

And yet one does not have to walk the corridors of Mausolus long to realise that these cosmetic exercises cannot fundamentally change the character of the building. It is only now that I realise how much more positive I have felt since being away from it – and how quickly the place sought to bring down my spirits. Even without patients, without nurses and orderlies, one cannot escape the impression that this is a building that, over the centuries, has gorged itself on sickness and decay. Even the hearty, vulgar shouts of the workmen, the insistent noise of their tools, could not entirely shift this feeling from my mind.

I am not sure what will happen to Mausolus – discussions continue with relentless constancy – but my thoughts on the matter are long now a matter of public record. It is not right to say, as some have done, that I am motivated out of some sentimental attachment to the memories of those who perished in the fire; nor do I have a proprietorial arrogance that leads me to suggest that no one else could manage Mausolus as well as I attempted to do. I simply feel that it would be right and proper for a new use to be found for this great 211

building; one that could, I hope, redeem something of its past misfortunes. I have attempted to make ‘a fresh start’ in my own life; it seems to me to be right and proper that Mausolus itself does the same.

I was shown around the building by a representative of the Thorne family as though I was unfamiliar with the geography of the place. I was impatient to be on my own, and as we approached the chapel I indicated that I would like to pay my respects to those that died in the fire (claptrap, of course, but I really did not feel like explaining my every reaction and motive to so complete a stranger).

Thus I found myself alone in the chapel, now restored to its former function and simple grandeur, wondering what had possessed me all those months ago, and agonising how close I came to complete dissolution. I was deceived, I suppose, into trying to execute a plan based in madness, but with good intent: I wanted to destroy the evil that had lodged in Mausolus. I do not suppose any of us like to feel that they have the potential for such lunacy, for such evil –

I imagine the crowds that bellow at murderers as they are led to the gallows are not so much driven by hatred but out of a sense of relief that it is not them that have passed the thin dividing line between good and ill. Perhaps they are more honest than those of us in civilised society who feel ourselves somehow