Accursed Abbey: A Steamy Regency Gothic Romance (Nobles & Necromancy Book 1)

by Tessa Candle

  Giuseppe waggled his head. “I think it is fair to call him determined, but that does not preclude his also being mad. I suppose monks, who dedicate their whole lives to activities derided as tedious and bizarre by the laity, have a slightly different perspective. But this is all semantics. Martinus said that Orefados studied among the various nomadic shamans of Araby for five years. Before that he spent a vast deal of time studying in Persia, India, Greece, and even in the Baltic lands. He may be a lunatic, but he is a committed one, and very learned about the various permutations of his craft, it would seem.”

  “If by his craft you mean magic, I shall consider it an indication that he is prone to waste his life on idle foolery. But you say a vast deal of time. How old do you imagine him to be?”

  “I cannot say. Martinus thought him to be ancient, perhaps hundreds of years old. But, unlike you, Martinus believed in magic.” The monk's face looked pained. “I imagine he still does, if he remains alive after a fashion, as you say he does, milord.”

  “His present circumstances must have curtailed his love for the arcane arts, at least a little, I should think.” He felt Elizabeth shudder beside him, but she remained silent, listening intently to their exchange.

  “You propose that his being trapped in a looking glass should have taught him to hate magic, when it has not taught you to believe in it?” The monk tilted his head philosophically. “Yes, I see. That sounds about right.”

  “I suppose you will tell me it is because I am English,” Canterbourne scoffed.

  “We southern folk are more prone to lend credence to powers and occurrences we cannot explain, it is true. But we are not less prone to deceive ourselves for our own comfort. You doubt the efficacy of magic because you are English. You avoid analysing your own internal inconsistency, because you are human.” His wrinkled face grinned wickedly, but he added the concession, “Milord.”

  Canterbourne laughed in exasperation, then turned to Elizabeth. “Do you believe in magic?”

  He regretted the lightness with which he approached the subject, when he saw the look of fearful consternation on her face.

  “I wish that I did not.” Her face was earnest as she made this simple statement, and she appeared thoughtful for a moment. “But after everything that has transpired since I came to Melonia, I fear that I do. And even before we came to this place—that is to say, do you not think the circumstances of our coming here are odd? Almost as though they were pre-ordained?”

  “Perhaps God brought you together.” Giuseppe’s mocking smile had a sad little twist to it, and his eyes betrayed a hope his words were true.

  “I believe we were meant to meet.” Canterbourne’s rational conviction was failing him.

  “And is that not a sort of magic?” asked Elizabeth.

  “If it is, then it is the sort of magic I believe in.” Canterbourne resisted the urge to kiss the troubled look off of her face.

  “I only hope,” she said, “that I am not merely the means Orefados has devised of keeping you here long enough to ensnare you.”

  “Of course you are not.” Canterbourne tried to laugh off the sombre mood, but it was a thought he had entertained himself, at least once. And yet he did not care. Whatever nefarious plots Orefados might have devised, Canterbourne's love for Elizabeth was transcendent. They would defeat the madman's plans and prove their love was its own kind of magic, far superior to any of his nasty rituals.

  The carriage slowed, and Canterbourne sobered. They disembarked, and he instructed Tonner to turn the carriage round and wait, as much out of sight as possible, for their return. Then they proceeded on foot, staying outside of the view of the manor by making their way slowly through the thick brush of the forest.

  Executing the rescue plan would be dangerous. He wished, not for the last time, that he could leave Elizabeth somewhere safe. But if Miss Berger could be plucked from a cloister without anyone seeing anything, there was no safe place to hide Elizabeth. He had to keep her near him and protect her himself.

  Chapter 48

  Elizabeth's skin crawled to be returning to Lord Orefados' lair. As they crept in silence through the bushes skirting the edge of the road, she wondered how her young friend was faring.

  Was Lenore frightened? Of course she was. The poor girl almost lost her wits the last time she had been subjected to Orefados' bizarre effrontery. Mill told Elizabeth that the twisted man had tried to make Lenore take a corrupted sacrament, whatever that was, and Lenore had refused, so Orefados forced her.

  Knowing how deeply religious the young girl was, Elizabeth could only imagine the horrifying effect such a blasphemy must have had. What else might he force upon her? From everything Giuseppe had said, Orefados had some sort of occult wedding in mind. She shuddered.

  Surely the man would have taken Lenore back to that decaying, accursed abbey. It seemed to be the centre of all his weird schemes. But how could they reach the abbey without wandering through the maze of Orefados' manor, where they would surely be detected? They would have to find a way.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a signal from Mill. They were past the stables and outbuildings where servants might perceive them. They might now risk walking across the drive to the manor. But what then?

  The three of them gathered together, and Silverloo sat looking up at them, as if in on the plan.

  Canterbourne spoke in a low voice. “If we leave the bushes now, we may be visible to any spyholes from the manor, but at least there are no servants around outside.”

  “I think we must.” Elizabeth shrugged. “How else can we hunt for an entry?”

  “Yes, and the bushes are thinning here anyway,” concurred Giuseppe. “And the hard ascent up the mountain face is beginning. I do not have the vision that you youngsters have. Can you see any entryway, aside from that giant brute of a door?”

  Canterbourne and Elizabeth strained their eyes, but soon gave up.

  “I see nothing.” Canterbourne was disappointed.

  “Nor I,” added Elizabeth.

  “I hope we shall not be forced to break the door in.” Canterbourne did not sound terribly optimistic about their chances against the stalwart portal. And he had no hope at all that it would be left conveniently unlocked as it had been the last time.

  “I believe that might cost us the element of surprise.” Giuseppe raised a brow.

  Silverloo only huffed at them, then dashed off into the drive, crossing over to a rosebush that stood where the wall of the manor joined into the rock face of the mountain.

  Elizabeth whisper-yelled after him, “Silverloo!”

  The little dog only paused to cast a meaningful glance over his shoulder at them, then disappeared behind the flowering shrub.

  Canterbourne laughed and shook his head. “Elizabeth, I love you to the point of distraction, but I confess, I might love Silverloo almost as much. The little knight wants to lead us into battle.”

  “I am too worried about him to appreciate such romantic utterances,” she replied pertly, but a smile played across her lips.

  Canterbourne gave her a look like he wanted to kiss her, but he instead led the way out of the bushes to cross the drive and follow after Silverloo.

  When they inspected the unassuming looking rosebush, they discovered that it hid a small tunnel about halfway up the wall, out of which poked Silverloo's furry face.

  “Silverloo, you are brilliant!” Canterbourne scratched the dog’s ears. “You have found a way in! Though it is easier passage for you than for us, I am afraid.”

  “It is fortunate,” said Giuseppe, “that none of us is of a portly build. Still, I do not relish losing what little flesh I have to that thorny hedge. Those roses are giving me a look that the Greeks call Vaskania and the Moors Isabat al-’ayn. The evil eye. It chills the blood.”

  “The superstition of you southern types never ceases. I suppose I should not be surprised that it extends even to God's representatives.” Canterbourne unsheathed his sword. “What if we give yo
ur evil-eyed bush a bit of a prune?”

  “I do not think that is quite the weapon for this particular foe.” Giuseppe tilted his head sceptically, then shrugged. “But we use what God has given us. Being of a monastic calling, I am not a man of violence. However, as the priests of old blessed the crusading knights, I shall give you a benediction.” He made a cross in the air in front of Canterbourne's head and shoulders, then gave him a grin that belied his sombre pretence. “And I shall keep watch, while milord converts these wicked blooms to the true faith.”

  It took him the better part of twenty minutes to hack, break, bend, and otherwise worry the bush so that the top part only dangled by some bark. He was glad for his gloves, but did not doubt that, though the rose bush finally conceded, it had scored more points in the match.

  “This should be sufficient.” Canterbourne pulled a thorn out of his forearm. “But remind me never to take up gardening.”

  Canterbourne hoisted Giuseppe into the hole and climbed in himself, pulling Elizabeth up behind him. She straightened the top of the bush, so that their entry would not be immediately obvious to any passers-by.

  Silverloo, who had waited for them, now gave a little yip of impatience. They proceeded to crawl, blind in the utter darkness, through the tunnel behind the brave dog.

  Chapter 49

  Elizabeth struggled with her sense of panic at crawling along such a filthy little enclosed space. The beginnings of an incline made their slow progress that much more taxing. She panted for breath, taking the spores of forgotten centuries into her straining lungs.

  She had not thought of how unpleasant the tunnel would be before she permitted herself to be hoisted up. Her skin crawled to be creeping through the dust and skeletal remains of insects, breathing the stale air and never knowing how long the passage was, or what might be at its termination.

  In fact, none of them even knew that this little worm hole in the mountainside did not come to a dead end. As much as proceeding forward was unpleasant, it possessed the single charm of being some sort of progress. Moving out backward would be equally unpleasant, but with the added salt of utter defeat rubbed into the wound of indignity.

  She shook her head and chided herself. She must not so childishly think of her own dignity and comfort, when her desperate friend was somewhere nearby in Orefados' evil grasp, suffering who knew what affronts and degradations—not only to her dignity, but to her very life and soul. And poor Lenore was alone except for the intolerable company of that fiend.

  Her thoughts continued upon such bitter lines until, without warning, the backside of Canterbourne paused, and she almost crawled face first into its firm contours. She did not have time to indulge the line of thought this inspired, however, for she suddenly became aware of a voice ahead of them.

  No one needed reminding to be silent. They all froze to listen, but the words were too quiet to hear. They crept a little closer, a little closer, and came around a corner. A faint light began to penetrate the shaft in front of them and grew brighter as they proceeded, but never exceeded a dim glow.

  The voice was discernible now. It was, unsurprisingly, Orefados, speaking some inscrutable foreign tongue, babbling off another one of his unending incantations. Elizabeth could not dismiss it as laughable foolery, however, as much as she wanted to.

  Then another voice joined him. Youthful, pure and lyrical, it was singularly juxtaposed against the foetid, rotting sound of the words it uttered. Elizabeth swallowed. It was Lenore's voice. A little tingle of fear ran through the erect hairs on Elizabeth’s arms, as she stifled a cry of shock and dismay.

  Her mind denied what she heard. He could not have corrupted her—not sweet, good, plain-hearted Lenore. Impossible! It must be some trick. It was infuriating to be stuck in this tiny, nasty tunnel, when they should be rushing forward and rescuing her friend.

  Mill turned his head to whisper to her over his shoulder. “I have spoken with Giuseppe. He says that Orefados is speaking some strange jumble of ancient languages, but that he can understand some part of it, and that it sounds as though they are still preparing somehow. He believes that the wedding ritual, whatever that might entail, has not yet started.”

  That was some hope, at least, but Elizabeth was still puzzled. “But can you not hear that Lenore is speaking that strange tongue, too? How can that be?”

  Mill sighed. “I do not know. We shall know more when we go inside. It will be best if we creep in quietly. I want to move up to the mouth of the tunnel, to see what I can see. We shall have to be silent. So before we go on, I wanted to tell you that I love you.”

  She could not help grinning at him, though she knew he could not see her face. “And I love you, my knight in shining armour.”

  “And speaking of that. When Giuseppe and I go in, I want you to remain behind in the tunnel. You will be safer.”

  “I am not waiting behind while you and Lenore and probably Silverloo are all in danger. Do not ask it of me.”

  “I do ask it of you. Only think, if I have to protect you, I will not be able to give my full attention to rescuing Lenore.”

  “You just focus on giving Orefados a fencing lesson, and leave it to me to get Lenore out. You need the extra hands, admit it.”

  This first lovers' quarrel was disrupted by Giuseppe, who shushed them. “He is about to summon a priest. It must be Martinus, surely!”

  They all began to crawl forward in the tunnel for a better look.

  Elizabeth crept onward in her turn, but could not see anything. If they were going to save Lenore, they had better get on with it. She was certainly not staying in the nasty tunnel longer than she had to.

  Then suddenly the crawling stopped, and Giuseppe and Mill slithered out onto the floor of the room in front of her. A waft of smoky air assaulted her nostrils. She could see in the gloom that the tunnel exited almost level with the floor.

  But a full view of the space was blocked by some item of furniture. As she examined it, she surmised that it might be the mirror that Mill spoke of. It was a nasty looking thing, with a bony frame and some sort of tanned skin stretched over the back and stitched together in a seam down the middle. This gave the overall effect of on old surgical incision, with the stitches growing into the resulting scab.

  She roused herself and peeked under this unnerving artefact in search of Lenore. She realized that they were enclosed in a smaller enclave within the chamber, with a yellow curtain drawn to one side at the entrance. All Elizabeth could see in the room beyond were Orefados' feet below the ragged hem of his scarlet robe, clad in what looked like filthy Persian slippers with a bit of pointed horn affixed to the toes.

  The mad mage stood not far from the enclave. Elizabeth saw Mill's gaze seeking out Orefados' location. He stood up, his form blocked from Orefados' view by the mirror, and began to move sideways against the wall, squeezing past the mirror to gain access to the main chamber. Elizabeth's heart pounded. What would she do if something happened to him?

  Just then the recitation stopped, and the only sound was Lenore whispering eerily in some mouldering old language. The sound was so intimate and at the same time so estranged. It raised goose flesh all over Elizabeth's body.

  Orefados spoke in English, “I see the guests of honour have arrived.”

  The mirror slid to the side by some unseen means, leaving them all suddenly exposed to the gaze of Orefados, as he cast a handful of twigs onto a brazier and the smoke rose up.

  He had put aside his usual saffron robe for one all in red. A matching scarlet fez hid his black and silver hair from view. His face was smeared with streaks of brown sludge and ashes. Instead of his bejewelled staff, he held the bone sabre she had seen before, in her first captivity.

  Orefados stared straight at Elizabeth. “The virgin mother is yet to be born and lies poised in the immaculate channel of her subterranean birth.” Elizabeth realized she was still half deposited in the tunnel, her head jutting out stupidly. She squirmed out to the floor and stood.

&
nbsp; “And at last, she is born!” exclaimed the madman. The eerie trill of a kaval flute sounded in the room, without any visible source, as though a passing shepherd were sending a signal to echo in the mountains.

  Elizabeth assumed Orefados was speaking, in this disturbing metaphor, of her entry into the chamber. It suggested, unnervingly, that he had somehow planned that they should come through the tunnel, that it was all part of the ritual.

  A sound like hundreds of sighs and whispered laughter filled the room. Elizabeth look around for the source. In one dim corner stood Mrs. Grissoni, from which the sounds seemed to emanate.

  Elizabeth looked about for Lenore. She spied from the corner of her eye, Mill edging toward the mage, sword drawn. She swallowed, but tore her gaze away. She had to find Lenore so they could get away from this horrid place and never come back.

  The room had shadowy ellipses where it seemed to disappear entirely, as though what was not visible slipped into another realm. She suddenly caught sight of flaxen hair dangling down from above. Lenore was hanging upside down from some sort of scaffold.

  The girl's eyes were glassy and the skirt of the tunic they had dressed her in fell down, leaving her lower body shamefully exposed. Elizabeth stepped forward in dismay, thinking her friend might be dead. But then Lenore’s voice resumed the strange incantation. If she were dead, how was her voice audible in the room?

  But Lenore's lips were not moving. Elizabeth looked around and realized that the voice of Lenore was coming from Mrs. Grissoni's lips. There was something very wrong. An inkling formed in Elizabeth's mind that the moral assault she had feared her friend might suffer was a mere shadow of the greater force of evil at work in this place. They all had to leave. It had been foolishness even to come.