Nothing must be allowed to happen to him! He would never forgive himself if it did. Therefore he must take extreme precautions. Even if it meant they had to leave this accursed house empty-handed.
Hyacinth and his safety were the highest priority.
“Don’t you want to come in, Sir?” the lad suddenly urged him, having sneaked inside first, standing in a dismal anteroom, diverting him from his thoughts.
Vrila quickly followed his spouse and pushed himself in front of his slender body to protect him from whatever might lurk in the shadows.
*
Without a sound they crept along the corridors until they reached a staircase. How did Gavrila know exactly where they had to go? Or was he only following his instincts? In which case, Hyacinth could only hope they were more pronounced than the tactfulness he barley possessed, this crude man with the face of a raptor. To hell with him! Hyacinth apologised, and this old vulture had nothing better to do than reject it! He felt like punching the man’s all-too-elongated nose!
Struggling to keep his composure, Hyacinth flexed his jaw. With his next step, the wood creaked beneath him. He held his breath as his pulse quickened.
Vrila stopped and cast him a narrow glance. As if he, Hyacinth, had done that on purpose, damn him! He glared back in anger and didn’t allow himself to be irritated by the piercing, dark eyes trying to intimidate him.
Listening into the blackness, they waited for a while before continuing on. None of the servants had heard them. Nothing stirred in the house.
The walls, all of them wood panelled, were decorated with hideous pictures nearly as ugly as Gavrila.
Hyacinth blinked a few times and pursed his lips. He rebuked himself for the bitterly angry thoughts to which his rage had driven him. Why was he so terribly enraged? He really didn’t know.
Vrila looked around the upper floor and stopped in front of a wide door with two panels. It was somewhat more elaborately adorned than any of the others.
He cautiously opened it, and Hyacinth followed him into the room. It was expansive, appearing to be a study. A large desk stood in front of high windows draped with velvet curtains.
While his husband searched through the drawers of the desk, Hyacinth scanned the bookshelves.
Gavrila had asked if he had forgiven him. Why was he concerned about that? He was far from sorry for having beaten him, otherwise he would have asked for forgiveness. Or maybe not?
With a hand on the spine of a book, he turned to Vrila. As far as he could tell in the darkness, his long hair fell dishevelled across his face and his facial lines looked like stone. Hyacinths chest constricted, and he turned away to take a deep breath.
Whatever were they looking for? He didn’t know and couldn’t risk asking. It wouldn’t be smart to raise his voice. After all, they didn’t want to attract attention.
In awe he caressed the works enveloped in expensive leather bindings and pricked his ears when something went ‘Click.’ The shelf moved back a few centimetres. He pushed it open and a narrow passageway stretched before him.
A glance over his shoulder assured him Vrila had noticed his findings. Without waiting for him, Hyacinth began to explore the hidden passage. A few moments later, his husband was close behind. Apparently he wanted to push past him, to act as if he had made the discovery. That way he could avoid the plight of having to praise him for anything.
Suddenly he heard a strange clank of metal and wood, lost his footing and cried out. The floor under him opened up. He sensed the fall and closed his eyes as he grasped into thin air for something to hold on to.
An arm grabbed him around the chest and kept him from falling.
Breathing heavily, he dared to look down. His legs were dangling in the air over a wide-open trap door. The hole was not all too deep, but at the bottom he saw the glittering metal of pointed stakes which would have skewed him without mercy. He gasped quietly.
A second arm wrapped protectively across his upper body.
Vrila heaved him back up, and he sank with his back against his husband’s chilly torso which was only slightly longer than his.
The realisation of how pleasantly Vrila embraced him became apparent despite his fright. His arms enfolded him so as to cover as much of him as possible. He wondered if Vrila would hereafter continue to wrap his arms around him in this way, if he did so at all, or whether he were only holding on like that to keep him from falling.
“Yes,” Hyacinth whispered involuntarily. “Yes, I have forgiven you. When you came home and saw the mess that I’d made trying to cook.” He had to swallow before he could continue. “You didn’t punish me but prepared food. Your thoughtfulness made me forget the beating.” The nearly invisible smile and the strange gaze shortly thereafter had done the rest.
“You are too good-natured for me,” Vrila said in a gravelly voice. It didn’t sound mocking at all, rather completely earnest. His hot breath blew against Hyacinth’s cheek, making him shudder languorously.
“Don’t complain about something of benefit to you.” When the thin tip of a nose quickly and probably without intention touched the back of his head, he had to smile.
“I cannot approve of anything which is not beneficial to you. You must be more severe with me. Do you hear?” Now Vrila sounded almost in despair and his hold became firmer. Not even a sheet of paper could have passed between them, and it… pleased him.
He replied with a slightly perceptible moan and placed his hands on Vrila’s slender but surprisingly strong arms. Did his husband just ask to be guided by him? This unusual question was supplanted by another one: Had Vrila kept him from falling, using only one arm? Yes, he had actually done so.
“You’re…” With an effort Hyacinth suppressed the ‘much stronger than you look’.
“What? Say it,” his husband demanded in a depressed, almost suffering tone as if anticipating an insult.
“I didn’t want to say anything offensive.”
“You can feel free to say anything offensive to me. I will never lay a hand on you again. No matter what you do.”
A significant promise which was capable of reaching into his soul. He had no doubt that Vrila would keep it.
Much to his regret, Vrila released him and pushed in front. With a broad stride, he climbed over the trap door and extended a hand. Hyacinth took it, allowing himself to be helped. His attempt to force Gavrila to look at him remained unsuccessful, since the man quite consciously turned from him. As if he didn’t want Hyacinth to see his face. What might he read in his expression?
In silence and even more cautiously than before, they wandered along the corridor which would lead them to a secret place. Ferdill set great store by keeping this hidden from the world. The trap door which might have killed him made one all too aware of that.
The wood under their feet didn’t creak which led him to assume the floor had been laid with some kind of sound-proof material. It likely absorbed or blocked all noises and prevented any ears outside from hearing them.
Hyacinth felt a tinge of fear when he imagined what they might find at the end of the passageway. Of the passageway where they could speak undisturbed since no one could hear them. After clearing his throat he risked asking a question which had been on his mind for quite some time: “Howard said, Hathaway sees our marriage as an ‘affront against his person.’ Did you marry me for that reason? To insult him?”
“My decision to marry you had nothing to do with Frank Hathaway.”
Well, that was indeed an answer – one which gave him a sense of relief – but still not an explanation for why Hyacinth now had the name Ardenovic.
“Then, what did the decision have to do with?”
“Didn’t you need my help?”
“You know I needed it,” he replied in a raspy voice and tried to suppress the memory of that evening. He wanted to forget it – just like his ill-bred parents who cared nothing about him. “However, and you must excuse my honesty, you hardly give me the impression of being a be
nefactor who wed me for purely selfless reasons.”
“We should delay this conversation until another time,” Vrila murmured and opened a narrow, unlocked door.
“Until when?”
“I don’t know, Hyacinth,” was the biting response. “The best would be sometime in the future which will never happen.”
Why in hell didn’t Vrila want to discuss this with him? Didn’t he have a right to know why this man could now determine his life in his father’s stead? No, obviously they were of differing opinions on this point as well, and they appeared irreconcilable. He dropped the subject with an imperceptible sigh because he was familiar with his husband’s stubbornness. If Vrila didn’t want to talk, he’d also have nothing more to say.
They entered a darkened room, an exact but smaller replica of Ferdill’s study. It just appeared more mysterious. Which could be explained by it being a room that could only be reached by way of a secret passageway with a trap door, as he ironically noted in his thoughts.
He took a deep breath as he followed Vrila to the desk. “Thanks,” he whispered and touched his spouse’s upper arm to gain his attention – which he would certainly have done even without that contact. So why had he reached out to him with his fingers?
A fleeting glance met his before his husband stooped to concentrate on the drawers. “What for?”
“You saved my life again.”
Silence reigned for some time, and he no longer expected a reply when he suddenly received one anyhow. “Glad to do it.”
Almost simultaneously they both cleared their throats then Hyacinth also dropped to his knees.
“Are you going to tell me what we’re looking for so I can help you?”
Gavrila, clutching a heavy book in his hands, shook his head. “You don’t need to help me. We have already found what we’re looking for.” The man appeared to be well-versed in entering unfamiliar houses and quickly digging up incriminating evidence against their owners.
Although it had to be noted, it was Hyacinth who had discovered the secret passageway. Maybe Vrila wouldn’t have found it without him.
Curious, he glanced into the book. It turned out to be an appointment calendar. One name repeatedly appeared in it, and Gavrila wrote it on a small sheet of paper which he had carried in a pocket. Under that he scribbled dates when the upcoming meetings were to take place between Ferdill and this man who, with high probability, was a child trafficker.
“Will that help Howard convict him?”
“We can hope so. At least my obligation is fulfilled now.” He put the book back and stood up with a jerk. “We should go.”
*
They had left the secret passage behind and were just leaving Ferdill’s study when the glow of a candle slowly wandered up the staircase. Heavens, his heart… Hyacinth cast a glance at his husband standing in front of him and noticed him cursing silently.
Unintentionally he clasped the folds of Vrila’s overcoat and felt shame for his childlike behaviour. He could only hope his husband was unaware of his anxious trembling.
Gavrila grabbed him by an arm and pulled him into the next room where fortunately the door stood wide open. As badly oiled as the downstairs entrance was, no one could exclude the possibility of this door becoming their nemesis.
They sneaked across the expensive carpet with which a peculiar-looking dining room was furnished.
Vrila drew him close along the wall, and Hyacinth had to be careful not to bump against the sideboards.
“Is anyone there?” a servant called into the room and shined the candle into it.
They hurried around a corner and paused as motionless as stones. Hyacinth was breathing with such intensity, he believed the servant couldn’t fail to hear him.
Vrila’s cold fingers still encircled his arm and to his surprise had a slight calming effect on him – but regretfully in the present situation it was much too slight.
“I did hear something, damn it,” the man mumbled in an elderly, scratchy voice. “Is anyone there? Show yourself!” The demanding tone made Hyacinth realise the butler was at least as frightened as he.
He shuddered and followed Vrila through the connecting door into the next room whose purpose he couldn’t figure out. A few chairs stood haphazardly in the middle of an uninviting parlour, perhaps a waiting room for Ferdill’s guests.
The servant came closer. Hyacinth heard his shuffling steps on the soft floor and pressed his eyelids together as if this could render him invisible. By God, he wished it could...
Gavrila pushed him around a corner and pressed him against the wall with his own body. He shoved the sheet of paper with the notes in a pocket of Hyacinth’s jacket, then whispered in his ear: “The laundry chute. I can give you enough time, but you have to be fast and careful. Stay with Seymour and deny it if they ask you whether you knew about this.”
In his panic he didn’t comprehend the words. He couldn’t think about them, couldn’t grasp the sense and exact meaning. His body was shaking like a leaf, and he had to bite down hard with his teeth to prevent them from chattering.
Vrila urged him a bit farther to the side and nodded toward a large opening next to them. It was too dark to read the expression on his face. He counted to three in a whisper. With the last number, he knocked a vase off the sideboard, opened the hatch of the chute and pushed Hyacinth into it.
The small cover closed behind him; he slid down in the darkness and landed in the dirty laundry.
Gasping for air, he sat up in the gigantic tub and made certain he was alone in the washroom.
Several minutes passed as he attempted to collect himself.
Something pounded painfully in his head.
He couldn’t formulate his thoughts. I can give you enough time.
His disappearance through the laundry chute had been much too noisy to not have alerted the servant. In addition, Vrila had thrown the vase – intentionally. Perhaps to divert the servant’s attention from the chute and prevent him from looking down into it.
So how could Gavrila now find an escape route?
A terrible suspicion overcame him. He hadn’t planned to escape at all, but rather had… No! He must have had a plan. Surely he had an idea. Most certainly.
It took some effort, but Hyacinth stood up. His legs nearly collapsed under him and the unpleasant thought that he was a pathetic coward tormented him.
While Vrila had kept a cool head, he had merely submerged himself in fear, shaking as if chilled to the bone. And even now he was trembling, since he was still in Ferdill’s house.
Reaching the door, he heard a cacophony of voices and footsteps of several persons. He drew back and pressed himself against the cold wall of whitewashed stone. His gaze rested on a narrow window. He had to be in the cellar because there was an opening above, near the low ceiling. A musty odour intruded his nose but was nearly masked by the fragrance of freshly washed laundry hanging there to dry. Both smells caused him a sour queasiness in his stomach.
Stay with Seymour. What was that supposed to mean? Why should he stay with Mr Wiplay? For how long? What did Vrila mean by that? What was his intention?
He let out a quiet whimper and tugged his hair to remind himself to remain calm and as a punishment for his weakness.
When the voices moved farther away, he hastily overcame the distance between himself and the elongated glass framed in wood which allowed him a view of the outside. The moon hung bright in the sky and rivalled the glitter of the stars. Not a cloud was to be seen anymore although a few had still hung in the sky after they had left the house some time ago to come here and commit this stupidity.
Carefully he grabbed the handle of the small window. It actually moved for him. Then, without regard to the creaking of the hinges, he opened it and wondered whether he was slim enough to escape through it. He had to make the attempt.
Cautiously, he pulled his own weight up the wall and forced himself through the narrow frame which nearly stripped off his trousers.
At last he landed in the damp grass and heaved a sigh of relief when a breeze wafted around his nose. Hurriedly and stumbling over his own legs more than once, he ran to the metre of wall which was lower than the rest.
While climbing, he almost slid back down and nearly cracked open his chin on the rough stone. Nevertheless, he made it to the other side without injury and once more breathed deeply when he felt free.
His encouragement at having made it outside only lasted until he saw the police waggon rolling onto the grounds of the estate.
No, no, that couldn’t be – it must not be! His heart failed him. He pulled the hood over his head to protect himself from curious glances and darted across the road.
He was breathing heavily and yet hardly took air in his lungs. His entire body shivering, he managed to hide in the shadow of a house standing on a corner.
The wrought-iron gates to Ferdill’s garden and villa stood wide open. A gravel drive led to a splendid main entrance watched over by two stone statues and to a set of stairs. At their feet stood the police waggon, several officers in front of it. Beside it waited the horses of the night patrolmen which the servant must have called for. Apparently, the men had not been very far from the house.
In the pale light from the lanterns, Hyacinth observed with horror how two policemen were dragging his husband out of the house. Vrila’s black hair hung over his face and his cloak flapped in the wind just as the overcoats of the officers. They roughly jockeyed him into the coach under the curious looks of the servants who had gathered in front of the entrance, candles and flambeaus in their hands.
Struggling to breathe, Hyacinth kept himself close to a porous wall, bracing a shoulder against it to keep from falling.
Accompanied by riders of the patrol the vehicle Vrila was taken away in began to move. It left the villa behind and rolled toward the city. The hoof-beats of the horses thundered so loudly that the noise hurt his ears and the rumbling of the wheels made him become light-headed. When he lost sight of the wagon, he closed his eyes as tightly as he could because they were burning like crazy.
A Hyacinth for His Hideousness Page 8
