The Shock Box: A Gothic Romance (Templesea Tales)

by Jill Harris

  Branwell pushed Adeline behind him. As they came close enough for him to feel the horses breathing on his face, they slipped from their mounts. One seemed little more than a child. The other, a woman with waves of fair hair worn loose, was taller than most men. They seemed like only shadows, grey shapes in the mist.

  "What the blazes is this?" he said. "How did you get up the path in this stinking fog?"

  "I have the second sight," the woman said. "And my companion is the one who saved you. She has tamed the demon for now, but it will not last."

  The child, no more than ten, with long, midnight black hair appeared in front of them.

  Her skin was colour of ripe olives. Her amber eyes seemed wiser than her years, and she fixed her gaze on Adeline, and bowed her head as if greeting an equal. Beside her loomed the tall woman whose golden hair rippled down to her waist, and who wore a gown of aquamarine silk.

  A devilish scream rang out, the deep guttural sound full of rage as it sliced through the chill air. It started low, rising to a visceral, thundering cry. It rang out from the tower above, echoing round the turret before being swallowed by the mist.

  "Vedmak does not like that I am here," the child said.

  For the first time in what seemed like ages, Adeline heard the shush of the tide turning on the sands of Sea Witch Cove far below.

  "We are just in time, I see," the tall woman said. "My name is Blythe. And this is my little friend, Maria Castello. She is a befana."

  Adeline gasped, recalling the word written in sand beneath her wash-stand. "A befana?"

  Blythe looked at her. "That's what I said. She's a true born witch from Italy."

  Behind them, emerging from the fog came two more figures. Gentlemen, this time, sitting astride two sure-footed cart-horses. One was obviously a vicar, dressed in flowing black robes. The other, blond and broad, leapt off his horse and came towards them.

  By now, Branwell was leaning against the porch. Lightening rods of pain shot up his leg. He lurched forward as soon as he recognised the great Viking bulk of his blue-eyed friend. Whatever had brought him here after so many years of silence, Branwell hadn't the slightest notion.

  Confound them all to blazes. What did they think this was? A bawdy house? A theatre? Had they all come to watch his torment and destruction?

  "Captain Sanderson?" he said. He hadn't quite believed the man would turn up even though his letter the previous day had announced his imminent arrival.

  "Hughes," Sanderson yelled gaily. "I see the devil hasn't killed you yet."

  Branwell turned towards the vicar. He was the man from All Saint's church in Templesea, as far as Branwell could recall, although he hadn't been to church for a long time. "You're the Reverend Giles Gillyflower, if I'm not mistaken. What a surprise."

  The reverend clasped his hands in front of him, casting a watchful gaze through the front door of Raven's Nest. "I hope you're well," he said. He moved his gaze to take in the state of Branwell and Miss Winslow. "You look as if you've been in a dust storm in the African desert. Miss Blythe explained that you're in great need of my assistance."

  Branwell moved so his body blocked the entrance to the house. "I'm not expecting visitors," he said, scowling at the four new faces.

  He urgently wanted them all to go away.

  Blythe, who was as beautiful as a summer's day, smiled distractedly. "I think my sister, Constance is on her way. She's always late for everything."

  "We can't send them away," Adeline said. She managed to wriggle out from behind the Captain. "Do come in everyone. I expect you'd like go take tea after your journey up the rock to Raven's Nest."

  Chapter 38

  Late afternoon was dark with the awful fog. Adeline stood in front of the French windows staring out at the thick grey nothingness. Night was falling, but there was no view of the setting sun over the sea, only the ever-thickening mist as it darkened from white to grey to a blanket of blackness. A faint aroma of sulphur had returned to the house, and Adeline felt her skin prickle at the thought of what that might mean.

  She remained mystified as to how four people had made it to the house. The thought that they had come because they knew the Captain was under siege by some evil force was even more surprising, especially considering the fact that Captain was largely a hermit who did not enjoy company.

  Everyone was gathered in a living room in the east wing, a room which Adeline had never been in before. She presumed it must have been decorated by the Captain's mother because the colours were light, and the decor tasteful. She turned away from the window and surveyed the surroundings.

  Comfortable chairs, a chaise longue, and a settee formed a semi-circle around the hearth. Everything upholstered in flower patterned fabric. The fireplace surround, and the mantel above the grate were of pink marble, with two ravens carved into the pillars. The room smelled slightly musty, as if no one had used it for a long time.

  Hanging above the fireplace was a pleasant watercolour of a rural scene. On the opposite wall, a mirror in a gilded frame reflected her face. Her skin was flushed, her hair a mess. She longed to retire to her room, wash the dust off her face, brush her hair, and lay down with a cold compress over her eyes.

  At least this feminine room didn't reek of the occult unlike the rest of the house. In start contrast to the other rooms at Raven's Nest, there were no references to hunting, alchemical symbolism or satyrs.

  Also, much to Adeline"s relief, the ladies sitting room appeared to have escaped the recent outburst of demonic forces. There was little damage apart from a shattered whiskey decanter and a few unidentified stains on the pale Turkish carpet.

  The Captain lit a fire in the hearth. His back was turned to her, but he was emitting irritation through every pore of his body. Adeline presumed that building the fire gave him some distraction from his boiling rage.

  He was throwing logs about, and cursing loudly when his spark would not catch. Everyone ignored him, choosing to settle on the furniture. There was a hush in the room. The same kind of hush, Adeline recalled, as when the soldiers came to the field hospital from the front line, too exhausted even to cry out in pain.

  Adeline felt as if each person, like her, was piecing together their shattered thoughts.

  At last, the fire sprang to life, and Adeline's heart raced as an image of the portraits flying around the great hall came to mind. Her hand fluttered to her chest. She looked around at the strange collection of visitors again. The girl - the befana, the tall woman with a river of hair, the vicar and the enormous soldier. The silence felt oppressive. Why were these people here? It was as if she could sense an undercurrent or disturbance heightened by them all, as if their very presence stirred up more trouble in the house. It was all she could do to keep herself from demanding they all leave.

  She too, it appeared, needed to distract herself, and find a way to use the nervous energy coursing through her veins. To this end, she was glad to play hostess. She excused herself and fled into the dimly lit corridor. Her footsteps seemed louder than normal as she hurried off in the direction of the kitchens. By the light of her candle, she made out pockets of yellow, sulphurous mist. Walking through them assailed her senses, as if a drain had opened up beneath the corridor.

  Luckily, the staff had remained in the house instead of fleeing with the horses. Adeline found the maid cowering in the pantry with Mr and Mrs Hoxely.

  "We have visitors," she said. "They must have refreshments."

  "Is it over?" Hoxley asked, stepping gingerly out of the cupboard carrying a cold ham on a platter.

  "I think so," Adeline said.

  He shot her a look. "He ent gone though. The demon's still around here. I can smell him."

  "I have to check the animals," Adeline said. She gave instructions for the Hoxleys to prepare a hearty tea, and the maid to make up beds for their guests.

  Adeline marched across the courtyard, unable to see her hand in front of her face. Eventually, after going in circles and ending up at the kit
chens on several occasions, she found the stables by following the sound of horses hooves as they stamped the ground.

  Roberts, a sensible lad, had lit a dozen lanterns, and placed them round the stable block. He told her he'd been worried his horses might bolt over the cliff in the fog. He wouldn't let Adeline in.

  "They don't want no one near them but me," he said. So he kept the lower half of the stable door looked. Holding up a lantern, he leaned on the shelf of the lower door with questioning eyes.

  "What's going on?"

  "I can't say. But I'm sure it'll all be fine in the morning," Adeline said, hearing the false brightness in her voice.

  Roberts stared grimly at the relentless fog. By now, night had fallen and the mist was coal black, and thick as soup. "Pardon my saying it, Miss. But I think you're wrong. There's no wind to blow this away. I think tomorrow will be as bad as today. If not worse. The horses are skittish. They don't like it one bit."

  He was right. Compared to the previous night, the air was still. As if the whole world was holding its breath.

  She asked if the new horses had been attended to.

  "How did they get up the path in this weather?" Roberts said.

  "I wish I had a good explanation for everything. But I don't," Adeline told him with a sigh.

  Roberts lowered his head. "I thought we was all dead. Sounded like a hurricane blowing round the house. Thought we'd all go crashing onto the rocks. While I was out here, it seemed I saw a demon's face hovering over Raven's Nest tower, big as a carriage it was, and leering at me. Got down on my knees like, and prayed he wasn't there to take me to hell. I've done bad things in my life but I promised I'd change. Got to do right by my lady friend, and marry her right away if I ever get out of here."

  Adeline patted her unruly hair. "Oh, that's good news. And really, there's nothing to worry about. It's just a spot of weather, and possibly an earthquake."

  He looked at her as though she'd lost her mind. "Think I'll sleep out here with the horses. Soon as this bloody fog lifts I'm off. If you like, I'll saddle a horse for you too, Miss Winslow. Get you out of here in one piece because that demon's coming back or my name isn't Robert Lee."

  Chapter 39

  Adeline made her way back to kitchens with difficulty, as good as blind in the impenetrable darkness. She got lost twice, tripping and sliding across the frozen flagstones.

  Once safely in the candlelit kitchens, she gave the rather overwrought Mrs Hoxley the task of warming up a batch of scones and making tea for everyone. Accompanied by Hoxley, the maid trudged off with an armful of clean linen to make beds.

  After that, Adeline trotted back to the sitting room.

  She was almost surprised to find everyone just as she had left them, silent and composed. Apart from the Captain, who was worrying at the fire with a poker. He leaned over the hearth with one arm on the mantelpiece, and she could tell by the way he was standing with his hip awkwardly to one side, that he was in great pain.

  She longed to go to him, and calm him.

  Her carpet bag was to the left of the fireplace beside the chaise longue. She'd asked Hoxely to fetch the shock box, and put it in the bag earlier. As luck would have it, the electro-magneto machine was undamaged despite the destruction of the library. Her hands itched to open up the bag, and take out her healing machine, but it was impossible with people watching.

  The Captain noticed her entrance, glancing up at her with an uncharacteristically warm smile.

  Her whole body hummed with static at his glance. She smiled back at him, paced over to the windows and pulled the drapes. The intensity of the darkness was unnerving and she was determined to warm the atmosphere.

  "Whose for a game of whist?" she said brightly.

  Everyone declined.

  When the tea arrived, it came with a tureen of Devonshire clotted cream, butter, and a jar of strawberry jam. There were ham and egg sandwiches, lemon biscuits, and a moist fruit cake.

  The befana, Maria, immediately tucked into the scones. Blythe drank three cups of tea in a row, then produced a small loom from somewhere, and began embroidering a shell motif onto a handkerchief.

  The enormous Lieutenant Sanderson ate a huge slice of cake noisily, then sat drinking his tea and staring into the fire with his brows creased in thoughtful repose.

  With a sandwich in one hand, the vicar was reading what looked like the book from the library on demonology.

  Adeline had to keep her strength up, so she drank her warm sugary tea, and ate several sandwiches, joining the others in a reflective silence.

  Since the Captain insisted on ignoring everyone, Adeline decided it must fall upon her to start a conversation. After all that had occurred in the last twenty-four hours, she had come reluctantly to the opinion that each person in the room might have been drawn to the house by supernatural means.

  She was determined to prove herself wrong.

  "Well now," Adeline said, once everyone was equipped with scones and tea. "I wish to know why everyone decided to pay a visit to Raven's Nest today. So I must ask. To what does Captain Hughes owe the pleasure of your visit?"

  She sank down on the chaise longue next to the fire.

  Three heads turned towards Blythe, who was sipping her tea with her eyes closed. She opened them and stared at Adeline.

  Lieutenant Sanderson was the one who spoke. He rested his teacup on his massive thigh. "Blythe invited me to come. I was told I'd get paid."

  "She promised me cinque-cento gold sovereigns," Maria said. "I never work for less."

  One hundred and fifty golden sovereigns. Adeline felt her eyebrows stretching in surprise. That was a lot of money. "I'm in the wrong line of work," she murmured under her breath.

  Reverend Gillyflower, who looked more like a pirate with his dark mane of hair, beard, and silver earrings, than a man of God, shrugged. He brushed some crumbs out of his beard. "She told me she'd build a new tower for the church."

  At this, the Captain bristled. He turned to face the room, leaning heavily on his cane.

  "So that's your game is it? Well, well. I should have known. You're all in this together. I didn't think it was a pleasant social visit to a crippled neighbour, and it isn't my birthday. You're all here because you think I'll give you money?"

  He glowered at everyone, each in turn. Everyone except Adeline, although she supposed their financial transaction was already agreed.

  The Captain continued. "Well, you're wrong. I'd rather hang myself from the rafters than be blackmailed by a bunch of ne'er-do-wells and religious charlatans."

  Adeline glared at him.

  The Captain pretended not to see her warning look and carried on insulting his weary guests.

  "And what would I pay you for?" he shouted, obviously warming to his subject. "Amorous congress? Swinging from the eaves? Amusing tales of the battlefield? I don't need any of you. I don't want anyone for anything. Ever. And I certainly don't need a horseman, a child, a local chit, and a buffoon of a vicar cluttering up my house."

  Sanderson opened his mouth and roared with laughter. "You haven't changed one bit, my friend. Always a wild one. Remember when we spent two days and nights in that little whorehouse in Paris? Gods, we played the blanket hornpipe till we were black and blue."

  Before the Captain had a chance to voice his ever expanding fury, Adeline shot Sanderson a warning glance. "I would remind you that there is a child in our midst."

  Maria pulled a face. She must have been hungry since she was on her third scone, smothering it expertly with jam and cream. "I know about the blanket hornpipes with butana. Many, many prostitutes in Roma," she said without looking up from her plate. "And I am no child. I am older than my face. Nearly tredici. Thirteen."

  "May I ask," Adeline said, turning to Blythe. "For what reason you've invited these people to Raven's Nest? All but one of them are strangers to my employer. You must have asked them here to perform some duty if you offered them money? And as you can see, the Captain is confused."
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  Blythe gazed at Adeline. Her eyes were the blue of the Indian ocean. Her lips were a cupid's bow.

  Adeline felt suddenly calm just looking at this exquisite creature.

  She'd heard that sometimes women loved other women as they loved men.

  In that instant, she understood how this might come about.

  "You can't kill Vedmak on your own," Blythe said. "He almost got you today. He nearly destroyed this house."

  "What are you talking about?" the Captain said. "This is insanity. I've never heard of anyone called Vedmak. I've had enough. I'll get Hoxely to throw you all out." He hauled the rope bell, and Hoxley's rapid footsteps could be heard jogging down the corridor almost immediately.

  Blythe stood and approached Branwell. She was an astounding creature to look at. Her gold hair seemed to wave in an unseen tide of air. That alone made him suspicious of her.

  She smelled of ocean spray and the tang of wild storms.

  He supposed she was some kind of spirit, since he'd plenty of experience with otherworldly creatures, but she was different from any he'd ever known. He sensed none of her emotions, save one. A blue-green serenity.

  When Branwell looked at her he though he might like to rest somewhere deep and watery. A water elemental? Is that what she was? A siren sent to torment him further? She might be in league with the demon. He glared furiously round the room. They probably all were.

  He stepped back, his eyes searching the room for Adeline. He had to get her out of here before it was too late.

  Blythe's voice was soft as a summer tide gliding over sand. "Why, of course you know him. Vedmak is the demon you brought to Templesea. He's attached to you because your father, Horace, was a mage-noir."

  At that, the reverend Gillyflower leaped up. "A mage-noir? Don't you mean a black magician?"

  Blythe nodded. "He set a mark on his son's soul. A bit like a target. It attracts spirits and all sorts. You might say it's become a bit of a problem." She looked at Branwell. "You must have suffered terribly."