Devil’s Cove (Tortured Souls)

by R. C. Matthews

  “The location was held in the strictest confidence, and Lord Deveraux threatened ruin on anyone who divulged the secret.”

  “Well, I’ve searched the whole bloody mansion. Perhaps it was in a separate building that burned down? Or it’s somewhere in the surrounding forest? I can well imagine that; the grounds are massive.”

  Grace stood abruptly, undoubtedly drawing their attention. “There’s one way to find out. I must ask Crispin to guide us there.”

  A muffled cry escaped Abigail, and Grace imagined the woman falling in a dead faint. But there was no resounding thud, so perhaps she had resorted to fanning herself.

  “You can do that?” the cook asked.

  “Yes,” Grace said with a tender smile as she walked toward Abigail. “If you like, I can also pass a message to him from you. Is there anything you wish to say to your brother?”

  The woman sniffled. “That I love him and miss him dearly, and I pray he will rest in Heaven soon.”

  Grace squeezed Abigail’s arm. “It shall be done. Come now, he awaits us in the kitchen.”

  Upon entering the kitchen, the activity came to a sudden halt, and Grace turned to Devlin to whisper, “The fewer people who bear witness, the better. We must be surrounded by positive energy. I’ll need at least thirty minutes, and I can’t do this alone.”

  “Certainly,” he said, and then addressed the room at large. “I would ask that everyone, except Abigail, leave us and not return until you’ve been summoned. Emma, go to Brother Anselm, quickly, and bid him to come immediately.”

  A flurry of murmurs and shuffling feet greeted Grace, but she held herself still as the servants flooded by her. She could feel their curious stares as she worked to keep her breathing calm and even in preparation of what was to come. One should not dare to communicate with spirits unless they come free of stress and fear.

  A tiny hand wrapped around Grace’s, and she smiled, knowing full well who stood quietly at her side.

  “Maribeth,” Devlin said, a warning clear in his tone. “My request extends to you as well, I’m afraid.”

  Grace squeezed the girl’s hand. “She can stay, Devlin. That is”—her lips twitched—“if you believe it will not frighten her. We cannot hope to call Crispin to us with fear in our hearts.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Maribeth declared with more conviction than Grace had heard in many adults during her lifetime. “Please, Devlin. I beg you.”

  He sighed, the heavy exhalation the sign of a resigned man. “Very well.”

  Maribeth squealed in delight, and an ache pierced Grace’s soul. She hadn’t lamented the loss of her sight much in recent years, but in that moment she would’ve loved to bear witness to the grin surely spreading across Maribeth’s lips. As if reading her mind, the child lifted Grace’s hands and cradled them to her face, guiding Grace’s thumbs to the edges of her smile.

  “Do you see how happy you’ve made me?” Maribeth asked.

  A tear rolled down Grace’s cheek, and she was filled with joyous warmth. “Yes, yes, I do.” The grin between her thumbs widened, and Grace pulled the girl into an embrace. “Thank you for showing me.”

  Devlin snorted, but Grace could hear the approval in it.

  A rush of air entered the kitchen as Brother Anselm’s heavy breathing announced his arrival. “I came as quickly as I could, Grace. How may I assist?”

  Grace informed him of their plan and requested that he lead them in prayer.

  “Is everyone ready?” she asked. “No fear, and complete and utter silence while we pray. That’s what we need. If you cannot manage it, now is the time to leave.”

  With a deep breath, Grace set Maribeth aside and then exhaled, forcing every last speck of air from her diaphragm while Brother Anselm prayed that the Lord and his heavenly angels would guide them and protect them with their holy light. Grace took a cleansing breath and imagined the room filling with that divine light, seeping into every corner and crevice until it filled her very soul and poured out of her. She offered mental thanks and gratitude to her Creator for the opportunity to speak to the friendly spirits congregating around them, and then she raised her hands high, spread them wide and accepted His grace and love. A bright light filled her mind’s eye, blinding in its purity, and she opened herself to it.

  “Crispin,” she said, tentatively. “Are you there? Abigail has come to greet you with tidings of love.”

  Ah, child. Come back for more of my raspberry scones, have you?

  The cook’s familiar voice boomed in Grace’s mind, and she grinned, trying to suppress the laughter rumbling in her chest as his familiar face came into focus.

  “I daresay Abigail has stolen your famous recipe and replicated it, because I find myself licking the buttery goodness from my fingers, just as I did when I was a little girl.”

  Hmph … You say she loves me. And I her. Tell her it is so.

  “I’ll relay the message. She wishes for you to seek the holy light and find your place in Heaven with our Maker, to finally be at peace.”

  She’s a good woman but still bossy to her core.

  His chuckle resonated in Grace, and she shared in his laughter.

  I know why you’ve come, child, and I will show you what you seek. ’Tis been my burden to carry all these years. I knew you would come. So much like your mother, you are. And your father.

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t manage more than the simple response. “Lead, and I shall follow.”

  The journey took them through the hallway and out the front entrance. Grace walked with sure footing behind the portly man as they traversed the path along the edge of the lake. Crispin paused before Neptune’s shining form. The scene played out in her mind with such clarity, it was breathtaking. The sun’s brilliant rays kissed her face and warmed her within.

  It is there, Grace. Do you see the way the sun reflects off the water? ’Tis the glass dome of the ballroom beneath the surface, guarded by Neptune.

  “It cannot be!” she exclaimed, staring in awe at the twinkling rays reflecting off the surface of the lake.

  An underwater ballroom. The idea was both thrilling and magnificent. How had her father kept such a wondrous endeavor a surprise? It must’ve taken years to excavate the land, build the ballroom, and then fill the lake. Oh, it must be divine to stand in the center of the ballroom and peer up at the sunshine penetrating the surface of the water, setting it aglow. That was a sight she longed to see. A crushing sadness filled her with the knowledge that it may never be so.

  “But how do we enter, Crispin?”

  Through a secret passage in the conservatory. You’ll find a doorway built into the inner wall, behind the large palm tree.

  Grace swallowed and nodded. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Is there anything else you wish me to relay?”

  Our mother’s recipe book lies beneath the floorboards of the kitchen pantry. It belongs to Abigail now. Tell her to take care of it and pass it down to my niece with love. As for you, my lady, I beg you to leave this place at once. Josephine is a foul and merciless creature.

  A shiver passed through Grace. “Do you know what drove her to reap havoc that night?”

  Evil begets evil. Does it require a reason? This is her ancestral land, and she doesn’t take kindly to interlopers. She slaughtered everyone … from lords to ladies to servants alike … without hesitation. Only your mother was spared, for begging Lord Deveraux to abandon his plans for the ballroom. Do not tempt fate, my dear.

  She nodded solemnly, lifting her hands to the sky. “May the grace of our Lord be with you, Crispin, and welcome you with open arms. Go forth to His loving care and be free.”

  The image of the lake faded as blackness blanketed Grace’s vision once again. She felt weary to the bone and faint from Crispin’s warning.

  “Come behold,” Brother Anselm said, his voice filled with wonder.

  “It’s a butterfly,” Maribeth exclaimed. “So beautiful, too.”

  Abigail’s joyful sobs f
illed Grace’s ears. “A sign, it is. My brother has finally passed over to the other side.”

  Grace patted Cook’s arm. “Yes, indeed. Know that he loved you.” Her lips twitched into a smile, sapping the last of her strength. “He’s left a gift for you. Take care in retrieving it, for it is precious. You’ll find it beneath the floorboards of the pantry.”

  “What is it?” Maribeth asked, ever bound to her curiosity.

  “I shouldn’t care to ruin the surprise,” Grace ventured. “But perhaps Abigail will allow you to go with her to find out?”

  “Of course,” Abigail said.

  As soon as their footsteps faded on the path, Devlin grabbed her arm. “What did you learn? I must know.”

  Brother Anselm shoved Devlin aside. “Come rest on the bench, my dear.” His gentle hands guided her in the direction. “Sit.”

  Grace collapsed onto the bench, feeling drained but elated. “You won’t believe me, but I tell you the truth when I say the ballroom is beneath the lake.”

  “Impossible,” Brother Anselm said.

  Devlin’s booming laughter filled the crisp air. “Not impossible! Expensive, and incredibly difficult to pull off, but not impossible.”

  He knelt beside Grace and pulled her hands into his. “Where is the entrance?”

  “The conservatory.”

  He jumped to his feet and dragged her up with him. She had never heard so much excitement in his voice, like a small child on Christmas morning.

  “Let’s go there now.”

  “She can’t,” Brother Anselm said, his indignation ringing in her ears. “Do you not see how her shoulders slump? Would you have her fall on the ground in exhaustion? We don’t know what awaits us in the ballroom. Entering now could kill her!”

  A deafening silence greeted her, and then Devlin gently squeezed her hands.

  “Is that true?” he whispered.

  The concern he conveyed in those simple words was balm on an open wound. Whatever he sought in that ballroom held him captivated, but not so much so as to risk her life. That much she knew to be true.

  She nodded and leaned into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder in support. Her knees gave way, and he lifted her into his arms.

  “Rest then,” he said, his strides long and sure. Sandalwood and coffee swathed a welcoming blanket around her, and she relaxed against his broad chest, gladly accepting his assistance. “Rest this day, and we’ll explore again tomorrow morning.”

  And though the rational part of her brain screamed to heed Crispin’s warning and flee the mansion, it was impossible to fear the gatekeeper to Hell while wrapped snugly in the strong arms of the Devil himself.

  Chapter Twelve

  After breakfast the next morning, Grace set off toward the conservatory with Devlin leading the way and her mentor in tow. She held on to the captain’s arm with a firmer grip than necessary, enjoying the feel of his muscled forearms and the way the contact soothed her.

  She had awoken from another unnerving dream that morning. Since coming to Devil’s Cove Manor, her dreams featured vivid colors and images. She could smell the pungent dirt and damp leaves littering the ground, she could feel the breeze caressing her skin, and she heard the creatures scampering along the forest floor or swooping through the branches high above.

  Strange that her dreams took her there when the moon was high. Even stranger was that she felt no fear—almost as if she were one with the night while she raced through the dark, jumping over fallen limbs and hiding behind wide tree trunks in a stealthy game of hide-and-seek with her lover. Always, she frolicked with her elusive lover, full of joy and desire. Why then could she not see him, only feel his doting presence?

  “We have no idea what awaits us in the ballroom,” Brother Anselm muttered under his breath, breaking through Grace’s meandering thoughts. “It’s too dangerous,” he continued. “The energy force in the space is probably hostile, and I must bless the premises if we hope to have any success in communicating with the spirits trapped within, God bless their souls. Grace, please, you must listen to me and wait until you’re rested before venturing into the ballroom.”

  “She isn’t a child, you know,” Devlin said, taking a jab at the monk. “I’ve hired her services, not yours. Give her more credit. She’ll ask for your advice when she needs it.”

  “Those are self-serving words if ever I heard them,” Brother Anselm replied tartly. “You’re chomping at the bit to explore the ballroom, and the servants can speak of nothing else. Nobody here thinks of Grace’s safety but me, and perhaps Emma.”

  “You only think of her safety,” the captain shot back. “I actually keep her safe. You’re not—”

  “Devlin, please.” Grace cut him off before he had a chance to goad her mentor any further.

  He chortled at her gentle reproof and picked up their pace, his heels pounding against the wood floors. Goodness, but Emma had the right of it when she’d warned her this morning of their agitated state. The two men were fighting like boys in a schoolyard.

  “Please reconsider, Grace,” Brother Anselm pleaded again after a few seconds had passed. His breathing came in short pants, but he kept pace with them.

  Grace shook her head. Even if what he said was true, waiting another day wouldn’t matter because she felt rested. Besides, she couldn’t stem her curiosity any longer, and they wouldn’t attempt communicating with the ghosts today, at any rate. That required thoughtful planning.

  She adopted a placating tone. “Let’s go in, assess the situation, and get out. Quick as you please. I don’t wish to stall our progress, and you know as well as I do that I’m far better at reconnaissance.”

  “We’ve never encountered so many souls at once,” Brother Anselm said quietly. “I fear for you, Grace.”

  “But you’ll be with me the entire time, as will the captain. I can’t avoid the ballroom forever. Think of the poor souls trapped there and longing to find their peace. We can set them free, together.”

  She cherished her relationship with her mentor, but he needed to learn to trust her instincts. His heavy sigh of resignation weighed on the air, and she suppressed a smile.

  “By the by, Grace,” her mentor said. “I’m afraid to say so, but you might find some of the servants giving you a wide berth from now on. That bit with the cookbook is what did you in.”

  Grace sighed and squeezed Devlin’s arm. “It was bound to happen sooner or later. Don’t be cross with me when half your servants abandon ship. Most haven’t the stomach for evil spirits, and I’m afraid we may find the ballroom full of them. Oh, the stories they’ll tell after this morning.”

  Devlin paused abruptly, and a myriad of scents wafted under Grace’s nose: mint, thyme, rosemary, and the like. She inhaled deeply and grinned, certain they had finally arrived in the conservatory.

  “I promise not to be cross, Grace,” Devlin said. “That would hardly be fair seeing as how I’ve hired you. Now, allow me to assist you into your cloak.” He draped it over her shoulders and clasped it at the base of her throat. His knuckles brushed the sides of her neck as he worked with the tiny fastening. “It may be rather frigid down there.”

  Were his fingers trembling, or had she imagined that? Certainly the man couldn’t be scared. He was battle worn and fearless, always exuding confidence in everything he said and did.

  Devlin grasped her shoulders in an iron grip. “Please be frank with me. If you are overwhelmed or sense imminent danger, tell me at once, and we’ll leave.”

  She nodded and offered him a smile of encouragement. “Of course.” Turning to Brother Anselm behind her, she asked, “Are you cloaked as well? We wouldn’t want you to get a chill.”

  “I’m ready,” Brother Anselm said, blowing out a soft breath. “Let’s get this over posthaste.”

  She didn’t know what to expect as they descended the winding staircase, so the sweet, musty air curling into her nostrils was unexpected, filling her with unease. Was this the fragrance of death and d
ecay? Cool, damp air clung to her exposed face within moments of entering the passage, which was too narrow to allow them to walk side by side. Devlin held her hands on his shoulders, guiding her at a snail’s pace as he descended in front of her, his height so great that her hands rested comfortably straight ahead. His muscled shoulders were a welcome reminder of her companion’s capabilities. He wouldn’t hesitate to rush her back out to safety if need be. When they reached the last step, he led her a few paces to their right and paused.

  “Good so far?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She held out her hand, running it along the smooth surface of the wall beside her. An image flashed before her eyes, and she sighed. “I see white marble walls and a beautifully arched ceiling. Is that correct? It’s stunning in its simplicity.”

  “Yes,” Devlin said, his voice thick with surprise. “The passageway is at least fifty paces and descends at an angle. Come along.”

  About halfway down to the right, he paused again.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A billiards room,” Brother Anselm said. “Even after years of lying unused, the scent of cigars lingers in the wood. I imagine Marcus Deveraux was quite fond of the space and took refuge in it often before the ballroom was unveiled.”

  “Perhaps we can explore it on the way back,” Grace said.

  Devlin placed her hand on his arm. “As you wish.”

  They walked at a steady pace down the long corridor, and with each successive step the temperature dropped. She clamped her teeth together in an effort to keep them from chattering and wondered if the others felt the same bone-deep chill. Her cloak did nothing to ward off the bitter cold. At long last Devlin came to a stop.

  Brother Anselm heaved in a gulp of air and cried, his voice shaking, “O, merciful Lord, protect us from evil.”

  Without warning, a vision materialized in Grace’s mind. Skeletons littered the floor, with bones strewn about at odd angles, still draped in their bloody finery. Bugs must have feasted on the gore, having left gaping holes in the fabric in their wake. Grace peered down, unable to look away, yet loathe to see any more. A garden snake slithered into an eye socket of the nearest corpse and resurfaced through the gaping mouth, hissing in rapt pleasure at the human playground at his disposal.