This passageway wasn’t well used. Not by her, at any rate, and it couldn’t have been part of the servants’ routes. The air was too stale, the dust too thick. Anyone walking through this place would be covered in the filth of ages past.
She realized the foolish and arrogant mistake she had made all those years ago when she had taken a lamp and found her own secret way through the house. Discovering what lay at the end of a passage had been her only goal and once she reached it she had assumed that was all the place had to offer. Had she ever looked right or left? Had she never thought that there might be more hallways off hallways, more staircases, more doors? Cleary not, or she wouldn’t be in this predicament now.
She rose to her feet and tested her legs. Probably bruised, but nothing more serious. She groped for the wall again and reached out with a cautious foot. Was she on the floor, or simply a landing? She didn’t want to find out the hard way again.
Moving forward slowly, she slid her foot along the floor. Another step. And another. Her confidence grew. The passageways must lead somewhere. They couldn’t go around in circles. The layout of Claiborne didn’t allow for such a route. The main hallway and staircase split the house. East and west. She was in one side or the other.
That thought gave rise to another. The passageway from beside her father’s chambers went directly to the garden room on the floor below. She knew that she hadn’t crossed that. So she was either on a higher level or in one quarter of the house. Unless there was another concealed tunnel on the turn in the stairs. Damnation! Two feet of blank wall sprang into her mind. Plenty of room to conceal another secret door leading to the other side of the house.
And now she was thinking about it, what about the hidden room. She rarely went there. There was no reason to go. It was a simply a box with a low bed and a candle. Without window or natural light. Some kind of priest’s hole, she had assumed. But how would the priest have escaped if he were ever discovered? She could have kicked herself. There was clearly another way out. There always was. An escape route she hadn’t ventured to find, probably leading to the cellars or the stables or some other way out.
Her father had told her that he had once become lost, but how could he have lost his way in the passages she knew. Stupid! It should have been nearly impossible. The corridors were almost straight with spy holes at each end. There were only two turnings off one of the routes and one off another. But her father must have found another secret door. One that led to more, winding their way between the rooms of the house.
She mapped out those rooms in her head. So many! Some she hardly knew. A few she had never used. Two doors had lost their keys in decades past and she couldn’t ever recall anyone ordering new locks. What was the point? Who needed another two bedrooms when you already had twenty you didn’t use.
But though there were too many rooms, there weren’t as many walls thick enough to conceal a passageway of any sort. That was how she had discovered them in the first place. Looking for partitions with no explanations of why they were so deep. She had paced the insides. Measured between windows. Counted floorboards between doors. She thought she had discovered them all. Now she knew not. How could she have been so complaisant? The house wouldn’t have given up all its secrets to a young girl. Now she delved into her mind to discern the ones she might have missed. And more importantly, where they might come out!
Phillips sat on the edge of the narrow bed, his head in his hands. Why had he never thought about what he was doing before? He thought he had been doing the old man a favour, keeping it all out of sight. Why make the daughter think badly of her father when he had only weeks to live. But hiding evidence of the earl’s out of control drinking habit had blown back in his face. Like spitting when the wind gusted in the wrong direction. Now everyone assumed he was a drunk and prone to hallucinations.
And because he couldn’t prove that his master drank like a fish, albeit to fight his daily pain, he was going to be without a job. He wouldn’t be able to prove anything in his favour to the new master of the house.
How could one prove that one hadn’t done something? He certainly hadn’t drunk the brandy that afternoon. But he did recall thinking that now the funeral party was over, he might be able to close his eyes. A few verses of poetry in the quiet of the library, and perhaps half an hour’s nap. That was all he had needed. All he’d taken was one of Mrs. Grenfell’s homemade brews. She had told him it would help him relax. Not that he believed any of her potions worked. The sleepless nights had simply caught up.
But the earl had discovered him. Apparently insensible and reeking of alcohol. How? When all he had done was drink a herbal tea? Had Flack noticed him sleeping and decided to play a trick. Wiped brandy about his mouth or spread it on his clothes? He wouldn’t put it past the man. He had an evil streak. Superior when he had no right to be. A bully. But that still didn’t explain how the earl managed to carry him to his bed without him waking. Most strange and he could readily admit that, tired or not, he had no answer for it.
Phillips lifted his head from his hands and blew out a defeated breath. His candle flickered and sent a wisp of smoke into the air. What was the point in staying until the morning? The new earl was in a raring temper already. Phillips had heard him raging about the house for the last hour or more and he wasn’t about to antagonize the man more. He looked big enough to snap a man’s neck as easily as others would a chicken’s.
It wasn’t as if he had much to pack. The earl had provided him with a suit to wear while working. He couldn’t take that. He owned very little for his private needs. A change of clothes, a jacket, underwear, nightshirt, his bible, and his shaving kit. And that was all here in this room. Not much to show for a life of servitude. He might as well leave now and avoid the shame and derision of curious eyes.
A clock struck midnight somewhere in the house as he began gathering his belongings and laying them on the bed. The pile was small. Not that he cared. He turned to the nightstand to pick up his bible. It wasn’t there. He looked in the cupboard beneath. Empty. He felt beneath his pillow, looked under the bed. Nothing. And then he remembered reading it aloud while sitting beside the long dead earl in the master suite.
Picking up his candle and pushing the connecting door open, he glanced into the gloomy light. The curtains were drawn over the windows, but hadn’t been straightened. A gap allowed the moonlight through, casting a streak of silver across the floor. He glanced about the room, so familiar for so long. The bed had been stripped and not remade. He wondered if the new earl would take up residence in the same room. It might be traditional but he didn’t have to. There were plenty of other spectacular rooms within the house.
Phillips stopped musing and walked to the dresser. His bible sat where he had left it within easy reach of the chair. He wasn’t sure why he had sat and read it while the earl lay dead on his bed. Just didn’t feel right leaving the man alone.
He picked it up and flipped a few pages. He didn’t read from it often. Church once a week was quite enough religion for his tastes. But the book had comforted him more recently. Especially in the days after he had seen the spectre. He shuddered at the thought of all that greying hair, wispy and floating about the spirit’s head.
And as he stood there thinking about the dreadful sight, the very same ghost materialized before his eyes. He blinked as it came through the wall. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not twice. But it was. He opened his mouth and screamed. Not manly, he knew, but it wasn’t that late. Someone else had to still be awake and come and see that he was telling the truth.
The phantom’s head turned swiftly in his direction. A croak came from the apparition’s mouth as it stumbled towards him, bloody faced, hair matted, clothes covered in a glimmering grey veil that almost sparkled in the moonlight. Phillips knees weakened. His heart beat so fast he thought it would explode from his chest, but he wasn’t about to faint this time. No! Here was the only hope for his salvation and he wasn’t about to let the chance pass by him.
He raised his bible and shouted as loud as he could.
“By the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost, you will neither hurt me nor ruin me!” His knees knocked as the thing stumbled closer, arms outstretched, but he drew in another breath and refused to be cowed. This was his only chance. Surely someone must have heard his screams. Just a few more seconds and the whole household would wake and know that he hadn’t been lying. “Stay evil spirit before I have your head!” He shouted as he held his bible in a threatening manner, arms high as if he would swipe down and remove the thing’s cranium. Much to his surprise the ghost did indeed stop. But then it came forwards again, faster now, more terrifying in its ghastliness. He screamed again and swung the book. It made contact with something, but he wasn’t sure what. The ghoul cried out. Its hands rose to touch its head. Was that fresh blood on its fingertips? But how was that even possible? Ghosts didn’t have blood.
But he didn’t have time to think any further. The foul creature dropped its hands to its sides and stared back at him, glittering green eyes glaring with a demonic like intensity. Its horrible maw opened and his terror redoubled. Dear God! He had raised a Banshee! His brain took the easy way out. His legs and his vision both gave up the struggle to function as he waited for its terrible scream.
But it was only as he sank to the floor that he thought he heard the voice of the new earl.
“Good Lord! The man wasn’t lying at all!”
And then everything went black.
Chapter Sixteen
Awakening the Beast
He paced the room, glaring at Doctor Finch who spoke quietly as he held Madeleine’s wrist and took her pulse. Oh, Ash knew the doctor was only doing his job, but it still rankled that the man had feelings for the woman lying in the bed, and had seen and touched more of her body than Ash had himself. More than rankled. Drove him to near madness as Madeleine gave the doctor a wan, but trusting smile.
In the hour while they waited for Finch to be summoned, Madeleine had bathed, ridding herself of the layers of dust. Mary had gently washed the cobwebs and blood from her hair. Madeleine had put on a clean nightgown and now sat, looking pale in her bed while the doctor made his examination of her. A far too thorough examination as far as Ash was concerned.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, the only way of keeping himself from taking Finch by the collar and throwing him through the window. And then, as if examining her grazed knees and holding her wrist hadn’t been enough of an intrusion, Finch now leaned forwards and brushed Madeleine’s hair from her forehead, his fingertips lingering far too long in the curling chestnut strands.
This was going too damned far! Ash coughed loudly and stood at the end of the bed, arms now folded across his impressive chest.
“Well? Is the prognosis good?” He growled out.
Finch straightened far too slowly, and Ash revised his plan of simply throwing the man through the window, and added a punch to his nose. More than one!
The doctor gave a grim smile and took his hands off his patient at last.
“The grazes on her wrists, ankles, and knees are nothing. They will heal quickly. Her head, I am more worried about. The cut is superficial. Doesn’t even need a stitch, but the bruising...” He shook his head and peered closely at the lump again before he turned back to Ash as another growl sounded about the room. “She might have a concussion. You will have to wake her regularly through the night. Any sign of unconsciousness and you must send for me again, but apart from that she should be fine if she rests. She’s been through a terrible ordeal.”
Ash’s eyebrows dipped into a straight line.
“I know that! Do you take me for an idiot? She’s been attacked, left for dead, and then attacked again! It is only by the grace of the Almighty and her own fortitude that my wife is still alive!” He emphasised my wife as he ran frustrated fingers through his hair and was pleased to see Finch finally take a step away from the bed.
“Asher, don’t take on so. I am fine.” Madeleine’s hoarse voice admonished him, but it felt like a balm. At least now, after a sip or two of water, she could speak. But Ash wasn’t about to calm down. He couldn’t. Something was boiling through his blood.
“Fine? How can you be fine? Your wrists and ankles are raw, your knees bloodied. You have both a cut and a lump the size of a duck’s egg upon your head. And you spent at least seven hours breathing in centuries old dust and ancient spider’s webs! You’ll be lucky if you don’t succumb to an infection of the lungs!” His voice had risen with his fury.
Doctor Finch suddenly grinned as he bent to pick up his bag.
“I never heard of anyone catching a lung infection from spider’s webs, but perhaps you know more about medical conditions than I.” He paused. “A word... Privately, if you will?” He looked decidedly too superior and Ash seethed as the man nodded a smiling goodbye to Madeleine and made for the door.
God damn it! Was the dratted man smirking? Ash knew that Finch was. All right, perhaps the spider web thing had been a stupid thing to say, but he had been worried out of his mind. He took a few deep breaths before he followed the man from the room and closed the door behind him.
“What is it? Is there something about Madeleine’s injuries that you haven’t told me?” He demanded angrily.
Finch shook his head.
“No, but I do need to apologize. I acted like a fool the other day when I heard of your marriage. It was the shock. I don’t need to tell you that I have feelings for her. Deep feelings.” He held up his hand at Ash’s furious glower. “Back down, man. I am not about to attempt to seduce your wife. What would be the point? I can see that she loves you as much as you love her.”
Ash drew in a sharp breath.
“I don’t love...” He couldn’t finish his lie.
Finch laughed.
“Yes, denial would be futile. It is as plain as the nose on your all too charming face. I can’t say that I am pleased for you. I hurt too much myself, but I daresay I will get over it. In time.” He sighed deeply before speaking again. “I am pleased for Madeleine though. She deserves a good man. Which it appears she has found. Her father told me about you. I confess that I was furious with him for making such an arrangement. I tried to persuade him otherwise, offered for her hand, but he would have none of it. Told me I was too old and staid for her. Which I am, of course. I wanted to hate you, but I find that I don’t. Just took my head a while to catch on.”
Ash stared at the man before wiping his hand across his brow. He felt sick, weak, and far too tired to berate the man who stood before him. It took courage to speak as openly as Finch had.
“I’ve been through hell and back tonight. I didn’t know what to do. I swear that if she hadn’t found her way through that secret panel right at that moment, I was about to begin tearing down walls with my bare hands.”
Finch smiled.
“I’m glad it didn’t come to that. And I apologize for my behaviour once again.” He glanced back at Madeleine’s bedroom door. “She might be a little unconventional but she will make you a good wife. I congratulate you. Sincerely this time.” He held out his hand.
Ash took it.
“Thank you, but right at this moment I am rather glad she is a little unconventional. If Madeleine wasn’t so strong, clever, and resourceful, things might have ended up very differently tonight.” He was still thanking God that Phillips had the natural tendency to scream and then faint at the first sign of anything that might upset his equilibrium. If not, the man’s desperate attempts to clear his own name might have killed her.
Finch gave a last nod and turned towards the stairs.
“I’ll see myself out. Don’t hesitate to call if her condition changes at all.”
Ash turned thoughtfully back to the bedroom, his heart beating fast, perspiration on his brow.
He was ready to declare that the evening’s events had been the most horrible of his life. First the anger at Madeleine’s apparent deception, which soon turned to concern when it became obv
ious that she was not in her room.
When the housekeeper’s words reminded him of the passageways, his panic turned to a deep-rooted fear. She didn’t know them as she thought. Her youthful forays into the hidden routes had left her knowledge of them sorely lacking. In finding the obvious ones, she had not guessed that there could be more, but the house proved to be riddled like a rabbit warren. A veritable maze lay behind the walls. He had toured many in the hours he spent in them. But he had missed many more. Most due to his size. He simply would not fit between the walls without causing himself extreme discomfort and irreparable damage to his clothes.
Yes, everyone thought he had returned to London for his business the morning after he had arrived at Claiborne but in reality, his curiosity about the hidden passages had taken over his every thought. He had ridden Titan into the next town and stabled him at the inn, only returning on foot after sending word to Captain Merriweather and buying a few essential supplies. He had re-entered Claiborne in the late evening via the still open study window.
The house’s state of mourning had been on his side when he had crept along to the garden room and opened the secret panel, but twice in the following days he had almost given his presence away by mistakenly taking turns into the well-used servants’ passageways.
Several times he found himself back in the main corridors of the house. Once he had thought he might never find a way out when his lamp ran out of oil and he was plunged into the inkiest darkness he had ever seen. Though seen wasn’t quite the right word. More like an out of body experience where he knew he was there but could see nothing of himself. Not even his own hand when he lifted it to wipe a cobweb from his face. He questioned his own existence in such a place. Did you exist if no one could see you, didn’t even know you were there? It had been blacker than the moonless and stormy nights on the ocean when the clouds blocked the stars. If he hadn’t had the foresight to shove an emergency candle and tinderbox in his pocket, he might have had to resort to bursting through a panelled wall to escape the nightmare.
An Unexpected Title (Suspicious Circumstance Book 1) Page 23
