The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel

by Burns, Nathaniel

  I got up and crossed the room to the fireplace, where I fumbled for a match to light my bedside candle. I threw on a shawl and my slippers and once again I eased my door open and pattered down the silent stone corridors, following the sound of this unseen orchestra.

  The sound guided me towards the centre of the castle, straight to the door to the Withy Chamber. As I stood at the closed door I knew that the music was not simply imagination on my part, for it was clearly audible and had grown louder as I approached the room from whence it came. Has Sir Montague returned during the night? I wondered. Did I somehow fail to hear him return, and now he is hosting some strange nocturnal revel? But for whom?

  I had expected to be greeted by the sight of dancers and musicians when I opened the door, perhaps even blinded by the blaze of a multitude of candles befitting a party. Instead, I squinted into the darkness. The only light in the Chamber was from a single candelabra on the table at which I had dined earlier, in the centre of the room. The music filled the air. A tall, slender man stood silhouetted in the candlelight, his fingers flying over the stem of a violin, but there was no sign of his fellow musicians. As he caught sight of me he stopped playing, bringing the sound of the unseen chamber orchestra to an end, and laid his instrument down.

  “Lady Rebecca,” he cried, covering the floor with long strides to take seize my hand. I let him take it, expecting him to lay his lips on my fingers, but instead he turned it over and placed a burning kiss in my palm. “I have longed to meet you.”

  I was dumbstruck for a moment, unable to do anything but stare. He was an odd-looking man, handsome in an unnerving way. His features were regular and his hair was thick, dark, a little long. It was his eyes that unsettled me. His gaze bored deep into me, inscrutable, like the eyes of a goat.

  “I am delighted to meet you, Sir,” I replied, formally courteous, and gave him a polite curtsey. “I am sorry we are unable to be properly introduced, but won’t you tell me who you are? Are you a friend of my husband’s?”

  He had not yet released my fingers from his cold grasp. He fixed me with his strange eyes and replied “Not of your husband’s, My Lady, no. But I have been acquainted with many other gentlemen of this illustrious family, all the way back to Sir Carvell.” The stranger laughed at my confused face. “Pretty little fool,” he chuckled. “Weren’t you listening to all those stories? Haven’t you spent the past month fantasising about the ill-fated Chastain brides driven mad by the cursed Withy Chamber?”

  At last I realised what he was telling me. I did not know whether this was a joke, a nightmare or some genuine loathsome visitation. All I knew was that I wished to be back upstairs in the safety of my bed. I pulled my hand back but his grip was tight and he would not let me go.

  “You have figured it out,” the Devil grinned. “I congratulate you.”

  “Am I dead?” I asked in hushed tones. “Or about to die?”

  “The former, certainly not,” he replied. “The latter is beyond my control at this point. Your soul is not currently mine to take, therefore you may content yourself. This visit is an overdue social call to make the acquaintance of the new Lady Chastain. Nothing more. Nothing less. Might I persuade you to take a glass of wine with me?”

  Apprehension gripped me. Can it be a good idea to drink with the Devil? I wondered. Would I not be taking a great risk? I knew that I was still a little unused to wine, since we had never been able to afford it in the house in Lisson Grove. It still went to my head easily, and I recalled an old saying of Mama’s about taking a long spoon to sup with the Devil. While her saying was figurative, I was convinced that had she realised I would one day find myself in this situation in reality, she would have advised me against partaking of anything he had to offer.

  After a moment’s indecision I made up my mind. Mama had not always been correct, and she was no longer here. I allowed the Devil to lead me over to the table and fill my glass with a deep red vintage. Candlelight glimmered through the crystal as I lifted the glass to my lips. The wine spread smoothly across my tongue, rich and bitter as a ripe pomegranate. The sharp tang of alcohol caught my throat.

  “My condolences upon your marriage, Lady Rebecca,” he said, draining and refilling his own glass.

  “You mean congratulations, surely?” The warmth of the wine flowed through my veins.

  “Do you think congratulations are in order?” he smirked at me, reminding me for a moment of my beloved Mervyn. “From what I know of your husband, I would stand by my original offer of condolences.”

  I smirked back. “Hmm. You may be right. Thank you.”

  “Such a pity that a marriage made for its pecuniary advantages did not yield a decent set of jewels for you.”

  I shrugged. “There are other things in life,” I said.

  “What, such as love, happiness, a home of one’s own?” The Devil chuckled. “I can offer you the Chastain family jewels, you know. All you need do is play me for them.”

  With courage I did not know I possessed, I looked the Devil straight in the eye. “They’re not yours to gamble with,” I remarked. “You lost them to Sir Carvell. I am hardly likely to play against you for something this family already owns.”

  We exchanged a smile and he raised his glass to me. “Touché, Lady Rebecca, touché. Yet while the Chastains own the jewels, they do not currently know where they are to be found. I do, since I was the one who left them there. Would you like them back?”

  With a wave of his slim hand he conjured an apparition before my eyes, a translucent vision of a dazzling emerald pendant.

  “Can’t you just see this around your neck, My Lady?” The vision changed, becoming an ornately-wrought hand mirror. I could see my pale face, my thick braid of dark hair, the ivory linen of my nightgown. As I continued to look, I saw the pendant materialise at my throat. “Look at the way the gold warms your skin,” the Devil whispered, his voice as soft as a lover’s. “See how the emerald itself glows upon you, the way it brings out the sparkle of your eyes.”

  I was tempted, I admit, by the image of such a beautiful object. Yet it was not the thought of the pendant’s glamour or value that made me accept his challenge. It was the fact that the pendant was only mine by rights because I was a Chastain bride, and in that moment I knew with an overwhelming clarity that I was married to the wrong Chastain. I saw my life with Sir Montague stretching out in front of me, my life as an unwanted, ignored wife. The best I could hope was that I would have children and that they would be more like me than life their father. Even then, I could see abandonment waiting in my future as they departed for school and later for their own lives. I thought of Mervyn, who had admitted his love for me but who could not be my lover, who must surely give up on this hopeless love someday and find a woman who was free to be his. The spectacular stone at the heart of the pendant seemed to shine with the venomous green of my envy; envy of Sir Montague’s freedom to treat me as he pleased, of Mervyn’s freedom to move on and found a life on an equal, reciprocal love, of the freedom Mama had once had to make her own mistakes rather than the mistakes she had been pushed into by a sense of responsibility and obligation. In truth, I did not care whether I retrieved the pendant or not. Whether it ever lay round my neck was of no import. All I knew was that I could not stand to be the modest, dutiful woman I had been raised to be for one minute longer.

  “Since you challenged me, I name the game,” I said, my voice clear and steady in the stillness of the night. “Not cards. Chess.”

  “Very well,” the Devil replied. “And what shall you stake against the location of the jewels.”

  “If I win, you shall return the jewels to me. That means you must ensure that I have them in my hand, here in this very room, and that I am free to own them and wear them hereafter. If I lose, the jewels shall be yours.”

  He shook his head. “I fear the jewels mean less to me than they would to you, Lady Rebecca,” he said. “You must offer me something of equal value.”

  “Such as?”r />
  “Traditionally you would stake your soul,” he mused nonchalantly. “Though I would be willing to accept a lesser stake. A night in your bed, for instance.”

  I hesitated for a moment. Then I thought of the strange usage I already endured at Sir Montague’s hands. The Devil himself could scarcely be less appealing. Besides, I reasoned, if all Sir Montague cares about it being able to use me at will, this is surely the best revenge I could have upon him.

  “Very well,” I said. “But it shall be no other night than Midsummer’s Night, the shortest of the year.”

  He raised his glass to me. “You drive a hard bargain, Lady Rebecca. But it shall be as you wish.”

  He snapped his thin fingers and an elaborate chess board appeared upon the table between us, its squares constructed of fine black and white marble, each of the pieces a miniature work of art. I looked closer at the white king and queen and nearly leapt from my seat in surprise as I saw that they were made in the images of me – and Mervyn!

  “Your move, My Lady,” the Devil pointed out. I lifted a pawn, almost at random, and moved it forward two squares. Our game had begun.

  I had always been an enthusiastic player rather than a skilful one, which made my acceptance of this satanic challenge all the more insane. I could beat Mama easily, but I was well aware that she had not been a formidable opponent. As the Devil claimed my first pawn within a few moves, swiftly followed by one of my knights, I began to realise the magnitude of the bet I had made. Still, I could not regret the risk – I felt alive, thrilled in a way I had never been before. To blazes with it, I thought. If I lose, I lose. I don’t care. I shall play exactly as I please. Snatching up one of my bishops, I sent the piece on a death or glory mission to the opposite side of the board.

  I who had lived my life according to a strategy, even if it had been Mama’s rather than mine, now found myself playing wildly, planning no further than the next move. When an opportunity arose I seized it with both hands, picking the Devil’s pieces off the board with glee. When a piece of mine fell, I shrugged to myself and reasoned that I hardly cared how the game turned out for I felt that I had nothing to lose. When I took the Devil’s queen I clapped my hands and laughed in delight. Throwing caution to the winds, I sent my own queen chasing round the board, checking his king over and over again. I was so caught up in the pursuit that I paid no attention to the overall shape of the game until the Devil reached across the table, laid a hand on mine and whispered “checkmate.” I felt a flash of ice-cold lightning down my spine at the thought of the Devil in my bed.

  “What?” I cried. I stared down at the pieces, trying to work out which of his pieces had checkmated me. “But how? I-”

  “Not you, my dear,” he murmured. “Me. Look at the position I am in. You have won.”

  I looked again, and sure enough, there was nowhere for his king to go without being taken. I had won! I had bested the Devil! I stared up at him in astonishment. I could not find a single word.

  “My dear Lady Rebecca,” the Devil laughed, “how quickly you go from the reckless gamestress back to the quivering ingénue! You are exquisite. Well, you have won your right to know where the jewels are, to have them safely in your possession, yours to own in freedom hereafter. If you like I can deliver them into your hand this moment, but yours is an inquisitive mind, for all the training you’ve had to repress it. Wouldn’t you like to know where the Chastain treasures have been all these years?”

  I considered for a moment. It was true that I had a lifetime’s experience of leaving questions unasked, ignoring my thirst for any knowledge that my Mama did not consider proper, longing to know more than my life would allow. Now, though…

  “Damn it all,” I smiled, tasting the unfamiliar profanity upon my tongue. “Yes. Let me be the one to know the secret!”

  “This way, then,” the Devil said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to me. I rose to accompany him. “There are more doors in the Withy Chamber than any living member of the Chastain family knows. Indeed, there is much more to Willow Castle than meets the eye.” He led me round the strange pentagonal room until we came to the uppermost point, which I had learned from Mervyn’s stories was the westernmost point.

  “No-one knows when this Chamber was first painted this way,” the Devil informed me amicably. “Well, no-one except me. It is as old as the Castle itself, give or take a certain amount of refreshing. However, for all the many times that the paint has been refreshed, one thing has remained unchanged. Look here.” He pointed a long, sharp-nailed finger at a word picked out in black across the base of one of the willow trees that adorned the wall. In the dim light I could barely make it out, but slowly I deciphered the letters: VIMINIA.

  “The thing about a noun on a painted wall is that everyone assumes it’s the signature of the artist who painted the fresco. In fact it is nothing of the kind, this is simply the Latin word for willow. It is here as a reminder of what willow trees are and what they are reputed to be. For examples, when a willow tree reaches down with its branches, what do you expect to find?”

  “Water,” I replied, unsure of how this related to the jewels.

  “Indeed. So in order to find water, you must follow the branches downwards. Do you know anything else about willow trees?”

  I thought hard. “Very little,” I frowned. “They are associated with sorrow and mourning when they appear in literature, they are used to make cricket bats and charcoal, but I am afraid that is all I know. Botany is not a subject it has been my good fortune to study.”

  The Devil drew closer to me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my skin. “It is not your botanical knowledge that is required, Lady Rebecca,” he whispered. “I speak of legends. The willow tree is said to have the ability to drag itself from the earth, wrenching itself up by the roots, to reposition itself in more favourable ground.”

  “But why?” I breathed.

  “Opinions vary,” he said. “Perhaps to snatch unwary travellers from the roads and devour them, or to deliver them to the goddess Hecate to whom all willow trees are dedicated. Or perhaps it is simply something they do when they find themselves in a situation they do not care for – they tear themselves away from that situation by any means possible. They also, as you observe, make excellent charcoal. Now, if you look to the word VIMINIA, you will see beneath it a knothole in the floor. Place your finger in it.”

  I did as I was bid, then leapt back as a section of the floor fell away beneath me. A trapdoor! Peering into the darkness I saw a flight of stone steps leading down.

  “Where do they lead?” I asked.

  “Follow me and you shall find out,” the Devil invited me. He flitted back to the table to retrieve the candelabra, then led the way down into the subterranean passageway. I picked up the skirts of my nightgown and stepped down into the blackness.

  The flight of stairs was long and steep, penned in by rough-hewn limestone walls on either side. My breath came faster as we went deeper, for the deeper we went the more the walls felt like they were closing in on either side. At length we came to a corridor, every bit as narrow but flat, at least, so there was no longer that sensation of plunging down into the depths of the earth. How far we walked along that corridor I do not know, but eventually it opened out into a vast, cathedral-like cavern.

  I gazed in wonder at the beauty of the place. The walls had the same pale, ethereal glow as those I had seen in Poole’s Cavern, but the ceilng was even higher and patterned with long, treacherous-looking stalactites. I feared that they might drop at any second and plunge into the river that flowed fast and winding through the cave. By the side of the river was a large formation of smooth white rock, shaped almost like a chaise longue. The Devil led me over to it. It was a perfect size for two to sit and admire the rushing water.

  “Long ago, before Willow Castle was built and this cavern considered to be part of it, the people who lived in the Hope Valley knew this as the Devil’s Chamber,” the Devil told me, his v
oice soft and spellbinding. “And this particular stone was known as the Devil’s Seat. It was said that if you sat upon this stone and left the remaining place free for me, you could ask a boon of me and if I had a mind to grant it, I would do so without exacting my usual punishing price.”

  I laughed as the final pieces of the mystery fell into place. “So all Sir Carvell ever had to do was come down here, sit upon this rock and ask, and you would have shown him the location of the jewels?”

  “Not even that!” The Devil joined his mirth to mine. “Rest your arm upon the side, Lady Rebecca.”

  I did so, adopting a more relaxed posture. Beneath the weight of my arm, the top layer of rock began to move. I pushed it aside. It was heavy, but it was hinged and polished to allow it to move easily to reveal a hidden compartment carved into the rock. Within that secret hiding place lay a large pouch of deep green velvet. I lifted it out and spilled its contents into my lap.

  “The jewels!” I cried, seeing a tangle of gold, silver and precious stones tumbling onto the soft linen of my nightgown. One by one I picked out each item; a rope of pearls, several fine rings, a diamond circlet, earrings and bracelets and all sorts of beautiful things. Last of all I examined the famous emerald pendant. I gazed through it at the cavern, seeing the room change colour as if it were consumed by green flame.

  “To match your eyes, lovely Lady Rebecca,” the Devil took the pendant and moved behind me, slipping the chain over my head so the emerald lay heavy on my bosom. “And now I wish I could say that you are mine… but you are another’s.”

  “Indeed,” I stared meaningfully at the gold band on the ring finger of my left hand.