As I pursed my lips to blow out the wax stick, I heard a snort from my husband behind me. I spun round, expecting him to have woken. He had not. I breathed a sigh of relief, then turned my attention back to the dancing flame in my hand.
And then I rose and glided across the floor like a dancer in a dream, and I held the little flicker of fire against the drapes on my husband’s heavy canopy bed.
Flames licked up the cloth. Before I knew it the conflagration was rampaging along the bedposts and devouring the upholstery. I watched spellbound, hardly able to reconcile my own actions with the beautiful danger in front of me. Then a flaming scrap of velvet broke free and fluttered down onto the counterpane. I snatched up my shawl and slipped out of the room – then, on a moment’s icy impulse, I turned the heavy iron key and locked the door from the outside.
13 Forgiveness
M
y feet flew over the flagstones as I raced towards Mervyn’s room. I must have looked like the ghosts I had always half-expected to see, my long white shift trailing behind me and my dark hair tumbling down round my shoulders. I knocked upon his door; no tentative tapping this time but urgent pounding with all my might.
“Mervyn!” I called. “It’s me, Rebecca! Open the door!”
“Rebecca?” Mervyn appeared in the doorway, dishevelled and handsome. “What the devil -”
I could not resist. I leapt into his arms and kissed him.
“I am so sorry!” I wailed, clinging tightly to him. “None of it is true! I am not having Sir Montague’s child, I hate him, there is so much I have to tell you – but it must wait. The Castle is on fire and we must make haste.”
He screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head, still half asleep and trying to make sense of the last few moments.
“Mervyn!” I repeated. “I said the Castle is on fire, don’t you think we had better leave?”
This time the message got through. His eyes snapped open, his posture suddenly alert.
“Fire, you say? Right.” He plunged into the darkness of his room and returned a moment later with a coat in each hand. “One for you and one for me,” he said. “We shall need them when we get outside. Come on.” He grasped my hand and we fled towards the central corridor. As Mervyn plunged on towards the exit I suddenly remembered something.
“Stop!” I cried, dragging him to a sudden halt. “Mervyn, wait. There is something -”
“Whatever it is, we must leave it,” he said, gently but urgently stroking the wayward hair out of my face. “This place is full of dried out old wood, we had best not linger.”
“It’s important! We have to go to the library!”
“The library? Rebecca, are you -”
“Come on!” I hauled him after me, and together we dashed through passageways that were suddenly coming to life as the smell of smoke drifted through the building and woke the staff. From the servants’ quarters high in the attics I heard the urgent jangling of an alarm bell. Outside, someone screamed. I flew to the nearest window slit and peered through. Celine was standing upon the gravel, half-dressed. She must have abandoned her cottage the moment she heard the bell and now she was watching in horror as the fire took the Castle in its grip. For a moment I wondered if there was any way of getting to her, but she turned and ran. I saw her changing course, clearly intending to take the road to Castleton, then Mervyn pulled me away and we plunged on until we reached our destination.
I tore across the room and flung myself on my knees in front of the low shelf where I had stored the jewels. I ran my finger along the spines, searching for the correct book, and when I found it I hauled it out and my fingers closed around the comforting weight of the laden pouch. Mervyn, standing behind me, must have thought that I had gone mad indeed, for I did not stop to explain but simply grabbed his hand again and together we fled back along the passages.
That was when we heard the crash. Judging by its direction I guessed that the floor of the master bedroom, directly above the entrance hall, had given way. I exchanged a glance with Mervyn and saw that he was thinking the same thing.
“We won’t be able to get out via the front door,” I said.
“Nor cut across the hall to get round to the back stairs and the kitchen door,” Mervyn agreed. “The servants will be all right, but I think we are stuck. If we go back and try the library window, you should fit through -”
I turned on him, eyes blazing. “And leave without you?” I cried. “Come this way. I have a better idea.”
We may not have been able to reach the front door or the kitchen door, but there was another door to the house that only I knew about – the trapdoor.
“The Withy Chamber?” Mervyn panted as he realised where we were headed.
“Trust me,” I gasped back. We stepped into pitch darkness as we entered, for the Chamber was windowless and the candles long since extinguished. I heard Mervyn strike up a match, looking for a candelabra, and the sound sent a faint, giddy thrill through my veins as I recalled the reason for the fire now consuming the place.
Mervyn looked sceptical but said nothing as I darted over to the westernmost point of the pentagonal space. I scanned the wall, searching for the word… there it was! VIMINIA. I followed the line of the writing, found the knothole and sent up a deep, heartfelt prayer that my dream had not been a dream after all. I slipped my finger into the hole. There was the spring. I touched it and the floor slid back.
“Well, I’ll be – well done, my love!” Mervyn seized me with his free arm and kissed me forcefully, gratefully. “How did you -?”
“Best to save the explanation until we are safely at the bottom,” I suggested. “Watch your step.”
We climbed sure-footedly down the long, narrow staircase. It should surely have been more terrifying with an inferno at our backs, but knowing that Mervyn was with me gave me courage. I tripped down the stairs, eager to reach the safety of the underground river and show Mervyn the beautiful chamber that waited below.
The claustrophobic corridor opened out exactly as I remembered it and blossomed into the stunning vaulted cavern, almost like a reproduction of the Withy Chamber carried out by nature itself. Behind me, I heard Mervyn’s sharp intake of breath as he set eyes on it. I led him over to the Devil’s Seat and at last we rested, safe in each other’s arms.
“Now,” he said, kissing my hair and holding me tight, “as much as I love you for your air of mystery, are you going to tell me what’s going on? How on earth did you know about this place?”
“Not so much how on earth,” I smiled, “but how the Devil.” I told him every detail I could remember of my encounter that night, from the unearthly music that had lured me to the Withy Chamber to my victory on the chess board and my lesson in the Castle’s history and secrets.
“I’m sure I should be jealous that you were being taught about Willow Castle by anyone other than me,” Mervyn quipped, “since that was always my subject. But I must say, I am impressed. You don’t do things by halves, do you?”
That gave me pause. “I’ve never thought of myself as the kind of person who doesn’t do things by halves before,” I said thoughtfully. “I suppose you are right…”
I told him about all that I had suffered at my husband’s hands, from the humiliation of having him bring his mistress into the house to the torment of my imprisonment. I wanted to tell him all about the degradations of the bedchamber, but I could not. I began to speak but my voice deserted me. Mervyn simply held me close and soothed me, assuring me that I could tell him in my own time, whenever that may be, and he would be there to hear it.
“But will you?” I fretted, suddenly breaking away from him. “Will you truly? Mervyn, I have done something terrible this night, and perhaps when you hear it you will never forgive me.”
“Rebecca, my darling, I doubt that there is anything you could do for which I would not forgive you. If, indeed, you need forgiveness. Come, tell me, what is it?”
Through tear-choked breaths I related the events of the
evening since we had parted company in the parlour. I told him of Sir Montague’s drunken lust and threats, of how he had fallen asleep and I had got out of bed and taken the key, of the letter I had written and how I had come to find myself with a flickering candle in my hand that had somehow found its way to my husband’s drapery.
“I have killed your cousin and set fire to your home,” I said, my voice flat with shock as I spoke it aloud for the first time. “I shall understand if you withdraw from me, if you feel you cannot love me.”
For a long time Mervyn sat in silence, staring into the torrent of the river. I felt the knots tightening in my stomach as I became convinced that the price I had paid for my freedom would be my love – and even that freedom might be short-lived. It struck me that I had taken the life of another, which could have more serious consequences altogether.
“Rebecca.” Mervyn spoke at last. “I can’t condemn you for what you have done. In all honesty, I am only surprised you did not do it sooner. I’m sorry for my cousin, but it sounds as if he gave you little choice. You had to escape, and I don’t see how else you could have done it.” He leaned back upon the Seat. “So old Montague’s dead, is he? It hardly seems real. I’ve thought about it so many times, you know – about what I’d do if anything were to happen to him. Since I met you, it’s always taken the form of rushing back to the Castle to take care of you, then after you came out of deep mourning I would ask you for your hand. Of course, all that seems pretty foolish now…”
“What? Foolish? But why?” I started upright. The idea of marrying me had become foolish?
“Because I’ve nothing to offer,” he said. “Just as before. My situation barely changes – in fact, if anything it becomes even less stable. My position at the shipping company is entirely dependent on the head of the Chastain family, and after Montague I am not sure who qualifies. The estate may well be entailed upon some distant relative or other, in which case I could find myself out on my ear. Even if it turns out that I am the next heir, I doubt there will be much money once we’ve finished rebuilding the Castle.”
“You would rebuild it, then?” I asked. “You think you could?”
“Oh yes,” he grinned. “It’s not the first time Willow Castle has been burned, it probably won’t be the last. The stone is pretty sturdy. The floors will burn, and all the wood panelling, and we shall lose a little bit of stone in places where the flames reach high enough to destroy the joists. But wood can be replaced, and enough of the Castle will live on for me to consider it the same place. The Withy Chamber has survived at least two previous fires.”
“Really?”
“It’s all stone. Even the willow mural was done in fresco. Plaster doesn’t burn, stone doesn’t burn. Whatever happens to the rest of the place, we’ll have the Withy Chamber to go back to. Or rather, I will. I wouldn’t ask you to come back and lead a life of genteel poverty with me. I believe you’ve had rather too much of that sort of thing already.”
“And if I said that I wanted to?”
“I would beg you to take your time and think about it,” he said solemnly. “Oh, Rebecca, please don’t think I say this lightly. I adore you, and I can think of nothing I want more than to ask you to be my wife. If truth be told, I cannot bear the thought of a life without you in it. But you must think of your own wellbeing. When you were poor before, you were a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. You had prospects, ways of pulling yourself out of poverty. Even now, you are a widow. There is bound to be some sort of pension which you’ll lose if you remarry. Don’t you want to enjoy that freedom and independence for a while? Once married to me you would be bound to a pauper forever. I could not let you walk straight into that when you are still reeling from the shock of your Mama’s death and the cataclysmic end of your first marriage. You would at least need to let the dust settle before deciding that you are happy to be poor again.”
I laid a hand lightly upon his chest. “Mervyn, my love,” I said softly, “you’re forgetting one thing…”
I up-ended the green velvet pouch and tipped the Chastain family jewels out onto his lap. They glinted and shimmered in the candlelight. I lifted the emerald pendant out and held it up, letting it catch the light and glow against the backdrop of white rock. As my beloved Mervyn stared speechless at my treasure trove I laughed aloud. His face broke out in a beaming smile and he threw back his head and laughed with me. Then he caught me up in a jubilant embrace and kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me.
And when at last we had sufficiently sworn and demonstrated our love, we carefully packed up the jewels, took up the candelabra and made our way hand in hand towards safety, the Hope Valley, and our new life together.
M
ORE KINDLE BOOKS BY NATHANIEL BURNS
THE MUMMIFIER'S DAUGHTER
A
Mystery set in Ancient Egypt
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ncient Egypt, 1233 BC - The Mummifier's Daughter returns us to a land steeped in mystery and magic. The detailed storytelling paints a picture of ancient Egypt in all its glory.
B
estselling author Nathaniel Burns has woven a delightfully dark tale around what must have been the most remarkable period of Egyptian history.
HONOUR AND GLORY
T
he Battle for Saxony
E
urope, in the year of the Lord 772 - Like a bloody storm, Charlemagne’s armies ravage early medieval Europe, leaving devastation and misery in their wake. They have subdued the kingdom of the Langobards, defeated the duchy of Bavaria; they threaten the Moors in the west and, in the south, the pope in Rome.
Yet Charlemagne has even more ambitious plans: he covets the Saxon territories in the north. The Saxons put up an unexpectedly fierce resistance. When Charlemagne’s troops destroy the Irminsul shrine, the Saxon holy of holies, there ensues a struggle to the death. Led by the legendary Duke Widukind, for decades the Saxons fight savagely for their beliefs and their independence. And they will have their revenge...
Honour and Glory will transport the reader right into this legend-shrouded part of the Early Middle Ages. With his story, Nathaniel Burns has woven a a rich, dark tapestry of one of the pivotal periods in medieval European history. His historically accurate descriptions rich in authentic detail bring this remote, mysterious world to life again before your very eyes.
Go ahead, stoke the fire in the hearth, draw your armchair closer and dive into this wonderful historical novel full of the intrigue, the warriors and the battles of a bygone Europe…
The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel Page 14
