Room Beneath the Stairs

by Wilde, Jennifer;

  There was a loud shuffling noise in the shrubbery behind me. I jumped up, filled with alarm. The shrubs moved as though hands were holding onto the branches, gradually parting them. A branch cracked. Again I felt eyes watching me. Paralyzed, unable to do anything but stare at that dark clump of shrubbery, I saw the leaves tremble, grow still. Stealthy footsteps padded away, moving deeper into the woods. My blood was like ice. The sound of footsteps diminished, then disappeared. There was only the rustle of boughs, the flutter of wings, the soft hum of insects. For several seconds more I was unable to even think, and then I realized it had probably been an animal, perhaps a large cat. It had pounced onto the shrubbery and, seeing me, crouched there before sneaking away. Still, the incident had unnerved me, and much of my confidence was gone. It must be six forty-five, probably nearer seven. The light wouldn’t last much longer. Where was she?

  “Mrs. Brandon!”

  The cry was faint, barely audible.

  “Valerie! Here I am!”

  There was no answering call. She must not have heard me. Peering down one of the tunnels, I saw a patch of light far, far away. There was a flash of violet, vanishing as quickly as it appeared. I hurried down the tunnel, stumbling over a root buried in the pine needles. Low-hanging boughs lashed out at me. I stumbled again and completely lost my balance, crashing onto the carpet of dead needles, barely managing to break the fall with my palms. Stunned, I sat up, wincing at the pain in my left shoulder. As I rubbed it, the pain subsided, but there would probably be a bruise tomorrow. Sitting there on the ground surrounded by thick tree trunks and underbrush, I heard Valerie call again. The call was shrill, almost hysterical, and it was cut off abruptly—as though a hand had been clamped over her mouth. My heart began to palpitate.

  “Stay out of the woods.” Evan’s words replayed themselves in my mind, every inflection reproduced exactly. “Stay in sight of the house.” He had been intense, emphatic. Panic began to mount. Pressing my lips together stubbornly, I quelled it. There was no reason to be alarmed. The wind had distorted her cry. Brushing pine needles from my hair, I struggled to my feet, still a bit breathless. I called Valerie again. She didn’t answer. Moving less rapidly this time, wary of hidden roots, I continued toward the end of the tunnel. The light grew brighter, and in a minute or two I was surprised to find myself on the crest of the cliff, the woods behind me. She had been here when I first heard her call and saw the flash of violet, but she was nowhere in sight now.

  “Valerie!”

  I stood there for several minutes, frantically calling her name, but there was only the crash of the waves, the roar of the wind in reply. Where could she have gone? Back into the woods? She had probably been looking for me all this time, was probably as frantic as I was. I walked along the narrow strip of uneven ground separating the woods from the edge of the cliff. The sky was a blaze of apricot and gold, but the air was thick with misty haze. Soon the color would vanish entirely, and darkness would fall. The wind tore at me, whirling skeins of hair over my eyes. Treetops swayed, groaning. Below, the waves churned against the rocks with increasing violence.

  I saw the incline ahead. A brambly shrub grew to one side of it, and several bright violet threads clung to one of the branches. She must have caught her shawl on it as she climbed down … but why would Valerie have gone down the incline? I stared at the threads, puzzled. Could she have heard my call and imagined it had come from below? That was the only explanation. With wind and woods distorting the sound, she might easily have thought I was standing among the rocks below when I called. Moving over to the edge of the incline, I peered over the side. Halfway down, another shrub jutted thorny branches out. More violet threads clung to it. Whatever the reason, it was clear that she had indeed gone down. There was nothing I could do but follow.

  Forgetting the danger, forgetting Evan’s warning, I started down the incline, moving slowly, carefully, feeling for footholds. It took me only a few minutes to reach bottom.

  The roar of the waves was deafening. It would be futile to call; she couldn’t possibly hear me. I moved around the rocks, stepping over shallow purple-black pools. I kept expecting to see Valerie standing just around the next boulder, her face white and tense, her tattered shawl clutched tightly about her shoulders. A wave crashed against a nearby rock, splattering water in every direction. I was drenched. Wiping a wet strand of hair off my cheek, I started around the last gigantic rock, knowing the caves were just beyond.

  Torn and shredded, the violet shawl was crumpled on the ground directly in front of that dark opening in the side of the cliff.

  Why had she gone into the caves, I wondered. I frowned, staring at the shawl. It was cold out here, and wet. Perhaps she had been cold in her thin skirt and blouse and had stepped through the opening to get out of the wind and spray. She had left the shawl there deliberately, so that I would be able to find her. Yes, of course. I tried to be very cool and logical about it, but no explanation my mind served up made sense, however rational it might seem in theory.

  “Valerie!”

  The wind caught the word, shattering it into fragments of sound. She probably couldn’t hear. She was waiting for me. She was probably frightened, worried that I wouldn’t come. I shook my head. I couldn’t go in there. It was unthinkable. But Valerie was inside. She was going to tell me something terribly important, something that would explain everything. I had to go in there. I had to know. You mustn’t, a silent voice cried out inside me, but I was no longer in control of myself. Something compelled me to move, drew me to the opening. As if in a trance I obeyed.

  The walls of the passageway were dark and damp. I had expected to find her just inside, but she wasn’t there. Of course not, the voice said. Far away, beyond the tunnel of sloping walls, a light flickered. The torch. She must have known about it, must have taken it into one of the rooms. I moved slowly down the tunnel. It was icy cold, the air moist. Darkness surrounded me, but the light was ahead, a beacon. I was underwater, invisible waves shimmering as they had done when Burke found me in the basement room. None of this was real. I knew that; even as I went down the passageway, I knew, but my conscious mind denied that knowledge. She would be there waiting, I told myself. She would explain everything. Turn back now; don’t go any farther, the voice cried, but it belonged to another Carolyn.

  The light grew brighter. The opening was far behind me now, the sound of the waves a distant echo reverberating against the walls. I stepped into the large grotto at the end of the passageway. Various natural tunnels led away from it in different directions. Light streamed out from one of them. I could see the purple-brown walls clearly. I tried to call her name again, but no sound would come. I was numb, without will, moving in a dream. The premonition was stronger than ever. The voice was screaming now, but I moved calmly down the tunnel toward the source of light, toward the grotto I remembered so distinctly.

  The torch was standing upright in the old iron holder fastened to the wall. The flames flickered, throwing off a yellow-orange glow that washed some areas with wavering light while emphasizing shadowy corners and spaces of total darkness. I saw the stalactites hanging from the ceiling like blue-brown icicles dripping with moisture. I saw the rusty chains and manacles. The evil was there, surrounding me, pressing in. The fetid air was alive with malevolence, as it had been before, so many years ago. Dark clusters of shadow stirred. The torch flames leaped wildly as a current of icy-cold wind found its way into the grotto.

  Valerie was on the ground beside a rock. She was covered with bright red ribbons. The ribbons were moving, flowing, spilling onto the ground. For a moment it didn’t register. The shock had to work its way through several layers of numbness. I stood there staring at her, and the screams inside grew shriller, louder, but there was no sound.

  Black wings fluttered about my head. I was running, stumbling, but I have no memory of leaving the caves, of rushing through the labyrinth of rocks, of climbing back up the incline. I was in the woods, still running, panting, a
nd all light was gone. Someone pursued me. Someone yelled. He was gaining on me. His shouts filled the woods. I caught my foot on a protruding root and fell with a crash, hitting the side of my head against a stump. The heavy footsteps continued to crash through the woods toward me, growing louder and louder. I crouched there on the path, stunned, unable to move, wanting the nightmare to end, knowing that it was real, no nightmare at all. He tore through the clump of shrubbery four yards away. I screamed once, and darkness engulfed me as he sprang and seized my arms.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  His arms held me tightly, bands of steel crushing me against him. It would have been useless to struggle. Consciousness returned, but the black wings still fluttered wildly, and my body was weak, limp, so limp I would have fallen again if he hadn’t held me. I could feel my heart beating, feel his, hear his pained breathing. The moon had come out. Trickles of pale silver light streamed through the pine boughs. I looked up at his face. His lips were pressed tightly together, his skin pale, eyes and forehead in shadow. I tried to break free. The arms twined tighter about me. My voice was shrill with hysteria.

  “The caves—Valerie—”

  “Don’t try to talk.”

  “Ribbons, red ribbons—”

  And then the wings grew larger, blacker, closing in, and I felt myself slipping away, vanishing into a void of darkness. He lifted me up in his arms—I remember that—and once, as we were moving toward the house, I looked up and saw the front steps bathed in moonlight, saw lights burning in all the downstairs windows, yellow squares against the night. I tried to speak again. I couldn’t. Evan was breathing evenly now, carrying me in his arms as though I weighed nothing at all. I closed my eyes, leaning my head against his chest. I was aware of his arms, his heartbeat, movement, of throbbing pain and, vaguely, of voices that seemed to be muffled, strained through heavy black cloth and distorted.

  “My God! My God! It’s happened again—”

  “She’s unharmed. I found her in the woods. She said something about Valerie and the caves. I’m afraid—”

  “God! I knew it! When he wasn’t—”

  “As soon as they get back, we’ll have to phone the police.”

  “The police! Are you out of—”

  “Shut up, Mother! This is your fault!”

  “Evan! How can you!”

  Then the voices drifted away and I was rocking, swaying in darkness, and his arms cradled me lightly against his chest. My legs dangled, and somehow I knew he was carrying me upstairs. Through the hazy layers of darkness I heard footsteps pattering, heard Judy’s excited cry, heard him order her to call a doctor; and then I sank into softness, and someone was pulling off my shoes. I panicked. I sat up in bed, eyes wide open, and I screamed. I was in the cave again. Something was in the corner, breathing, watching me as I stood there over Valerie’s body. I was running, running.

  “Easy now. Easy.”

  “Don’t touch me! Get away!”

  “For God’s sake, Carolyn—”

  I screamed again. He was at the foot of the bed, his hair disheveled, his face grim. He shook his head. I tried to get up, tried to run. He caught me by the shoulders, shoved me back against the mattress. He looked at me regretfully, and then he slapped me across the face. The darkness was filled with swirls of red and orange, and the pain was scalding, and then there was nothing but a sensation of falling, falling into the mists, into the velvety darkness that cloaked everything, made everything go away.

  Later, much later, I heard the voices again. They were speaking in an echo chamber. Words were lost and distorted. Evan’s voice was calm, Burke’s hoarse and raspy.

  “—doesn’t remember a thing.”

  “Thank God for that!”

  “—everything under control.”

  “I talked to them. They wanted to see her, but it’s out of the question. The chief constable was reasonable—”

  “Grey—” I whispered.

  “—at least two hundred men out there, the whole police force, half the men from the village with shotguns and lanterns—”

  “—in her room, under sedation. She was hysterical when I brought Carolyn in. She’s going to crack. This is—”

  “Please,” I whispered. “Please—”

  “—in spells. Slight concussion, I think. The doctor’s in London with his sister. One’s coming over from the mainland. God knows when he’ll get here—”

  “Grey. Please I want to see Grey.”

  “—take that risk.”

  Evan was standing beside the bed, alone. I saw him through a mist. He looked different. His humped nose was the same, his wide mouth still curled at one corner, his face lined, but he no longer looked savage, no longer looked like a tough. The eyes were filled with tenderness. He leaned over to adjust the covers about my chin. One hand touched my cheek, his fingers lingering lightly against my skin, and then he scowled and jerked his hand away. He stalked over to the window and stared out into the night. It all seemed a dream. The side of my head was throbbing painfully. My left shoulder hurt. I drifted away again.

  There was darkness, then a fine, vaporous white mist, and through the mist I seemed to see a painting, the colors blurred, the details unclear. It was an Impressionist painting in the style of Monet, but the subject matter was entirely different. It concerned Greycliff and all the things that had been bewildering me, and it was horrifying to see. I didn’t want to look at it, I didn’t want to know. I wanted the mist to cover it up again, but it continued to part and blow away, revealing more and more detail. I shivered violently. I wanted to get away. Then the mist lifted completely, and for an instant I saw the complete picture. I stared in horror. I tried to look away but my head wouldn’t move, my eyes wouldn’t close. I screamed, and the picture melted away into nothingness.

  “It’s all right, luv.”

  “Grey—”

  “I’m here.”

  “Hold me.”

  “Try to forget,” he whispered.

  He was holding me, his arms wrapped around me. He was large and warm and comforting. I opened my eyes. He was really there. It wasn’t a dream. His handsome face was inches from my own. His eyes were filled with concern. I touched his cheek, ran my fingers through the thick blond hair. He cradled me against his chest. Over his shoulder I could see Evan standing by the window, Burke beside him. Grey lifted my hair and kissed the nape of my neck. I clung to him desperately, but he evaporated, vanished into air.

  A frightened, timid-looking little man with sandy hair and worried eyes was standing beside the bed, a black bag in his hand.

  “Shock, primarily.”

  “She’ll be all right?” Evan asked.

  “No need to worry.”

  “Poor dear,” Judy said, stroking my brow.

  “—’ll help. Make her relax.”

  “No,” I protested, staring at the needle.

  “Easy,” Evan said.

  “Grey. I want Grey—”

  “Her husband,” Evan explained. “He was with her earlier. He and our chauffeur have gone out to help them search.”

  “—won’t hurt at all,” the doctor said nervously. “Just relax, Mrs. Brandon.”

  Oblivion was sweet, and total, undisturbed by voices, by dreams.

  I heard the clock ticking, muffled at first, far away, and then it grew louder, shrill and discordant. I opened my eyes. The clock on the bedside table showed three. Groggy, blinking, I sat up. The pain was gone. My head no longer throbbed. Through the windows I saw a gray, overcast sky, and I realized it must be midafternoon. I was ravenously hungry. As my fogginess lifted, I stared about the room. The light was dim and gloomy. It’s going to storm, I thought. There was a smell of stale tobacco smoke. Someone had been smoking in the room during the night. I got out of bed, not at all weak, surprisingly fit.

  I took a long, hot shower. The water, almost scalding, cleared away the last vestiges of drug-induced grogginess. Then I dressed, choosing a simple brown dress with short, pleated skirt an
d sleeveless top. My face in the oval mirror showed no sign of stress and strain. My cheeks were a pale, delicate pink, and my eyes were clear, violet blue. I brushed my hair vigorously, and I was applying a touch of coral lipstick when Judy crept hesitantly into the room. She gave a cry of alarm, appalled to find me out of bed.

  “Mrs. Brandon!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m perfectly all right, Judy.”

  “You shouldn’t be up! You need rest and—”

  “I’ve been resting for hours,” I said calmly.

  “Mister Evan will have a fit. He said—”

  “I don’t care what he said.”

  She looked slightly disappointed. She had expected to find me pale and drawn, shivering with hysteria, babbling incoherently, as I must have done the night before. Instead, she found me completely composed, looking the picture of health. I didn’t really understand it myself, but I had never been calmer, had never felt stronger. Recapping the lipstick, I stood up and walked over to the windows to stare out at the churning, choppy waves. They were almost black, tipped with foam, and the low-hanging sky was the color of dark slate.

  “A storm is brewing,” I said thoughtfully.

  “It’s been building up all day.”

  “I’ve never seen the sky so dark.”

  “Mrs. Brandon—are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I feel fine, Judy.”

  “Terrible thing.…” She said hesitantly.

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “Horrible. Exactly like that other murder—the little girl, all those years ago. They never found out who did it, and now.…”

  Judy gave a dramatic shudder. Cheated of her opportunity to play the devoted nurse, she wanted to talk. She had probably never seen so much excitement in all her life, I thought. For Judy this was obviously a grand, terribly thrilling drama, and she was elated to have a part in it, if only a small walk-on. Hands clasped together, eyes wide, she stared at me as an inexperienced amateur might stare at the glamorous leading lady, a little in awe, eager to discuss stage action.