First, he wanted to find the hatch to the generator room that Sinclair had mentioned on the night of the thunderstorm. He thought that was as good a place to start as any. Perhaps it offered a way into Drumarthen that had been overlooked or compromised. He recalled Sinclair’s instructions on how to find it.
‘Turn left and follow the walls until you come to a steel hatch,’ he told himself as he stepped outside and closed the door behind him.
There was fine rain in the air, and it was cool enough today to make Tayte glad of his suit jacket as he set off, whistling a show tune to himself for company—just a guy out for a morning stroll should anyone wonder what he was doing out there in the drizzling rain. He wanted to keep his activity to himself for now, at least until he was satisfied that it had not been Sinclair or Murray who had come to his room in the night.
He followed the flagstone walkway around the house, keeping to the angled contours of the grey stone walls. There was little of interest to see. Having just discussed Jane’s latest letter with Sinclair, his mind was still ruminating over its contents. It excited him to have read about the ruby for the first time—the ruby that, according to what Jane had overheard, represented the blood of so many fallen Rajput warriors. With such a description it could only be the Blood of Rajputana, and now at last Jane’s words made it real. The ruby had been taken from the Maharaja of Kishangarh by Arabella’s lover, Naresh Bharat Singh, who had been murdered that same night by dacoits. The ruby had changed hands, but what of Captain Donnan Fraser’s merciless retribution? What had become of the ruby after that? The question made Tayte all the more keen to find out.
As he moved around the house, he lost sight of the driveway and the burn. Before long he arrived at the gate that led into the neglected parterre garden, with its views of the Southern Highlands that today were all but masked by the poor weather. He’d seen no sign of a steel hatch, and he was beginning to see why Callum Macrae had said he couldn’t find it. It had been dark then, and here he was in broad, if somewhat dull, daylight, unable to find it either.
He kept going, figuring that he had to come to it soon or Sinclair would likely have sent Macrae the other way around the house. He could see another gate ahead, mirroring the one he’d not long passed through. The shrubs and weeds were so overgrown here that he had to step off the pathway to go around them. Then he saw an area that appeared to have been recently trimmed. He went closer, back towards the flagstones, and there it was, set against the house beneath a tangle of ivy that all but obscured it.
Tayte pulled the vines away to reveal two galvanised steel doors that were each about four feet long by three feet wide. There was no chain around them and he could see no lock. He grabbed one of the handles and gave it a tug. It rattled but would not open. He tried the other handle with the same result, concluding that the hatch was secure and clearly locked from the other side. If someone was gaining entry to Drumarthen unseen, then it was not by this route.
He stepped back and looked up. There was no way anyone could get in via the narrow archers-style windows on the ground floor, and the windows on the level above that were so high, the walls so sheer, that someone would need a very long ladder to access them. The thought caused Tayte to look around for such a ladder, but while he thought it was not impossible to conceal one somewhere nearby, he also thought that if there was, Murray, who spent much of his time in the grounds, would have noticed it. Nonetheless, as he made his way through the next gate and continued around the house, he made a mental note to ask Murray whether there were any suitable ladders on the estate that weren’t ordinarily locked away.
As far as Tayte could see, there was only one other outside door, which he supposed Murray used most often to come and go in his muddy boots so as not to make a mess in the main hallway. It appeared to be made of solid oak and was locked up tight, which he imagined it was every night and whenever Murray came and went, as Sinclair had recently instructed. He kept going, and quickly came to the front of the house again, having seen no other possible way in. Arriving at the main entrance, he was surprised to see Sinclair standing in the doorway. It was as if he knew Tayte had gone out and was waiting for him to return. When he saw Tayte approaching, he extended an umbrella and came out to meet him. He had a newspaper tucked under his arm.
‘You’ve not chosen the best morning for a stroll,’ he said, holding the umbrella over them.
‘No,’ Tayte agreed, laughing to himself. ‘I just wanted to clear my head, ready for some more research today. The weather didn’t seem so bad when I set out.’
‘Scottish rain may often be fine, Mr Tayte, but it’s deceptively wet. I figured you must be out here when I went to your room just now and you weren’t there.’
‘You wanted to see me about something?’
Sinclair unfurled his newspaper, revealing the headline, ‘COMRIE KILLER STRIKES AGAIN! COMMUNITY IN SHOCK!’
‘Poor Moira’s murder is all over the news today,’ he said. ‘The police still appear to be clueless as to what’s going on.’
‘I sensed as much when I spoke with DI Ross on the phone yesterday,’ Tayte said. ‘I don’t think he’s had much sleep since Dr Drummond’s body was found.’
‘No, I’m sure he hasn’t. He may appear to be keeping a cool head about it all, but I expect he’s just as distressed as everyone else. He knew the victims better than most.’
Tayte shook his head as he continued to take the headline in. ‘Thanks for showing it to me,’ he said. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised by the reaction, especially in such a small town as this.’
‘Aye, well it’s not the only reason I came looking for you. I wanted to see you about Jamie’s funeral tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know that the car will be here at ten to take us to the church. I hope the weather improves.’
‘Ten,’ Tayte said as they went back inside. ‘Got it. I’ll be ready.’
‘I also left a message for DI Ross to let him know we had a visitor last night, and that you’ve received another letter. I couldn’t get an answer on his personal number. He’s clearly very busy just now.’
‘Yes, I’m sure he is,’ Tayte agreed.
‘Aye, well I’ll leave you to your research. Hopefully your walk has done you the power of good.’
Tayte nodded and smiled. As he made for the stairs he certainly did so with a spring in his step, although on this occasion it was not because of his research, but because he was keen to see if he could find out where last night’s visitor to his room had gone. He reached the top step and turned around to make sure Sinclair was no longer there, and then instead of turning left towards his room, he turned right, into the east wing.
‘Just watch your step, JT,’ he told himself as he went.
The corridor Tayte had taken was only marginally better lit than it had been when he was there the night before. As far as he could tell, all the doors that led off it were closed, blocking the light from the windows beyond, but it was brighter further down. He supposed a door had been left open somewhere, or perhaps the corridor emerged into a lighter space. He was sure his visitor hadn’t gone through any of the doors he could see. It had been so quiet that he figured he’d have heard it open and close if he had. He opened the door nearest him to test it and the hinges squealed, confirming his thoughts. Making his way further along, he took out his phone and switched on the torch to better see where he was going.
The corridor led to another landing area of sorts, only there was no staircase down from here. Instead, Tayte saw a square balcony in the centre with half of its spindles missing. He imagined the other half would fall away with the rest if he breathed too hard on them, and he was immediately glad that he’d turned back the night before, or in the darkness he thought he’d most likely have kept going until he’d tripped over the edge. He was at a junction of four corridors, each of which led off from an atrium that ran down through all the floors of the building. The daylight was coming from a skylight high above him, brightening the otherwi
se gloomy junction. He stepped closer to the opening at the centre of the atrium and the creaking floorboards reminded him to be careful, as if any reminder were needed. When he peered over the edge, he saw a black-and-white chequerboard floor on the level below that was littered with debris.
To his right, the corridor was very short, terminating at a double doorway that was open and bright. It drew his attention and he stepped gingerly towards it. The doors led into a long and very bright room full of windows that looked out from the front of the house and down on to the driveway below. He supposed he was looking into what had once been the long gallery. There were several dining chairs scattered here and there and another set of double doors at the far end of the room to his right which, given that this room appeared to run parallel to the corridor he’d arrived by, he imagined opened out on to the landing area at the top of the main staircase. He doubted his visitor would have had reason to double back on himself, so Tayte returned to the atrium. There were two other corridors to try. Both were dark and uninviting.
Tayte decided to try the passage that ran towards the rear of the house. It seemed logical that if the person he’d briefly pursued during the night had not turned right when he came to the atrium, then he must have gone left, otherwise the amber light he’d seen would have continued along the corridor in the direction he was heading. He peered into the gloom that quickly swallowed up the light from the atrium, and slowly set off, once more using his phone’s torch to light the way. There was little to see apart from the peeling paint and wall coverings, and the worn rug beneath him that was hiding the rotten floorboards. There were also a few wires protruding from the walls, and others dangling from the ceiling here and there where lamps had once been.
Several more doors were set at intervals along the corridor. He tried one but it wouldn’t budge. Then he tried another, which opened into a chasm, the floor on the other side having all but collapsed on to the floor below. He quickly closed the door again and kept going. Then he heard a crack beneath him and wished he wasn’t so heavy. This was not the kind of environment someone his size should be poking around in.
‘In for a penny,’ he told himself and continued, testing his weight at every step.
When he came to the end of the corridor, he was surprised to find a half-moon table, on which was set a large vase of flowers. They were artificial, and covered with dust and grime, but even so, they seemed out of place in such a derelict environment. The corridor took him around to his right where it soon terminated at a set of double doors, one side of which was partly open. There was daylight beyond, which was encouraging, so he nudged at the door until it was wide enough for him to fit through. He noticed as he did so that the other door was completely blocked by debris. He looked up and saw why. The ceiling above him had partially collapsed, leaving a gaping hole through which he could see a bright mural, painted in the Italian Renaissance style.
Tayte had arrived at the top of a relatively narrow staircase that only led down. If his visitor had come this way, as Tayte supposed he had, then he would have had no other choice than to take the stairs to the ground floor. It appeared to be a quarter-turn staircase, and Tayte was glad to see that most of the steps seemed to be intact. He grabbed the handrail for support and tested its integrity before descending, keeping to the edge where he imagined the woodwork would offer him greater support. He almost made it to the bottom without incident, but about three steps up he suddenly caught his breath as the step beneath him collapsed without warning and he fell the rest of the way, taking the lower section of the handrail with him.
Tayte groaned to himself as he sat up and began to dust himself down, grateful at least that he hadn’t fallen from a greater height. He coughed and covered his mouth with his sleeve until the dust he’d kicked up had settled again. Then he got to his feet and gazed around at the large room he found himself in. Now back on the ground floor, there were more of the same high archers-style windows that ran around the building. Halfway into the room, he could see an enormous stone fireplace, over which there had clearly once hung a large painting or tapestry; the wall covering where it had been appeared bright and relatively fresh by comparison to its faded surroundings. As usual, from what he’d so far seen of the dilapidated east wing, the room was bereft of furniture and ornaments.
A door drew Tayte’s eye and he stepped carefully towards it, thinking that his visitor, once here, would have had no option but to do the same. He saw there were floorboards missing in places, some areas large enough to fall through if he wasn’t careful. As he went, he soon began to feel the floor bow under his weight. By the time he was in the middle of the room he wished he’d gone around the edge where it might have been safer. He felt as if he were standing on a semi-frozen lake that was about to crack open. He wondered where the floor joists were. The floorboards were exposed, so he began to look for telling nail heads, but the boards were covered in too much dust and peeling paint and plaster from the ceiling above to make out anything so small. He took another step and the floor creaked and cracked beneath him.
Then it collapsed altogether, and Tayte was falling.
The seconds that followed the floor’s collapse passed in a blur of dust and darkness that found Tayte lying flat on his back, looking up through a jagged hole above him. He blinked several times and coughed as the sound of his fall continued to echo in the empty space. He wondered whether any of his bones were broken. The fall had certainly knocked the wind out of him, but other than that and a slight pain at the back of his head where it had bounced on the floor, he felt okay. He sat up and saw that he’d only fallen six feet or so. He reached into his jacket for his phone and put the torch on again, blinking to shake the dust from his eyelashes.
The first thing he noticed was that his suit was no longer tan, but pale grey from all the dust he’d disturbed. The second thing was a set of stone steps against the outside wall, leading to the room above. He stood up and went to them, stooping all the way. He figured he was in a part of the cellar, only this part clearly hadn’t been used in a very long time. As he arrived at the steps he saw why. There was no opening or hatch above them, and it excited him to think that this area had been sealed off, perhaps a long time ago. He climbed the first few steps and began to push up at the floor above. After several attempts, he knew it wasn’t going to budge.
He went back to the area he’d fallen through, thinking he could pull himself up again, but every time he tried he just succeeded in pulling more of the floorboards down with him. He tried the other collapsed areas he’d seen, drawn by the pools of light beneath them, but it was no good. Even the joists were rotten. He turned to his phone, thinking to call the number Sinclair had given him when they first met. The signal strength only showed one bar, which he figured was because he was now beneath the house, surrounded by thick foundations. A second later he saw the signal drop out altogether.
‘Patchy reception,’ he told himself.
Then he heard a rat squeal somewhere in the darkness, and he quickly turned towards the sound, fumbling with his phone as he shone his torch after it. He figured the rat had to have got in there from somewhere, so he stepped slowly towards it, thinking to take a look around for another way out. If there was one, it would save him having to explain himself to Sinclair after having been told not to go into the east wing.
He quickly reached one of the stone foundation walls. The air here felt cooler, changing from dry and dusty to damp and stale. He followed his nose for several seconds and the musty odour grew stronger and stronger until his torchlight revealed a blank space in the wall ahead. As he drew closer, he saw that it was an archway, no more than five feet high.
‘This place just gets more and more interesting.’
He shone his torch into the opening, revealing a narrow tunnel, the end of which he was unable to see. He sniffed the air again and there was nothing fresh about it. It caused him to doubt whether it would lead him out of there. Just the same, with little option other
than to call Sinclair for help, he had to take a look, if only to satisfy his curiosity as to where the tunnel led.
As he continued to follow his torchlight, he had the sensation that the tunnel was gradually taking him deeper beneath Drumarthen. There were soon puddles of water at his feet, and every now and then, as he shone his torch ahead, he’d catch sight of scurrying rodents and hear their scratching claws as they receded back into shadow.
‘Where does this lead?’ Tayte questioned, thinking aloud. ‘Why was the area sealed up?’
He knew it must have had a function at some time, or why had those stone steps been built there? As the light fell into another black space ahead, letting him know that the tunnel walls were coming to an end, he figured he was about to find out. When he reached the opening, he found himself standing at the top of another set of six or seven stone steps that led further down into a domed chamber. He shone his light into the space and realised he was in a small tomb, in the centre of which was a single sarcophagus.
Tayte caught his breath at the sight of it. He wondered who had been interred there, although as he began to take the steps down to find out, he thought he knew. The dust here had to be a centimetre thick. It blanketed everything like a fresh snowfall, and the marks he saw in the dust told Tayte that someone else had been here. As he shone his torch down at his feet to light his way, he noticed that he was following in another person’s footprints. He squatted down to get a better look at them and thought they looked relatively recent, made with a modern shoe or boot, judging from the tread pattern of the sole. He thought back to the other holes he’d seen in the floorboards he’d fallen through, and wondered whether someone else had found this chamber in much the same way he had.
Approaching the sarcophagus, Tayte saw more evidence that someone else had been there and had taken an interest in it. Where the dust covering the sarcophagus was smooth and untouched for the most part, the area that bore the inscription had been wiped clean so the details could be read. There was a name, followed by the year of birth and of death.
Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7) Page 19
