A slim woman stood holding a storm lantern.
I could not hear what was being said, but the driver came back to the car, opened the door, and told me to get out. I came out, feeling crumpled and stiff, and followed him to the great door. The woman was young. I guessed her to be about my age. She was very pretty with thick auburn hair and very pale skin. In the light of the lamp I could not make out the color of her eyes, but they looked like they might be pale blue. Strangely, an expression of sadness or pity crossed her eyes when she met mine, then the look was swept away and she smiled softly and said, ‘Hello, Lena. I’m Misty Moran.’
‘Right, my job here is done. I’m off,’ said the driver.
Misty and I watched him get into his car and drive away. Then she turned to me and said, ‘You’d better come in then.’
We went into the house and while she swung the heavy door closed I looked around the gray stone walls and lofty ceilings in shock. It was so unbelievably vast. I tried to imagine how many of my homes would have fit into it. One hundred? Two?
‘We’ve had two days of storm and high winds and suffered a power cut. The electricity will be back on tomorrow.’
From the dim recesses a huge black shape moved and let out a low blood-curdling growl. My eyes widened with fear.
‘That’s just Ceba,’ Misty dismissed. ‘He’s a Tibetan Mastiff. He is very fierce and can be aggressive, but if you keep out of his way he won’t do anything to you.’ The dog moved its massive bulk into the circle of light. His head was as big as a bear’s. He looked at me with unfriendly, aloof yellow eyes.
‘Down, Ceba,’ ordered Misty in a stern voice, and he slunk away back to his shadowy corner. She turned to me. ‘Come on then, I’ll show you to your room.’
A single candle guttered at the base of the stairwell, illuminating a Roman marble statue, and the echo of our footsteps bounced off the walls and reverberated around us. We went up a curving staircase. It was dark and I could not make out much except the sensation of great space, thick walls, high ceilings, and dark wood. There were tall paintings of stern people in ancient costumes looking down on us.
‘That way is the west wing. You are allowed to wander around on your own and go anywhere that is not locked, except for the Lady Anne tower in the west wing.’
I nodded.
‘It has a structural fault and has been declared dangerously unstable. It could come down at any time.’
‘All right.’
‘Are you hungry? I could bring you some food.’
‘Yes, yes, I am.’
‘Would a cold chicken sandwich do?’
‘That would be fine. Thank you.’
‘I’ll bring you a Coke to go with it.’
We stopped at a tall, heavy door that she pushed open, and we entered. Inside the room was a four-poster bed with a mountain of pillows and some furniture in the shadows. There appeared to be thick drapes over the windows. A fire roared in the fireplace.
‘This is your bedchamber,’ Misty said, moving into the room.
This was going to be my room! I looked at her in a daze. After the cage…
‘I’m afraid it is a bit cold. Since there is no electricity we’ve had to rely on wood logs. Fortunately the chimney was still in working condition. I’ll bring some extra blankets and hot water bottles for you later.’
‘Thank you,’ I said automatically, although I was not cold at all. I was used to much colder weather than this. I followed her into the room, utterly awestruck by my strange and wonderful surroundings.
Misty opened a cupboard. ‘All the clothes in here are for you. They were all bought specially for you so they should fit, but if you have any problems just let me know.’
‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, surprised. There were so many clothes hanging in the wardrobe, and to think that they were all new and mine! I had never had anything new before. All my clothes were hand-me-downs.
She smiled. ‘It’s a nuisance not having electricity. You won’t be able to watch TV tonight. Can you read?’
I nodded.
She flushed. ‘I didn’t mean to imply that you couldn’t read. I really meant to say that all we have here are English books and can you read in English? I was told you were Russian…’ she trailed off uncomfortably.
‘Yes, I can read English. My mother was once an English teacher in Moscow. A book would be nice.’
I felt her frown mentally. Wondering why an English teacher’s daughter had been sold. But all she said was, ‘I believe we have some books in our library by Russian authors. I think I’ve seen Gorky, Ibsen, and Chekhov in the library. I’ll find something for you.’
‘Thank you.’
She turned away from me and opened a door. ‘This is the bathroom.’ She showed me into a tiled space and demonstrated how to use the shower. Imagine my surprise when she told me that there was hot and cold water in the taps and that it could be mixed to my satisfaction. There was also a flush toilet and clean towels on a heated railing. ‘Well, it will be when the electricity comes back,’ she said.
We went out of the bathroom and she gestured toward another door at the opposite end. ‘That is a connecting door to what was once a dressing room. There is no one in there, but you can just keep it locked anyway.’
I turned and looked at her. ‘So who owns all this?’
‘Guy. He is the master and owner of everything you see. He is away now, but you will meet him tomorrow night.’
‘I see.’ I desperately wanted to ask her more about the man who had bought me, but she averted her eyes and changed the subject abruptly.
‘Hopefully the strong winds will be over tonight and power and the telephone lines will be restored by tomorrow. It’s simply awful to be without.’ She shivered. ‘It’s so awfully cold.’
I didn’t say anything. I had spent my entire life without power.
‘I guess that’s it, unless you have any questions,’ she said.
‘May I borrow a safety pin, please?’
‘Of course.’
‘Thank you.’
When she left I went and sat on the bed, staring at the splendor of my surroundings and thinking about Guy. What would he be like? What kind of a man buys a woman? A part of my brain said a rich man who for some reason could not get a girl through normal means, or a rich man who had neither care nor time for messy emotions.
In an hour Misty was back with a sandwich, a drink, some blankets, two hot water bottles, and a safety pin attached to a piece of cardboard. After she had gone I unpinned the safety pin from the cardboard and very carefully unpicked my mother’s lace. I held it close to the lamp and smiled with satisfaction. It was unharmed.
For a while I held it against my cheek and closed my eyes. And I could see my mother’s face in the candlelight as if it was yesterday. It was not her fault. I understood it now. She had lost the capacity for hope. My father with his infinite capacity for callousness had ground it out of her. I thought of Nikolai and I prayed that he would be safe. That my father would not break him the way he had broken my mother. Filled with a deep sadness, I took a pillowcase off one of the pillows and carefully wrapping the lace inside put it in the top drawer of the dresser.
All around me the castle was silent and dark, but I was too wound up to sleep. Misty had brought me a book titled, The Complete Works of Anton Chekhov. I opened it and started reading Uncle Vanya in English. It felt strange to have Marina and Astrov talking English.
Outside the wind screamed and tore at the wooden shutters.
Chapter 10
Sleeping in the castle that night I found untold pleasure in the rich bedding and softness of the feather pillows. I was both snug and cozy, with lots of blankets and two hot water bottles, but because the building sat on a high chalk plateau the wind really did howl in tempestuous gusts around the walls, turrets, and even wailed down the chimney of my bedroom.
I was abruptly awakened by a loud crack and an almighty crash in the middle of the night. I pulled the blankets in cl
oser about my neck and lay very still to listen to the furious wind bashing the castle. Finally the worst of the storm passed and I fell back into a fitful sleep. I dreamed that a woman in a long green silk dress came to stand at the doorway. She was backlit so I could not see her face.
‘Mama?’ I called. Why I thought she must be my mother I do not know because she was tall, unlike my petite mother.
She shook her head slowly, sadly.
‘Who are you?’ I asked.
She shook her head again and vanished.
I woke up disorientated and cold. The fire had gone out and the hot water bottles had gone cold. I got out of bed and pulling the blankets off the bed wrapped myself in them, and went to the window. I pulled open the drapes and the wooden shutters. Dawn was in the sky. I opened the window and inhaled the scent of the rain and damp earth. Though it was a mild day, the cold of the coming winter was already in the air.
The view across the lawns was dreamlike and glorious.
There were no houses as far as the eye could see. Only the wide expanse of wilderness broken by russet-colored woods and in the distance a hill, its slopes filled with heather and bracken. I turned back and looked at my room in the milky light of day.
The walls were a shiny arctic blue, the four-poster bed I had slept in had faded, disintegrating silk embroideries, the floor was dark wood, and there was a large tapestry hanging on one wall. Once it must have been full of emerald greens, reds, and gold, but now it was so in need of a good cleaning that it seemed as though it had been made of shades of gray wool. The furniture consisted of a writing desk, a cupboard, and a chintz chaise-longue.
I could hear the castle starting to wake up with the sound of voices echoing in the vast emptiness.
I used the bathroom quickly. There was no hot water and it was drafty and cold. When I opened the closet in the light of day, I saw that it was filled mostly with thick winter wear. I dressed in a pair of black jeans, a brown blouse, and a thick green sweater. There were three shoeboxes at the bottom of the wardrobe. I sat on my heels and opened them all. A pair of sensible black leather shoes, sturdy walking boots, and white sneakers. I laced the sneakers and got into them. They fit perfectly.
I left the room and walked along the corridor. It was very poorly lit as there was no natural light at all, and the damp and cold came through the walls. It was only when I got to the main staircase that light filtered in through the many slit windows high in the thick walls. Standing at the top of the stairs I got my first real look at the great hall of the house. It was two floors high and absolutely massive. And it was in a terrible state of disrepair.
The fireplace was big enough to roast an ox in, but its breast was blackened with soot. Once people had built their fire in it, stoked it, and held their hands to its blaze. But I guessed that had been a long, long time ago—not years but centuries ago. Some of the torches set against the walls were broken. The crossed swords and the coat of arms were dull with dust. Cobwebs hung from the curved and elaborate Gothic ceiling.
There were many paintings missing from the walls. They had left pale squares and rectangle shapes on the walls. The magnificent checkered yellow and cream stone floor was unpolished. Tapestries of majestic proportions were all moth-eaten and almost beyond any kind of restoration. The carpets were threadbare. It was a crying shame that such a beautiful home had fallen into disgrace in this way.
The only thing that rose out of the despair and neglect of the house was a huge vase full of white lilies. Its fragrance and beauty filled the space and lifted it. From my vantage point I could see light and activity coming from the room beyond the huge lobby of the house.
I went down the intricately carved dark wood stairs. The elk’s head mounted on the landing reminded me of my father. How many heads had I seen in my lifetime? How many pairs of glassy eyes? I turned my face away and headed toward the voices and light. It was a saloon. It had fine furniture that had seen better days, worn upholstery, more pale squares and rectangles on the walls, and what looked like a really good grand piano.
Misty was standing in her coat by a large fireplace, her palms spread to the dancing flames, talking to a man in a black suit. Both turned toward me as I hovered at the door.
‘Hello, Lena,’ Misty greeted. ‘Come and meet Mr. Ben Fellowes. It’s his job to take care of Guy. He always travels ahead of Guy to make sure that everything is just the way Guy likes it. Mr. Fellowes, this is Lena Seagull. She arrived last night.’
Mr. Fellowes was a thin man with a long, serious face and slate blue eyes. He focused them on me with unsmiling intensity. ‘Welcome to Broughton Castle, Miss Seagull,’ he said with a formal bow. It was so stiff it was almost a mockery.
‘Thank you. Seagull is not really my name. Please call me Lena.’
‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Misty.
Like a princess in a castle, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘That’s good. Mr. Fellowes was just telling me that the storm brought down the three-hundred-year-old beech tree by the chapel cemetery last night.’
‘Yes, I think I might have heard it fall during the night,’ I said carefully. My English was rusty and I didn’t want to make any mistakes.
‘When you lose such a tree it is like losing a part of history. Who knows what that tree silently witnessed?’
‘It is a terrible shame,’ agreed Mr. Fellowes.
Misty sighed and turned toward me. ‘Well, the power will be back on this afternoon. The weather is terrible, so you can decide if you just stay in here by the fire and read, or explore the castle. It’s in a bad state so you have to be careful where you go. You’ll find that in the summer bats roost in the nooks and crannies of the ceiling.’
‘Am I allowed to play the piano?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s tuned. I don’t believe anybody has played it for years.’
I felt enthusiastic and happy at the thought of playing again. ‘That’s all right, I know how to tune a piano.’
She looked at me with surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, we had to tune our own. It is not very difficult. I haven’t snapped a string yet.’
She smiled. ‘A girl of many talents then.’
‘You don’t have the necessary tools. I will get a professional tuner in this afternoon,’ Mr. Fellowes injected coldly. ‘Have a good day, ladies.’ Nodding to both Misty and me he went, his back ramrod straight, like an actor exiting the stage.
‘Breakfast will be served in the breakfast room, just through there, in about two hours’ time.’
I nodded, still thinking of Mr. Fellowes and his obvious dislike of me. When I turned back Misty was rubbing her hands together. She picked up a small white object and gave it to me. It was a mobile phone. I had seen Timur use one.
‘I don’t know how to use it,’ I said.
‘It’s really easy. Basically, you have to keep it with you at all times so Guy and I are always able to reach you. If you need to call me I have already put my number in. Just press this button, and then this, and then hit the OK button. Try it.’
I tried it and a ringing came from her pocket. She answered it and said, ‘Hello.’
I heard it like an echo in my ear.
She hung up. ‘OK?’
‘OK,’ I said. It seemed easy enough.
‘The same way you are never to leave these premises without Guy’s consent, you cannot use your phone to have any contact with the outside world.’ Her tone had changed, become more official and stern.
‘All right,’ I agreed immediately.
She put her mobile away and began to rub her hands again.
‘Is there a baby or a small child living in this castle?’ I asked.
She stopped rubbing her hands and looked at me strangely. ‘No, why do you ask?’
‘I thought I heard a baby crying last night.’
‘That will be the wind.’ She grinned. ‘Or the ghost.’
‘Ghost?’
; ‘Yes, local gossip has it that this castle is haunted. She smiled again to show me that she did not believe a word of the local gossip. ‘Legend has it that no woman can ever live here. Each one suffers some tragedy. Over the decades the malevolence has even been felt by anyone simply passing by the large gates. You should ask Mr. Fellowes, he knows all about it.’
‘I will,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘Well, I’d better be off then. I’ve got work to do. See you at breakfast,’ Misty said with a grin and she was gone too. I went to the piano and opened it. It was an exceptionally beautiful instrument. A much sought after French Gaveau. My mother’s piano had been an upright Bechstein, but her favorite brand was the Gaveau. How she would have loved to play such a grand and beautiful piano.
I hit middle C and it was so flat that a cat could have lain on it. Mr. Fellowes was right. I had no business tuning such a fine instrument. My thoughts turned to the master of the castle. Guy. I tried the name on my tongue and it slid off smoothly. So he was coming today. I felt nervous. Soon it would be time for me to collect more wretched memories.
At breakfast time I met Mollie, the maid who ran errands and helped the cook. And Ren, the gardener. And of course the cook, Madeline Littlebell. A stern woman who held her nose at a high angle as if there was a bad smell in the room. She had cooked a wonderful breakfast—bacon, fried eggs, sausages, muffin, toast, and something I had never seen before called a croissant. There was jam and honey on the table and as much butter as I wanted.
‘You’ll never starve here,’ Mrs. Littlebell said.
‘Don’t let Mrs. Littlebell’s appearance fool you. She can rival the best French chef,’ Misty said.
‘How would you know? You hardly eat,’ Mrs. Littlebell replied, but she was pleased by the compliment.
Except for Mr. Fellowes who was subtly hostile, everybody else was guardedly friendly as if no one really knew how to treat me. I ate heartily but my real appetite was for more information about the man who had bought me. Still, I could not get Misty alone. She rushed off after eating two lightly buttered slices of toast and before anybody else had finished.
Disfigured Love Page 5
