Kepelheim crossed the room and stood before the painting. “Connor called this painting a history?”
The duchess nodded. “Yes. Does that mean something to you?”
“It does indeed. If I may interrupt your remarkable story for only a moment, Your Grace, I believe I can expand upon this history. Do you mind?”
The duchess had begun to feel a heaviness all about her, and she nodded. “Yes. Please, do, Martin. Mr. Baxter, I hate to ask, but if there is any tea, I’d certainly take a cup.”
“Right away, my lady,” the butler answered, rising to leave the room.
Kepelheim pointed to the beautiful mural. “The artist who painted this was an Oxford friend to the ninth marquess. A man named Gustav L’Eauvive. The central image is of the Eden River that flows through Cumbria, but it’s pictured around the year 500 A.D. You’ll note that there is a very interesting animal painted beside the river. And next to the animal is a large stone structure. It is not a castle, as some might assume, but rather a stone maze.”
Charles left the table to look more closely at the painting. “I find the idea of a stone maze unsettling after what Beth and I experienced.” He grew concerned for the duchess’s safety. If her dream was of this painting, then the reference to a maze was not coincidental. “Elizabeth, I think you should step out of the room.”
She started to object, but then remembering her promise to Paul, she relented. “Very well, but I’ve not finished my story. Will you listen to me once Martin is finished?”
“You may tell me the rest in the drawing room,” he told her, taking her arm. “I shan’t be long. Martin, would you wait until I return to continue?”
“Of course,” the tailor said, bowing to his friend. “Take all the time you need.
The newlyweds left the library, and Charles escorted her to a large parlour known as the Normandy Room. The ceiling here was lower than the library’s, only twenty feet, but the plaster walls bore colourful paintings of the French countryside, particularly the region near the River Epte in Île-de-France, the origin of the Sinclair clan. As with the library, the fireplace surround was of carved rouge Languedoc marble, and it sat betwixt life-sized portraits of Charles Sinclair I and his wife, Henrietta Charlotte.
“In here, darling. I’ll let Baxter know where to find you.”
“Must you leave?” she asked, her eyes downcast. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or sad.
“Beth, what is it?”
“Paul still thinks of me as a child,” she whispered tightly. “I hope you do not.”
He sat beside her and kissed her cheek. “Hardly. You are very much a woman. I didn’t insist you leave because I doubted you, Beth, but because I fear for you—and for our children. That maze still haunts me, and I worried that Martin’s mention of another maze might distress you. For the record, I believe every word you say. Every single word.” She began to cry, and he pulled her into his arms. “What’s all this? Why the tears?”
“I’m being silly, I know, but it’s a feeling. Like a great heaviness falling across the world. It started this morning, after you left. I slept very well last night, but today, with each passing hour, this awful oppression grows. Charles, I’m worried something’s going to happen. I felt this same way just before the wedding, do you remember?”
“You kept asking me about snow. I remember that, but Beth this feeling doesn’t necessarily mean another tragedy will occur.”
“But it did snow that night, and I still don’t know why I kept asking you about it. I’ve these strange pictures inside my head of horrid looking creatures, blood, and snow. Charles, I shouldn’t be afraid, but I am.”
He tightened his arms ‘round her. “I won’t let anything happen to you, little one. If it costs my life, I’ll protect you.”
“Don’t say that!” she exclaimed, her face paling. “Please, Charles, you must never promise that! I cannot lose you. I simply cannot!”
“Do you trust in the Lord?” he asked her sweetly.
“Yes, but...”
“No modifiers. It’s a lesson I’m learning. Trust means leaning completely upon him. And if he chooses to let us fall, then we trust that it is for our good that he does so.”
She shivered, and he found a small blanket folded into a basket near the fireplace. “Here,” he said as he put it around her shoulders. “I’m not sure you’re fully recovered yet. Shall I ask Henry to take a look at you?”
“No, I’ll be fine in here, but before you go, will you let me finish my story?”
“If you can do so without returning to the library.”
“Very well. The painting has a secret. That’s what my father told me. There’s imagery that asks a riddle. The answer is hidden, and the key to answering the riddle is in a book, found on the tallest shelf in your library. The book has gold lettering and red leather binding. He said that a tall man would one day remove the book from the shelf, and that the secret would reveal itself.”
“You recalled all that from a dream you had today?”
“Yes. My father spoke to me in this dream, Charles. He looked so young! I’d never seen Father looking so well; so peaceful, so very happy! He told me that you and I were meant to be together, and that we would have many children. Then, he told me to remember our trip here when I was a girl. When I awoke, the lost memories had returned to me. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“Of course, little one. And I believe the Lord has given you this dream for his purposes. I look forward to meeting your father one day, but for a season, I’ll serve and protect you to the best of my abilities. I love you, little one. I love you so very much that it hurts sometimes. If ever I lost you, I would truly die inside.” He kissed her lips, stroking her cheek tenderly. “Despite your objection, I’ll ask Henry to make sure of your health, and then Victoria will come sit with you. Where is Della?”
“She and Mrs. Wilsham are visiting the dower house. And before you ask, they did not travel alone. Mr. Granger drove them, and he’ll bring them back when the visit is ended. Della and Ida Ross have become friends, you see, and Mary already knew her, of course.”
“Della and Mary are wonderful ambassadors, are they not? However, if they’re not back within the hour, I’ll send a footman to fetch them for supper. Rest a little, and after we eat, perhaps Della will play for us.”
Charles passed Baxter on his journey back to the library, and he informed the soft-hearted butler that the duchess awaited tea in the Normandy Room and that afterward, he should re-join the circle for the rest of the meeting.
As he neared the library doors, Sinclair could hear several voices, apparently arguing. He entered to find Reid, Kepelheim, Kimberley, and Paul Stuart in a heated debate about the recent murders.
“I leave you for five minutes, and you devolve into this?” he asked his friends. “I promise that we’ll discuss these new murders tomorrow at Queen Anne. Anyone who wishes to attend is welcome. For now, I would hear Martin’s explanation for this painting, and when he’s done, I’ll reveal what Beth just told me.”
The argument ended, and the combatants returned to their chairs. Martin Kepelheim removed the spectacles from his ample nose and polished the lenses with a linen kerchief.
Sinclair waited another moment. “Thank you. Now, Martin, do you know why this maze is depicted? What is its meaning?”
“A very good question,” the tailor said as he placed the eyeglasses back onto his nose, “and one I once put to your father, but even he lacked concrete evidence, which makes our duchess’s dream all the more important. Connor Stuart and Robby Sinclair were very close friends, and they shared theories and research which we still need to decipher. I can tell you this: No such structure sits there presently. Only Uther’s ruined castle remains.”
Paul joined his cousin and Kepelheim beside the muralled wall. “Martin, I know I’ve been to Rose House, but I was so
young that I can’t recall much. I always thought the Pendragons arose in Cornwall.”
Sinclair focused on the strange images, trying to remember anything his father night have told him. “I wish my memories would return. Martin, what is this animal standing next to the maze? It looks a bit like a dragon.”
“A dragon would make sense, given the proximity to Uther’s castle. This, however, is not a typical dragon, but rather a very interesting chimeric creature,” the tailor replied as he brushed his hand across the paint. “It is a dragon’s body with three heads, rather like lions.”
“Yes, but there are horns coming out of the lions’ heads,” Aubrey observed.
Edward MacPherson left the table and joined the others, adjusting his own wire-rimmed spectacles as he squinted at the wall. “Red-eyed lions, at that. The waves of the river are not ordinary either. They form black wings, Charles.”
“I need to sit,” Sinclair said, leaning heavily against the wall. Aubrey took his cousin’s arm and guided him back to the table. Charles looked decidedly unsteady as he regained his former chair.
“Thank you, Paul. It’s grown warm in here.”
Baxter had returned from delivering the tea, and he now filled a glass with water and brought it to his friend. “Drink this, sir. May I ask, my lord, when did you last eat?”
“This morning, I think. Thank you, Baxter.” The marquess drank half the glass and set the remainder on the table. “That helped. What’s that?” he asked, taking to his feet once more and crossing to the painting. “See here? There’s a legend written above the maze. It looks like clouds, but they’re actually letters.”
He looked closely at the spiralling image, touching the rough paintwork. The image was unusually warm. Though the room was heated by two steam radiators and a large fireplace, the plaster wall should have felt somewhat cool. A fine brush had painted a series of words within the sky above the maze.
“A bhios a ‘cumail a’ gheata,” Aubrey read aloud.
“Is that Gaelic?” Sinclair asked.
“Scots Gaelic,” Paul answered.
“It’s a riddle,” the marquess remarked. “Beth told me the mural contained a riddle.”
“Yes, I believe she’s right,” Martin replied. “Lord Aubrey, can you translate it?”
The duke spoke Gaelic better than anyone. “Allow me. Roughly, it asks, Who keeps the gate? Son, might this be connected to the gatekeeper you told us about?”
“Quite likely. Beth told me the rest of her dream just now. She said her father mentioned a riddle written on this wall. She said a book in this library would reveal the answer.”
“Did she offer a hint?” Paul asked. “There must be a thousand books on these shelves.”
“She said it was on a very high shelf, and the book is bound in red leather with gold lettering. Connor told her that a tall man would one day find the book and reveal the answer to the riddle.”
“You’re certainly a tall man,” the short-statured tailor remarked with a smile. “Six-foot-three and a whisper.”
“Yes, but the earl is just as tall. However, Reggie Whitmore is taller than either of us.”
The aged physician laughed. “I doubt the duchess’s father referred to me, Charles! No, this is your house. I’m sure you’re that tall man.”
The entire membership began to scan the shelves, every eye searching for a book with a red spine.
“Got it!” Aubrey shouted, pointing towards the topmost shelf on the north wall. “Third from the left, Charles.”
Sinclair rolled a library ladder to the location and climbed to the platform. “Our Pendragon theme continues. It’s a copy of La Morte D’Arthur by Malory. The spine shows the publisher as Southey, dated 1817. Shall I take it down?” Charles reached towards the book. His fingertips brushed the embossed lettering, and a strange electric surge ran through his arm and downward into his entire frame. Without any instructions, the marquess pulled the top of the book towards the room, tilting it so that it leaned outwards at a forty-five degree angle.
To everyone’s shock, the muralled wall sprang open towards the room.
“Looks like an invitation to me,” Aubrey said.
Charles descended the ladder. Electricity still hummed inside his cells, and the mocking voice of the raven creature, who’d so tortured him in the stone maze, echoed in his brain. His fingertips felt cold, even though his forehead seemed to boil. A dozen voices spoke at once, and he slowly managed to sort through them, isolating that of his cousin.
“Charles? Are you all right?”
“Let me take a look,” Henry said, pushing through the anxious membership. As he reached Sinclair, the viscount stopped in his tracks. “Charles, don’t move. Everyone out. Now!”
Confusion overtook the gathering, but Kepelheim managed to restore a sense of crazed calm. “Let’s do as Henry asks, shall we? Perhaps, Mr. Baxter will offer us a beverage selection in the Cumbria Room whilst we wait.”
The butler stared at his employer, not wishing to leave, but the tailor tapped his friend’s arm. “Cornelius, help me, please. If Henry says we must leave, then we must. He has clearer eyes than ours.”
“Yes, of course. The Cumbria Room is three doors down and on the left of the main corridor,” he told the gathering. “It’s a magnificent chamber, is it not, Mr. Kepelheim?”
“It is indeed,” Martin gabbed as he took Victoria aside. “Someone should go to the duchess and remain there with her.”
“I’ll go. Mr. France, will you accompany me?”
The young inspector looked to Reid for permission. “Go on, Arthur. After all, it’s your primary job. Come back in half an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
The company scattered into several groups, most of them following Baxter, a few others remaining in the hallway near the library doors.
Inside the closed room, the duke turned to Salperton. “Will someone tell me what just happened?”
“Sir, we are not alone in this room. A tall figure stands beside the fireplace, and he is pointing at Charles.”
Sinclair looked as though he’d fallen into a trance. He slowly turned towards the phantom. Henry described what he perceived for the two blind Scotsmen.
“James, I’ve no idea what this apparition is, but he is dark-haired and quite tall with an athletic build. He wears a high collar, dark blue ascot, a paisley waistcoat in claret red and blue, dark trousers, no jacket. He’s appears to be talking.”
“Talking? Do we dare speak to him?” the duke asked.
Paul Stuart had no intention of allowing his cousin to greet a ghost, and he stepped in front of Sinclair. “Charles, look at me!” he shouted, using both hands to shake his cousin.
Sinclair said nothing, his wide eyes fixed upon the figure near the fireplace.
“Whom do you see, son?” the duke asked.
“It’s my father. He showed me the passageway when I was a boy,” the sleepwalker said. “I remember now.”
“Your father? Are we to enter?” Paul asked.
Charles nodded. “Yes. That’s what he says. The answer stands within.”
“James, hand me that candlestick, will you? It’s quite dark in there,” Aubrey asked his uncle.
Henry MacAlpin gripped his cousin’s arm. “No, Paul! You have no idea what’s in there!”
The earl smiled. “Exactly.”
Aubrey stepped into the darkened space, holding the candlestick high. The walls of the secret corridor were smooth and finished. Sconces that once held candles were set into the lath and plaster. The passageway continued long past the library and turned a corner approximately fifteen feet to the earl’s left.
“It’s an old servants’ passage,” he called out to the others. “Most of our homes have these, though they go unused now. I’m surprised Charles’s grandfather included them in so new a house.”
Henry remained with the marquess. “Charles, what else do you hear? I can see your father, but I cannot hear him.”
“He says to look at the wall.”
“Paul, is there anything on the wall?”
Aubrey held the flickering candle as he walked along the side shared with the library. “No. Nothing. Wait.”
There was a long pause.
“Paul?”
Nothing. No reply. Not a sound.
James Stuart had no intention of waiting any longer. He entered the dark passageway, only to reappear seconds later, his face contorted in desperation. “He’s gone!”
Chapter Forty-Two
Paul Stuart had passed through a second, secret panel into a hidden chamber. His beeswax candle painted the small room with a flickering, yellow light. To his right, the earl discovered a gas sconce mounted slightly above eye level. Even at his height, the tall Scotsman had to stand on tiptoe to find the gas switch. He turned it slightly and used the candle to light the invisible vapour. The new lighting source shone upon three companion fixtures, one on each wall, and he went ‘round the room to light these as well. Standing now inside a well-illuminated chamber, Aubrey marvelled at what he’d discovered.
“The room’s a book,” he spoke aloud. Every surface, including the ceiling had been overwritten in a language unknown to him. “I wonder if it’s a code,” he mused.
“So there you are,” his uncle’s voice called from the open panel. “We’d feared the ghosts had taken you!”
Paul laughed. “No, only curiosity. Sorry, James. I should have come back as soon as I discovered the second panel. What is this room? I don’t recall hearing Charles talk about it.”
“We’ll have to ask him later. Henry’s worried about your cousin, as am I. Is this more Gaelic?”
“No. At least not a form I’ve ever seen before, but it has a similar appearance. I think the room’s a mixture of all kinds of languages. See there? In the far corner, just above the light? It looks like Greek. Over there, it looks more like Middle English. French there, German here, and over there by the entry, something resembling Russian.”
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