“You think something supernatural killed your family?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she whispered in reply.
“Why would you think that, did you see something that night?” he asked. As they parked, Mike pulled on the handbrake, undid his belt, and shifted his body round to face her. She looked as if she wanted to tell him, and he wished so much that she would. Then he could tell her everything he knew too.
“I don’t know what I saw that night, Mike. All I know is whatever it was it wasn’t human. I know I was young, and I was scared but I’m certain I didn’t imagine it.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked. She shook her head.
“Not tonight, I’m sorry but I’m too tired. I – I think I’ll just go to bed, if that’s okay?”
He smiled at her, and lifting his hand, he rubbed her arm.
“Of course it is, Matilda. I should go and see Steve and check on things anyway.”
“Thanks, Mike for everything. I’ll see you in the morning,” she said and she slipped off her seatbelt, and got out of the van.
“Goodnight, Matilda,” he said, and he watched her as she walked up the steps to the Hall. He smiled to himself, despite the terrible circumstances that had brought them together today, he had enjoyed spending the day with her, and he was sure she was starting to trust him.
Matilda put the key in the lock and opened the door. She glanced over her shoulder just catching Mike as he went into Steve’s mobile home.
She flicked the light switch on, her eyes flittering around the foyer, before glancing to her old playroom. She gave a shiver before making her way to the kitchen. Dropping her coat and bag on the kitchen table, she grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and a glass from the cupboard and headed upstairs to the tower. Opening the wine, she poured herself a glass and set them both on the bedside table. She put on her nightie and grabbed her laptop before climbing into bed.
Switching the laptop on she clicked onto genes reunited and began looking deeper into her family tree.
Three glasses of wine later, her tired eyes were just starting to nod when they widened as she saw a surname she recognised.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled, and she clicked the mouse onto another page and read aloud.
“Eric Tovenaar, born July 24th, 1641 ~ Died November 3rd 1666 hung for the murder of Matilda Rhiamon at Malevolent Hall. Shut the fuck up,” she swore. She lifted her eyes from the laptop and glanced around the room. Tovenaar, but that was Mike’s surname. She looked back at the laptop.
“O. M. G,” she mumbled. “The death penalty was ordered by his brother and Matilda’s betrothed Richard Tovenaar. Richard,” she whispered under her breath. “Richard… it can’t be the same one, can it?” Her eyes moved along the family tree.
“Richard married Matilda’s sister six months later and they had twins,” she muttered, her finger following the line of the tree. “A Tovenaar son, and a Rhiamon daughter – they must be my great, greats, and then the line branches, he’s the only other boy apart from Teddy. The Rhiamons stay at the Hall, but the Tovenaars don’t. So where did they live?” she mumbled. Matilda yawned she was so tired. She picked up her phone and it was two in the morning, she groaned. She couldn’t tell Mike any of this yet not until she was sure. Tomorrow she would follow the Tovenaar line and see if it connected to Mike’s ancestors and she would see what she could dig up about Malevolent Hall and the hanging in 1666.
She switched off her laptop, and put it on the bedside table. Her head fell back into the pillow. Had Mike’s ancestor murdered her ancestor? God that would be awful if it were true and did this somehow mean they were related, if but hundreds of years ago.
Chapter Nine
The following morning Matilda made a cup of tea and went into her father’s study. Approaching her father’s bookcase, she glanced around with slight apprehension, what happened in there a few days ago sent a chill through her body.
Somewhere in here could be the answer she was looking for. Her father’s diary was just one year. He had to have others somewhere. She began to pull the books out of the shelf one by one, coughing and sneezing a few times as dust wafted off and whooshed up her nose.
An hour and a half later, she still had found nothing and sat despondently on her father’s chair.
“Come on daddy help me please,” she begged, and closing her eyes, she cleared her mind trying to think where he would have put them?
“Matilda Alice Rhiamon, you know you are not allowed in my study,” the voice boomed. Matilda’s eyes flew open and there in front of her, stood her father.
“Daddy?” she mumbled in question. He smiled, and his arm lifted, pointing to the opposite side of the study, away from the bookcases. Matilda rose to her feet, and while still staring at the apparition of her father she followed the line of his finger. Her eyes looked upon the window. Why was he pointing to the window? She glanced back to him but he was gone.
Matilda jumped and her eyes flew open. Still sat in her father’s chair, she glanced confused around the room. She must have nodded off for a moment, but that vision or dream was so real. She stood and walked to the large mullion window. The window started a mere two foot from the ground and stretched almost to the ceiling. Her eyes ran along the stone sill; she crouched and looked underneath the narrow rim, but saw nothing. Moving along on all fours, she looked underneath the entire length of the lip.
“Ouch,” she moaned, lifting her hand as something sharp pricked her. She brushed the dirt off her palm, and ran her thumb across it, but found nothing sticking in it. She looked at the spot of parquet floor her hand had just cleared. Staring her straight in the face was a tiny pentagram carved into the block. Brushing away the rest of the dirt and dust with urgency, her fingers pried at the block but it didn’t budge. She sat back on her heels.
“Okay,” she muttered, brushing the dirt from her hands. Holding her hand over the block, she took a deep breath and concentrated on summoning her magic.
“Levertar ilurmnar, etorma, levera,” she chanted, waving her hands over the block. The blocked, moved slightly, and as she raised her hand, the block lifted.
“Yes,” she whispered, with a swish of her hand to the left, and the block dropped to the floor.
Matilda peered inside the hole but saw nothing. She stuck her fingers inside and poking about her eyes widened as she felt something. Grasping the next block, she pulled it out, and then another and another until she had cleared enough blocks to see what was hidden underneath.
She studied the black, metal manhole-type cover. It was three foot square, and in the centre, lying flat against the cover was a handle. Matilda pried the handle out and gripping it, she heaved, but it remained. Releasing it, she stood over, bent down, and grabbed the handle heaving again, but still it wouldn’t move.
“Okay,” she said, stepping back. She lifted her hands, and thought hard to remember a levitation spell she had learned.
“Imore todar noward,” she chanted lifting her hands upwards. “Imore todar noward,” she repeated, watching as a metal box emerged from the hole. She turned, her hands sweeping the box to the side, before lowering and setting the box onto the floor.
“Come on!” she cried, euphorically. Kneeling down, she looked for a way to open the box. There was a simple slide lock. She slid it and opened the lid. Inside was full of leather bound journals, just like her father’s diary.
She took one out dated, 1999 -2010. Taking one after another, she quickly looked and then discarded them to one side. The last book she found dated 1666-1670, Matilda grabbed it, and hurried to the desk. Switching on a desk lamp, she opened the diary and began to flick though. The writing was much older, in the calligraphy style of that period.
She began to read. There were two covens ~ covens! So, she was from a line of witches. The Tovenaars, were warlocks and the Rhiamon, witches.
She flicked through the pages until she came across her birthday, October 31st 1666ad.
It read
as follows.
The covens remain stunned by the murder of bride-to-be Matilda Alice Rhiamon by the hand of Eric Tovenaar. Richard, head Warlock is devastated by the loss of his bride-to-be on their wedding day. As is the Warlock law, Richard has the right to kill Eric by his own hand. However, as Eric is his blood, and blood cannot kill blood, Eric will hang until dead at midnight tonight, 3rd November 1666ad.
Matilda sat back in the chair. This was too much of a coincidence. Her hand lifted to the necklace engraved with her initials. Did this belong to her, to Matilda of 1666ad? Did the chest Mike found belong to her too? Was Eric Tovenaar Mike’s descendant? Was she really a witch?
“Questions, questions and no bloody answers,” she groaned, dropping the book on the desk. She pushed off the table, deciding she needed to get some air. Matilda slipped on her boots and coat and went outside.
The breeze was gentle but with a light chill about it. As a child, Matilda loved the freedom the estate grounds offered. One of hers and Jenny’s favourite places had been their secret cave on the other side of the wood, which they used as their den. She took an uplifting breath, having decided that’s where she was going to go.
As Mike was project manager, he spent most of the day in his porta-cabin on the phone, ordering supplies and searching for original artefacts for the hall. She glanced over her shoulder to his cabin wondering if he fancied a walk. She was a little un-nerved about going to the cave on her own. She wanted to talk to him about what she had discovered anyway.
Matilda turned around, walked back, and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he answered. Parker lifted his head from his basket, and one of his ears pricked up.
As she opened the door and stepped inside, Mike glanced up. A frown crossed his brow but seeing it was her, his frown immediately lifted.
“Morning,” he said, giving her the most wonderful smile as he put his hands behind his head casually and leaned back in his chair.
“I was wondering I know you’re busy but do you fancy coming for a walk with me?” Matilda asked approaching his desk. The plans for the Hall were spread across the front of his desk, and to the right were papers and folders, each pile organised and labelled with a yellow post-it note.
He glanced at his watch.
“I was going to check the plans to see if that room is on them, but it can wait. Yes, I’d love to come for a walk, and I’m sure Parker would too,” he agreed. He stood, grabbed a green jacket, and slipped it on. Parker immediately jumped to his feet, his tail wagging in anticipation.
“Why don’t you take them with us, and we can go over them together?” she suggested. He zipped up his jacket and walked back to his desk.
“Good idea,” he said, rolling them up and putting them inside a tube. She made for the door and stepped outside.
“Steve,” Mike yelled, stepping out of the cabin. Steve looked over, lifting his hand and halting the team who were in the middle of lifting a huge, oak beam out of the west wing.
“I’m going with Matilda, around the grounds, be back in an hour or two,” he informed him. “I’ve got my mobile, so any problems give me a bell.”
“Okay, Mike,” Steve called back, lifting a hand in acknowledgement.
Matilda took Mike around the back of the Hall. Seeing the gardens now overgrown, made her sad, as her dad was incredibly proud of his garden, especially his roses. In the summer, if the breeze blew in the right direction, the scent from the roses used to waft right through the back door.
“So where are you taking me?” Mike asked, glancing at her.
“Well, as a kid I had this secret den, it’s a deep cave in the middle of the woods. It’s incredibly beautiful, and I was wondering what state it was in now, but to be honest I’m a little scared to go on my own,” she confessed.
“Ah, so you brought me to protect you?” he teased.
“Maybe,” she replied, lifting her dress, the bottom of which was getting wet from the long grass where it had rained last night. She glanced at his dog; Parker bounded in and out of the long grass, sniffing and cocking his leg.
“So, what are we expecting, trolls, witches, and monsters?” he teased back. “Should I have brought one of those swords on the wall in the Hall?” She laughed and shook her head.
“No. Well, there maybe a few demons and ghosts,” Matilda replied. “I did tell you weird stuff is going on around here.”
“Yes, you did,” he agreed, and as they made brief eye contact they laughed nervously.
Continuing to walk for another half an hour, Matilda thought how best to tell Mike about what she had discovered last night. She glanced up, the sunlight dappling through the branches of the oaks, was bright, and the air around them fresh and earthy.
“Mike,” she said.
“Hmm,” he replied.
“Do you have any other family, aunts, or uncles?”
“No, it’s just me left now,” he replied. “Why?”
“I just wondered. I don’t have any family left either it gets lonely sometimes.”
“Yeah, it can,” he agreed. “That’s why I work all the time. I keep myself busy so I don’t have to think about it, and there’s Parker, he keeps me company.” She nodded in understanding.
Matilda stopped, staring at the old bridge in front of them. It crossed a narrow river, which cut right through the woodland.
“Oh nuts,” she groaned, as the old wooden bridge was now dilapidated with broken planks and it didn’t look like it would hold their weight.
“I take it your cave is on the other side?” he asked.
“Yes,” she confirmed. As they both approached the bridge, Mike leaned a hand on it.
“We might be able to get across along this edge, if you’re up to it?” he asked.
“Okay, let’s give it a go. What about Parker?” she asked.
“I think he’s already made up his own mind how to cross the river,” he said, and he nodded to the bridge. Parker was already making his way across the broken planks.
“Rather him than me,” she muttered looking at the precarious bridge.
“I’ll go first,” he said, and tucking the tube with the plans inside his jacket, he grabbed the handrail, and swung around to the outside of the bridge. He edged along, and she watched nervously as bits of the bridge broke away and dropped down into the river below. The river wasn’t too deep, but it was bloody freezing, and she didn’t want to fall in. Even in the height of summer when she had swum with her friends, she remembered it being freezing cold.
She took a breath, swung her body around to the outside of the bridge, and edge slowly after him.
As she looked into the water below, her heart jumped, as she thought she saw something. It was not in the water, but a reflection.
“You okay?” he asked at her worried face.
“Yes,” she replied, her voice wobbling as her eyes lifted warily to the trees above them. She couldn’t see anything, even though a cold chill now covered her from head to toe.
As Mike reached the other side, he held out his hand; she took it and jumped off the bridge. She stumbled, landing in his chest, his mouth inches from hers and for a second she stared lost in his eyes, wanting so much for him to kiss her.
“Sorry,” she muttered, coming to her senses and pulling back from him.
“That’s okay,” he replied, letting go of her slowly, a smile tickling his lips.
“This way,” she instructed, hurrying away from him. She was being ridiculous; why on earth would he want to kiss her?
They started to descend a steep hill. Concealed beneath the brambles and scrub were the remains of the trail, and, as the ground was wet from all the rain they had last night, it was treacherous. She slipped, but Mike caught her arm, and heaved her back up before she hit the ground.
“Thank you,” she gasped, steadying herself. “I guess these boots aren’t so great for scrambling through the woods.”
“No, mine are though,” he said, referring to his safety b
oots. Matilda stopped and looked down the bank.
“There, see,” she pointed. He followed the line of her finger, and his eyes settled on what was once an old quarry pit.
“The forest has taken over, but I can see the entrance,” she rushed enthusiastically, and hurrying down into the pit. As they reached the bottom, Mike paused silently. She caught his arm and turned him back to her frown.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“I don’t know, I feel like I’ve been here before,” he said. He spoke lightly, but it seemed to her he looked rather worried.
“I don’t see how. I only ever brought a handful of friends down here, I don’t even think mum or dad knew about it.”
He let out a breath, and nodded for her to continue. They walked past some boulders and rubble, which looked like they had fallen in a landslide, and approached the entrance.
“Oh, damn,” she groaned. “I don’t suppose you brought a torch?” she asked, glancing over her should to him, but he shook, his head.
“No sorry. Oh, I have my phone though,” he replied, taking it out of his back pocket and switching into a torch.
Parker began to bark, and bark.
“What’s wrong with him?” she asked.
“I don’t know; Parker shut up,” Mike ordered, but Parker continued to bark, and then he growled. “I think he’s just scared of the dark.” Mike picked up a stick, turned and threw it in the opposite direction. Parker shot off after it.
“That’ll keep him busy,” Mike said.
Matilda ventured inside the cave.
Mike lifted the ‘torch’ and a narrow beam of light pierced into the darkness. The cave was chilly, and the cold air tickled her lungs making her cough.
“It’s not as big as I remember, but I guess when you’re nine years old everything seems bigger,” she remarked wandering around. As his ‘torch’ hit the back of the cavern, they saw a rise of steps leading to a great, stone throne. She smiled as she walked up the steps.
“We used to light dozens of candles,” she said, “and this is my throne,” she added, with a laugh in her voice. “I used to pretend to be a princess, and make my friends my servants. This throne has always been here, although I have no idea why or who put it here.”
Malevolent Hall 1666AD Page 13
