‘Perhaps not,’ said Dolly, his hand on the gate. ‘But I believe Emilia is made of sterner moral fibre than you and that places me in a very difficult position.’
I realised with a jolt what he was about to do and launched myself at him.
Too late!
Dolly slammed the gate, turned the key and slipped it in his pocket.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Dolly.’ Father thrust his hand through the iron bars. ‘Give me that key!’
‘Let us out, Dolly.’ My voice was calm but my fury was supplanted by fear. A flicker of panic at the thought of being locked in an underground chamber made my chest tighten.
Ignoring me, he said, ‘As you may have noticed, it’s raining in torrents.’
‘What does that have to do with anything?’ asked Father, rattling the gate.
‘Have you noticed how high the river is?’
‘Of course I have! I’ve been this very afternoon to see Cole at Little Langdon Farm. Lower Meadow is under water.’
‘Opening the sluices to the moat will drain off some of the excess from the river.’
‘You can’t do that!’ Father rattled the gate again. ‘Idiot! The moat is already lapping over its banks. It’ll overflow.’
‘And when it does,’ said Dolly, ‘it will flood the cellars, including this chapel.’
I let out an involuntary moan.
‘I’m afraid you’ve left me no other choice, Sir Frederick,’ said Dolly. He rubbed his eyes as if he were deathly tired. ‘I’ve grown quite fond of you, Emilia, and it grieves me that I’m forced to take this course of action.’
‘Then don’t,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘I must. If I let you go now, even upon your solemn promise to say nothing, your conscience would eventually make you disclose who was responsible for Sarah’s death.’
‘Open this gate right now, Adolphus,’ said Father, ‘and we’ll say no more about it.’
Dolly sighed. ‘I’m sorry it had to be like this,’ he said, ‘but I understand drowning is quick and peaceful, Emilia, if you don’t struggle.’ His mouth twitched in a ghastly smile and he lifted his hand in farewell.
‘Adolphus!’ shouted Father. ‘Come back at once and let me out! Don’t you understand? If you flood the chapel, you’ll destroy some of the finest art in Western civilisation.’
The sound of Dolly’s footsteps faded as he climbed the staircase. And then the door to the study slammed shut.
I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. Whether the chapel flooded or not, we were incarcerated underground and I didn’t like it. I didn’t like it at all.
Father lost his temper. He bellowed and raged, calling down curses upon Dolly. He lifted an urn off one of the marble plinths and used this as a battering ram against the gate. Rusty or not, the gate stood firm. At last the paroxysm of rage dwindled and he sank down to the floor with his head in his hands, breathing heavily.
I started at the sound of a crash and then a large stone bounced into the chapel. Daggers of broken glass fell from one of the windows and skittered across the floor. A shadow moved across the casement.
Father looked up, his eyes red-rimmed. His usually smooth hair stood up in iron-grey tufts. ‘Adolphus, let me out!’ His voice was hoarse from shouting.
I winced as one by one the other three windows shattered, too. Tip-toeing over the broken glass, I sat down on one of the benches, my hands clenched together in my lap to stop them from shaking.
After a minute, Father pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and came to sit a few feet away.
‘I always knew Dolly was a rotten egg,’ he said. ‘Just like his father. I can’t bear to think of him getting his hands on Langdon Hall.’
I turned away from him. A damp draught drifted in through the windows and the torrential rain hissing down outside could now be clearly heard through the broken panes. My pulse began to skip as I studied the clerestory windows thoughtfully. At the top of the walls against the ceiling, beginning perhaps eight feet up, they were two feet wide and one foot high. The frames were set within the apertures, narrowing the access space to little more than an arrow slit turned sideways. Black depression descended upon me as I lost my last hope. I couldn’t possibly wriggle through such a tiny gap.
A long time passed.
I wept a little as I pictured Alessandro’s face. We’d come so close to being free to enjoy the rest of our lives together. I consoled myself by thinking that at least I’d die knowing he loved me.
‘Emilia?’ Father’s voice breaking the silence made me jump. ‘How did you find the chapel?’
We were going to drown anyway so what did it matter now if I told him? ‘I found Mother’s diary.’
He frowned at me. ‘Where?’ His voice sounded like a bark. ‘I searched for it everywhere.’
I shrugged. ‘In her work basket. It was in the attic with her portrait.’
‘What else did you discover?’
‘That you used to beat her so violently she was in fear for her life. That she wasn’t unfaithful to you. And that you are the Picture Frame Thief.’
Father sighed. ‘I loved her, you know. In the beginning anyway.’
‘Did you drown her?’ I asked. I had to know the truth.
He looked at me with bloodshot eyes. ‘No,’ he said.
I had no idea if I could believe him and still didn’t understand why Mother might have drowned herself, however cruel he had been to her. ‘You don’t love anything other than yourself and your paintings,’ I said. ‘Or should I say, other people’s paintings that you have stolen?’ Then something caught my eye and icy fingers of fear ran down my spine. ‘Look!’ I said, staring at the wall in horror.
Water lapped through the broken window panes and trickled down the whitewashed wall, streaking it with muddy brown. Puddles grew on the floor and, as we watched, joined together into a pool.
Father moaned. ‘I had those windows put in to air the chapel. I hid them behind bushes on the narrow strip of ground between the Hall and the moat. I was concerned damp might spoil the canvases.’
I laughed mirthlessly. ‘Damp is certainly going to spoil them now,’ I said. ‘Did you never think about the moat flooding?’
‘Of course I considered it!’ he snapped. ‘It hasn’t flooded for generations. In any case, this is Dolly’s fault for opening the sluices.’ He gave me a baleful stare, his grey eyes as cold as slate. ‘You sound just like Rose, always criticising and nagging at me. I couldn’t bear the way she used to look at me with those great blue eyes of hers brimming with tears of disappointment.’
I didn’t answer him. He clearly believed he was without fault and I wasn’t going to waste my last breaths arguing with him.
The water began to flow faster. It gushed through the windows now in a stinking stream, filling the chapel with the reek of decay.
Father ran to the altar and snatched off the heavily embroidered cloth. He dragged a pew over to one of the windows and climbed onto it to stuff the cloth into the broken glass. The flow of water slowed to a dribble.
‘There!’ he said, jumping off the pew. ‘We must find something to put in the other windows.’
‘If we had a hammer and nails we could use some of the paintings to board them up.’
He gave me a look of outrage and at that moment the sodden altar cloth burst out of the windowframe and thumped to the floor. A great surge of water followed.
After a while, water eddied around my shins and I sat on a pew with my feet up. I was frightened to see how fast it was pouring in now that the level in the moat was higher than the windows. It made a terrible rushing noise and it was all I could do not to sob with terror.
Father sat on the altar with his arms wrapped around his knees and his gaze focused on The Last Supper.
Some of the candles had burned out, leaving nothing but drifts of acrid smoke. I splashed around the gallery and pinched out half of the remaining flames. I would relight them later when the others had burned down. I didn�
��t want sit in the dark, waiting to drown, any longer than I had to.
It wasn’t long before the water in the chapel was knee-high. My muslin skirt was sodden as it lapped over the seat of the pew and my panic was rising as fast as the water. I had to do something! Unable to sit still, I waded back and forth to try and keep warm as the cold began to seep into my bones. I looked up at one of the windows again and had an idea.
‘Father!’
Slowly, he turned his head to look at me.
‘Bring me that bronze urn,’ I said. I climbed up onto the pew he’d left beneath the window and stood beside the cascading water.
He stared at me sullenly.
‘Quickly!’
Moving as slowly as if he were walking through treacle, he brought me the urn. ‘What are you going to do?’
I didn’t answer but snatched the urn from him with both hands and raised it above my head. I brought it down to thump against the timber framework of the window. I gasped as my arms went into the torrent of cold water and it diverted a stream onto my face. I lifted the urn and held my breath as I crashed it into the frame again. Several minutes later I was wet to my skin but the windowframe had splintered.
‘Don’t just stand there watching!’ I cried.
Father stepped up onto the pew and we began to prise away the broken wood. It wasn’t easy since we couldn’t see properly through the tumbling water.
Eventually I ran my fingers around the frame removing any remaining sharp fragments as best as I could.
‘Now help me bring the altar,’ I said.
We heaved the heavy table across the floor with the water swirling around our waists and placed it under the window. It took a great deal of grunting and swearing on Father’s part and straining on mine, but we managed to lift the pew onto the altar table. I leaned against the wall to catch my breath.
‘It’s a waste of time,’ said Father flatly. ‘The window is too small.’
‘I’d rather die trying to escape than by sitting here until I drown,’ I said. ‘You must shove me through as far as you can so I’m not forced back by the pressure of the water.’
Father chewed at his lip, water dripping from his hair. ‘It’s a pointless exercise but you’re courageous to try.’
‘Then put your back into lifting me up and pushing me out,’ I said, not feeling brave at all. ‘If I survive I’ll fetch help. Then there’s a chance we can save the paintings.’
‘Save the paintings?’ Hope lit up his eyes again. ‘By God, we’ll give it our best shot, Emilia.’
My teeth chattered as I hauled myself out of the swirling water onto the altar and then the pew.
Father clambered up beside me. The stinking waterfall poured down between us, carrying clumps of weed and twigs.
‘Pray Dolly isn’t outside watching,’ I said, toeing off my shoes. I composed myself, taking several deep breaths and sending up a prayer of thanks that Alessandro had taught me how to swim. ‘I’m ready,’ I said. I took another breath, stepped into the cascade and gripped the window aperture. The powerful force of the water made me stagger.
Father grabbed me firmly around my thighs and hoisted me up.
I propelled myself through the window, coming to a painful halt as my hips wedged in the narrow opening. Water filled my ears and all sounds were muffled. Wriggling, I kicked my legs but it was hopeless.
Father was still thrusting me forwards and I fought frantically against him, trying to slide backwards. I was running out of breath and stars danced before my eyes. My hands flailed desperately in the muddy water and my hair wound itself around my face like tentacles.
If Father didn’t pull me back, I’d drown. A furious rage rose up in me and gave me the strength to kick back at him, hoping that with my last breath at least I’d knock his teeth out. That last vicious kick twisted my wedged torso and at the same time Father gave me a violent shove.
There was a wrenching pain in my hip and I shot through the opening into the churning waters of the moat.
Chapter 38
My chest felt as if it would burst. I watched the bubbles of my last breath floating away as I drifted in the murky depths. Inside I was screaming I don’t want to die! but at the very second I believed all hope had gone, I saw light above. I scissored my legs, all tangled up in my skirt, and then my face surfaced. A half-submerged shrub clawed at my cheek as I heaved in damp air.
I sank again. A current thrust me along and I thumped against something hard. Terror made me thrash my feet and I came, coughing, to the surface again. Langdon Hall loomed above and an expanse of black water lay ahead. The sky was darkening and still it poured with rain.
The water pushed me inexorably backwards and I grazed my heels on rough brickwork. The moat sucked me down and, when my foot disappeared into a void, I realised with horror that the current had carried me back to the very window I’d escaped from. I pushed against the wall with my feet, using the very last of my strength.
The water boomed and echoed in my ears as I bumped against the wall while muddy water swirled before my eyes. I was tired. So tired.
I floated face down. Something snagged painfully at my hair, jerking my head up. Water foamed around me and then I was on my back and rain pattered on my face. I breathed in great harsh gulps of air.
‘Emilia!’
My eyes opened. I blinked at the rain-filled sky above as I was towed through the water by a pressure around my neck. Sleep… I closed my eyes again.
My arms were hauled upwards and my legs slid along muddy ground.
‘Emilia!’
Alessandro’s face came into view above me. He smoothed the tangled hair off my face and covered my cheeks, my eyes, my nose with kisses while tears and rain dripped off his chin.
‘Is it really you?’ I whispered.
He scooped me up against his chest and buried his face in my neck. ‘I thought I’d lost you!’ His voice cracked as he rocked me against him.
I slid my arms around his shoulders.
Alessandro kissed my forehead again. ‘I’ve been so angry with myself that I let you come here on your own.’
I leaned my forehead against his, my strength slowly seeping back. We were on the grass on the opposite bank of the moat. My hip ached. There was a long tear in my skirt and blood blossomed on the filthy muslin from a throbbing gash on my thigh.
‘How did you come to be in the water, Emilia?’
I drew in my breath sharply. ‘Father!’ I tried to stand but Alessandro held me back.
‘You must rest,’ he said, ‘and then I shall take you away from this place.’
I shook my head. ‘You don’t understand! Father will drown if we don’t save him.’
Alessandro’s shocked gaze never left my face until I finished recounting the story that tumbled out of me.
‘So we must hurry and break through the gate into the chapel!’
‘It’s magnanimous of you to want to save your father after all he’s done,’ said Alessandro through gritted teeth.
‘I must save the paintings,’ I said, ‘and Father must face justice.’
‘What about Dolly?’ Alessandro’s lip curled contemptuously.
‘I want him punished, too… but we must send the gardener to close the sluices immediately.’
Alessandro pulled me to my feet and, hand in hand, we hurried off to seek assistance.
Mrs Bannister, after her first shocked reaction to us dripping on her polished floors, moved into action and set the scullery maid to boiling water in as many pans as would fit on the fire.
Mr Bannister sent for the gardener to turn off the sluices and Samuel and Robert went to fetch a crowbar to force open the gate to the chapel.
‘Have you seen Mr Pemberton?’ I asked Mr Bannister.
‘Not since he arrived.’
‘Will you find out where he is now? Take care, though. He may be dangerous.’
Mr Bannister sighed. ‘A pretty pass that Sir Frederick’s heir should conduct himself in suc
h a fashion.’
I knew how shocked he’d be once he was appraised of the full extent of Father’s perfidy.
‘Go upstairs now, Miss Langdon,’ said Mrs Bannister. ‘Daisy will help you to wash and change and dress your wounds.’
‘Later,’ I said. ‘Send for the parish constable, will you? Tell him to bring men with him. And take my aunt a message to say I’m perfectly all right and I’ll come and see her when I can. We’ll need candles to light the way.’
Robert reappeared, brandishing a crowbar.
The Dressmaker’s Secret Page 36
