Ravens Deep (one) (4 page)

              This room connected to another and I approached this connecting doorway, intrigued by the door casement.  Its surface was a raised wood relief, so intricately detailed that it reminded me of a pagan style carving as it depicted a stag’s head and hunting horns. On entering this darkened room I was able to see two pieces of furniture; a carved desk and matching chair. I walked across to the window and pulled the heavy curtains back, which at once revealed the room’s purpose.

             
“The library,” I observed to myself and I wished at that moment I had someone with me, to share in this wondrous discovery.  Bookcases filled to capacity from floor to ceiling ranged along the entire back wall and far side and Mr. Chamber’s words rang true, he had said that there was an extensive library. 

             
The books I picked up and examined were beyond antique and very rare and I delighted in reading the names of poets and authors of long ago.  Dante, Coleridge, Shakespeare, Thackery, Keats, the names were all here, classics before our time, written by masters whose influence shaped our literary imaginings. This collection had been languishing away here for so many years, and I felt privileged to be given the opportunity to access a library such as this.  Besides the timeworn classics, there appeared to be modern books on every subject imaginable.

             
Strangely enough, neither the books nor the desk seemed to have collected much dust and I noticed that large Turkish rugs, threadbare in places, covered the flagstones, which did nothing to conceal the unevenness of the floor underneath them. 

             
Reluctantly, I left the library and moved back across the sitting room to another ornately encased doorway that led through to a carved staircase on the left.  I peered briefly into the functional bathroom that lay straight ahead before entering the kitchen.

             
I found myself in a large rectangular room that contained what I could only describe as a medieval banqueting table which had seen a lot of use, judging from the various cuts, scratches and the occasional gouges on its surface. An old Aga stove was at the far end of the room, positioned next to the back door which still had its original key in the keyhole.

             
I walked through the kitchen, brushing away the large cobwebs that hung down from the ceiling, this room was worse than the others in terms of neglect and it dawned on me that no-one had walked through here in years. I unlocked the door, which revealed the remainder of the garden, although quite impassable as nettles were waist high, but it appeared to be a large garden with mature trees. An old wooden hut, reminiscent of a potting shed, was the only exterior structure.  I noted that I had been correct in my earlier assumptions, the stone wall did run all the way around the house and completely enclose the garden.

             
After locking the door again, I saw that there were high cupboards above the Aga and a deep cast iron sink fitted into an old floor cabinet, giving a small amount of work surface. There was also a small refrigerator that had certainly seen better days, which despite its age still appeared too modern and decidedly out of place in this room. It all looked quite basic, but it seemed functional.

             
I just hope everything still works. 

             
The large kitchen window above the sink made this room feel sunny and bright, and looking out I saw that it commanded fine views down over the moors to the sea in the distance. The whole aspect of this house was enchanting, but my attention came back to the structure of the room that I was standing in. Throughout the rooms I had seen so far, there was a continuity of exposed beams that ran the length of the ceilings and down the walls at intervals.  The walls had some unevenness about them, but the house had definite charm, although it was an odd layout and I would have expected many more rooms in a country house such as this. 

             
As I turned to leave the kitchen, I noticed a door that I had not seen earlier. It was heavy and creaked a little when opened. I stepped across the threshold and found myself in a large walk-in pantry big enough for several people to have stood in there with me. Five deep shelves jutted out from the stonework, and the two lower shelves were stacked with exquisite china and several sets of fine crystal. Everything had not been touched for years, as a film of grime and dust covered everything.  I picked up an old plate, wondering if I had brought enough cleaning supplies with me.

             
“This place is filthy.”  I muttered tersely, becoming aware of the enormity of the task that appeared before me.  The room had a distinct chill to it, probably the reason it had been used as a pantry, but I was glad to shut the door firmly behind me. I left the kitchen and walked up the staircase, mesmerized as I progressed by the decorative details.  A mixture of different wood, panels of oak and elm, formed a continuous rhythmic pattern of curling acanthus leaves that carried my eye upwards and peering out from the leaves were several fox heads, their eyes seemed to watch my progress upstairs. The details were fascinating and I ran my hand lightly over the carved wood and smooth banister. There was something so appealing and addictive about touching wood, perhaps because it had once been a living thing, or the carpenter who once worked upon it had put so much feeling and commitment into the fine details that it still seemed to have a living form.

             
I reached the top of the staircase and stepped onto a small landing with one door, which was the first of two bedrooms. I walked into the dark room and immediately went to the window to open the curtains and allow the light to shine through.  But once I pulled aside the heavy blue and gold damask curtains, I was surprised to find the room still so dark. I saw that the ivy growing outside, practically covered the entire window, I would need to trim it back if this room was ever to see the sunlight again.

             
But despite the gloom, I saw the bedroom suite had covers that matched the blue and gold damask fabric of the curtains, and on closer examination I noticed the furniture was all made from some exotic wood, covered with artistic carvings depicting birds of paradise and butterflies in deep relief on the headboard and legs of the bed.  A scroll design adorned the wardrobe and it was framed by another bird of paradise in deep relief with its wings fanned, with a matching dressing table completing the scene.  I left the room feeling saddened that everything had been allowed to decay, as if someone long ago had walked away and never returned.  These beautiful pieces deserved appreciation, to be used and loved, not just left and forgotten. It was quite a depressing notion and I wondered what had happened. Someone had used them once, someone had carefully selected each piece for each room.

             
The landing on which I stood had an additional four steps which led up to a corridor roughly twelve feet long, containing two doors.  The first led into another bathroom, not quite as basic as the one downstairs, it contained an ornate Victorian bathtub and pedestal basin.  The decoration was simple and elegant, as the cream panelling on the walls complimented the white mouldings on the coving.

             
At the end of the corridor was the door to the main bedroom, and I was so unprepared for the magnificence that awaited me when I first entered into the room.  Leaded gothic windows curved in a semicircle to form a bay window, from which curtains cascaded to the floor in waves of heavy silk.  The curtains were well aged and their rose pink colour had faded considerably. I noticed that there were fine details in the ornate alabaster fireplace, which was partly obscured by a pale pink boudoir chair and matching footstool. Silk wallpaper the colour of the palest pink rose, worn and faded in places, hung on the walls and in the corners of the room, where the sunlight had never shined, I could still see the rich vivid hues of the pink and green butterflies, with delicate lacy wings that entwined the oriental flowers and adorned the background.

             
Above the fireplace hung a portrait of a pretty young girl, maybe eighteen or nineteen, her pale flawless skin matched the colour of the old fashioned ivory dress that she was wearing. Her eyes beckoned me to come closer, I obliged and stared at the image. I got the strangest feeling that I had seen this portrait before, there was something so familiar about it and I searched for some clue on the canvas, but I could not find the name of the painting or the artist.

             
After a few minutes I turned away, but I was certain that the girl’s eyes were firmly fixed upon me as I moved around the room.  I tried not to feel intimidated, after all, it was only a picture.  I turned my attention to the sumptuous four-poster bed adorned with more of the heavy silk curtains that dominated the main area of this room.  Laid across the bed was a bedspread of silk to match.  On closer inspection, I realized the fabric contained hundreds of tiny embroidered flowers in tones of pink, green and gold. The bed frame and headboard were made of exotic carved wood, with a relief of vine leaves that complimented a matching wardrobe and dressing table. This room felt as though somebody of great importance should have slept here and I felt in awe that this would be my bedroom. 

             
As I continued with the inspection of the room, I noticed an opening set into the wall, a small arched recess to the side of the dressing table, similar to what you could sometimes find in old churches, like a niche to hold a candle.  But this was different, it grew narrower towards its furthest wall and it had a glass inset, like a tiny window. I studied it in detail, but as much as I looked, I could see nothing but blackness.

             
Maybe the ivy has grown up and hidden its true purpose.

             
Although I wondered what purpose it could have possibly served, perhaps a candle being placed there, maybe to light the way to the house.  I liked the idea of that thought, a beacon of illumination rising out of the mists of the moors or a glimmer of light for those travelling home to Ravens Deep so many years ago. 

             
I glanced at my watch, it was already mid afternoon and as beautiful and decadent as this room was, I could not sleep in this ancient bed without changing all the old linens and removing some of the ingrained dirt. Besides, I had no idea when someone last slept here and for all I knew, the bed could be full of bed bugs and other creatures.  I was glad I had foresight to bring clean sheets and linens with me. The bed would need some thorough cleaning, to dislodge any unwelcome occupants it may contain, but I decided that job could wait until tomorrow. I could easily make up a temporary bed on the sofa in the sitting room for tonight and I would worry about my future sleeping arrangements tomorrow.  My priority would be to unpack and clean at least some of the kitchen, as I did not relish the thought of eating or drinking out of any of the crockery in its current state.  But despite the years of neglect and decay, the house felt welcoming. I could even believe that I felt its embrace as I moved through each room and Mr. Chamber’s intuition was correct, I was the right person to breathe new life into Ravens Deep.

Chapter Three - In the Night

              I made my way back down the stairs and a feeling of unreality settled over me.

             
Had I really been in London this morning?

             
It was hard to believe that now, because city life felt like a million miles away. A little later I turned my attention to unpacking the car, grateful that I had brought some basic supplies with me, because getting to and from Ravens Deep had proved longer than I had anticipated.  I would have to get used to driving the extra distance to get anywhere. Along with my few groceries, I had also thought to pack various items that I assumed I might have needed: candles, matches and a good torch.  Although I was relieved to find that I wouldn’t’t be forced to use them, except perhaps in an emergency.  Ravens Deep did have functioning electricity and I had quickly tested all of the taps, water ran through all of the plumbing.  I was being over anxious for I was certain that Mr. Chambers would have informed me if there had been no basic facilities. 

             
It was unclear when he had last paid a visit, I had assumed that it was months, but evidence suggested years. I never considered the possibility that the house had been completely abandoned, but it certainly appeared that no-one had even maintained or even entered into this building in a very long time.  I suddenly wondered what would become of this house when Mr. Chambers passed away, or if there were any living relatives.  Then it would probably become part of their inheritance, but maybe there was no-one, maybe it would just fall into ruin.

             
I had only been at Ravens Deep an hour or so, but already the house had given me a most peculiar feeling, as though I belonged here and that was something I had never experienced anywhere before. The very structure itself seemed to wish me to remain within its walls, and I felt disturbed at such a strange perception. I had never considered myself susceptible to energies of the paranormal, but I could not deny that from the moment I had stepped over the threshold I had been enticed by the heart and soul of the house. I smiled at my own interpretations, did houses have souls?  This one felt like it did and I wondered if Mr. Chambers would ever consider selling Ravens Deep.