The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel (10 page)

“Very well,” I said. “But it shall be no other night than Midsummer’s Night, the shortest of the year.”

He raised his glass to me. “You drive a hard bargain, Lady Rebecca. But it shall be as you wish.”

He snapped his thin fingers and an elaborate chess board appeared upon the table between us, its squares constructed of fine black and white marble, each of the pieces a miniature work of art. I looked closer at the white king and queen and nearly leapt from my seat in surprise as I saw that they were made in the images of me – and Mervyn!

“
Your move, My Lady,” the Devil pointed out. I lifted a pawn, almost at random, and moved it forward two squares. Our game had begun.

I had always been an enthusiastic player rather than a skilful one, which made my acceptance of this satanic challenge all the more insane. I could beat Mama easily, but I was well aware that she had not been a formidable opponent. As the Devil claimed my first pawn within a few moves, swiftly followed by one of my knights, I began to realise the magnitude of the bet I had made. Still, I could not regret the risk – I felt alive, thrilled in a way I had never been before. To blazes with it, I thought. If I lose, I lose. I don’t care. I shall play exactly as I please. Snatching up one of my bishops, I sent the piece on a death or glory mission to the opposite side of the board.

I who had lived my life according to a strategy, even if it had been Mama’s rather than mine, now found myself playing wildly, planning no further than the next move. When an opportunity arose I seized it with both hands, picking the Devil’s pieces off the board with glee. When a piece of mine fell, I shrugged to myself and reasoned that I hardly cared how the game turned out for I felt that I had nothing to lose. When I took the Devil’s queen I clapped my hands and laughed in delight. Throwing caution to the winds, I sent my own queen chasing round the board, checking his king over and over again. I was so caught up in the pursuit that I paid no attention to the overall shape of the game until the Devil reached across the table, laid a hand on mine and whispered “checkmate.” I felt a flash of ice-cold lightning down my spine at the thought of the Devil in my bed.

“
What?” I cried. I stared down at the pieces, trying to work out which of his pieces had checkmated me. “But how? I-”

“
Not you, my dear,” he murmured. “Me. Look at the position I am in. You have won.”

I looked again, and sure enough, there was nowhere for his king to go without being taken. I had won! I had bested the Devil! I stared up at him in astonishment. I could not find a single word.

“My dear Lady Rebecca,” the Devil laughed, “how quickly you go from the reckless gamestress back to the quivering ingénue! You are exquisite. Well, you have won your right to know where the jewels are, to have them safely in your possession, yours to own in freedom hereafter. If you like I can deliver them into your hand this moment, but yours is an inquisitive mind, for all the training you’ve had to repress it. Wouldn’t you like to know where the Chastain treasures have been all these years?”

I considered for a moment. It was true that I had a lifetime’s experience of leaving questions unasked, ignoring my thirst for any knowledge that my Mama did not consider proper, longing to know more than my life would allow. Now, though…

“Damn it all,” I smiled, tasting the unfamiliar profanity upon my tongue. “Yes. Let me be the one to know the secret!”

“
This way, then,” the Devil said, getting to his feet and holding out a hand to me. I rose to accompany him. “There are more doors in the Withy Chamber than any living member of the Chastain family knows. Indeed, there is much more to Willow Castle than meets the eye.” He led me round the strange pentagonal room until we came to the uppermost point, which I had learned from Mervyn’s stories was the westernmost point.

“
No-one knows when this Chamber was first painted this way,” the Devil informed me amicably. “Well, no-one except me. It is as old as the Castle itself, give or take a certain amount of refreshing. However, for all the many times that the paint has been refreshed, one thing has remained unchanged. Look here.” He pointed a long, sharp-nailed finger at a word picked out in black across the base of one of the willow trees that adorned the wall. In the dim light I could barely make it out, but slowly I deciphered the letters: VIMINIA.

“
The thing about a noun on a painted wall is that everyone assumes it’s the signature of the artist who painted the fresco. In fact it is nothing of the kind, this is simply the Latin word for willow. It is here as a reminder of what willow trees are and what they are reputed to be. For examples, when a willow tree reaches down with its branches, what do you expect to find?”

“
Water,” I replied, unsure of how this related to the jewels.

“
Indeed. So in order to find water, you must follow the branches downwards. Do you know anything else about willow trees?”

I thought hard. “Very little,” I frowned. “They are associated with sorrow and mourning when they appear in literature, they are used to make cricket bats and charcoal, but I am afraid that is all I know. Botany is not a subject it has been my good fortune to study.”

The Devil drew closer to me, so close that I could feel his hot breath on my skin. “It is not your botanical knowledge that is required, Lady Rebecca,” he whispered. “I speak of legends. The willow tree is said to have the ability to drag itself from the earth, wrenching itself up by the roots, to reposition itself in more favourable ground.”

“
But why?” I breathed.

“
Opinions vary,” he said. “Perhaps to snatch unwary travellers from the roads and devour them, or to deliver them to the goddess Hecate to whom all willow trees are dedicated. Or perhaps it is simply something they do when they find themselves in a situation they do not care for – they tear themselves away from that situation by any means possible. They also, as you observe, make excellent charcoal. Now, if you look to the word VIMINIA, you will see beneath it a knothole in the floor. Place your finger in it.”

I did as I was bid, then leapt back as a section of the floor fell away beneath me. A trapdoor! Peering into the darkness I saw a flight of stone steps leading down.

“Where do they lead?” I asked.

“
Follow me and you shall find out,” the Devil invited me. He flitted back to the table to retrieve the candelabra, then led the way down into the subterranean passageway. I picked up the skirts of my nightgown and stepped down into the blackness.

The flight of stairs was long and steep, penned in by rough-hewn limestone walls on either side. My breath came faster as we went deeper, for the deeper we went the more the walls felt like they were closing in on either side. At length we came to a corridor, every bit as narrow but flat, at least, so there was no longer that sensation of plunging down into the depths of the earth. How far we walked along that corridor I do not know, but eventually it opened out into a vast, cathedral-like cavern.

I gazed in wonder at the beauty of the place. The walls had the same pale, ethereal glow as those I had seen in Poole’s Cavern, but the ceilng was even higher and patterned with long, treacherous-looking stalactites. I feared that they might drop at any second and plunge into the river that flowed fast and winding through the cave. By the side of the river was a large formation of smooth white rock, shaped almost like a chaise longue. The Devil led me over to it. It was a perfect size for two to sit and admire the rushing water.

“
Long ago, before Willow Castle was built and this cavern considered to be part of it, the people who lived in the Hope Valley knew this as the Devil’s Chamber,” the Devil told me, his voice soft and spellbinding. “And this particular stone was known as the Devil’s Seat. It was said that if you sat upon this stone and left the remaining place free for me, you could ask a boon of me and if I had a mind to grant it, I would do so without exacting my usual punishing price.”

I laughed as the final pieces of the mystery fell into place. “So all Sir Carvell ever had to do was come down here, sit upon this rock and ask, and you would have shown him the location of the jewels?”

“Not even that!” The Devil joined his mirth to mine. “Rest your arm upon the side, Lady Rebecca.”

I did so, adopting a more relaxed posture. Beneath the weight of my arm, the top layer of rock began to move. I pushed it aside. It was heavy, but it was hinged and polished to allow it to move easily to reveal a hidden compartment carved into the rock. Within that secret hiding place lay a large pouch of deep green velvet. I lifted it out and spilled its contents into my lap.

“The jewels!” I cried, seeing a tangle of gold, silver and precious stones tumbling onto the soft linen of my nightgown. One by one I picked out each item; a rope of pearls, several fine rings, a diamond circlet, earrings and bracelets and all sorts of beautiful things. Last of all I examined the famous emerald pendant. I gazed through it at the cavern, seeing the room change colour as if it were consumed by green flame.

“
To match your eyes, lovely Lady Rebecca,” the Devil took the pendant and moved behind me, slipping the chain over my head so the emerald lay heavy on my bosom. “And now I wish I could say that you are mine… but you are another’s.”

“
Indeed,” I stared meaningfully at the gold band on the ring finger of my left hand.

The Devil laughed. “Not him! No, your husband might have a legal claim on you, but you belong to someone else entirely. Not him. Not me. I could sense that you were another’s the moment you set foot in my domain.”

“Your domain?” I asked, casting my mind back through the places I had visited both in reality and in my dreams. “When was I in your domain before tonight?”

“
All of these caverns are mine,” he told me, following the flow of the river in an expansive gesture. “I first sensed your presence not far from here, a mere few miles along this river, when you visited Poole’s Cavern. Wherever this river flows, from its source near Arnemetia’s Well to its mouth by Castleton, less than half a mile from here, is my territory and I shall always know who wanders there.” He extended a hand to me. “May I show you around?”

“
If you like,” I said, rising and following him into the tunnel of glowing white rock, the river rushing alongside.

9
Threats

I

did not remember how I got back from the Devil’s Chamber. I had no memory of climbing back up those narrow stairs or of closing the trapdoor behind me. My memory ended with the blaze of fine jewellery. My next memory was of being back in my bed, waking up to the gentle clatter of china as Sarah brought in my tray of chocolate.

My hand flew to my neck, half-expecting to find the heavy emerald pendant there. My neck was bare.

It was a dream, then, I thought, my heart sinking slightly. Nothing but a strange, laudanum-induced fantasy, brought on by being overwrought and missing Mervyn’s tales of Willow Castle’s history. Ah well.

*

It seemed a little excessive to breakfast alone in the Withy Chamber. I was still a little appalled by the waste there must have been, for the dishes on the sideboard were filled as full as they had been when there had been four of us there. I still ate but little. My appetite had never been great, and I had not yet recovered it after the loss of Mama. I usually picked at the bacon and eggs and hoped that all the food I did not eat would at least be fed to the staff, rather than simply discarded. I remembered how Mama had always cautioned against waste when we had lived at Lisson Grove, how we had used up every scrap of food by transforming it into one dish after another. Her attitude had changed overnight when we had arrived at the Castle. I supposed it was simply a resumption of the ways she had learned during her girlhood at Greycrags.

My mind was still full of the opulent trinkets I had seen in my dream as I took my place at the table, in the same seat that I had occupied for my chess game with the Devil. I sipped tea and relived the dream within my head, then at length I picked up my plate and went to serve myself from the sideboard. I took my usual bacon and eggs, then on impulse I decided to accompany it with a slice of fried bread. I reached for the lid of the server.

Beneath the lid I found no fried bread. Instead, I found a mass of dark green velvet – the very pouch that I had seen in my dream! I dropped the lid with a heavy clatter and snatched it up. I rushed back over to the table and poured the jewels across the tablecloth. They fell out exactly as I remembered them, down to the last gold ring. I left them there as I retrieved my forgotten breakfast and stared transfixed as I broke my fast.

When I had finished I scooped my treasures back into their pouch and carried them carefully to my favourite room, a room where the contents were not owned by me and therefore by my husband, but by the Castle itself – the library. I went to the shelf where Mervyn had once fetched the volume containing Sir Carvell and Lady Angela’s likenesses. There I found a small volume, set further back upon the shelf than its fellows. I pulled it out, glancing at its title. A Short History of Osier. I laughed, then I pushed the pouch to the back of the shelf and slid the book back in, lining its spine up with the other volumes, so that the precious bag of jewels was entirely concealed.

*

I remained in the library the whole day, not curled up with a book by the fire this time, but settled at the bureau with pen and paper. Furiously, I scribbled down every detail that I could remember from my dream, making a list of the things I had learned from the Devil who, it now appeared, had been as real as the jewels I had found and concealed. Willow trees, I scrawled. Uprooting, walking, replanting. Viminia. Hecate (goddess?). Devil’s Chamber. Devil’s Seat. Secret passageways. Route of underground river?

When I had done with my list I prowled the shelves, pulling down one thick tome after another and piling them high on the fireside table. It was my intention to find more information about everything I had seen in my dream, to go further than I had been able to during my brief time with Mervyn and learn all I could about Willow Castle. Even Mervyn had not known of VIMINIA and the secret trapdoor, of that I was sure. If he had, he would certainly have explored it during his adventurous boyhood. I was certain it would have been among the first things he told me. I looked forward to telling him of my amazing discoveries as soon as I saw him again. I had already been impatient for his next visit, but now my impatience had assumed an even greater level of urgency.

I was disturbed some time in the afternoon by Mrs Chapman entering the room.

“Begging your pardon, My Lady,” she said, bobbing a disinterested curtsey. “The Master is returned and requests your presence in the parlour at once.”

I was surprised that I had not heard the carriage, nor the slam of the main door, nor the increase in activity that accompanied an arrival. All at once I realised how caught up I had been in my task. My heart was gripped by the icy realisation that I no longer had the Castle to myself and worse, that my husband wanted to see me. I could think of no reason for it that I would care for. Nevertheless, out of habit after all Mama’s training, I glanced into the mirror above the fireplace and quickly patted my hair into place and smoothed down my dress. Then, having composed myself, I set off for the parlour.

*

I had not expected my husband to be in company when I opened the parlour door, much less to have a lady with him. Although when I glanced at the female sitting by his side, I wondered whether ‘lady’ was indeed the correct term. She looked a little too artful, her hair a suspiciously brassy shade of blonde, her taffeta skirts arranged to show a tantalising hint of ankle. Mrs Chapman bustled in behind me with the tea tray as I took my seat opposite my husband and this rouged stranger.

“Ah, Rebecca,” Sir Montague greeted me. “How good to see you again, little wife. Do sit down, for there is someone I should like you to meet. Mrs Chapman, would you be so kind as to bring a pot of coffee as well? Our companion here prefers it to tea. Rebecca, it has been suggested to me that it is not good for a lady to be so much on her own as you will be now that your mother is no longer with us. You should have a companion, some respectable lady who will keep you company and prevent you from becoming lonely when I am busy or away from home. I have found such a lady. Allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Celine Palomer.”

“
Enchante,” Mlle Palomer simpered, not waiting for me to address her first. She held out her hand for me to shake as if she were the lady of the house and I the paid companion. Between us, Mrs Chapman finished setting out the tea things and left the room to fetch the coffee. The moment the door closed behind her my husband’s face changed.

“
It’s no use looking like that, Rebecca,” he said, with that irritating look of slight amusement. “I can see that you are not enamoured of the idea – honestly, dear wife, you can conceal nothing. Your every thought is written upon your face.”

“
Without meaning any disrespect to Mlle Palomer,” I replied, “I do not require a companion. I have been perfectly happy on my own these past few days, and I am sure I will be again.”

“
Oh, how very worthy,” he mocked me. “Your Mama raised you to be absolutely perfect, didn’t she? My books and music shall be my sole companions, on them to look and practise by myself. Very sweet, very maidenly. But as it happens, your opinion on the matter is not required. It is of great importance to me that this lady shall join our household. The most suitable position for her is that of your companion, therefore you shall have a companion.”

Mlle Palomer leaned forward and reached for my hand. “Please, Lady Rebecca,” she pouted in her lightly accented French, “let there be only friendship between us. Sir Montague and I have only your best interests at heart, and I shall perhaps be able to relieve you of certain… duties that you find disagreeable.”

Mrs Chapman reappeared bearing a silver coffee pot. I glared silently at Sir Montague as we waited for her to leave again. The moment she was gone I dragged my hand away from Celine’s and leapt to my feet.

“
This is your mistress?” I cried. “You have brought your mistress into this house and you expect me not only to receive her and take tea with her, but actually to accept her as my supposed companion? You must be mad, Sir Montague!”

He did not flinch. “Keep your voice down, Rebecca,” he hissed. “There’s no need to make a spectacle of yourself.”

“My dear,” Celine’s habit of addressing me as if we were old friends was starting to make my skin crawl. “Please try to understand. Montague and I have waited such a long time to be together. When his father finally passed on, we thought we should have our chance. But no, for then the terms of the will would not allow us to marry, and now this is the only way we can manage.”

“
More to the point,” Sir Montague said, “this is my home and you, Rebecca, are my wife. I expect you to do your duty by doing as I say. Since I am the one who pays our staff, I shall decide how many we have and in what positions. If I say that you shall have a companion, you shall have one. If I say that it is to be Celine, it shall be Celine. If she happens to be my mistress, that is no concern of yours. Or didn’t that prudish Mama of yours ever teach you that men may have mistresses and that this is the way of the world?”

I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to tell him never to mention my Mama again, that I did not appreciate his criticism of her and would not tolerate it. I forced myself to remain calm. “I am not unaware of the fact that some men find it hard to remain faithful, Sir Montague” I said. “However, I was not aware that ladies are expected to take their husbands’ doxies under their own roofs and welcome them as honoured guests and valued companions. Perhaps something was wanting in my education after all.”

“She also neglected to inform you that sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, Rebecca. Anyway, let us hear no more about it. The matter is settled. Mlle Palomer is here to stay, and she shall be your companion. In front of the servants and in company, I expect you to remember this. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

I gave him a curt nod. “Now may I be excused?” I asked. “My head is troubling me.”

“Oh, my dear, not the same trouble as your poor dear Mama had with hers, I trust?” Sir Montague enquired with feigned solicitude. “Of course you must go and rest. Run along now.”

As I left the room he leaned in towards Celine, reaching a lustful hand down towards her exposed ankle and beginning to slide it up beneath her skirts. I overheard him muttering “Don’t worry about her, my sweet. She’ll get used to it. Rebecca is very adaptable.”

*

I returned to my room, making a swift detour via the library to retrieve the list I had written earlier. I tucked it into my Bible for safekeeping, pausing to appreciate the irony of secreting my memories of my encounter with the Devil there. Then I lay upon my bed and thought about my options.

Sir Montague’s proposition that I should simply accept his attempt to place his whore at the heart of our household was ridiculous. I may not love my husband, I thought, but that does not mean I will tolerate his flaunting his infidelity in my face. This is a calculated insult, we both know it, otherwise he would not have waited until Mama was dead to bring her in.

Mama… I wished that I could have asked her advice. I feared that she would have told me to stay, no matter what the circumstances, and honour the duty that I owed to my husband. I was sure she would have told me that security mattered more than anything else, and that I would learn to turn a blind eye to it in time. Perhaps I would have done, if he had simply kept a mistress in town. If he had continued to disappear on his supposed business trips I would never have asked questions, I would simply have left him to his own devices and hoped that his mistress, whoever she was, was sufficiently captivating that she would keep him out of my way for as long as possible, leaving me to enjoy the Castle alone.

Yet I wondered – my Mama was also the young woman who had run away with her lover. Perhaps she would have advised me to take the jewels and run, to slip out of Willow Castle at first light. Surely I would find someone in Castleton who would take me to Buxton, then I could get on the first train to Liverpool, seek out Mervyn and… I sighed. Mervyn had already made it clear that he did not want any part in deceiving his cousin, and I did not know how he would react if I appeared on his doorstep with a bag of jewels and the sworn intention to leave my husband.

Perhaps it would be wrong of me to approach him, I considered. Perhaps the best thing I can do for Mervyn, as much as it would hurt me, is to set him free to love someone properly, to love a woman who is not married to another man. Perhaps I should return to London and in time he would forget me. I might –

The door opened. Sir Montague strode in, closing it firmly behind him, and without waiting for an invitation he seated himself on the edge of my bed.

“
Your display in the parlour was most offensive towards Mademoiselle Palomer,” he said, his voice icy cold.

I scrambled into a sitting position, pulling my knees up towards my body to keep as much of myself away from him as possible. “Your behaviour in bringing her here is most offensive towards me,” I retorted. “I want that woman out of my house.”

“It’s not your house.”

“
I am your wife!” I snapped. “You spoke earlier of my duties as your wife. Very well, let us speak of your duties as my husband. You promised me fidelity. By your own admission you have broken that promise. You promised to love me. That you have not done. You promised to comfort me, yet when I needed comfort most all you did was make the most offensive remarks about my mother. You vowed that you would honour and protect me, yet I can think of nothing less honourable than foisting your mistress on me. If you were to ask Dr Bagshawe I am sure he would not consider that to be protecting me, either. You have done none of the things you promised in your wedding vows, Sir Montague. I can hardly consider our vows to be valid if you entered into them intending to treat me in this way.” I felt hot tears beginning to stream down my face. “And I have done nothing to you! I knew from the start that I was nothing more than a convenience to you, simply a means to an end, but could you not have offered me simple indifference instead of this malice? And if malice is all you have to offer me, why keep me here to suffer? Why not simply let me go?”