Ravens Deep (one) (28 page)

             
“What is it?” I asked turning towards Darius.

             
“A 1939 Rolls Royce Wraith,” he said, watching my reaction to his obvious beloved possession. He walked to my side. 

             
“I don’t think I have ever seen a car like this before, only perhaps in a movie,” I said as Darius opened the passenger door for me.

             
  “There were only 491 produced and many of them are owned by collectors. I have owned this one from new.” He looked at me and remarked, “Its only history is with me.”  I looked inside, it was a beautiful symphony of wood, leather and chrome.

             
“It’s beautiful,” I said admiringly, and then I turned to look at him and added, “I could not imagine you driving anything else,
it’s so you
!”  He smiled at me as I climbed into the passenger seat. The leather was cool against my skin and it really was in immaculate condition. I imagined it looked exactly like this when it came from the factory. 

             
“How do you maintain a car like this?”  I asked in wonder.

             
“I had a few problems with it when it was new, but I have connections in London and these days it rarely troubles me. It has been well looked after.”  Seeing my look he added, “You do what is necessary to exist in a mortal world.”  Darius sat beside me and started the engine that was unexpectedly quiet, it almost purred as we pulled out of the barn. 

             
“And you remain anonymous in this?” I asked incredulously.  Darius smiled.

             
“You would be surprised.  In the dead of night an old black car can be inconspicuous, even one as beautiful as this. People see only what they allow themselves to. You never knew I was in London watching you for all those months,” he said, emphasizing the point.

             
“People walk past each other, without the slightest indication of those other people’s lives. People that are fearful or sad put on a mask and they project a different persona to the world that is different from the one that really exists. Why would seeing an old car in the middle of the night seem sinister to a casual onlooker? Most people do not even see it.  Mortals can be very unobservant,” he added.

             
We drove over the desolate moors and I watched the creeping mists rise up and obscure the landscape all around us. Occasionally the thick cloud cover would break, enabling the moonlight to momentarily light up the shadows and reveal a windswept tree, a clump of gorse, or a few ramshackle farm buildings down in a valley. As the light faded they disappeared and were lost again in the blackness, leaving only the remnants of their dark shadows. 

             
The roads were empty of any other vehicles, and there was no artificial light of any kind.  If it had been a clear night, I would have been able to see thousands of stars lighting up the sky.  Tonight the only illumination shone from the Wraith’s headlights, reassuringly guiding the way ahead.  The moors by day could feel remote, but by night they felt truly wild and desolate, far from any distractions of modern life or the living. We passed through this enchanted landscape and I felt that we were on top of the world, a world in which we could have been the only two inhabitants. We two, immortal and mortal shrouded in the protection of our ghostly apparition of a car, for even
it
seemed to disappear into the shadows and the damp clinging mists of the night.

             
I wondered how many times over the years Darius had made this trip.  As if reading my thoughts his voice interrupted my musings.

             
“This is an easy journey by car now,” he declared. “By horse it used to take days and the roads were often treacherous; particularly in winter. An occasional inhospitable coaching inn along the roadside, made the dangers all the more apparent. Travelling back in those days could be very dangerous, especially at night,” he concluded. I smiled to myself, conjuring up an image of a highwayman again.

             
“Why London, Darius?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “Surely there are closer cities for you to go to?”

             
“These days there are,” he answered.  “Years ago London was all there was. The local cities that you see now were little more than small towns if they existed at all. Besides, everything I know is in London or here on Exmoor. This has been my life.” He paused before continuing, “The journey only seems long to you because of your perception of time, but in my life this is but a brief moment.”  His words were not said to hurt me, but I found their content pained me considerably.

             
“Am I but a brief moment?” I asked, feeling dejected.  He turned to look at me,

even
in the dim light his eyes showed sincerity.

             
“You could never be, I can live a lifetime with you,” he said reassuringly.  Although I was comforted by his words, I was disturbed by the thought that my life would fade in but a few moments compared to Darius’s life. That thought played on my mind as I stared out into the blackness.  Could I bear the thought he would endure endlessly without me?  Would there be someone else like me in another hundred years or so?  Darius sensed my feelings, he placed his hand on mine.

             
“Madeline, I would never want to find someone else, for me there is only you.  What is important is now and the time we have,” he said gently.

             
“I know,” I said quietly, as I tried to dislodge the negative thoughts. I rested my head on his shoulder. Darius was right, it was the time we had that mattered.  I changed the subject for a more agreeable one.

             
“How long does this drive take in this car?”  I realised that it must take a great deal of time, for this was a very old car and I couldn’t’t imagine it speeding down the motorway at eighty miles an hour.

             
“About four hours.” I lifted my head and stared at him. Darius’s eyes met my own.

             
“Then how on Earth do you make this journey in the middle of summer?  When there can only be four or five hours of darkness.”  Darius wouldn’t’t have much time to get to London in the height of the summer months, what if he got delayed?

             
“I have another house,” he said casually, but he was obviously amused. “I was wondering when you would figure out that this journey would be impossible during the summer months.”  I was lost for words for a few minutes.

             
“The other house, where is it?”  I said at last.

             
“It is in the county of Wiltshire just outside a small remote village named Crossways.”  Darius saw my look, and began to explain. “Years ago the only roads in these remote areas were trackways.  An ancient, long distance trackway crossed Wiltshire and this route was widely travelled by people who wished to cross the country.  I regularly stopped at a particular coaching inn along this trackway, owned by a man called Benjamin Grey. He was relatively a young man, but he was dying of tuberculosis.  The inn did not bring him much profit as there were more popular establishments nearby.  He had no family left for both his wife and young daughter had died of influenza.” Darius paused for a moment remembering. “We became acquainted and he agreed to sell the property to me.”

             
“Acquainted?”  

             
“He was dying anyway.  I just gave him the option of a quick and painless end, rather than the suffering he was enduring,” he answered, matter of factly. “In return for his quick death he signed the property over to me. I actually liked Benjamin,” he added. “There have not been many people I can say that about.”

             
“Did he know then?” I asked, realizing what Darius was telling me. “He knew about you?”              

             
“No, not at first, but I would stay there on my way back and forth to London, and we engaged in several conversations. Obviously at the end he knew.” Darius continued, “Once he died I closed the inn to the public, although on occasion I did have cause to accommodate a weary hapless traveller.” I shivered. Darius looked at me and changed the direction of the conversation.

             
“A few years later new more direct roads were built and no-one apart from a few locals bothered with the old trackways.  So the surrounding property has remained unchanged and undisturbed.  It is no longer an inn, but a house named Chantille.”

             
“Did you name it?” I said, now more interested than ever.

             
“Yes, the original name was Crossways Inn, as it was built close to the point where the old trackway crossed an ancient Roman road -- hence the name.  Chantille was Benjamin’s dead daughter’s name.  I thought it was a beautiful name and appropriate to name the house after her, seeing as she had died in the house.”  I was fascinated by his story and I longed to see this house named Chantille. I turned to him.

             
“Can we go there?” I asked in earnest.  He smiled at me.

             
“Not tonight, but I will take you there.”  My mind was intrigued; just when I thought I knew everything about Darius he still managed to surprise me further.

C
hapter Twenty Three - The Museum

              The constant purr of the engine, and the darkness all around eventually lulled me to sleep. I awoke some time later and saw that we were no longer in the countryside, but entering London.  The bright city lights hurt my eyes for a few seconds, and I blinked several times before they adjusted to the new surroundings, but I had fallen asleep with my head resting on Darius’s shoulder and now I was acutely aware of the stiffness in my neck from the awkward position.

             
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked indignantly.

             
“You looked so peaceful,” he replied, looking down at me.

             
“How far do we have to go?”  I said, sitting up straight and rubbing my sore neck.

             
“We are very close now.”

             
A few minutes later we pulled into a narrow alleyway between several tall imposing buildings. Darius turned the car sharply and we were confronted by huge double wooden gates that opened automatically. Darius guided the car between them and the gates shut behind us. We had driven into a small walled courtyard and directly in front of us were double garage doors set into the back of a large building. These doors also opened as if by themselves. I realized that Darius had some sort of remote control device by his side, which made me smile. He drove the car into its garage and turned the ignition key.  The engine’s purr faded and Darius turned to me.

             
“What is so amusing Madeline?” I allowed my smile to widen.

             
“It just seems strange that you have such modern things, like remote controls.” I said, indicating the device. “It is from the age of technology and you are not.” Darius considered my words for a moment.

             
“I have to exist in this age, despite being born of another time, I have to learn and

progress
. The world today moves faster than it ever has and unless I have the ability to move with it, I will get left so far behind that my existence would be difficult. Besides,” he added cordially, “even I can see the usefulness of some electronic devices.”  I stepped out of the car and I saw that we were standing in a large concrete bunker with no windows, only a metallic looking door set into the back wall.

             
“This is my museum,” Darius announced as he produced a key and unlocked the door that enabled us to enter.  At first, I could see nothing, but as my eyes grew accustomed to the subdued light, I saw stacks of old boxes lining a narrow corridor.  We walked through, past the boxes to a heavy steel security gate that revealed another locked door.  Darius opened both doors and turned to face me.

             
“We are very safe here,” he said as if in response to an un-asked question.  As he passed into the room before me, he flicked on a switch and at once the room was illuminated by subtle lighting, we were in the museum.

             
I stared in wonder at the sheer enormity and quantity of it all.  Rows of glass cases were filled with collections of pottery and ornaments, cases of books and stacks of old maps sat on long tables. Many ancient and yellowing documents filled every available surface along with several jewellery boxes and photographs.  I felt like I had stumbled into a treasure trove and I was initially too stunned to speak, I just stared in amazement.

             
I turned to Darius in disbelief. 

             
“You collected all these things?”  Darius shrugged.

             
“Some of it was my mother’s,” he said pointing to the paintings and the pottery.  “But when money is no object and you have all the time in the world, I suppose you can acquire a lot,” he added bemused.