Ravens Deep (one) (29 page)

             
It was strange hearing him talk that way, for I had never thought of Darius as being rich before.  After all, he didn’t’t do anything that would indicate that to me, but as I thought about all the land he owned, Ravens Deep, this building with all its contents, the house in Parson Place and Chantille, I was certain that he must be extremely wealthy. Of course it was of no consequence to him, having all the money he could ever have wished for, it could not buy him what he longed for most, the one thing he craved -- peace
. 
I moved closer to him.

             
“Do you even remember what’s here anymore?”

             
“Mostly, but not everything,” he confessed.

             
We walked amongst the treasures and he told me various interesting facts regarding the acquisition of each item, or to whom it had once belonged.  I was a little disturbed to learn that many of the small items had been removed from victims over the years. According to Darius, bodies were less easy to identify without personal trinkets.

             
We negotiated our way through the room’s entire length and I saw that we were

approaching
the back wall with another door, which Darius unlocked and we entered into the space beyond. It was a small empty room with a heavy metal gate, secured in place by a heavy chain and padlock. Darius indicated beyond the gate.

             
“Through there is the rare bookshop I told you about, but there is no way through from here. The lock is securely sealed in case the padlock ever got broken.  No mortal has ever entered the museum until now,” he added, looking down at me wistfully.

             
“The people who work in there, they are not curious?”  I asked inquisitively.

             
“I pay them well not to be curious,” he replied. “They believe it is an old warehouse filled with junk.  I already told you they believe me to be some rich eccentric who just pays them handsomely for running a book shop.”

             
“Then why do it, why risk any exposure?”

             
“It is useful to have some contacts that will do your bidding,” he paused for a moment, “like leaving magazines in hotels,” he said, waiting for my reaction. I shook my head in disbelief.  “But, if I ever had a problem getting here, or was unable to conduct business in the hours of darkness, they would be of use to me. You have to think of all the possibilities Madeline.”  He thought for a moment and added: “You need to have some subjects loyal to you.” I laughed at his choice of words.

             
“You make it sound like you are royalty -- some mysterious prince,” I said teasing him. 

             
“If that were so, then you would be my princess,” he said agreeably, and took my hand.  “Come with me and I will show you some of my favourite things.”  He led me back amongst the various tables piled high with papers to a glass cabinet and reached in to extract an object for me to examine. It was a decanter made of gold, and it was extremely heavy. It took my breath away, as its beauty was almost indescribable, it was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful objects I had ever seen.

             
“It is encrusted with emeralds, rubies and pearls,” Darius remarked casually. “It has a matching bowl,” he said, retrieving the bowl from the cabinet. “They are from ancient Persia.” And the bowl was just as elaborately adorned.

             
“They are beautiful,” I said in awe.  “What were they used for?  Not wine surely.”

             
“No,” Darius replied, shaking his head. “It was the custom for the Shah and his privileged dinner guests to wash their hands prior to and after eating.  A servant would pour the water over the diners' hands, from the decanter whilst at the table, and a second servant would catch the falling water in the bowl beneath. See how it has a concealed sieve in the bowl, to stop the water from splashing onto their fine clothes,” he added. “Traditionally the water was scented with rose petals, in fact the custom still remains today even in more modest households.”

             
Darius never failed to amaze me with his knowledge of so many things.  I handed the decanter back to him and he replaced it in the cabinet.  He then led me through the jungle of treasure to a very old apothecary cabinet, and turned to me.

             
“I have something for you.” He opened one of the drawers and produced a black box, he undid the clip and I saw that inside as necklace of silver filigree.  It was set with three stones which I supposed to be diamonds. It was an exquisite piece of jewellery, beautiful and unique, unlike anything I had ever seen before. Darius unclasped the silver chain.

             
“This was made for the Persian princess Barsine for her wedding day. The diamonds are African yellow diamonds, but now they are known as Iranian Yellows.  You will see in the daylight their true colour and beauty,” he said, as he pulled my hair to one side to place the necklace about my neck. I stared at him.

             
“But I cannot take that, it’s obviously priceless.” Darius ignored my protest, and fastened the clasp.

             
“It is priceless and is mine to give to you,” he answered. I was too choked to say much else, until I turned to face him.

             
“How does it look?” I said looking into his eyes which were firmly fixed upon mine.

             
“Beautiful,” he replied before turning to another box.  Upon opening the small box he produced a thick band of delicate filigree gold. I stared at it.

             
“Who did this belong to -- another princess?” I said, stunned by the wealth of jewellery and from where it came.

             
“No, my mother,” he said quietly. “This was her wedding ring, honeysuckle and roses entwined in gold.” Darius took my hand and fitted the ring onto my left hand ring finger.  I looked down at its shining brilliance.

             
“It fits perfectly,” I said in amazement, feeling overwhelmed by the gesture.

             
“I know, you were meant to wear this ring,” he said before he kissed me lightly. “It just took me so long to find you.” I pulled back from him.

             
“Do you believe in fate, Darius?”

             
“Why?” he looked at me puzzled.

             
“I was wondering that if you had never seen my name, would you have found me. 

             
“I don’t know . . . maybe.” He hesitated for a moment. “I was meant to find you,” he said with conviction. “It was meant to be.”

             
“I often wondered why I was called Madeline,” I explained. “It was not a common name.  Was your mother reaching out from beyond the grave when they named me?  Was it really our destiny to meet, or did fate bring us together?”

             
“Whatever it was I am glad that it did,” Darius remarked. “But we will never know for sure.” As I stood before him, it struck me that he could know a lot more than I gave him credit for.  After all, he would know what was possible and what was not, wouldn’t’t he? He would know answers to questions that had evaded mortals from the beginning of time, or at least he would have a better insight and understanding.

             
“What do you think happens when you truly die?” I asked now, fascinated to hear his response. Darius was quiet, thinking about the question.

             
“I honestly don’t know, Madeline” he said at last. “There may be another world, but not like mortals believe. The fact is the majority of mortals, people and creatures alike do turn to dust to replenish the earth. We come from nothing, therefore we must also return there.  It is the way of the natural world,” he concluded.

             
“But some do survive in another form,” I said looking at him.

             
“Yes,” he agreed. “But it is not a good thing to survive, look at me forever falling into despair, it is not the natural way of things.”

             
“But what about ghosts and other supernatural beings?” I pressed. Darius considered for a moment.

             
“They are not real, they too have gone, but their energy, their aura is suspended in time.  Forever falling, but never fallen.” He made it all sound so sad. The implication that a ghost remained forever suspended in time and never at peace, even if it wasn’t real, seemed to me a pitiful state to be left in. Darius turned towards the door we had entered earlier.  “It is getting late and we need to leave,” he remarked.

             
“You do not stay here?” I was surprised.

             
“I can, although you will be more comfortable at the house.”  Seeing my confused look he said: “The house in Parson Place.”

             
“Is it close?” I felt that I had totally lost my sense of direction and now I wasn’t sure what part of London we were in.

             
“It is two roads from here,” he continued, “but there is an alleyway that provides a short cut.  That is the reason I chose that particular house, so I would be close to the museum.”  Darius went through a ritual of locking everything and we passed through the garage. I retrieved my bag from the car and he locked the doors behind us. We walked in the darkness with the shadows gently enveloping us and the quietness of the early hours was comforting for our presence together in the city.

             
Darius had not exaggerated when he said the house was close, it was a very short walk.  We did not enter Parson Place through the front door, but through a gate set into a brick wall at the rear of the property. We entered into a small courtyard and then moved across to the side of the building, where there was another metal gate that covered the side door.  Darius unlocked both doors and we entered into a small compact kitchen, devoid of any of the usual type of clutter that you would normally expect to find.  From this room we went into a hallway, and that led through to a front living room.  Contained within this room were the standard museum quality furnishings that I had become accustomed to being around Darius. The dust indicated that no-one had sat in here for many years. Darius, seemingly very in tune with my thoughts tonight turned to me.

             
“I do not spend much time in here, but mostly in the library.” 

             
The library was filled with books and I didn’t’t even have to pick one up to know they were rare and extremely valuable. Darius continued the tour of the house and we walked up the stairs. The whole house felt very regal, with its high ceilings, ornate plaster-work and intricate door casings, but nothing less than I had come to expect as I knew how Darius appreciated the beauty in everyday things. 

             
There were three bedrooms and a bathroom, all contained beautiful vintage furnishings and every room had heavy velvet or damask curtains obscuring the windows. I took in the interior of the house and a feeling of déjà’vu came to me.  It felt like the first time I had walked into Ravens Deep.

             
“Where do you sleep?” I suddenly asked as Darius never slept in a bed by day.

             
“I will show you,” he said and a sudden feeling of dread went through my mind.

             
“It’s not another chamber is it?”  Darius smiled.

             
“I know the chamber at Ravens Deep disturbs you so. It is really not that sinister,” he remarked, looking amused at my obvious discomfort.

             
“I know,” I said. “It just seemed a little horrifying.”  In truth, I had tried not to think about that chamber too much, as it did in fact disturb me and I had not entered it since the first time.

             
“Don’t worry, you will not find this quite so claustrophobic.”  Darius led me down to the basement, via a set of back stairs. Metal grates covered two small window openings from the inside.  The walls were made of rough red brickwork and the basement was empty apart from a couple of old boxes. He lit a candle and took my hand before leading me around the side of what I initially thought was the back wall.

             
To my surprise a door was concealed in the darkest shadows of the corner and Darius opened the door to reveal a dark room, a chamber of sorts, and the inevitable coffin. Darius pointed to the trap door in the floor and explained that it led under the house into old tunnels that were long since forgotten. 

             
“Where does it lead to?” 

             
“They lead under the roads and connect some of the old houses,” he answered. “Many have been sealed up, but this one leads to three tunnels, one of which connects to an old crypt in a nearby church. The crypt itself remains sealed, so there is no access from inside the church.” He added, “In an emergency I would easily be able to unseal it and escape. The tunnels are empty.  No one ever goes under there and you can seal this trapdoor from above, so no one can mistakenly enter from below.”                                                                      “What were the tunnels used for?”  I asked, thinking that there must be a whole network under London streets.