The Secret of Willow Castle - A Historical Gothic Romance Novel (14 page)

“Come, little wife,” Sir Montague was saying, extending a hand to me. “It’s high time that you were in my bed. Goodnight, Mervyn.”

He pulled me to my feet and pushed me out of the room, one hand on the small of my back. I glanced back towards Mervyn, my face a mask of horror.

*

The moment the door to the master bedroom closed and locked behind us, Sir Montague’s arms slithered round me. I stood stock still as one hand caressed my neck, the other wrapped around my waist. He buried his face in my hair, his breath reeking of alcohol.

“You did well tonight, little wife,” he murmured. “You were very well-behaved indeed.” I felt him plant a wet kiss on my neck. “We need not be enemies, you and I,” he said, and I was surprised by his tone. I was used to his commanding coldness, but this… he was almost wheedling. “Perhaps in time you could come to love me, Rebecca, the way that Celine loves me… You think that I want you to hate me, but it’s not true. I just do not want you to love him. People always love him. Pater did, and I could see that you did from the first moment you met him.”

Releasing me suddenly, he staggered across the room and peeled off his coat, missing the chair and dropping it on the floor. He collapsed onto the bed, shucking off his shoes with difficulty.

“That’s why I’ll never let him have this place,” he slurred. “I hate Willow Castle. Hate it. He doesn’t. He loves it. So he can’t have it. It shall go to my bastard and my damned cousin can go to hell, where he will charm the Devil himself, most likely. And he can’t have you, nor you him. Now get undressed and get into bed, for I am going to mount you with such force that my damned cousin will hear it from the other side of the Castle.”

*

Deep in the early hours of the morning I lay wide awake, the light of the full moon streaming across my pillow. Sir Montague had been too far gone with drink to make good on his threat of rough wooing, but my body was sticky with sweat from the attempts he had made before finally giving up and falling into a drunken stupor. He lay beside me now, snoring loudly, his arm flung across me as if I were simply another pillow, present in his bed for his convenience and nothing else.

I slithered out from beneath his weight and got up. The flagstones were cool beneath my feet, a welcome contrast to the early summer warmth, and my thin shift was easily sufficient clothing. Softly I stole over to Sir Montague’s discarded coat and searched the pockets, looking for the heavy iron key that he had used to lock us in. My fingers probed into the soft cloth until at last I felt it, cold metal against my skin. I crept over to the door and slipped it into the lock. I began the turn.

“Mmm?”

I froze. The lock was old, ill-maintained, clunking noisily as metal touched metal. My husband was a light sleeper even in the depths of his drunkenness. If I unlocked the door I would not stand a chance of reaching Mervyn. I stepped away from the door lest Sir Montague should awaken fully and catch me there, and instead tiptoed over to his writing desk. The moonlight streamed across its surface, turning the embossed leather a willowy green-grey. It was more than enough light for me to write by.

My beloved, beloved Mervyn,

Do not believe anything that you heard or saw tonight, everything is a lie. Everything since I came to Willow Castle has been a lie, an illusion, madness or devilry. Everything, my darling, except my love for you.

I am not carrying Sir Montague’s child. That is a bald-faced lie which he is determined to tell so that he may pass his mistress’ child off as mine, legitimising his bastard and cheating you of your inheritance. I shall never be mother to any child of his, I swear it, so unless he were to kill me – which I fear he may very well do some day – there shall be no legitimate Chastain heir from him.

He has forced me to participate in this deception, staging that dinner as a means of breaking the news to the executors of your uncle’s will. I should have defied him to the last, even though he holds me prisoner and seeks to declare me insane, but he threatened to harm you and that I could not have borne. I could not have you suffer for my stubbornness, my love.

I have no idea how I am to get this note to you, my darling Mervyn. I am writing in hope, not in expectation, and because I must set these thoughts down or else go mad. If I can find a way to ensure that you receive it, you must go at once to the library and find Osier: A History, which shall reveal to you a secret that no other must know. That secret may be the key to our future happiness, although at present it seems like madness simply to write those words. How can there be future happiness? I am trapped, you are gone, nothing is as it should be.

The happiest moments of my life were those that I spent in your arms. I would to God we could have run away together then, my beloved. Know that whatever happens, whether I get out of this situation alive and with sanity intact or not, know that above all else I love you, I love you, I love you.

Forever yours,

R

I folded the letter with careful precision, then spotted a stick of sealing wax. I had had none to use on my last letter, but I decided that I would use it this time. At least then I would know if my letter had been found and read before I found a way to put it into Mervyn’s hands. I struck a match, praying that the small scrape and hiss would not disturb Sir Montague’s fragile sleep, and lit the wax stick. Globules of shiny redness dripped onto the paper, and for want of my own bronze seal I placed a kiss on my fingertip and pressed down, ignoring the stinging heat.

As I pursed my lips to blow out the wax stick, I heard a snort from my husband behind me. I spun round, expecting him to have woken. He had not. I breathed a sigh of relief, then turned my attention back to the dancing flame in my hand.

And then I rose and glided across the floor like a dancer in a dream, and I held the little flicker of fire against the drapes on my husband’s heavy canopy bed.

Flames licked up the cloth. Before I knew it the conflagration was rampaging along the bedposts and devouring the upholstery. I watched spellbound, hardly able to reconcile my own actions with the beautiful danger in front of me. Then a flaming scrap of velvet broke free and fluttered down onto the counterpane. I snatched up my shawl and slipped out of the room – then, on a moment’s icy impulse, I turned the heavy iron key and locked the door from the outside.

13
Forgiveness

M

y feet flew over the flagstones as I raced towards Mervyn’s room. I must have looked like the ghosts I had always half-expected to see, my long white shift trailing behind me and my dark hair tumbling down round my shoulders. I knocked upon his door; no tentative tapping this time but urgent pounding with all my might.

“
Mervyn!” I called. “It’s me, Rebecca! Open the door!”

“
Rebecca?” Mervyn appeared in the doorway, dishevelled and handsome. “What the devil -”

I could not resist. I leapt into his arms and kissed him.

“I am so sorry!” I wailed, clinging tightly to him. “None of it is true! I am not having Sir Montague’s child, I hate him, there is so much I have to tell you – but it must wait. The Castle is on fire and we must make haste.”

He screwed his eyes shut, shaking his head, still half asleep and trying to make sense of the last few moments.

“Mervyn!” I repeated. “I said the Castle is on fire, don’t you think we had better leave?”

This time the message got through. His eyes snapped open, his posture suddenly alert.

“Fire, you say? Right.” He plunged into the darkness of his room and returned a moment later with a coat in each hand. “One for you and one for me,” he said. “We shall need them when we get outside. Come on.” He grasped my hand and we fled towards the central corridor. As Mervyn plunged on towards the exit I suddenly remembered something.

“
Stop!” I cried, dragging him to a sudden halt. “Mervyn, wait. There is something -”

“
Whatever it is, we must leave it,” he said, gently but urgently stroking the wayward hair out of my face. “This place is full of dried out old wood, we had best not linger.”

“
It’s important! We have to go to the library!”

“
The library? Rebecca, are you -”

“
Come on!” I hauled him after me, and together we dashed through passageways that were suddenly coming to life as the smell of smoke drifted through the building and woke the staff. From the servants’ quarters high in the attics I heard the urgent jangling of an alarm bell. Outside, someone screamed. I flew to the nearest window slit and peered through. Celine was standing upon the gravel, half-dressed. She must have abandoned her cottage the moment she heard the bell and now she was watching in horror as the fire took the Castle in its grip. For a moment I wondered if there was any way of getting to her, but she turned and ran. I saw her changing course, clearly intending to take the road to Castleton, then Mervyn pulled me away and we plunged on until we reached our destination.

I tore across the room and flung myself on my knees in front of the low shelf where I had stored the jewels. I ran my finger along the spines, searching for the correct book, and when I found it I hauled it out and my fingers closed around the comforting weight of the laden pouch. Mervyn, standing behind me, must have thought that I had gone mad indeed, for I did not stop to explain but simply grabbed his hand again and together we fled back along the passages.

That was when we heard the crash. Judging by its direction I guessed that the floor of the master bedroom, directly above the entrance hall, had given way. I exchanged a glance with Mervyn and saw that he was thinking the same thing.

“
We won’t be able to get out via the front door,” I said.

“
Nor cut across the hall to get round to the back stairs and the kitchen door,” Mervyn agreed. “The servants will be all right, but I think we are stuck. If we go back and try the library window, you should fit through -”

I turned on him, eyes blazing. “And leave without you?” I cried. “Come this way. I have a better idea.”

We may not have been able to reach the front door or the kitchen door, but there was another door to the house that only I knew about – the trapdoor.

“
The Withy Chamber?” Mervyn panted as he realised where we were headed.

“
Trust me,” I gasped back. We stepped into pitch darkness as we entered, for the Chamber was windowless and the candles long since extinguished. I heard Mervyn strike up a match, looking for a candelabra, and the sound sent a faint, giddy thrill through my veins as I recalled the reason for the fire now consuming the place.

Mervyn looked sceptical but said nothing as I darted over to the westernmost point of the pentagonal space. I scanned the wall, searching for the word… there it was! VIMINIA. I followed the line of the writing, found the knothole and sent up a deep, heartfelt prayer that my dream had not been a dream after all.  I slipped my finger into the hole. There was the spring. I touched it and the floor slid back.

“Well, I’ll be – well done, my love!” Mervyn seized me with his free arm and kissed me forcefully, gratefully. “How did you -?”

“
Best to save the explanation until we are safely at the bottom,” I suggested. “Watch your step.”

We climbed sure-footedly down the long, narrow staircase. It should surely have been more terrifying with an inferno at our backs, but knowing that Mervyn was with me gave me courage. I tripped down the stairs, eager to reach the safety of the underground river and show Mervyn the beautiful chamber that waited below.

The claustrophobic corridor opened out exactly as I remembered it and blossomed into the stunning vaulted cavern, almost like a reproduction of the Withy Chamber carried out by nature itself. Behind me, I heard Mervyn’s sharp intake of breath as he set eyes on it. I led him over to the Devil’s Seat and at last we rested, safe in each other’s arms.

“
Now,” he said, kissing my hair and holding me tight, “as much as I love you for your air of mystery, are you going to tell me what’s going on? How on earth did you know about this place?”

“
Not so much how on earth,” I smiled, “but how the Devil.” I told him every detail I could remember of my encounter that night, from the unearthly music that had lured me to the Withy Chamber to my victory on the chess board and my lesson in the Castle’s history and secrets.

“
I’m sure I should be jealous that you were being taught about Willow Castle by anyone other than me,” Mervyn quipped, “since that was always my subject. But I must say, I am impressed. You don’t do things by halves, do you?”

That gave me pause. “I’ve never thought of myself as the kind of person who doesn’t do things by halves before,” I said thoughtfully. “I suppose you are right…”

I told him about all that I had suffered at my husband’s hands, from the humiliation of having him bring his mistress into the house to the torment of my imprisonment. I wanted to tell him all about the degradations of the bedchamber, but I could not. I began to speak but my voice deserted me. Mervyn simply held me close and soothed me, assuring me that I could tell him in my own time, whenever that may be, and he would be there to hear it.

“
But will you?” I fretted, suddenly breaking away from him. “Will you truly? Mervyn, I have done something terrible this night, and perhaps when you hear it you will never forgive me.”

“
Rebecca, my darling, I doubt that there is anything you could do for which I would not forgive you. If, indeed, you need forgiveness. Come, tell me, what is it?”

Through tear-choked breaths I related the events of the evening since we had parted company in the parlour. I told him of Sir Montague’s drunken lust and threats, of how he had fallen asleep and I had got out of bed and taken the key, of the letter I had written and how I had come to find myself with a flickering candle in my hand that had somehow found its way to my husband’s drapery.

“I have killed your cousin and set fire to your home,” I said, my voice flat with shock as I spoke it aloud for the first time. “I shall understand if you withdraw from me, if you feel you cannot love me.”

For a long time Mervyn sat in silence, staring into the torrent of the river. I felt the knots tightening in my stomach as I became convinced that the price I had paid for my freedom would be my love – and even that freedom might be short-lived. It struck me that I had taken the life of another, which could have more serious consequences altogether.

“Rebecca.” Mervyn spoke at last. “I can’t condemn you for what you have done. In all honesty, I am only surprised you did not do it sooner. I’m sorry for my cousin, but it sounds as if he gave you little choice. You had to escape, and I don’t see how else you could have done it.” He leaned back upon the Seat. “So old Montague’s dead, is he? It hardly seems real. I’ve thought about it so many times, you know – about what I’d do if anything were to happen to him. Since I met you, it’s always taken the form of rushing back to the Castle to take care of you, then after you came out of deep mourning I would ask you for your hand. Of course, all that seems pretty foolish now…”

“
What? Foolish? But why?” I started upright. The idea of marrying me had become foolish?

“
Because I’ve nothing to offer,” he said. “Just as before. My situation barely changes – in fact, if anything it becomes even less stable. My position at the shipping company is entirely dependent on the head of the Chastain family, and after Montague I am not sure who qualifies. The estate may well be entailed upon some distant relative or other, in which case I could find myself out on my ear. Even if it turns out that I am the next heir, I doubt there will be much money once we’ve finished rebuilding the Castle.”

“
You would rebuild it, then?” I asked. “You think you could?”

“
Oh yes,” he grinned. “It’s not the first time Willow Castle has been burned, it probably won’t be the last. The stone is pretty sturdy. The floors will burn, and all the wood panelling, and we shall lose a little bit of stone in places where the flames reach high enough to destroy the joists. But wood can be replaced, and enough of the Castle will live on for me to consider it the same place. The Withy Chamber has survived at least two previous fires.”

“
Really?”

“
It’s all stone. Even the willow mural was done in fresco. Plaster doesn’t burn, stone doesn’t burn. Whatever happens to the rest of the place, we’ll have the Withy Chamber to go back to. Or rather, I will. I wouldn’t ask you to come back and lead a life of genteel poverty with me. I believe you’ve had rather too much of that sort of thing already.”

“
And if I said that I wanted to?”

“
I would beg you to take your time and think about it,” he said solemnly. “Oh, Rebecca, please don’t think I say this lightly. I adore you, and I can think of nothing I want more than to ask you to be my wife. If truth be told, I cannot bear the thought of a life without you in it. But you must think of your own wellbeing. When you were poor before, you were a young woman with her whole life ahead of her. You had prospects, ways of pulling yourself out of poverty. Even now, you are a widow. There is bound to be some sort of pension which you’ll lose if you remarry. Don’t you want to enjoy that freedom and independence for a while? Once married to me you would be bound to a pauper forever. I could not let you walk straight into that when you are still reeling from the shock of your Mama’s death and the cataclysmic end of your first marriage. You would at least need to let the dust settle before deciding that you are happy to be poor again.”

I laid a hand lightly upon his chest. “Mervyn, my love,” I said softly, “you’re forgetting one thing…”

I up-ended the green velvet pouch and tipped the Chastain family jewels out onto his lap. They glinted and shimmered in the candlelight. I lifted the emerald pendant out and held it up, letting it catch the light and glow against the backdrop of white rock. As my beloved Mervyn stared speechless at my treasure trove I laughed aloud. His face broke out in a beaming smile and he threw back his head and laughed with me. Then he caught me up in a jubilant embrace and kissed me, and kissed me, and kissed me.

And when at last we had sufficiently sworn and demonstrated our love, we carefully packed up the jewels, took up the candelabra and made our way hand in hand towards safety, the Hope Valley, and our new life together.