Black Rainbow (13 page)

"And become one of the ghosts of Grayhaven," Edmund said with a laugh. "No fear of that, Miss O'Neill." He stopped and directed his lantern at the paper he carried. "This rough sketch of the plan of the house helps me to find
the corresponding regions below. If I have calculated correctly, we are now under the Great Hall, not far from the chapel."

"I want," Jane said suddenly, "to find a stair. Going
up. "

"Why, Jane, I am surprised; I thought you were afraid of nothing. Don't worry, your big brother will protect you. Let me see." Again he consulted his plan, and nodded. "Yes, there should be a flight of stairs at the end of this passage; they lead to the ground floor of the North Tower. There appear to be a few more rooms here; we may as well look at them as we go. But watch your step—the passage seems lower here. There is a ramp, or perhaps the remains of steps."

"I don't want to go
down, "
Jane insisted. "I want to go—"

"You made your point, Jane. The descent is not great, only a few feet, and I promise you we will soon be ascending."

Megan marveled at his cheerfulness. He seemed quite unaffected by the breathless discomfort that afflicted her and Jane. She took courage from the sight of Edmund's tall, graceful frame ahead. But she wished he would not swing the lantern so casually. The shadows leaped in a maniacal dance.

He offered his hand when they reached the part of the passageway where the floor dipped down. Jane declined his assistance; needless to say, Megan did not, and even through the depression that weighted her spirits she felt the customary thrill at the touch of his warm fingers.

"This looks interesting," Edmund said, indicating a closed door on their right, at the bottom of the slope. "Old oaken planks, almost a foot wide. And the ironwork is much more elaborate than we have seen elsewhere."

"I expect it is locked," Jane said hopefully.

"I am sorry to disappoint you," Edmund replied. His hand was on the blackened iron handle, and as he applied pressure, the door swung slowly open.

At first Megan saw nothing except darkness. The limited beam of the lantern showed no walls and only the dimmest
suggestion of a darker substance underfoot. It was as if he had opened a door into infinite night.

Leaning forward, Edmund held the lantern out at arm's length and moved it from side to side. There were walls after all; and with their appearance the place lost its eeriness and became only a room, much larger than the storage rooms they had seen, but equally filthy and empty of menace.

Edmund stepped forward. Something crackled under his foot, like dry twigs breaking. He stooped to get a better look, and as the light dropped to illumine the floor, a simultaneous exclamation of surprise and disgust came from Megan and Jane. The rubble-strewn dirt surface was littered with bones, some brown and brittle, some pale and delicate as a Chinese carving in ivory. Most appeared to be rodent bones—at least they were small enough for that—but before she averted her eyes Megan saw one empty-eyed skull that was only slightly smaller than her clenched fist. A cat, or a gruesomely large rat?

Edmund went on, his forward progress marked by a series of crunching sounds.

"Amazing," he said. The room seized on the final diphthong and threw it back in a diminishing musical hum. As he continued to speak, the soft ringing accompanied his voice like a ghostly orchestra.

"This is quite unlike anything we have seen. Stone inner walls—and fine masonry, too. These columns with low arches above—the space between has been filled in, rather roughly. Miss O'Neill, you are the expert; have you ever seen this sort of work?"

For once his extended hand held no charm for Megan. "I —I would rather not come closer," she murmured.

"I quite understand. I'll come closer to the door. Can you see now?"

"It does remind me of something," Megan admitted, trying to concentrate on the stonework and not on the bone-littered floor. "I believe I have seen similar construction in
old churches. St. John's Chapel at the Tower of London, for instance."

"I thought so." Edmund's gleeful voice roused the echo to spectral jubilation. "It is Norman work. Just think of it— eight hundred years old!"

He continued to exclaim as he made a circuit of the room. The crackle of dry bones and the incessant humming murmur inflamed Megan's nerves. She did not want to be the one to end the visit, or show lack of interest in the discovery that had delighted Edmund so much; but she wished Jane would suggest that they leave. Jane, however, stood silent beside her, seemingly as fascinated as Edmund.

Finally Edmund consented to go. There was another door to be investigated, but to Megan's relief it would not open.

They found the stairs, and as they emerged into the comparative brightness of the upper floor, Edmund began to laugh.

"You look like two frightened little owlets thrust from the nest," he chuckled. "Your feathers are ruffled, Jane."

Megan's hands went instinctively to her hair. She hoped she did not look as rumpled and smudgy as Jane. The latter's gown, face, and hair were liberally streaked.

"Never mind," Edmund went on. "You were intrepid explorers—for the most part—and I promise your suffering was not in vain. I think that in a few days I will have something exciting to show you."

Now, a week later, Edmund's surprise was to be unveiled. With the help of several workmen he had spent three days in the cellar, but he refused to tell Jane and Megan what he was doing, or allow them to join him. Emerging on the evening of the third day, flushed with triumph and exceedingly grubby, he had sent invitations for the weekend to a number of friends. They had arrived the day before; the promised revelation was to take place this morning.

After one last critical inspection Megan decided she was ready to appear. She meant to look her best; she had few enough opportunities to be in the same company with Lady Georgina and let Edmund compare their charms. As she went down the stairs, she heard the sound of voices from the drawing room. Except for the Astleys, these guests were strangers to her; and suddenly the prospect of walking into a room filled with critical, curious faces was more difficult than she had imagined. They sounded so at ease, so sure of themselves. . . . She nerved herself to go on. You are welcome in this house and in that room, she told herself. You have every right to be there. Edmund made a point of asking you.

If only she had some inkling of what he had discovered! She had read everything she could find on the Normans, but without a definite clue she was at a loss. One thing was certain, though. Lady Georgina would be even more ignorant and far less interested.

When she walked into the drawing room, conversation stopped and every eye turned toward her. The moment of discomfort was brief; Jane hurried to her side, and Edmund greeted her with a smile before turning back to the gentleman with whom he was conversing.

Jane went around the room with her, introducing the guests. Megan paid little attention to the names, for she had immediately observed that Lady Georgina was not present. There were only two women, both middle-aged and plain. Mrs. Merrick clung possessively to the meek little man who was presented as her husband. The other lady, a Miss Willis, had a long, mournful, sheeplike face and gold-rimmed spectacles. She looked so much like her brother that they might have been identical twins; her skirts were unfashionably narrow and her jacket was mannishly tailored. In general, the company was quite unlike the first group of guests Edmund had invited—older, less elegantly dressed, and tediously respectable in appearance.

When Lady Georgina appeared, she looked like an exotic
bird in a flock of crows and starlings, though she was dressed very simply in one of the riding costumes that suited her athletic figure best. She stood in the doorway, tapping her riding crop against her boot as if bored or impatient. When Edmund saw her, he broke off his conversation and hurried to her side.

"I began to fear something had happened to you," he said.

"When I am on horseback? You know better than that. I was tempted not to return until evening. Your new acquisition is a wonder, Edmund. He goes like the wind."

"You rode Bucephalus?" Edmund exclaimed. "He is still half wild; I gave orders that no one was to ride him."

"And I countermanded your orders." She smiled, looking directly into his eyes.

Megan's hands itched to slap the beautiful, smiling face. She was beautiful—in her way—and more unmannerly than any village lout. She behaved as if she and Edmund were alone in the room; she had not even taken notice of Jane.

"I suppose we must now have your dreary surprise," Lady Georgina drawled.

"Henry is not here yet," Edmund said.

"You know he seldom rises before noon. Never mind him. Let's get it over with." With superb insolence she took his arm and led him away.

Laughing but not unwilling, Edmund called, "Follow the leader," and beckoned the others to follow.

Megan's only satisfaction was the glance she managed to exchange with Jane. The latter's snub nose was elevated, as if she smelled something unpleasant.

As they made their way through the hall to the stairs, Megan found herself with Mrs. Merrick, who drew close to her and murmured, "Isn't that Lady Georgina Astley?"

"Yes."

"What a handsome woman she is."

For once Megan spoke as directly as Jane might have done. "I think she is very rude."

Mrs. Merrick put her hand over her mouth to hide a malicious smile. "Oh, my dear, the Astleys are known for their foul tempers. Her aunt is mad, you know—quite, quite mad. They keep the old woman shut up in the attic at Astley Hall, and the tenants say she howls like a wolf on nights when the moon is full."

Megan, who was regretting her lapse, reacted to this choice bit of gossip with a frigid stare, and Mrs. Merrick hastily added, "They are one of our oldest families, of course; the title goes back to the fourteenth century. So one must make allowances, mustn't one?"

They came to the top of the stairs just in time to prevent Megan from making another regrettable reply. Seeing how narrow and steep the steps were, Mrs. Merrick demanded her husband's arm, and Megan was able to get away from her.

Megan was not so far sunk in shamelessness after all, for Mrs. Merrick's ill-natured gossip had disgusted her, much as she disliked its object. What despicable snobs people were, tolerating from "our oldest families" behavior that would have been roundly condemned in a merchant or tradesman.

The passageway was so narrow they had to go two by two, like the animals entering the ark. Megan found herself with a tall, stooped man who was talking, apparently to himself, about Aristotle. When they reached the mystery room, she stared in surprise at the transformation the past week had wrought. The room was now brightly illumined by hanging lamps. The floor had been cleared of debris to a considerable depth; it was now several inches lower than the corridor, whose floor had formerly been on the same level. Stone paving blocks were visible; out of consideration for the sweeping skirts of the ladies, they had been swept clean as a parlor floor.

The others crowded in ahead of her, gathering in a circle around Edmund. Megan stood apart. Disinterestedly her eyes wandered around the stone-vaulted ceiling and walls. Thanks to her reading and the improved light, she was able
to make a better appraisal of the room's features. The flattened arches and squat pillars, now reduced to pilasters by the filling in of the formerly open spaces between them, were certainly early twelfth century.

She must have spoken the words aloud; the tall, stooped gentleman, who had been circling the group like an anxious puppy, trying to find a gap in which to insert himself, turned to her as if he saw her for the first time.

"Yes, yes, you are correct, young lady; it is Norman masonry, without a doubt. Not unique, you know. Not at all. No. I could quote you half a dozen other examples. But rare. Yes. Certainly rare and unusual. Young Edmund has something remarkable here."

Hearing his name, Edmund looked up. "There you are, Professor. The rest of you must make room. You have had your chance; let the professor see."

Everyone moved back, except for Miss and Mr. Willis. They were on all fours, peering down at the floor.

The object of their attention was a slab of metal some three feet long. It had been polished till it shone like gold, and on its surface was the incised figure of a woman wearing a long archaic gown and ornate headdress. Her hands, clasped on her breast, held something that appeared to be a cross or crucifix.

"Ha!" The professor put his hands on his knees and bent over. "My dear fellow, how splendid. It is a monumental brass, and a fine one. One of your ancestors, I suppose."

After a moment Edmund said with a selfconscious laugh, "Someone's ancestor, certainly—or ancestress, rather."

"But what is it?" Mrs. Merrick demanded. "A portrait? And what is it doing down here?"

Her husband, obviously the scholar of the family, cleared his throat as if embarrassed by his wife's ignorance. Before he could explain, Jane said quietly, "It is a tombstone. There are others, all over the floor. Stone, instead of brass."

Mrs. Merrick gazed wildly at the paving stones. "Do you mean there are people buried here? How very odd."

"Most unusual," the professor agreed. "And very old— such brasses were common in the fifteenth century. In the majority of cases, however, only the figure of the deceased is of metal, set into a stone frame."

One of the Willises—it was difficult to distinguish which was which—raised its head and bleated, "The inscription is quite interesting, Mr. Mandeville. You have read it, no doubt; do you object to my taking a copy?"

"Not at all," Edmund replied. "I must confess I have not read it. The old script is difficult, and I am no scholar."

"Then you may be interested to know," said the other Willis, "that your ancestress's name was Ethelfleda."

Lady Georgina laughed. Her voice had such a note of wildness that the others looked at her in surprise.

"No doubt the lady was of Saxon blood," the professor said in tones of mild reproach. "It is a famous name, your ladyship; the daughter of our great King Alfred was Ethelfleda, Lady of Mercia. That territory included the county in which we—"

"Spare me the lecture, sir," Lady Georgina interrupted. A slight tremor, like a chill, ran through her body, but her forehead shone with perspiration. "History bores me. This place bores me. I cannot imagine why you brought us here, Edmund. I have had enough."

She started for the door. Edmund, visibly disconcerted, took a step forward and a step back, as if uncertain whether to follow.

"Antiquarian research is not to everyone's taste," Megan said, in her gentlest voice. "Perhaps we could come another time, Mr. Mandeville—those of us who care for such things."