The Secret of Stavewood (Stavewood Saga Book 4) (17 page)

        
Thirty-Seven

     
L
ouisa held a glass of milk in the sewing room, oblivious to the beads of sweat running down the sides of the tall tumbler and pooling up between her fingers. She gulped down the cold milk thinking warming it might have helped calm her. Her heart ached and her mind raced.

      She reread the notes she had copied from the back of Corinne’s photograph, trying to push the letter out of her mind.

      “Red paint can,” she said to herself. She could picture one clearly in her mind. She realized she had seen one somewhere, dusty and rusting with paint dripped down its sides. She tried to imagine it in the stables but it would have been out of place and thrown out by the stablemen long ago. In her mind it was somewhere where things were left alone, somewhere damp and dark.

      Louisa took another drink of the milk, and decided tea would have been a better choice. Suddenly she realized where she had seen the paint can. She had been in the cellar looking for tea.

      Louisa pulled on her sweater, took the Old Maid from the nightstand and flew silently down the stairs. In the kitchen she took a lamp from the counter and struck a match to it. Then she ventured down the stairs into the cellar. There, upon a dusty shelf, across from the imported tins of tea, was the paint can just as she had pictured it.

      She set the lantern on an empty shelf and put the can on the floor. With a large screwdriver she set to prying it open. She cursed under her breath once, when the tool stabbed into the palm of her hand but she was determined.

      The rusty lid finally gave way and she peeled it back. She found a large, steel skeleton key, six inches long, in the bottom of the old can.

      “Alright, so where is the third shelf?” Louisa raised the lantern and walked along the stone wall, throwing long shadows onto row upon row of shelves. She worked her way around the edge of the massive cellar examining both the third shelf from the top and from the bottom on every rack. Finally, behind a box of saw blades, she found a square, metal lock set into the stone. Louisa pushed the massive key into the keyhole. It fit perfectly.

      “Clockwise to nine,” she said aloud. Louisa turned the key clockwise and, as she reached the nine o’clock position, she heard a soft click. Nothing happened. She turned the key back to six o’clock, but this time there was no sound. She turned it back clockwise again straight up to twelve and heard the click again. Louisa tried to pull out the key and the wall moved. She cleared off the shelves, moved the rack aside and pulled the key again.

      A large stone panel swung open. She continued to pull. On closer examination she could see that a heavy wooden panel had been assembled, faced with stone to match the cellar walls. The workmanship was rough, not like what she was used to seeing in the estate, but in the darkness of the cellar it would never have been noticed. Louisa held up the lantern and peered into the open passageway.

      She pulled the panel as far as it would go and propped it open with several paint cans. Carefully, she stepped inside.

      Stone walls lined either side of the narrow passage. Louisa could smell damp earth and fresh water. At her feet were crudely carved stairs set in stone. She took a step down. The stone was moss-covered and slick and she put a hand against the damp wall to steady herself. With the lantern held high, Louisa took another step.

      She stopped and turned, looking back toward the cellar. The passageway was as black as ink. For a moment she considered returning in the morning light but realized it would do her no good. No outside light shone into the cellar or the staircase. The brightest day and the darkest night were the same in this underground space. She turned and took another step down. Louisa felt each step with the toe of her slipper. She made sure her footing was firm. There was the sound of rushing water just ahead in the corridor. She took another step and reached the bottom of the crude staircase.

      Louisa held up her lantern and gasped. An underground stream ran ahead of her from right to left and she realized that Birget had told her about this. The sounds of water splashing and bubbling filled the darkness. She turned up her light and saw that the moisture had collected and dripped in short stalactites from the low ceiling. In the center of the passageway the creek rushed by her. Years of rain and slow erosion had carved the area into a constricted, narrow opening.

      In the lamplight she could make out a path that followed the channel heading downstream. She walked alongside the rushing water cautiously. At one point an iron girder lay across the stone floor, and the path crossed over the creek to the other side. She stepped out onto it carefully and continued on into the darkness. A short distance later the water dammed up against a stone wall and spiraled into a swift whirlpool, disappearing underneath the rock. Unsure of where to go, she leaned out over the swirl cautiously, watching the powerful, rushing water. Her foot slipped out from under her and she fell back hard onto the stone floor. In the water one of her pink slippers rode in the current, spinning down into the whirlpool faster and faster until it was sucked under and disappeared.

      She sat in the blackness, with only the light of the lantern at her side and tried to calm her frightened breathing.

      Louisa found the path again heading down an offshoot passage away from the water. She stood up and, with her lantern lifted high, ventured deeper into the darkness, limping on one shoe. The passageway turned hard to her right and, after a few steps, she couldn’t hear the water anymore.

      Suddenly the corridor ended at a solid wall. It was deathly quiet, dark and ominous. In the dim light she could see rusted iron rings had been set into the rock evenly, one above the other and she realized they were meant to serve as a ladder. She took hold of one of them and could feel it was solidly anchored. Louisa set down her lantern, kicked off her remaining pink slipper and put her toe into the first ring. She grabbed hold of the next ring and pulled herself up. Above her she could see a smooth surface in the roof. She continued to climb.

        
Thirty-Eight

     
H
igh on the top ring, Louisa could no longer hear the rushing water, but she was sure she heard deep voices above her. Reaching up in the darkness with one hand she could feel a smooth surface. And hinges. Louisa had found a door.

      She held perfectly still there, perched on the rings and listened. These were men’s voices, angry and low. Louisa put her hand against the roof and pushed slowly. The door gave way silently. She held it open a few inches and peered out.

      In the soft moonlight she could make out a crisscrossing of narrow wood slats and she realized she was under the gazebo looking out through the lattice. A man wearing boots walked to the stairs and put one foot onto the step. He was only visible from the knees down. She held perfectly still.

      Suddenly there were loud footfalls above her and she caught her breath, nearly dropping the trap door over her head. Another man in heavy footwear was pacing on the gazebo deck.

      “What about the goddamned passageway?” Louisa did not know the voice. It was deep and rough, likely that of an older man. For a brief second she thought he had seen her and was talking to her but then the other one replied.

      “What about it?” This man was younger, she thought. More well-spoken, with a slight drawl, but she did not recognize his voice either.

      “The diamonds could be hidden in the passageway just as well as inside the damned house,” the graveled voice said.

      “Not likely,” the younger man replied. “That wasn’t Jude’s style.”

       “You didn’t know Jude. I knew him, knew him well,” the older man said.

      “You need to control yourself, old man.” The man above her stomped across the platform and Louisa cringed. “Every time you are out there and someone sees you it makes everyone suspicious. Next thing they’re watching for you and trying to find you and wonderin’ who you are. Too many people have seen you already. It needs to stop, goddammit, or you’re gonna ruin everything.”

      Louisa was sure the man by the steps was the black rider she’d seen at the edge of the meadow watching the house. Jude’s ghost. Her arm began to shake but she dared not move or let the trap door fall.

      “Really, Clayton. No one has seen me.  Why, who do you think has seen me?”

      Louisa knew no one named Clayton and had never heard the name before. Who were these men?

      “The daughter has seen you. That guy she’s been with has seen you. Hell, I’ve even seen you myself!” Clayton growled.

      “If I’m not out here watching for the goddamned signal, how the hell will I know when you find the diamonds?” the man in black asked.

      “You’ll know, old man. I’ll find you. So stay the hell away from the house. This has got to stay secret. Got it?”

      “Well, you know what old Ben Franklin said about keeping secrets, Clayton? He said three people can keep a secret if two of them are dead. Which one would you like me to start with?”

      Louisa clung to the rings. Her arm burned from the effort of holding up the door and the terror in her heart.

      “You threatenin’ me, old man?”

      “No threat, Clayton. I’ll be watching every night until I see the signal. You try to cheat me and I
will
kill you. That’s a promise.”

      She could not bear it any longer. Louisa let the door close silently and scrambled down the ring ladder. Her heart was pounding loudly in her ears, even more loudly than the water swirling and splashing in the passage. She slipped again dangerously close to the whirlpool, looked down at her bare feet and scowled. The cavern floor was slick and treacherous but she had actually slipped on something else. Several rotting canvas bags lay in a heap in the muck. She held up her lantern and could see the words
Property of Billington City Bank
clearly stamped across the molding fabric.

      Louisa was terrified. She ran through the passageway back to the house as quickly and carefully as she could and clambered up the stone stairs.

      Louisa examined the passageway door and searched frantically in the darkness for another key. She found nothing. She shoved the heavy door closed, put the key into the keyhole and turned it, stopping her panting long enough to hear the soft click. No one could use the passageway without the key and, as far as she knew, she had the only one. Besides, they would have to know the combination.

    With her back to the door, she pulled the derringer from her robe pocket and held it tightly. She sat on the stone floor of the big cellar listening to her heart pounding in her head.

      “What if they try to come in? How will I stop them?” she said aloud in the darkness. Louisa stumbled up the stairs to the kitchen and locked all the doors.

      As the big clock in the front hall struck one in the morning Louisa climbed the stairs to her room and snatched Luc’s telescope from the table. She rushed up to Talbot’s room, knocked on the door and called his name. There was no answer. She pulled open the doors to the turret and felt a rush of cool night air. She trained the telescope on the gazebo. The men were gone and the grounds were quiet. Louisa let out a sigh of relief and headed back to her room. At least for the moment everything was alright.

      She paced nervously, trying to decide what to do and found the tiny carved carp in her pocket. Luc was strapping and strong and he knew everyone in the area and he could handle himself. He might also know the name
Clayton
. He could help her to keep her home and family safe. He had said thoughtful and reasonable things to her about her father and her brothers. Luc was the man she needed. Louisa hoped she had not turned him against her so badly that she could not ask for his help. She needed to find Luc.