She took a sharp breath and scanned the kitchen. She had interrupted someone, that much was clear. And whoever it was wouldn’t have had time to go far. But who would bother hiding over something as trivial as making a sandwich?
“Who’s there?” she whispered. “Fabian?”
A dark figure sprang from the alcove where the servants’ staircase had been blocked off, and darted from the kitchen. With no time to think through what she was about to do, Tanya followed. As she moved through the kitchen into the pitch-black hall, the candle in her hand sent shadows scattering across the walls, the flame flickering wildly before going out.
In the sudden darkness she paused, trying to get her bearings. Light footsteps padded slyly away from her. A nearby door opened, then closed softly. The library. Hardly daring to breathe, Tanya relit the candle and pushed the door open. By now she knew it wasn’t Fabian, and knew she should go and wake someone. She also knew there wasn’t time.
Warily, she stepped into the library, scanning the now-empty bookshelves and the writing table near the window. The door closed behind her, and there was a scratching of claws and a small whine from outside. Oberon had followed her. She ducked down, looking beneath the table, and jumped as a single yellow eye glared back at her. Spitfire. The cat hissed, then curled itself into a ragged ginger ball. Tanya stepped back, surveying the room. It was empty and open. There was nowhere else to hide.
She set the candle down on a nearby bookshelf. Perhaps she had been mistaken. The intruder must have gone into one of the other rooms nearby. She knew she would have to go and wake her grandmother and Warwick—but what if the intruder was out there, waiting for her? She stood, contemplating her next move.
Something gleamed in the flickering candlelight. She lifted the candle once more. On the edge of the bookshelf at eye level, the tiniest smear of something pale and shiny was lodged into the complex pattern in the woodwork. It was a moment before Tanya recognized what it was. Butter.
Her fingers traced the engravings in the old, dark wood. Amidst ornately carved ivy there were several small circular panels. It was on one of these panels the butter had been smeared. Three small indents were part of a triangular shape within the pattern. Almost in a trance she lifted her hand and placed her thumb, forefinger, and middle finger into the indentations, and instinctively turned her wrist clockwise.
Soundlessly, effortlessly, the circular panel began to turn with her hand. After rotating the panel a half-turn to the right she withdrew her fingers and thumb, then replaced them so her wrist was straight and turned clockwise again. After another half-turn the panel resisted slightly before clicking into place. Several seconds passed before anything happened. Then slowly, the end partition of the bookcase began to revolve in the wall.
Tanya could hear her own blood rushing through her ears as her eyes struggled to comprehend what they were seeing. As the bookcase revolved farther it revealed a narrow gap in the wall. The other side was completely black. She lifted the candle. Already, she knew this was not the servants’ staircase. This was something else. A steep set of stone steps spiraled downward. The air was cold, damp, and moldy. She leaned forward, trying to get a glimpse down the staircase. It looked positively treacherous.
Tanya took a few steps into the passageway, nearing the staircase. Fabian had been right all along. Elvesden Manor was home to secrets that she had never imagined possible. There were hidden tunnels—and clearly, the intruder that had been in the house knew about them and was using them. But why?
Too late she heard the soft scrape of the partition being pulled back into place by whatever mechanism controlled it. There was a dull click of finality, and then the tunnel was sealed like a tomb… with Tanya still inside.
Horrified, she began searching desperately by the candlelight for any kind of latch or lever on the inside. There was none. Stricken, she forced her fingernails into the tiny gap of the door. It was shut tight as she knew it would be, still sturdy and impenetrable; truly built to last. She guessed then that the tunnel was only designed to get out of the house, and that there must be others for getting in. Her one candle continued to burn, her only source of light and comfort.
There was no way back. She was trapped.
She drew a breath, ready to scream for her grandmother; for Warwick, for anyone. But sense flashed a warning into her mind. The person nearest—who would hear her cries and reach her first—would be the intruder. As it was, whoever had entered the tunnel probably had no idea that they had been followed through the secret entrance. Her only chance was to try to follow at a distance and find the way out.
There was no choice but to go on. Her heart was pumping wildly, and her breath was now coming in short gasps that she fought to control. She had never been more terrified. She started down the steps, winding farther and farther beneath the house. As she did so, the temperature plummeted. Tanya could feel her skin, covered only in the thin cotton of her pajamas, prickle with gooseflesh. The candle began to shudder in her hand.
The stairwell ended and opened out. She came to a halt, and with shock and dismay counted four possible tunnels she could take. Each spiraled off in a different direction and appeared as terrifying as the next.
Through thick green mold, small areas of gray stone were visible. Then, on the ground, Tanya spotted something: a large, flat pebble, trussed and knotted with dirty string that led off into one of the tunnels. Its purpose, she realized, was to mark the way in this underground labyrinth. She was then faced with her most difficult task yet. Knowing that her candle was burning low, and that its light would alert the intruder to her approach, she knelt and took hold of the cold, damp string that was tied to the pebble and allowed it to run through her fingers, leading the way.
Bracing herself, she blew the candle out and began to move along in the pitch-black, following the only path she could in the hope it would lead her out. What was it Fabian had told her? The tunnels led out in a couple of places… somewhere in Tickey End—a pub… and the little church nearby.
Let it be the church, she begged silently.
She walked for several long minutes, imagining in her mind’s eye the tunnel becoming narrower, like the darkness was closing in. The musty dankness caught in her throat and crawled down her airway. Her own tremulous breathing was all she could hear. The darkness was swallowing her.
And then the air changed, became thinner and fresher—and colder still. She sensed that the tunnel had opened out into something: some kind of underground room—or perhaps a way out. She fumbled for the matches, then jumped in terror as a distinctive click echoed in her ears. A strong light shone in her eyes, blinding her. Weakly, she lifted her hand to her eyes, realizing her mistake too late.
“Nice of you to join us,” a voice hissed, horribly close.
The flashlight went out and light footsteps moved away from her. Then came the sound of a match being struck. Tanya blinked repeatedly as white lights danced in front of her eyes. From what little she could see at the edges of her vision it was apparent that she was in an underground cavern of sorts.
Now lit by candlelight, the outline of a figure stood about ten feet away. She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the dazzled feeling to pass. Her vision was clearing. The figure by the wall shifted slightly, though the person’s face remained hidden in the darkness.
“Who are you?” said Tanya. Her eyes darted around. In the farthest corner was an old-fashioned bed, heaped with blankets and a meager pile of clothes. A dark-colored bag had been half-emptied on it. A tiny wooden table and chair stood next to the bed. Flickering on the table, the flame of a single candle was caught in some underground draft. The intruder stepped away from the wall toward her. As the shadows were chased away by the candlelight a face came into view.
The girl looked young, not much older than Tanya. She was tall and athletic, flat-chested and boyish in shape with a plain, unreadable expression. Even in the muted light Tanya could see the mane of red hair tumbling to her waist, wi
ld and unkempt. It glowed through the darkness, brighter than the candles, as though it were flaming all by itself.
The girl took another step in her direction, silent and as sure-footed as a cat. She wore a simple, short, dark dress and worn but sturdy hiking boots. Strapped to her slim, freckled thigh was a knife. Tanya met her gaze, and knew with absolute certainty that if she needed to, the girl would use it.
“Who are you?” Tanya asked again. “And what were you doing in my grandmother’s house?”
The girl simply stared at her with unblinking green eyes.
“I need some answers of my own. First, your name.”
“Who do you think you are?” Tanya whispered. “That you can just—”
The girl had crossed the cavern and was upon her in one swift movement, her face inches from Tanya’s, lips drawn back over her teeth in a snarl. Tanya was forced backward against the cold cavern wall. All the calmness about the girl had gone. She looked feral, demented. Her breath was sour and rank, and her clothes reeked of sweat. She clearly hadn’t washed for days.
“You’ve cost me a great deal tonight, and lost time I can ill afford. Now we can do this the hard way, but I would advise against it. Or I can ask you once more, nicely. Your name.”
“Tanya.”
“Good. Now, Tanya. Did anyone else hear me tonight?”
Tanya hesitated. Something in the girl’s unfaltering gaze told her it would be a mistake to lie. “I don’t think so.”
The girl relaxed and leaned back a couple of inches.
“How did you know about the secret passages? Have you used them before?”
Tanya shook her head. “No. I’d… I’d heard stories… but I never really believed they existed.”
“So how did you find this one?”
“I followed you. You left a smear of butter on the panel that triggers the mechanism. It was just a fluke…”
The girl gave a cold smile. “So you followed and got trapped in the tunnel. Quite the little detective, aren’t you? Who else knows about the passages? You said this is your grandmother’s house.”
Tanya felt her head start to spin as she was hit by a wave of nausea. The girl’s breath was making her feel ill.
“I don’t know. My grandmother hasn’t ever spoken to me about anything like this. Please, I just want to get out. Tell me how to get back into the house—I won’t say anything about you.”
The girl ignored her. “How soon is your grandmother likely to notice you’re missing?”
“When I don’t show up for breakfast. About eight.”
The girl swore.
“What do you need?” Tanya began. “If it’s money you want, maybe I could—”
“Money?” The girl’s tone was incredulous. “I’m not here for money! You think I’m a thief?”
“You were taking food.”
“I only took what I needed. And not out of choice.”
“You’re hiding here, aren’t you?”
The girl’s face twitched involuntarily.
“That’s it, isn’t it? You’re using this place as a hideout.” Tanya stared around the cavern, trembling. “And you’re not alone.”
“What?”
Tanya met the girl’s emerald gaze. “Nice of you to join us. Us. That’s what you said when I found you. There’s someone else with you.”
Before she had even finished speaking, a terrible, bloodcurdling sound filled the cavern. Tanya froze as the noise grew louder. There was something horribly familiar about that sound… she had heard it before.
Something was moving on the bed beneath the pile of clothes. No. Within the clothes. Tanya’s back was pressed against the cold stone wall as the red-haired girl moved soundlessly toward the bed and pulled the bundle into her arms. Tanya watched, transfixed, as a tiny hand reached out from the bundle and stretched toward the girl’s face; a clenched little fist slowly unfurling as the noise continued.
“A baby? You’re hiding down here with… with a baby?”
The girl did not answer. Tanya wondered if she’d even heard. Instead the girl sank down on the bed whispering to the child, who did not appear to be taking any comfort.
“Why is it crying like that?” Tanya asked, wincing at the terrible noise. The wails had now escalated into piercing shrieks that echoed through the cavern and filled her heart with dread.
“He’s crying because he’s sick,” the girl replied unexpectedly. “He needs medicine. And I have none.”
Steadying herself with a hand against the freezing wall, Tanya’s fear was momentarily quashed by her desire to see the child. She took a slow, quiet step toward the bed. The girl didn’t notice. Emboldened, she took another.
“If he’s sick then why isn’t he in a hospital?”
“He was,” the girl muttered. “But it wasn’t safe.”
“Is he yours?”
The girl did not reply. Tanya took another step. The baby continued to writhe in the girl’s arms, tiny limbs flailing beneath the fabric it was wrapped in. Still she could see nothing of it, except for that weak little hand.
“What do you mean it wasn’t safe? How can a hospital not be safe compared to this…
an underground… underground dungeon with no warmth, no light, no fresh air…”
“Shut up, Tanya!” the girl whispered. “And get back where you were.”
Tanya retreated. But she could not shut up. Something was wrong here, something was niggling at her. “Why would you take a sick baby out of a hospital?”
“I said shut up! Shut up!” The girl’s face crumpled, and for a second it seemed she had been about to sob, but then she composed herself.
From the depths of Tanya’s memory something was stirring, hovering just on the edge of recognition. As she willed it, the memory began to materialize, slowly at first, and then without warning it cascaded upon her with such force she felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
“I remember. I heard it on the radio. A baby, stolen from the hospital…” Her voice was shaking. “It was you. You did it.”
The girl’s eyes were wild with anger.
“You took that baby away,” Tanya whispered, horrified. “And now you’re holding him here when he’s sick and needs medical attention…”
The nausea that had been threatening finally took hold. Tanya bent double, gripped by pain, and vomited. Yet even when her stomach was empty she was still retching out of sheer fear. She knew then that she would have to outwit or fight this girl to escape. At that moment, neither seemed likely.
Minutes passed, and along with them, so did Tanya’s nausea. Still she bent over, pretending to gag and spit. She was buying time while her mind raced and wrangled with ideas of escape. She glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye. She had risen from the bed and was now stuffing clothes into her bag.
By now the child had exhausted himself and was lying quietly in his blankets. Tanya watched as the girl zipped up the bag and then collected a plastic bottle about a quarter full of water from the table. Unscrewing the lid, she walked over to Tanya and offered it. Tanya eyed it warily.
“Take it,” the girl said impatiently. “Unless you like the taste of your own vomit.”
Tanya took the bottle and swilled a large mouthful of water around before spitting. Then she took another smaller mouthful and swallowed.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the girl said suddenly.
Tanya put the bottle down and regarded her. “What am I thinking?”
“That I’m a bad person. And you’re probably trying to think of a way to escape. Correct?”
Tanya nodded.
The girl was silent for a moment.
“What if I told you I’m not a bad person? That I’ve just done some bad things in the name of trying to do something else, something good. Would that make a difference?”
“I don’t know,” Tanya answered. “Why don’t you tell me? Tell me why you stole the baby. Then maybe I’ll understand.”
“You
wouldn’t. You’d just think I’m even madder than you do already.” She gave Tanya a long, hard look. “You’re just trying to keep me talking so you can distract me and try to escape. I don’t blame you. I’ll do whatever else I have to in order to get away from here with that child—and not you or anyone else will stop me. So go ahead. Draw your conclusions.”
“If you’re so convinced what you’re doing is right then why not tell me?”
“Because you wouldn’t believe me,” the girl replied simply. “And because I have to leave, now. Before it gets light.”
“So where do I fit in with this?”
“You don’t. When I’m a safe distance away, I will send message of your whereabouts to the house.”
“You can’t leave me down here!” Tanya gasped. “How do I know you’ll keep your word? Or that you won’t get caught by the police? Or… or run over and killed? Anything could happen! And then no one would find me!”
“No,” the girl said. “I don’t suppose they would. But maybe this will teach you a valuable lesson about minding your own business in the future. After all, you know what they say about curiosity. And if you’re thinking of following me, or attempting to find your own way out of these tunnels, don’t.
“If you follow me I’ll hear you and I’ll make sure you can’t follow any farther. As for finding your own way out, there’s not a chance. These tunnels are an intricate maze, and parts of them have caved in. Of those that remain, only a few actually lead somewhere.” She paused and looked Tanya straight in the eye. “The rest are decoys, looping back on themselves to prevent anyone from being followed. It’s what they were designed for when the property was built. Pretty ingenious, really.”
13 Treasures Page 11