Hidden

by Shalini Boland

  She was graceful and completely at ease on her beige camel, which was no mean feat and she did not complain at all (unlike his sister).

  ‘Alexandre. Alexandre?’ Leonora interrupted his reverie. ‘You were dreaming.’

  ‘Oh,’ he shook himself lightly. ‘I was thinking of all the things we have seen on this journey. It has been interesting has it not?’

  ‘Quite interesting. But I am more interested in your life in Paris. It does sound fun. Life in our country home is too dull for words.’

  ‘The unfamiliar is always more exciting, but I thought you did not spend too much time in your home?’

  ‘No, thank goodness. But do tell me more of Paris. I hear it is quite a bohemian place. Do you know any artists or musicians?’

  ‘It is as you say, bohemian. But it is also a place where etiquette is everything and sometimes there is no room for any freedom of expression at all.’

  ‘Really? Oh, so not too dissimilar to stuffy old England then.’

  Alexandre laughed. ‘I suppose everywhere has a certain level of stuffiness. As a matter of fact, ‘stuffiness’ is the very reason I am here and not at home.’

  ‘Do tell.’

  ‘Here, take a drink.’ He passed across a canteen of lukewarm water and watched as Leonora tipped her head back, exposing the creamy white flesh of her elegant throat. He swallowed and looked away.

  ‘So?’ she asked, passing the drink back to him.

  ‘Well. We had been invited to a ball hosted by Monsieur Bouvier.’

  ‘Your father’s patron?’

  ‘Correct. I danced with his youngest daughter, but she said she felt unwell and so I escorted her out on to the terrace for some fresh air.’

  ‘You did?’

  ‘Well, her sisters and mother have eyes like hawks and they spied us outside and made a terrible scene.’ He decided to omit the part about the kiss. He did not want Leonora to have the wrong impression of him or think him a cad.

  ‘So,’ she said, pressing her lips together. ‘You have a sweetheart in Paris.’

  Alexandre realised then he had made a terrible error in judgement. Of course this story was not for Leonora. He had thought the event would amuse her and that they would laugh at the overly strict Parisian social rules. He thought wrong.

  ‘Oh, no, no ...’ he tried to explain. ‘You misunderst ...’

  ‘She must be missing you terribly.’

  ‘No, Leonora,’ he tried to continue. ‘I have not explained myself well enough. She is not ...’

  ‘Do excuse me will you.’ She ignored his attempts to explain. ‘I should see if Isobel is alright. She looks as though she may be having some trouble with her pack saddle.’ Leonora did not even look at him. She and her camel trotted away.

  ‘Leonora, it is not what you think ...’ Alexandre called out after her, but she did not want to hear. He noticed the Turkish guides watching him and glancing at each other. Probably judging him and disapproving. Well let them.

  He slumped down in his saddle. What a fool! How could he possibly have thought she would enjoy that story of his dalliance with another woman? He assumed Leonora would see it for the silly thing it was, because he knew Lily meant nothing to him. He could kick himself. He was a first class idiot.

  *

  As they journeyed further east, the ground became rockier and the scenery grew stranger. Alexandre was not prepared for the sheer drama of the Cappadocian landscape. Over millions of years, the area had been sculpted into fantastical shapes by volcanoes, ice, rain and wind.

  ‘Are we still on earth?’ Jacques asked. ‘It feels like we are crossing the surface of some fairytale land.’

  ‘You are right,’ Papa replied. ‘It is spectacular. Maman and I did not want to tell you about this wonderful landscape before we arrived. We wanted you to experience it for yourselves.’

  ‘It is amazing.’ Alexandre momentarily shook himself out of his misery over Leonora and soaked up the luminous atmosphere. He marvelled that such a place existed. Layers of rock and stone sprouted from the ground in a proliferation of shapes, patterns and colours. Sweeping ridges and gullies curved down the hillsides and tall basalt stones stood together in clusters, some as high as forty metres, shaped into columns, cones or mushrooms.

  ‘What are those?’ Isobel cried. ‘How beautiful!’

  Alexandre turned to look where she was pointing and saw a tree hung about with blue glass discs. They twirled and glittered in the evening sunlight.

  ‘Those are boncugu,’ Victoria said. ‘To deflect what the locals call, ‘nazar’, or ‘the evil eye’.

  ‘The evil eye?’ Alexandre asked.

  Victoria brought her camel alongside him. The others slowed to listen.

  ‘Yes,’ she continued. ‘According to local superstition, if you fall under the nazar, you feel as though you are living under a cloud. Things go wrong, plans unravel, love turns sour, scissors dull and windows crack. But it is believed the nazar boncugu has the power to ward off this shadow. Look - they are eyes.’

  Drawing closer to the tree, Alexandre saw the discs were indeed like large blue eyes, staring unblinking at him.

  ‘They are both beautiful and terrible,’ Isobel said with a shudder.

  ‘You are right, Isobel,’ Victoria laughed.

  ‘We are almost at our destination,’ Maman said. ‘I tell you, it will be a welcome relief not to climb up onto a camel’s back tomorrow.’

  There were hearty noises of agreement to this statement. The last two days had been especially hard going and Alexandre ached from being in the saddle for hours. But all of them had grown rather fond of the lumbering beasts and would miss their liquid stares and plaintiff groans when they left.

  Alexandre felt nervous excitement. After days of travelling over land and sea by horse and carriage, steam train, ocean steamship and then camel train, they had finally arrived at their destination. The sun streaked rust and gold across the sky as they approached the small settlement that was to be their home for the next nine months.

  The site lay in a valley on the outskirts of a small Cappadocian village. About half a dozen tents spread out near a small stand of yellow-leaved trees where Turkish and French flags hung limply in the still air. Fierce-looking Turkish guards sat around, playing cards, rolling dice and smoking chibouks, their long muskets and curved scimitars either slung across their bodies or lying on the ground at their sides.

  One of them rose to his feet and brushed his hands down over his dusty uniform of long belted tunic over baggy cotton trousers. He was tall and forbidding, the kind of opponent you would certainly not wish to face in battle. But as he came to greet the weary travellers, he smiled warmly with friendship in his dark eyes.

  ‘Bonsoir to you all. Welcome. My French is not so good I am afraid. Is English alright?’

  ‘Good evening. English is fine, yes,’ Alexandre’s father replied.

  ‘I trust you had a good journey,’ the guard continued. ‘My name is Isik Kaya and these are my men.’ He gestured to the twenty or so guards who now stood together.

  ‘Good evening, Isik. I am Didier Chevalier and this is my family. I am here with the Swinton family from England. Shall I make the introductions now?’

  ‘No, no,’ Isik said. ‘You go and shake off your travelling skins. There is fresh water and there are four tents set up for you behind there.’ He pointed to a small hillock set back from the guards’ area. ‘When you are refreshed, you will all come and eat with me. We have good meals here, better than your dried travelling food, yes? We can make introductions then.’

  ‘Good,’ Didier replied. ‘That sounds like an excellent idea. Shall we meet you back here in about half an hour?’

  ‘No, I think one hour is better. You have much, aah … optimism to say half an hour.’ He laughed and gestured to the women. Didier joined in his laughter and clapped him on the arm.

  ‘I think you are right, Isik, I think you are right. One hour it is.’

  *
r />   The orange fire crackled, sending smoke and showers of sparks into the cool evening air. Torches on stout poles had been lit and ranged around the camp, casting long shadows on the ground. Introductions had finally been made and the two families sat around the fire with Isik and the rest of the guards.

  The food had been prepared and cooked by local villagers - tomato salad with yoghurt, aubergine puree, cucumbers, roast lamb and freshly baked flatbread. Alexandre was most appreciative of the feast after the past few days of dried meat strips and stale biscuits. Busy eating, the conversation was slow to start.

  ‘So, Isik,’ Harold was the first to speak. ‘Have you been into the underground cavern yourself?’

  ‘I have looked down through the shaft but it is too deep to see to the bottom and there is no other entrance to be found.’

  ‘Has anybody been down there yet?’

  ‘Yes, government officials came and paid two of my guards to go down. They first offered to pay some locals, but none of them would do it. We lowered our men down with a lantern, one at a time on a rope.

  ‘Brave boys,’ said Didier.

  ‘They were scared witless,’ Isik chuckled. ‘But did not wish to be shown up in front of their comrades.’

  ‘Even so …’ Didier said. ‘I should like to meet them and congratulate them. It is no easy thing to go into the darkness. Into a place no one has visited in living memory.’

  ‘And they found the underground cavern?’ Alexandre asked. ‘What was in it?’

  ‘Nothing. It is just a small chamber carved out of the rock, with some rubbish strewn around.’

  ‘Did they touch any of the ‘rubbish’?’ Didier asked.

  ‘No, no,’ Isik reassured. ‘We were given strict instructions to touch nothing. They did not even set foot on the ground, but remained tied to the rope and swung the lantern around to see in the dark.’

  ‘And do you know if is it just the one cavern, or are there others?’

  ‘It appears to be just one as far as we can tell, but maybe there are more. I am very interested to see what it is all about.’

  ‘As are we all,’ Harold said.

  ‘What other things have you guarded?’ Freddie interrupted.

  ‘We protect whatever our government asks us to protect.’

  ‘Have you ever had to defend yourselves from bandits?’

  ‘Many times.’

  ‘This is not such good conversation for the table, Freddie,’ Victoria said. ‘I do apologise for my son.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Isik replied. ‘It is good to be inquisitive. This is how we learn, no?’

  ‘Why are the locals scared of the cavern?’ Jacques asked.

  ‘Oh, you have heard of this already? I planned to bring this up with your father later.’

  ‘Can you tell us now?’

  ‘You have to understand this is a superstitious place,’ Isik said. ‘The local people have grown up with tales passed down through generations. Tales which they believe to be absolutely true.’

  ‘What tales?’ Jacques and Freddie asked in unison.

  Alexandre saw his mother put her arm around Isobel. Dusk spiralled into night and thousands of stars began to pierce their way through the velvet sky.

  ‘I do not wish to scare you unnecessarily,’ Isik said.

  ‘We are not superstitious,’ Harold said. ‘So we will not be scared.’

  Alexandre was intrigued. Isik and his men were here and so they obviously did not believe in the tales, but nonetheless it did give one a thrill to hear about it.

  ‘Here in Cappadocia, they have different ways and different beliefs. There is a legend that has been part of local folklore for centuries. It tells of an ancient civilisation who built a vast city. A city like no other. It was built below the earth, a huge place accommodating thousands.’

  ‘Do you think this is what has been discovered now?’ Alexandre’s father asked.

  ‘Me?’ Isik asked. ‘I do not know. I am no expert. All I have seen is an underground chamber.’

  ‘So why are the locals so worried? The discovery of an underground city from a legend would surely be a reason for excitement and curiosity. Although I did hear some rumour of a curse.’

  ‘Well,’ Isik seemed hesitant to continue. All eyes were on him. ‘It is just … I do not wish to alarm the womenfolk.’

  ‘Thank you for your concern,’ Victoria said. ‘But we are used to hearing superstitions, curses and the like. It comes with the territory. Whenever we unearth ancient burial sites, tombs and religious relics there is always some element of local opposition.’

  ‘Forgive me, Madam,’ Isik continued. ‘But this is more than local opposition. This is pure fear.’

  ‘Fear of what?’ Freddie interrupted. ‘Do tell us, the suspense is too much.’

  ‘Very well. It will sound a little far-fetched to you, but the people here take it very seriously.’ Isik paused and looked around at everybody before continuing. ‘It is said the city was built by beings that were … not human.’

  ‘Gosh!’ exclaimed Freddie. ‘You mean beings from the stars?’

  ‘It is said the city was governed by ancient gods - demons. A city built on fear and death. That if it is uncovered again, it will bring down the wrath of these evil creatures on all our heads and death and destruction will follow.’

  ‘Oh! Oh!’ Isobel clapped her hands over her ears. ‘I do not wish to hear any more. Maman, I do not wish to be here. I want to return home. This place is cursed and it is not worth taking the risk ...’

  ‘Isobel,’ her mother pulled her close and kissed her cheek. ‘It is just superstition. Whenever we go to another country to begin a dig, there are always stories surrounding the site. It is normal and nothing to be at all worried about. Now, we are all tired. It is late and things feel strange. We will feel refreshed and happy again after a good night’s sleep.’

  ‘Sleep?’ Isobel almost shrieked. ‘Sleep! I shall not sleep and if I do I shall be plagued with dreams of demons and evil blue eyes.’

  ‘Oh,’ Isik looked mortified and rose to his feet. ‘Mademoiselle, you must forgive me. I knew this conversation was not for your ears. Your mother is right. It is all superstitious nonsense and you must pay no heed. Come, let us talk of happy things and forget this talk of demons.’

  ‘Isobel,’ Alexandre leaned across and whispered loudly to her. ‘Do not worry. I am here and I would never let anything happen to my little sister.’

  ‘Thank you, Alexandre. But I must say, I would not even have to be in this terrible place if it were not for you.’ She turned away from him.

  Alexandre sighed, but did not try to justify himself again. He did not have the energy. Instead, he looked across at his mother who he knew would have a sympathetic smile waiting for him.

  Isobel’s outburst had brought a hasty conclusion to the meal and an awkward veil of silence hung in the smoky air.

  ‘Aah well,’ Harold said, breaking it. ‘It is late. We should probably retire. As your mother said, Isobel, things will look better in the morning.’

  Everybody murmured their agreement. Throats were cleared and noises made about what a tiring day it had been and how they needed sleep if they were to be fresh the next day. Isik wished everybody a pleasant night and returned to the rest of his men.

  Before long, Alexandre lay in his tent alongside Jacques and Freddie who had fallen asleep remarkably quickly. His thoughts were a jumble of whispered tales and soon he fell asleep to the rhythmic song of the cicadas, the low voices of the guards and the soft click of dice rolling on hard ground.

  Chapter Seven

  *

  Morris deposited their bags on the large flagstones of the entrance hall.

  ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ he said and turned to Vasey-Smith. ‘Be back later to drive you to the station. Last train’s at ten past seven’

  ‘Thank you,’ said the solicitor who had offered to stay at Marchwood for a few hours until they’d settled in.

  Morris
looked over at Maddy. ‘My wife, Esther, she’ll call by tomorrow after lunch to see how you’re getting on, but in the meantime, she’s stocked the cupboards. Told me to tell you there’s a shepherd’s pie in the fridge. Just needs putting in the microwave to heat up.’

  Maddy didn’t think she’d ever feel like eating again, she felt so strange and surreal.

  Ben immediately zoomed off around the house to explore and Madison sat down in the lounge or ‘drawing room’ as Morris had called it. The shutters to the French windows were half-closed, angling shafts of sunlight across the walls. The house appeared as beautiful on the inside as on the outside, but Maddy felt somewhat dazed and small as she perched on the edge of the green velvet sofa.

  Mr Vasey-Smith sat opposite her in a regal-looking armchair, still immaculately dressed, even after all that travelling. His dark suit was uncreased and he didn’t appear to be remotely tired. He sat comfortably in the armchair, exuding calmness and authority. Madison, in contrast, felt crumpled and exhausted.

  Ben burst back into the lounge.

  ‘The kitchen’s massive, bigger than Trevor and Angie’s whole house and there’s a room at the back with a pool table and a darts board and a weird game where you have to throw hoops onto these hook things and there’s a tonne of bedrooms upstairs and they’re all massive. I don’t know which one to choose, but I’ll let you choose first, Mads, ‘cos you’re the eldest and …’

  ‘Oh my God, Ben,’ Maddy laughed. ‘Calm down, bro. It sounds amazing, but take it easy, you’re gonna explode in a minute.’

  Ben’s cheeks coloured and Maddy felt bad for embarrassing him in front of the solicitor.

  ‘You’re right, Ben, it is exciting,’ Mr Vasey-Smith said, rescuing the situation. ‘And I think you’re quite right to want to explore everything straight away. The house is only the half of it. You own over one hundred acres of land here. There’s a lake, a chapel, some woodland, the deer park and a beautiful ornamental garden. There are even a couple of follies on the grounds.’