by Robin Cook
“Where to first?” Edward asked.
“You’re the guest,” Kim said.
“Let’s check out the parlor,” Edward said.
The room was dominated by a huge fireplace six feet wide. Sprinkled about the room was some colonial furniture as well as lawn tools and other paraphernalia. The most interesting piece of furniture was a canopied bed. It still had some of its original crewelwork bed hangings.
Edward walked over to the fireplace and glanced up the flue. “Still in working order,” he said. Then he looked at the wall above the mantel. Stepping back, he looked at it again.
“Can you see that faint rectangle?” he said.
Kim joined him in the middle of the room and peered at the wall. “I see it,” she said. “Looks like a painting used to hang there.”
“My thought exactly,” Edward said. Wetting the tip of his finger, he tried to smudge the outline. He couldn’t. “It must have hung there a good many years for the smoke to outline it like that.”
Leaving the parlor, they mounted the stairs. At the head of the stairs was a small study built over the front hall. Above the parlor and the kitchen were bedrooms, each with its own fireplace. The only furniture was a few more beds and a spinning wheel.
Returning to the kitchen on the first floor, Kim and Edward were both struck with the size of the fireplace. Edward guessed it was almost ten feet across. To the left was a lug pole, to the right a beehive oven. There were even some old pots, fry pans, and kettles.
“Can you imagine cooking here?” Edward asked.
“Not in a million years,” Kim said. “I have enough trouble in a modern kitchen.”
“The colonial women must have been experts at tending a fire,” Edward said. He peered into the oven. “I wonder how they estimated the temperature. It’s fairly critical in bread making.”
They passed through a door into the lean-to part of the house. Edward was surprised to find a second kitchen.
“I think they used this during the summer,” Kim said. “It would have been too hot to fire up that massive fireplace for cooking during warm weather.”
“Good point,” Edward said.
Returning to the main part of the house, Edward stood in the center of the kitchen, chewing on his lower lip. Kim eyed him. She could tell he was thinking about something.
“What’s going through your mind?” she asked.
“Have you ever thought about living here?” he questioned.
“No, I can’t say I have,” Kim said. “It would be like camping out.”
“I don’t mean to live here the way it is,” Edward said. “But it wouldn’t take much to change it.”
“You mean renovate it?” Kim questioned. “It would be a shame to destroy its historical value.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Edward said. “But you wouldn’t have to. You could make a modern kitchen and bath in the lean-to portion of the house, which was an add-on anyway. You wouldn’t have to disturb the integrity of the main part.”
“You really think so?” Kim said. She looked around. There was no doubt it was a charming building, and it would be a fun challenge to decorate it.
“Besides,” Edward said, “you’ve got to move out of your present apartment. It’s a shame to leave this whole place vacant. Sooner or later the vandals will get in here and possibly do some real damage.”
Kim and Edward made another walk through the building with the idea in mind of making it habitable. Edward was progressively enthusiastic, and Kim found herself warming to the idea.
“What an opportunity to connect with your heritage,” Edward said. “I’d do it in a flash.”
“I’ll sleep on it,” Kim said finally. “It is an intriguing idea, but I’d have to run it by my brother. After all, we are co-owners.”
“There’s one thing about this place that confuses me,” Edward said as he glanced around the kitchen for the third time. “I wonder where they stored their food.”
“I imagine in the cellar,” Kim said.
“I didn’t think there was one,” Edward said. “I specifically looked for an entrance when we walked around the house when we first arrived, but there wasn’t any. Nor are there any stairs leading down.”
Kim stepped around the long trestle table and pulled aside a heavily worn sisal mat. “There’s access through this trapdoor,” she said. She bent down and put her finger through a hole in the floor and pulled the trapdoor open. She laid it back on the floor. A ladder led down into the darkness.
“I remember this all too well,” Kim said. “Once, when we were kids, my brother threatened to close me in the cellar. He’d been enchanted with the trapdoor.”
“Nice brother,” Edward said. “No wonder you had a fear of being cooped up. That would have terrified anyone.”
Edward bent down and tried to look around the cellar, but he could only see a small area.
“He had no intention of actually doing it,” Kim said. “He was just teasing. We weren’t supposed to be in here at the time, and he knew I was already scared. You know how kids like to scare each other.”
“I’ve got a flashlight in the car,” Edward said. “I’ll run out and get it.”
Returning with the light, Edward descended the ladder. Gaining the floor, he looked up at Kim and asked her if she was coming down.
“Do I have to?” she questioned half in jest. She came down the ladder and stood next to him.
“Cold, damp, and musty,” Edward said.
“Well said,” Kim remarked. “So what are we doing here?”
The cellar was small. It only comprised the area beneath the kitchen. The walls were flat fieldstone with little mortar. The floor was dirt. Against the back wall was a series of bins made with stone or wood sides. Edward walked over and shined the light in several of them. Kim stayed close at his side.
“You were right,” Edward said. “Here’s where the food was kept.”
“What kind of food, do you suppose?” Kim asked.
“Stuff like apples, corn, wheat, and rye,” Edward said. “Maybe dairy products as well. The flitches of bacon were hung up, most likely in the lean-to.”
“Interesting,” Kim said without enthusiasm. “Have you seen enough?”
Edward leaned into one of the bins and scratched up some of the hard-packed dirt. He felt it between his fingers. “The dirt is damp,” he said. “I’m certainly no botanist, but I’d wager it would be great for growing Claviceps purpurea.”
Intrigued, Kim asked if it could be proven.
Edward shrugged. “Possibly,” he said. “I suppose it would depend on whether Claviceps spores could be found. If we could take some samples I could have a botanist friend take a look at it.”
“I imagine we could find some containers in the castle,” Kim suggested.
“Let’s do it,” Edward said.
Leaving the old house, they headed for the castle. Since it was such a beautiful day they walked. The grass was knee-high. Grasshoppers and other harmless insects flitted about them.
“Every so often I can see water through the trees,” Edward commented.
“That’s the Danvers River,” Kim said. “There was a time when the field went all the way to the water’s edge.”
The closer they got to the castle the more awed Edward became with the building. “This place is even bigger than I had originally thought,” he said. “My word, it even has a fake moat.”
“I was told it was inspired by Chambord in France,” Kim said. “It’s shaped like the letter U, with guest quarters in one wing and servants’ in the other.”
They crossed a bridge over the dry moat. While Edward admired the gothic details of the doorway, Kim struggled with the keys just as she’d done at the old house. There were a dozen keys on the ring. Finally one opened the door.
They passed through an oak-paneled entry hall and then through an arch leading into the great room. It was a room of monumental size with a two-story ceiling and gothic fireplaces at
either end. Between cathedral-sized windows on the far wall rose a grand staircase. A stained-glass rose window at the head of the stairs filled the room with a peculiar pale yellow light.
Edward let out a half-groan half-laugh. “This is incredible,” he said in awe. “I had no idea it was still furnished.”
“Nothing has been touched,” Kim said.
“When did your grandfather die?” Edward asked. “This decor looks as if someone left on extended vacation in the nineteen twenties.”
“He died just this past spring,” Kim said. “But he was an eccentric man, especially after his wife died almost forty years ago. I doubt if he changed anything in the house from when his parents occupied it. It was his father who built it.”
Edward wandered into the room while his eyes played over the profusion of furniture, gilt-framed paintings, and decorative objects. There was even a suit of medieval armor. Pointing to it, he asked if it were a real antique.
Kim shrugged. “I haven’t the slightest idea,” she said.
Edward walked to a window and fingered the curtain fabric. “I’ve never seen so much drapery in all my life,” he said. “There must be a mile of this stuff.”
“It’s very old,” Kim said. “It’s silk damask.”
“Can I see more of the house?” Edward asked.
“Be my guest,” Kim said with a wave.
From the great room, Edward wandered into the darkly paneled library. It had a mezzanine accessed by a wrought-iron circular stair. The high shelves were served by a ladder that moved on a track. The books were all leather bound. “This is my idea of a library,” Edward said. “I could do some serious reading here.”
From the library Edward walked into the formal dining room. Like the great room, it had a two-story ceiling with matching fireplaces at either end. But unlike the great room, it had a profusion of heraldic flags on flagpoles jutting out from the walls.
“This place could have almost as much historical interest as the old house,” Edward said. “It’s like a museum.”
“The historical interest is in the wine cellar and the attic,” Kim said. “Both are completely full of papers.”
“Newspapers?” Edward asked.
“Some newspapers,” Kim said. “But mostly correspondence and documents.”
“Let’s take a look,” Edward said.
They mounted the main stairs to the equivalent of the third floor since most of the first-floor rooms had two-story ceilings. From there they climbed another staircase two additional floors before reaching the attic. Kim had to struggle to get the door open. It hadn’t been pried in years.
The attic space was enormous since it occupied all of the U-shaped floor plan of the house except for the area of the turrets. Each turret was a story taller than the rest of the building and had its own conical-shaped attic. The main attic had a cathedral ceiling in accordance with the roofline. It was reasonably well lighted from its many dormers.
Kim and Edward strolled down a central aisle. On both sides were innumerable file cabinets, bureaus, trunks, and boxes. Kim stopped randomly and showed Edward that all of them were filled with ledgers, scrapbooks, folders, documents, correspondence, photos, books, newspapers, and old magazines. It was a virtual treasure trove of documentary memorabilia.
“There must be enough stuff in here to fill several railroad cars,” Edward said. “How far back in time does it all go?”
“Right back to Ronald Stewart’s time,” Kim said. “He’s the one who started the company. Most of it is business-related material, but not all of it. There’s some personal correspondence as well. My brother and I used to sneak up here a few times when we were kids to see who could find the oldest dates. The problem was that we weren’t really allowed, and when my grandfather caught us he was furious.”
“Is there as much down in the wine cellar?” Edward asked.
“As much or more,” Kim said. “Come, I’ll show you. The wine cellar is worth seeing anyway. Its decor is consistent with the house.”
They retraced their steps down the main stairways and returned to the formal dining room. Opening a heavy oak door with huge wrought-iron hinges, they descended a granite stairway into the wine cellar. Edward understood immediately what Kim meant about its decor being consistent with the house. It was designed as if it were a medieval dungeon. The walls were all stone, the sconce lighting resembled torches, and the wine racks were built around the walls of individual rooms that could have functioned as cells. They had iron doors and bars over the openings into the hall.
“Somebody had a sense of humor,” Edward said as they walked down the long central hall. “The only thing this place lacks is torture devices.”
“My brother and I didn’t see it as funny in the slightest,” Kim said. “My grandfather didn’t have to tell us to stay out of here. We didn’t want any part of it. It terrified us.”
“And all these trunks and things are filled with papers?” Edward asked. “Just like the attic?”
“Every last one of them,” Kim said.
Edward stopped and pushed open the door to one of the cell-like rooms. He stepped inside. The wine racks were mostly empty. The bureaus, file cabinets, and trunks were pushed against them. He picked up one of the few bottles.
“Good Lord,” he said. “This is an 1896 vintage! It could be valuable.”
Kim blew derisively through pursed lips. “I sincerely doubt it,” she said. “The cork is probably disintegrated. No one has been taking care of them for half a century.”
Edward replaced the dusty bottle and opened a bureau drawer. Randomly he picked up a sheet of paper. It was a customs document from the nineteenth century. He tried another. It was a bill of lading from the eighteenth century.
“I get the impression there isn’t much order here,” he said.
“Unfortunately that’s the case,” Kim said. “In fact there is no order whatsoever to any of it. Every time a new house was built, which had been fairly frequent up until this monstrosity, all this paperwork was relocated and then returned. Over the centuries it got completely mixed up.”
In order to make her point, Kim opened a file cabinet and pulled out a document. It was another bill of lading. She handed it over to Edward and told him to look at the date.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Sixteen hundred and eighty-nine. That was just three years before all the witchcraft nonsense.”
“It proves my point,” Kim said. “We just looked at three documents and covered several centuries.”
“I think this signature is Ronald’s,” Edward said. He showed it to Kim and she agreed.
“I just got an idea,” Kim said. “You’ve got me interested in this witchcraft phenomenon and particularly in my ancestor Elizabeth. Maybe I could learn something about her with the help of all these papers.”
“You mean like why she’s not buried in the family burial plot?” Edward asked.
“That and more,” Kim said. “I’m getting more and more curious about all the secrecy about her over the years. And even whether she truly was executed. As you pointed out, she’s not mentioned in the book you gave me. It’s pretty mysterious.”
Edward gazed around the cell they were in. “It wouldn’t be an easy task considering the amount of material,” he said. “And ultimately it might be a waste of time since most of this is business related.”
“It will be a challenge,” Kim said as she warmed to the idea. She looked back in the file drawer where she’d found the seventeenth-century bill of lading to see if there were any more contemporary materials. “I think I might even enjoy it. It will be an exercise in self-discovery, or, as you said in relation to the old house, an opportunity to connect with my heritage.”
While Kim was rummaging in the file cabinet, Edward wandered out of the cell and deeper into the extensive wine cellar. He was still carrying the flashlight, and as he neared the back of the wine cellar he switched it on. Some of the bulbs in the sconces had blown out. Poking
his head into the last cell, Edward shined the flashlight around. Its beam played across the usual complement of bureaus, trunks, and boxes until it stopped on an oil painting leaning backwards against the wall.
Remembering all the paintings he’d seen upstairs, Edward was curious as to why this one deserved such ill treatment. With some difficulty he managed to work his way over to the painting. He leaned it away from the wall and shined the light on its dusty surface. It appeared to be a painting of a young woman.
Lifting the painting from its ignominious location, Edward held it over his head and carried it out of the cell. Once in the hallway, he leaned it against the wall. It was indeed a young woman. The décolletage it displayed belied its age. It was done in a stiff, primitive style.
With the tip of his finger he wiped the dust from a small pewter plaque at the base of the painting and shined the light on it. Then he grabbed the painting and brought it to the cell where Kim was still occupied.
“Take a look at this,” Edward said. He propped it against a bureau and illuminated the plaque with the flashlight.
Kim turned and looked at the painting. Sensing Edward’s excitement, she followed the beam of the flashlight and read the name.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed. “It’s Elizabeth!”
Enjoying the thrill of discovery, Kim and Edward carried the painting up the stairs and into the great room, where there was adequate light. They leaned it up against the wall and stepped away to look at it.
“What’s so damn striking about it,” Edward said, “is that it looks a lot like you, especially with those green eyes.”
“Maybe eye color is the same,” Kim said, “but Elizabeth was far more beautiful, and certainly more endowed than I.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Edward said. “Personally I think it is the other way around.”
Kim was transfixed by the visage of her infamous ancestor. “There are some similarities,” she said. “Our hair looks similar and even the shape of our faces.”