by Julia Byrd
“Whose is this?” Everett exclaimed. “I’ve never noticed these.”
“No,” I agreed. I hadn’t been to the far corner of the park myself in a long time.
“We should cut a better path, come out here and clean things up,” he said. “Was it the family who requested this secluded spot or—”
“Everett.” Juno released Sarah and stepped among the tombstones. “Pay attention.”
He fell silent. I took a deep, shuddering breath and threw him an apologetic glance. Would he forgive me? Juno approached the mausoleum, then stood on its narrow doorstep. She reached up and pulled away a straggling Hedera helix tendril from the name carved into the frieze.
“What?” Everett asked. “Ben, what is this?”
The name engraved over the mausoleum was HOOD. My name, my family’s graves. On land carved up and sold off from my family’s estate.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It’s not that I’ve been hiding all these years. I never changed my name, never lied. I just…receded. I liked that you didn’t know my history.”
“And I still don’t know! These are so old—how is your family buried here?”
“It was our land for generations. My father, brother, and grandparents are all inside that vault, with a few others who gave way for newer residents. Some of the tombstones are even older.”
“But the cemetery land was partitioned from Maida House.”
“Yes.”
He frowned. “Are you saying the Hoods used to own Maida House?”
“Own, presently. We still do. For all the good it does us.”
We all turned and gazed up at the house. The structure was a squat rectangle, built of red brick and narrow casement windows, with a half-dozen chimneys rising from the clay-tiled roof. A single, round window in the center of the top story stared at us like an unblinking glass eye. The fourth story was cut by the slope of the roofline, and dormers protruded at equal spaces. We couldn’t see it from our lower vantage, but I knew the graveled courtyard led to an arched doorway at ground level. The effect was massive and imposing. I had grown up thinking my home had emerged from the earth like a sprouting plant. The Hoods were never aristocracy, but my ancestors had been major landowners in the area for generations.
“Damn it, Ben. Just tell me straight.”
I plucked the seeded head from a stalk of grass and twirled it between my fingers. “My father did well enough to get by, although not by much. He died too young. My brother, Joseph, inherited when he was about twenty-five years of age. Not long after our father’s funeral, I left for university. I was eighteen. Joe was…not suited to managing a large estate. He fell deeper and deeper into melancholy and ruinous debt, and eventually, he sold parcels of our land to a handful of buyers. But with a smaller farm, there was less income every year. Within a couple of years, all the land except for the manicured park around the house was gone.” I shrugged. “Setting up Maida Green was one of his better decisions. That was eight years ago. He…died shortly afterward.”
I could have forgiven Joe for the debts and the loss of the estate. But he’d hung himself where my mother would find him, an act for which I had not absolved him. In closing up the house and leaving it to decay, I had sealed off that sad episode in our family history and set it aside. The memory of Joe’s death had not faded entirely away, though, just like the house waiting for me on the hill. With a wrench, I refocused on the practical aspects.
“The house is too expensive to keep up on its own. Running it would require the income from the farm. I own an enormous house I cannot support. Every year it falls a little further into disrepair.”
Juno had been watching me quietly. Paying attention. “But someday…” she prompted when I paused.
“Maybe someday I’ll be able to buy back the traditional estate lands.” My voice hardened as I tempered out the wistful tone. “I saw what my brother’s debts did to him. I cannot afford to be sentimental. The estate is a business, and Maida House is only one piece of it.”
“Why didn’t I know?” Everett said coolly. “Am I the only one in the village who was ignorant of this little piece of local lore?”
“I am sorry. As I said, I liked that you didn’t know. It was quite a big step down for my mother to move into the village. I didn’t mind so much for myself because I had scarcely any social position to lose. But for the first year or two, Mother used her cold stares and her status as a bereaved parent to squash the talk where she could. People in the village remember, I’m sure, but there isn’t much to chatter about anymore. It was always easier for me not to talk at all. And eight years ago, you were but a boy. Please understand that it was not meant as a cruelty, and I was not laughing at your ignorance.”
Another omission I continued to withhold—Everett had yet to learn about the strange ritual Juno performed over the infants’ graves. I could be putting him and his family in danger by bringing them into association with Juno.
He said nothing. But there was another small truth I could finally offer up.
“Maida Green is mine. You should know. Lawyers portioned the land and established the cemetery as a separate business concern, but it belonged to Joe. Now it’s mine.”
Everett’s frown deepened. “I thought you managed the grounds.”
“I do.”
“You profit from the wages of death,” said Sarah Greeley on a whisper. She pulled her cloak closer and shivered in the fading afternoon light.
“Oh, nonsense,” Juno said briskly. “Everyone dies, and I promise you the dead are fine about this arrangement. It’s the living who get their hackles fluffed. The man must eat, after all.”
“And the profits are very modest,” I added with a wry smile.
Sarah folded her lips and said nothing. Everett bestirred himself. “Well. This has been interesting, Ben, peeling back your years of lies. Very glad you’ve enjoyed this little outing.” I winced. He continued, relentless. “But the fact remains we are standing in a field surrounded by high walls. Your derelict mansion does us no good from here. Until the angry man is gone from the gate, we are still trapped inside.”
“The vault is connected to the house via a passageway.”
Juno, who was still standing on the mausoleum’s doorstep, pivoted and peered through the barred entrance. “A tunnel?” she asked.
“Yes. Thereby generations of Maida House widows visited their dearly departed even in the most inclement weather.” I took from my pocket a silver chatelaine hung with keys. It had been my grandmother’s and my mother’s, but since the house had been closed,, I kept it in my bedside table. I selected a skeleton key from the bunch and held it aloft. “Here. Watch out for spiders.” I stepped closer to Juno and handed over the key with only the briefest brush of her fingers on mine.
She examined the key before inserting it into the lock. With a rusty complaint, the narrow door swung outward. “Your family welcomes rare visitors.”
The vault was simple, merely a roof over a marble floor with two stacked shelves on either side. I tried not to envision the corporeal state of my poor brother, entombed almost eight years before. The church would not have laid to rest a suicide on sanctified ground, but Maida Green had not been walled in, blessed, and opened for public business until eighteen months after his death. My mother had been able to lay Joe beside our father, and I was glad for it.
“I must pay my respects to these peaceful old Hoods,” Juno said as she stepped inside. “But another day. There isn’t time now for proper consideration. Look, here is a hatch in the back wall.”
I wasn’t eager to contemplate all the old Hoods either. “That provides access to the tunnel,” I said. “The lock uses the next key on the chatelaine.” The aisle was too narrow for me to see past her shoulders.
“Hmm.” Her head bowed, and I heard the chains on the chatelaine tinkling as she worked the old lock. “Ah, there we are. The loyal, diligent lock has yielded to her old friend the key.”
Juno looked over her shou
lder at me. Despite the bruise on her orbital bone, her dark eyes sparkled with triumph. She beamed, and for a moment I was lost in her. Only Juno could have made a visit to the family vault both respectful and lighthearted.
A renewed, rhythmic clanging reverberated from some distance away. Juno returned to the mausoleum’s doorstep, and Everett and I exchanged worried glances.
“What was that?” Sarah asked. She gripped the edge of a headstone so tightly that her fingers paled.
“The gate.” Everett beckoned to Sarah. “Come along, now. Follow Mrs. Stephens.”
I wasn’t sure what Greeley was attempting, but the two women would be better off out of the cemetery. They would have to go on alone.
“Juno,” I said. Sarah gave me a sidelong look at the familiarity, and I wetted my lips. “Mrs. Stephens. Can I speak to you?”
She stepped out of the vault, and Everett and Sarah entered. Juno and I walked a few yards away.
“I told you once already that Stephens is another man’s name. Call me Juno.”
“I thought perhaps your Christian name was too—”
“It is neither particularly Christian nor too familiar. It’s just me, Ben.” She said my name pointedly. She wasn’t planning on calling me Mr. Hood again. Thinking of her hand on my hip, I wouldn’t have wanted that anyway. But not particularly Christian? The woman was asking for trouble.
“Will you two be all right for a while in the big house? I’ll go and see what Greeley is up to and come back this evening.”
“You’re sending us on alone?”
“Yes. You heard the noise. Greeley is doing something to the gate. I need to get rid of him.”
“We’ll be in your house.”
“Yes. Here’s the lantern.” I passed it to her, and she accepted it without taking her eyes from mine. “The chatelaine has flint and steel. I hope the tunnel is not damaged—I have not walked it in recent years. There are no branches or turns so you cannot become lost. The other end opens in the hot house, which is undoubtedly not very warm. Don’t light the lantern in there. The glow may be seen.”
She listened and nodded at my instructions. Probably she didn’t require any further help, but I hesitated to send them down into the tunnel without some preparation.
“Anything else?” she asked. The chatelaine she pinned to her waist, and the keys jangled when she moved.
“I suppose that’s more than you need to know for now.”
Everett beckoned from the vault, and I gave him a quelling wave.
“I want to know why you are helping me, but I’m not asking now. Just think about it.” Then Juno clasped my hand, stretched up on her toes, and kissed my cheek. “Thank you.”
She smiled and turned to join Sarah in the Hood family tomb. I was surprised by her kiss. If we had almost been friends before, I had thought all that was gone. Could I accept the friendship of a woman like her? Perhaps she was merely grateful, or just using me to her advantage. Still, some bestial part of me didn’t care about her reasons or her morals. I pressed the heel of my hand over the place on my cheek where her lips had touched.
Everett helped the women climb into the tunnel and closed the door. Neither the hatch nor the vault door could be relocked since Juno had the keys, but I disliked the thought of locking them into the tunnel anyway. Greeley would not find them, so the locks mattered little.
“The pretty Widow Stephens may be well pleased with you, but I am not,” Everett groused.
We strode back along the shallow valley to rejoin the main path. The noise from the gate grew louder. I was unbothered. Even if Greeley tore the iron from its hinges, the women were gone. There was nothing of interest to him inside Maida Green.
“I know you’re not.”
“You are rich.”
“I am nothing of the sort! How dare you, sir,” I laughed. “Quite to the contrary.”
“You own a manor house.”
“Do you want it? It’s more trouble than it’s worth right now. I would make it out to your name and wish you well of it, except my mother might protest.” I wouldn’t, in truth, sell my own ambitions so cheaply, but I didn’t want Everett to be envious of my burden.
“And you’re cheerful.” Everett made it sound like the direst of sins.
“Alas, I confess it. Knightly works of valor agree with me. Have you a dragon to be slain?”
We came up to the last bend in the wide path before the entranceway. Greeley was there, although he had not spotted us. He attacked the gate viciously with an axe. The intermittent retorts were ear-splitting.
“No dragon, but you do have an ogre at your gate.”
The corners of Everett’s lips twitched. He would forgive me eventually for my lies. I would just have to keep him and his family well clear of Juno and any suspicion around the infants’ deaths.
“Ho there!” I called out. “Sir Greeley, lay down thy weapon, lest you awaken the sleepers herein.” Everett snickered, and Greeley frowned. “Our park maintenance is completed, and visiting hours are restored.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I say,” I replied easily. I fished the gate key from my pocket and showed it to Greeley. He lowered his axe. “Come in and look around for whomever you like, quick or dead.”
Chapter 10: Rite of Nesting
Fortunately, Greeley had not damaged the lock mechanism, although the black paint was marred. I shook my head over it and informed him to expect a bill. Greeley prowled the grounds, calling Sarah’s name, and even ventured to open the door to the groundskeeper’s cottage.
“Really, sir, this is an affront,” I complained. When Greeley turned his back to inspect the bed, I snatched the basin of bloodied water from the table and dumped it quickly.
“Ruh-ruh-ruh,” he said, mocking my speech. “You sound like an imbecile.”
I would not retreat into silence in the face of one unpleasant father. Sarah’s desire to escape him seemed more reasonable each time I was forced to interact with him. “I’m not the one searching a cemetery for my living daughter, you foul skunk. Are you nearly done with this farce?”
After poking into a few more corners and issuing a few more insults, Greeley finally slunk away. Everett and I watched him go.
“Will you go home,” I questioned, “or do you wish to return to the tunnel with me and venture to Maida House?”
“Both. I’ll go home now and be back here in less than an hour. Will you wait for me?”
I understood he would want to speak with Mrs. Toth before haring off for the night. But he didn’t exactly know with whom we would be associating.
“I will gladly wait. But, Everett, Juno Stephens is not an advantageous friend for you. You know she’s unusual.”
I could neither mention the information gleaned from Mrs. Pfeiffer since I did not understand if her mention of Juno’s presence had relevance, nor the blood ritual I had witnessed. It was too strange, and I hoped Juno would never revisit that ceremony.
“No one knows I’ll be anywhere near Juno Stephens.” He shrugged, turned his face away. “And you’ll need my help. I want to make sure Sarah Greeley is safe and comfortable.”
“Interesting,” I said.
“Don’t say that. It’s not interesting. She’s alone in a derelict manor with a very odd woman, and she had a terrible fright today. My concern is only natural.” He turned to me with his chin set at a stubborn angle.
“Of course.” I nodded sagely. “Natural, gallant, knightly concern. And the sooner you’re off, the sooner we can depart for the house.”
Everett made a rude gesture and left for home. I returned to my cottage and straightened up the place. We had left in a whirlwind, and Greeley had tracked muddy footprints on the floor. My cupboards were bare, but that problem would have to wait. What else would Juno need? I bundled up another stack of firewood. Would the smoke be visible from the chimneys? It’s my house. No one could tell me not to light a fire. But I did not want anyone to suspect I was entertaining
visitors.
* * *
When Everett returned after dark, I carried with me only firewood, candles, and flint in a canvas sack over my shoulder. We trudged back to the Hood family plot, and I watched Maida House as we walked. It was as solemn as always. Nothing about the exterior indicated the new life inside. What if Juno and the girl were trapped in the tunnel?
“Hurry,” I urged, picking up my pace.
The vault door was closed but unlocked, just as we had left it. I had given my only lantern to Juno, but once inside the narrow crypt I lit two candles and passed one to Everett. I tried my best to ignore my family enjoying their eternal repose to either side.
I opened the tunnel hatch and gave Everett a questioning look. The candlelight reflected off the planes of his face and cast shadows over his eyes.
“You first,” he said.
“Yes, right.” I eyed the doorway with distaste. It wasn’t tall enough for me to pass through erect, and there was only a small ledge before stone steps descended. “Well.” If Juno and Sarah had done it, I could do it.
I stepped up to the entrance, and my candle was immediately extinguished by the cold draft rushing in and out of the tunnel as if the earth herself was breathing. “Damnation.”
“You’re going to want both hands anyway,” Everett said.
He was right. I pinched the glowing orange tip from the wick and stowed the candle in my bag. Then, hunching my neck, I squeezed through the doorway. It was narrower than I recalled. My shoulders brushed the marble facing.
I braced my hands on the walls and put a foot on the second step. It was too shallow to accommodate my boot, and my toes dangled off the edge. I pivoted around to face Everett and descended backward, taking the steep steps more like a ladder than a staircase.
“I had no idea you were such a nervous nanny-goat,” Everett observed.
“Oh, hush. I’ve no interest in cracking my skull.”