Even the fine study lacked its master’s attention. Regarded as his pride and joy, if he was not out fraternising with his “friends” until the early hours of dawn, he would lock himself away in his world of literature, surrounded by his precious books. His study was adorned with them: works by authors and scholars she’d never heard of. Often, she would sneak in while he was out, letting her fingers caress their exquisite leather-bound covers, envious she had not been well-educated enough, to appreciate their well-written pages.
He had always kept his library orderly and well documented; however, books were now strewn everywhere, some open, as if he’d been looking for something. Aware of this, she was now convinced something was wrong… desperately wrong, for as he approached her, not once did he look at his books, ignoring the works as though they no longer mattered. Unlike before, where he would look upon them like lovers, deciding which one to re-visit. She had no doubt he had read most of them, if not, all. But no—he had something on his mind, this night; something disturbing, and she knew it; it was there in his brooding eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from her.
‘The whole town has gone mad?!’ he mocked, trying to make light of the looming situation. ‘Surely not!’
‘I fear they’ll come here, mio Signore. They are searching certain properties and—’
‘Lucia, there is nothing to fear,’ he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, seeing the mounting concern in her deep, amber eyes. ‘They have no reason to come to this place. There is nothing of interest here, and besides… is this not a respectable house?’
Surely, he must have sensed it, she thought, looking at him with a vague expression, trying to ignore the smell of stale brandy and smoke off his breath. She knew he was no fool. Then again, perhaps he had been preoccupied with the Mistress’s peculiar behaviour, to notice what was going on beyond his domain. She was not convinced.
‘But… have you not heard the talk among the people? There are rumours—’
‘Idle gossip,’ he interrupted, dismissing it with the flick of his hand. ‘That’s all it is, Lucia: rumours, spread by foolish, superstitious people, with nothing worthwhile in their lives.’
As he turned away from her, she stared after him, speechless, taken back by his casual dismissal of her deep concern; while the streets of Triora were growing restless, he appeared unruffled by it all. Inside, she felt her anger rising.
‘I know you feel it, too,’ she retorted, daring to challenge him.
He suddenly turned on her. ‘Go about your business, child!’ he yelled. ‘See to your Mistress!’
The sudden outburst almost threw her off-balance. Never, in all her time in their service, had he displayed his temper towards her, or the boy. She then heard his sympathetic, long-winded sigh of regret.
‘Forgive me, Lucia. I beg of you. It has been a trying time, and I am…’ He yawned. ‘I do not expect someone of your youth to understand.’
Feeling offended by his remark, she felt compelled to tell him she was no longer a “child”. Had he paid more attention to those around him, in the last year, he would have seen how much had changed. She blamed it on the elite company he had been keeping, it luring him from his responsibilities.
It had started out quite harmless, with the Mistress regularly accompanying him to events and parties. But as time passed, something had distracted her, and she soon grew bored with them, leaving the Master to his own amusement, despite his protests.
“They are my friends and noble acquaintances!” she had heard him argue.
“Friends?!” the Mistress had returned, with hate. “They are nothing of the sort; they will bleed you dry until there is nothing left. Where is your nobility among them? You seem to have lost all sense of it.”
That was how it began: their road to destruction.
The Mistress continued to taunt him, pushing him away from their home. It forced him to stay away longer, sometimes until the early hours of daylight. Her presence about the great house became less as she kept to her quarters. At times a day would pass, from dawn to dusk, in total silence, without their company. Lucia had her suspicions the Mistress ventured out alone, and that the Master neglected to notice, or, perhaps, chose to. However, she paid no heed. It was their business, and she tried to avoid being dragged into it.
She and the boy usually kept to themselves, enjoying the peace and quiet when the house fell empty. She felt protective of him in his innocence, and he looked up to her like a big sister. But things were changing, heightening her concern for their safety.
‘What if they come here?’ she asked, suddenly fearing for their lives.
The dread in her voice disturbed him, and when she looked at him, it was evident by her pleading eyes, she was seeking his reassurance. And should things… get out of hand, he knew she would then rely on his protection. Though he matched her concerns, he had to keep up the pretence… for her sake.
Forcing a smile, he moved to embrace her concern. ‘There is no one coming here, Lucia. I am sure of it.’
She stepped back from his unexpected touch.
Sensing her awkwardness, he moved away, looking around for his cloak. ‘I’m going out,’ he said, retrieving it from where he had left it in the early hours: thrown in a ball behind the door.
She gazed at him with dread. ‘Onto the streets?!’ she cried. ‘It’s not safe, my—’
‘I will return, Lucia… shortly,’ he said, reassuring her. ‘And, if it makes you feel secure, lock all the doors when I leave and… answer to no one. Do you hear me?’
‘Unless it is you?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Take charge of your usual duties, and do not worry yourself, where I am concerned. I’ll not be long.’
Her eyes widened as panic gripped her, and as she drew her hands over her mouth, they shook uncontrollably. It was clear his attempt to regain her composure had failed. He was more than aware of the threat towards her as a young, impressionable woman. Innocent souls from other towns had already succumbed to the vile accusations being made against them. He had hoped to shield her from it, but the rumours had, without doubt, escalated. They were on the cusp of dangerous times.
He hesitated before leaving. ‘If the Mistress should enquire as to my whereabouts…’
‘I will think of something to say,’ she said, nervously rolling her eyes.
He winked at her. ‘Grazie!’
She forced a smile, hating the fact she was, at times, the go-between in their disputes. Still and all, she liked the Master, and knew she would cover for him.
‘Now go!’ he urged. ‘I won’t be long.’
Lucia closed the great door behind him as he stepped out into the night. She drew her hand, making the sign of a cross, praying for his safety, before searching for Petrio. She hoped the boy was not playing hide and seek. Like all children, he was obsessed with adventurous games. The great house was riddled with hidden nooks and crannies, not to mention the old, secret passage ways. Normally, she would indulge him for hours while the house was empty. But instinct urged her to find him—protect him from what might come.
The boy’s start in life had been difficult. She had been told how his poverty-stricken parents
could not support him, let alone themselves. They had begged the Master to take the baby—to give him a better life. The Mistress was reluctant, at first, but after much persuasion, she surrendered to their pleas. And that was all Lucia knew. An air of secrecy surrounded the child’s past. However, in time, she dismissed her curiosity, accepting him for who he was.
She moved swiftly through the open hallway, towards the servants’ quarters, at the rear of the house. If he was not already in the kitchen, interrogating Sofia on her cooking skills, then she would begin the dreaded task of searching the hidden passages. All staff, save for the cook, had long gone home. Sofia was a perfectionist in what she proudly called her “cucina”, sometimes staying late to take order of stock, should she need to go to the Mercato the following
morning.
But of course! Lucia told herself. No doubt Petrio would be there, playing with the dogs near the larder, and throwing them scraps behind Sofia’s back. The dogs! It had only come to her attention, their notable absence. It was usual to see them potter about, after Petrio. However, she had failed to notice them all day, or hear the tapping of their paws on the hardwood floors, with the Mistress’s voice in the background, complaining, how their nails were destroying the highly polished surface.
As she made her way towards the kitchen, she slowed, distracted by a voice. Pausing at the base of the winding staircase, she listened, thinking the Mistress had called her.
Tempted to ignore her, she thought better of it; her demands had become intolerable, and it was difficult to predict her form, from day to day. Lucia imagined she was possessed by two personalities.
She then heard the voice again and sighed. I’ll look for him later, she decided, throwing her eyes to heaven. Aware of the potential scolding she would receive, should she ignore the summons, Lucia reluctantly began her ascent up the elaborate staircase, towards her Mistress’s quarters.
He lingered, listening for the sound of the door’s bolt being pulled across. Satisfied she had secured it, he moved a few paces away from the house. A sudden feeling of unease came over him, forcing him to stop. He looked back, surveying its subdued facing as though its hidden history reached out to draw him into its secrets. But he had no interest in its past, only those that held its present. Pulling his cloak over his shoulders, he then drew his hood over his face, and moved on, keeping to the shadows.
Lucia was right; there was no denying it. Something sinister was afoot, and there was a familiarity about it. The girl was perceptive. He had sensed it the first moment they met, doubting she was even aware of it, herself.
Lucia, on the death of her previous employer, more or less, came with the house. He was uncertain of her age… eighteen… nineteen, or thereabouts. As he ventured further into the dark streets, the image of their first meeting came back to him.
The Mistress had taken an instant dislike to the girl, voicing her demands: “Get rid of her!”
“Lucia has no one,” he had hit back. “She stays!”
And so, it had been settled.
However, as time wore on, the Mistress eventually warmed to Lucia. Only a few years stood between them—the Mistress being her senior. Both were beautiful in their own way. But lately, there had been an underlying jealousy over Lucia’s youth, prompting the Mistress to obsess in maintaining her own.
He had noticed the way she watched the girl—monitoring her every move. He found it menacing, at times, hoping Lucia was oblivious to the curious eye of her surveyor.
He shuddered with the passing of a sharp breeze and cast an eye towards the night sky. The clouds had thickened, blocking out the moon in its entirety. The world now seemed to enclose itself around him in ominous silence. The quietness heightened his senses. He tilted his head, listening.
Still no sound.
Perhaps she imagined it, he thought? Or perhaps it had been the fear of being caught with her young lover. Who could say? He smiled. Most likely the ramblings of a young woman in love. Yet, something troubled him. The girl’s perception. It had yet to fail her.
‘Let us hope it does, this night, Lucia,’ he muttered, with a sense of expectation, before deciding to return.
The sudden awareness of his echoing footsteps on the narrow streets made him stop. Again, he listened. Shrouded in silence, he felt strangely relieved by the eerie absence of noise. But the quietude was abruptly ended.
The distant voices now grew in volume, in pursuit of the evil they believed to reside in their little town. He glanced over the rooftops, catching the flickering light from the torches they wielded. He concealed himself in the darkness of a deep doorway. The thunderous sounds of banging on doors, followed by demanding voices, echoed through the streets and alleys.
‘Aprire!’ they shouted. ‘Open up!’
Hidden behind their locked doors, the residents lived in fear, refusing to let the determined crowd cross their thresholds, should they find what they were seeking.
There’s still time! he thought, knowing how thorough they would search each household.
But there was no doubting what they were looking for; he had sensed it the moment he left the great house… especially when he looked back at it.
Just then, something terrible occurred to him: Triora’s local gossip had just become his living nightmare.
Chapter Six
‘Forgive me, Lucia.’
He spoke the words, out loud, in his desperation to get back.
I should have seen it! he told himself, angered by his own negligence and selfishness. Too long had he indulged himself in the company of arrogance and hypocrisy—they only interested in his heavy pockets. And all the while, under their influence, he had failed to see what passed beneath his very eyes.
He stopped abruptly, remembering Lucia’s secret shortcut. She would never forgive him had she known he had followed her on several occasions. He had been concerned by her “nightly strolls”, at first, eventually discovering her reasons for them. Secretly, he had hoped she would find happiness with her lover… far from Triora’s ignorance.
A sense of urgency spurred him on through her little laneway, until he emerged from its dark passage to see the great house waiting for him. As he approached it, something compelled him to stop, making him stare up at its façade. It was then, at that moment, he sensed it: the evil seeping from behind its walls, its chilling affect creeping out onto the street.
Avoiding the main entrance, he slipped into the overgrown gardens where throngs of shrubbery had been allowed to grow wild and neglected, on his orders. A quick glance told him, he was alone. He listened a moment. The voices had faded into the distance, for the time being. He drew back a thick, large thorn-bush, taking heed of its lethal needles. Concealed behind the growth, an old, ironbound door showed itself to him. Despite its size—inadequate and uncomfortable for a man, especially one of his stature—it was sufficient to pass through.
Only two possessed a key—the Mistress keeping the second. As to where she hid it, he had no knowledge, nor did he care. He had been aware, of late, she, too, used it for a purpose. Had it been to spy on him, he would have known it. Perhaps she has a lover, he thought, removing the key from his belt. If so, he would find out.
The brass key was old and tarnished, its lock, stiff with age. Nonetheless, it had never failed him. Its hinges creaked; however, he had made a point of checking them regularly, stealing some of Sofia’s olive oil as an unguent. It had been his usual routine, during his comings and goings, to pass through the doorway slowly and quietly—and always keeping it locked.
Leaving the night behind, he quickly closed it. Shrouded in darkness, he reached into a small crevice in the wall, removing the little lantern he had left there for his own use. He was certain the Mistress was unaware of its presence; it had never been moved upon each return. With a small gesture of his hand, the lantern’s flame sprung to life on his silent command. Then, raising it to the level of his eye, he waited for his eyes to adjust.
The familiar passageway stretched out before him. It was centuries old, created long before the house was built—and thereafter, had been concealed from man’s curious eyes forever, until he came upon it, by chance.
It was on one of his indulging visits to “Sofia’s cucina” he had noticed a small army of ants going about their business, in perfect formation. Weighed down with morsels of food, scavenged along their way, they marched in regimental order behind their leader. He marvelled at their discipline, before watching them disappear beneath the dusty, stained floorboards.
“What is down there”? he had enquired of the cook. Judging from the perplexed look on her face, he had perceived she knew nothing of its existence.
Both Master and servants’ curiosity enticed them to investigate. With the use of a poker, he ripped back
the floorboards, revealing a small space. The ants scattered at the unexpected disturbance.
“Just a storage space, il Padrone,” she surmised, shrugging her rounded shoulders, before returning to her duties.
Disappointed, he moved to replace the boards, then stopped, when he noticed the ants reforming, to resume their journey. He lingered, watching their movements, with added interest. And when the little army disappeared, through a small yet obvious gap below the foundations of the house, he realised there could be more to discover, feeding his interest.
And so… he had waited until the house fell into its nightly slumber, to see what other secrets the old building might give up.
He recalled his first venture down the passageway: the knocks to his head; the cuts and bruises; and not forgetting the countless times he had lost his footing. And yet, no one seemed to notice his minor injuries. And if they had… they kept it to themselves.
With frequent visits, he soon mastered its route, taking him beyond the walls of the house. At times he speculated on how the Mistress came and went, before casting the thought aside.
He now moved with rapid ease, until he saw the familiar shape of the second door—made from solid Beech, and crossed with iron strips, for added strength. He inserted the same key. On the other side, the ascending steps—which would guide him back to Sofia’s kitchen—were waiting for him.
As he opened the door, he was forced to stop dead. The smell of dampness, he had been accustomed to, was now replaced by an unwelcome stench. Lifting his head, he searched for its source. He paused, drawing in its pungent scent, recognising it.
As it toyed with his senses, the sound of a faint voice followed it, whispering words he did not recognise:
Beyond the Darkness Page 5