The house was Victorian Juliet guessed. The kitchen she arrived in was huge. There were old fashioned tiles on the walls and a large central table that would have been used by retainers to prepare meals for an important family. Around the top a shelf decorated with old pieces of large crockery ran across all four walls. The only modern thing in sight was a Neon tube.
They passed through the kitchen and into a hallway and then down a flight of steps into a cellar full of stored wine. Juliet thought there must have been several hundred bottles racked there. It was the largest cellar she could ever remember seeing in a private house.
They stopped and lay her on the cold stone floor to rest. No one spoke to her. The older man bent and using his good hand pulled on an iron ring set into the floor and opened a heavy stone slab. For a moment Juliet was full of apprehension. Were they just going to throw her into some old coal bunker or storage room and leave her there to die?
She was lifted again half expecting to be thrown through the hole in the floor but the slab had covered a flight of stone steps and they descended into a tunnel cut through limestone and lit by electric lights. It was an unpleasant journey with the injured man leering at her all the way. He brought up the rear and must have been aware he was adding to her distress. He made her skin crawl.
They passed into a small room with a table and a kitchen unit and then out again into a long corridor. Half way along it she was carried into what was obviously a cell. There was a narrow bed onto which she was laid.
“We are going to untie you.” the unsavoury man said. If you make a fuss or struggle we will tie you up again and leave you tied. Understand?” Juliet nodded but her eyes blazed anger at him. He was a slimy little thing and she wanted to attack him.
The red haired youth did the untying and she could see he was trying to be gentle but it hurt like hell. The last was her mouth and he struggled but she knocked his hand away and did it herself. She couldn't fight three of them but she wanted too.
“The Boss is coming to speak with you later,” The slimy creature said. “I'd advise you to tell him what he wants to know.” He smirked at her, obviously enjoying the moment.
“Well I hope he has more intelligence than his lackeys!” Juliet snapped back at him.
The red head and the other younger man departed the cell but Slimy stood his ground.
“Got a big mouth have we? He said. “My turn with you will come and I will see what you have to say then! You'll wish the Master's little companion had killed you!”
He saw that mentioning the thing had affected her. “Pleasant little chap isn't he? He won't have forgotten that you tried to roast him believe me. I've seen him make them live for hours while he worked on them. He climbed right inside the last person that was in this cell; disappeared down his throat like cough drops - made him dance like a drunken sailor.” He smirked again when she made no reply. “I'd have a little sleep if I were you; it'll be the last one you ever get.” He turned and marched out.
The door was slammed unnecessarily hard and the bolt drawn then he peered in through the bars at her. “Keep it warm for me there's a good girl.” He grinned and walked away.
The silence after the door at the end of the corridor was closed was an immense relief to Juliet. Most of all in the whole world she had wanted to be away from them. Exhausted she sat on the bed and tried to find some strength inside herself. Her head was splitting.
There was something else unpleasant and she sniffed at her clothes. It was that awful substance that the thing had spat all over her; it had the most awful odour she had ever encountered. There was nothing she could do about it; she didn't have any intention of removing any of her garments.
But she did want to look at her thighs and shoulders. They were hurting where the Imp’s claws had gripped her. When she looked she found that she had not had her skin broken after all but that there were purple marks made as it had attached itself to her. They looked unpleasant and unhealthy as though some part of the Imps poisonous presence had passed into her skin. Just the knowledge that it had touched her at all was almost unbearable.
The weight of her position was crushing. She got up and looked through the grill in the door, all she could see was another cell door and a long passage cut into bare rock. It wasn't new it was something from a long time ago. The walls had become discoloured and in places there were old established marks where water had run down the walls for a long time.
She examined the door with care but there was no weakness anywhere to exploit. The cell was so simple it made it totally effective. There was no way out.
She wondered if they had found and taken her mobile phone. The messages would go to Mike at some point, the signal was untrustworthy but given time it always worked in the end. The weather might interfere but that would only delay the inevitable sending. He would go to Moretonhampstead immediately, of that she had not the slightest doubt. She knew that she was the woman in his heart as indeed he was the man in hers. What silly buggers we are! She thought painfully.
She realised that almost certainly she would never see him again and began to cry. The years of lonely nights they could have shared together, holidays with tourist guides and groups of unknown travelling companions rather than holiday romance shared between the two them, years thrown to the four winds rather than ask him to forgive her; years in which she had always known that in the end he would.
He was a strange man, loyal to the things he believed in, simple and uncomplicated. They had sworn their love for each other and then, in just a few weeks, all the practical things in her life had weighed in upon her and she had walked away from him for a second time. Something he would never have done himself. It wasn't his fault that those years were wasted - it was her own! And now it was too late even to tell him, too late to apologise.
Mortified, she slipped down onto the bed and tried to rest her mind. She was exhausted. She had been through things that she had difficulty accepting were reality. She tried to fill her mind with the world of sunshine beyond the Clock Tower shining on the beautiful harbour, his harbour, his beloved town, and the thoughts of the first dinner date in years, the half embarrassing little nothings from Ann Summers that were to be her way to say “I’m Sorry Mike!” The sweet sunshine of Bellever and a bridge older than Stonehenge, a kiss that would last for forty five years and regrets of long before: her own father and “forget the boy from Torquay you have to go to university and get a proper education.”
The sleep that took hold of her was not a blessing; it was full of swirling images of dark unimaginable horrors. Her mind racing through endless pursuits by things so terrible she could not turn to see them. Inside her body the poison that had been forced into her throat was slowly overtaking her own blood cells. The marks on her shoulders and thighs began to swell and then beneath her skin - to move.
The opening of the cell door woke her and she turned her head and thought for a moment that the dark nightmare she had woken from had followed her into reality. The man that stood looking at her from the doorway was so different from any other human being she had ever seen that she had to stare at him. He was certainly one of the tallest men she had ever seen.
If he was in any way disconcerted by her reaction he gave no outward sign of it. “Professor I'm glad you’re still awake. I would have been loath to disturb you but unfortunately time presses.” The accent was unmistakeably Oxford.
Juliet sat up and moved instinctively away from him. She was well read on the occult after her years of study and she knew beyond any question that this was the man who had sent the creature who had so terrified her. She realised that the creature was probably this man's 'familiar' something he controlled totally. She was in the presence of a black magician of quite incredible powers; a man so dangerous that it was hard to define any limit to his ability.
He didn't interrupt her thinking time and she realised that he was also a man of superior intellect. Thinking about that she realised that it would necessarily be
so. No weak mind would be able to make the journey he must have made to acquire the power he possessed. It would have taken total commitment; a lifetime of unswerving commitment to his evil purpose.
“May I sit down? He didn't wait for her to answer; he walked across to the bed and sat down. He made sure that he was not so close to her as to be overbearing with his presence. His shoulders were wide and physical strength oozed from him.
You’re a Pathologist; a scientist, a woman of good education so I will try to make this very easy for both us. I hope that you will allow me the benefit of your own intelligence.” He turned his misshapen head and looked at Juliet. The eyes had the pink irises of a full albino. They did not disturb Juliet; she had seen them many times before in other people.
“I need to know why you were enquiring about Ilsham Chapel. If it becomes necessary I do have the power to make you tell me. I am sure that the experiences of this night are ample proof of the earnestness of my words.” He stopped speaking and placed his huge hands flat upon his thighs and awaited her response.
On his hand she saw a ring that was similar to the one she had seen on the curator's finger. This one had the look of great age and it was she guessed something that would have a story to tell. He noticed her gaze. “Ah! You saw Joplin's signet! His vanity was always his weakness!”
He looked at Juliet. “I spend a lot of my time surrounded by lesser minds. Recruitment in my field is a difficult business. I was hoping to be stimulated by your intellect. Come now, you saw Joplin's ring, did you not?”
“Yes I saw his ring and I told the police about it. I know what it means.”
“You didn't tell anyone anything my dear. You drove from the Museum to a closed Library and then on to your wonderful house on Dartmoor. What a splendid old building it is. Did you know it's haunted?” He saw that she did not.
“I have a certain expertise in these matters you'll understand. A woman wakes there from time to time and searches for her sons. They were lost in a storm and she seeks them still. I'm surprised you’ve never met her, she is very active in the winter months.”
Juliet had been thinking hard. It was difficult to think at all with such a banging head ache. There was no escape from this place and the only hope she had lay with Mike. She needed to put this man at his ease and hope that he would not then think there was any hurry to kill her. Buying time was her only sensible strategy.
“I asked about the Chapel because I believe that a girl was murdered there in December.”
Hainsley-Sihl looked down at his hand and then back at Juliet. “Thank you. That does save us the need for any further unpleasantness. I thought that was the case and unfortunately that means I cannot let you leave here for a while. An Important event will take place near here tonight, something I have sought to do for more than one lifetime. Somebody else enquired about the Chapel the day before so we were already alert. I'm afraid you stumbled into something of a minefield.”
“Does that mean that you will let me leave when you are able to?” Juliet watched him carefully knowing he would lie.
“I'm about to have something of a late supper. I make it a habit to eat alone being surrounded by imbeciles. Why don't you put your cares aside for a while and join me? The company of an intelligent woman would be most welcome. It's certainly better than sitting here moping is it not?” He cast a hand around him. “I'm sorry it's hardly the Ritz is it?”
There was something in his speech patterns that was nagging at Juliet. She couldn't put her finger on it. “I have a splitting headache and I really don't think I could eat. Thank you.” She was not going to be outdone in the good manner routine.
He looked at her concerned. “Allow me,” he said. “Do not be afraid.” He raised his hand and placed it gently onto the top of her head. His eyes faded and seemed to almost become completely white and then he withdrew his hand.
“Once I was quite well known as a healer. That was before I was accused of unpleasant things and my Church was taken from me. I was already of course an Adept of considerable ability but I did enjoy being able to practice a bit of both as it were.” He laughed, obviously amused by his own words. He was attempting to put her at her ease but there was an edge about him, something distinctly unnerving, she imagined what it would be like conducting an interview with a Vampire!
“I was interested in your book collection. It was there in your house during my unfortunate visit. You obviously have recently studied my chosen path. I have a library that has been many generations in the making. If time allows I'm sure you would enjoy the opportunity to see some of the ancient books that your own made reference too.”
Juliet was amazed by his ability to ignore their true relationship. It was some moments before she realised that he had indeed removed her headache. She had felt his strange power in the marks of his creature on her body. The ache from them was gone too. She was not surprised but she was grateful. She needed to be able to think and it was a help.
“If you truly want to be a gentleman I need to go to the bathroom and my clothes stink as though I've been buried in them.”
“Come! You will be fortified by a small repast! There is also a bathroom you can use.” He stood and walked out of the cell then turned waiting for her to follow. Again she was struck by his choice of words. She stood up and began to follow him. She wondered how old he was. The words were old fashioned as though he had learned them long ago.
He led her back along the way she been carried through the tunnel and she turned her head and looked at the other cell. She had a fleeting glimpse of a dark haired girl stood with her back to the wall at the rear of it. Shocked she almost stopped but she was passed before she had realised what she had seen. She was not the only prisoner in this place!
As she followed his back she remembered what had happened to the girl at Hope's Nose. Was the small teenager she had just seen his next intended victim? The thought was chilling. She was in the presence of a unique and very frightening man and she was following him like a lap dog! Swiftly she cast a glance behind her. The tunnel ran on past the cells for maybe fifty yards and then stopped at a solid rock face. If there were any exits she could not see them.
He was so full of confidence that he did not glance back himself. He led her into the small room with the table and kitchen units. He indicated a bathroom with one hand and went and sat down to wait for her.
There was no lock on the door but it didn't matter. She washed her hands and face, made herself comfortable and looked into the mirror. She looked like something the cat had dragged in. Her hair was a mess and there was nothing there to alter that. There was also nothing to remove or cover the odour that clung to her clothes.
There was no point in just standing there in the small space, she opened the door and went out. He stood and led the way back to the house through the huge wine cellar. In the hallway he turned right and along a second corridor that led to a huge room with double French windows and heavy brocade drapes.
The room was a museum piece of great value. The furniture was antique, in perfect condition and polished until it gleamed in the light of the chandelier that glittered above her head. On the walls, a number of artworks were hung. Buildings she didn't recognise but guessed were Churches or Abbeys, monasteries perhaps. Some of them were clearly not English but paintings of foreign places. One perched high upon a rock pinnacle that she guessed was a Greek monastery.
A long sideboard graced one wall and on it stood a clock of great antiquity and two small framed pictures. One was definitely of Napoleon Bonaparte the other she thought was possibly Cleopatra. Behind it on the long wall a large tapestry hung. The picture of some great battle between Crusader Knights and a Saracen Army and what she guessed was the City of Jerusalem on a hill in the background. It was obviously very old and she guessed of great value.
“The Temple of Solomon the Great, Some would say King David's Temple.” He said. And she realised he had been studying her reaction. “The tapestry belonged to h
im,” he indicated the small picture of Napoleon. “He brought it to Europe; he was the first modern European to understand the true significance of Solomon's Temple. It was he who first created the science of Egyptology. You will no doubt be aware of the Rosetta stone. Please have a seat.”
Juliet sat down at the fine table that filled the middle of the room. It was polished mahogany and laid for two. A pair of candelabra with six lit candles in each stood at different points along it. There were several bowls upon it that contained not food but cut flowers of a variety she had never seen before; small blue flowers that were very pretty.
“I don't know what they are called in modern times.” He indicated the flowers. Below us there are many tunnels that were carved by Premonstratensian monks during the twelfth century. They built the Abbey you know as Torre Abbey. The tunnels connect passageways that were formed geologically over millions of years. You are sat above a labyrinthine network of communications that the monks used to avoid detection of their true purpose here in Torquay. One of their sources of funding was honey. It was famous throughout Europe a fame based upon the idea that the bees which made it had access to more different plant species than could be found anywhere else in Europe, a result of the Gulf Stream flowing into Torbay. These small, blue flowers were their secret emblem, rather like a secret sign; anyone carrying them could only have come from the Abbey - there was no other source. They grow now only in the caves below us. They have been tended there for at least a thousand years by the descendants of the guardians of a great secret. They claim to have a religion older than Christianity.”
Lucifer's Abbey Page 18