The Road to Farringale

by Charlotte E. English

  ‘And the decline of Farringale took place in 1657! Or so Milady said.’

  Val’s eyes narrowed. ‘That was unusually forthcoming of her.’

  ‘Wasn’t it? I have no idea what came over her.’

  ‘It makes sense that those three keys were hidden away sometime fairly soon after the close of the Enclave, which was probably somewhere in the 1660s. Is Milady personally keeping the third key, or was it given to the House?’

  ‘Given… to the House?’ I was sceptical, I couldn’t help it. ‘Come on, Val. I know it’s an odd House and rather more aware than most Houses are, but still. It doesn’t have a mind, exactly, or a consciousness the way we do—’

  ‘Doesn’t it?’

  It might have been a coincidence, but something creaked in the library just then. I don’t mind admitting that it gave me the chills. ‘All right,’ I said, prepared to accept the possibility, for what was ever normal about the Society? ‘But if House has got it, that’s a problem. If I couldn’t persuade Milady to let me have it, I… have no idea how to convince a seventeenth-century country mansion.’

  Valerie smiled. ‘House can be very helpful, if it likes you.’

  I cast a slightly trepid glance at the stately shelves nearby, and the graceful ceiling arching far overhead. ‘How do I know if it likes me?’ I whispered.

  ‘I wouldn’t worry, Ves. You are very likeable.’

  ‘That’s comforting.’

  She sat back, eyeing me speculatively. ‘I will tell you a secret about the House. Maybe it will help.’

  I blinked. ‘Wait. There are secrets about the House that you haven’t told me?’

  ‘Yes, but we can wrangle about that later. Is this urgent or not?’

  ‘Sorry.’

  Out came the secret. ‘House has a favourite room. Few have seen it, for it is so well hidden, you really have to know that it’s there in order to find it at all. And I don’t think House likes visitors in there too often, so it doesn’t exactly help you out if you go looking for it. But it’s there, somewhere near the heart of the building. A sitting room, prettily decorated, and as far as I can tell it’s unchanged since the sixteen hundreds. I believe it most likely belonged to whoever built this House, and House keeps it just the way it is.’

  ‘Fantastic,’ I breathed. ‘So you’ve been inside it?’

  ‘Twice.’ She did not elaborate, and I didn’t push. ‘Anyway, if you go there, I think House might listen to you. And if it does… well, House and Milady are usually in accord with one another, but it wouldn’t be the first time they have disagreed.’

  ‘Dear Val, you are a jewel in the Society’s crown.’

  She smirked. ‘I know. Got some paper? The directions are a little convoluted, you’ll want them written down.’

  She wasn’t kidding. I left the library a few minutes later with a sheet of notepaper in my hand, both sides of it mostly covered in Val’s flowing handwriting. According to the directions, there were at least three times as many staircases at Home than I had ever seen or imagined, and far more corridors than the place should reasonably have room for. Not that this should have surprised me either. I had more than once suspected that the House was somewhat larger on the inside than its exterior would lead a person to expect.

  Val’s route started, helpfully, from the library, but I soon began to feel that I was lost. I trotted along several winding corridors, up a few twisting staircases and down several more. At first I knew exactly where I was, but after a while I realised I recognised nothing that I saw around me. When I opened an occasional door to take a peek inside, I saw rooms I had never seen before either.

  This frankly flabbergasted me. I had lived for more than a decade in that House, and I’d been comfortable that I knew it inside out. How could so much of it have been hidden from me all that time? And what else was there that I still did not know about?

  It grew quieter as I walked, a clear sign that I was travelling farther and farther away from the House’s centres of activity. There was a stillness to the air that made me feel very alone, and my footsteps rang out, crisp and sharp, echoing off the aged stonework.

  And then the corridor ended. I turned a corner and saw before me nothing but uninterrupted stone walls and a clean stone floor — curiously free of dust and debris, for all its remote atmosphere. There were no windows, no doors, no stairs; no way out at all, except back the way I had come.

  I consulted Val’s directions again, to no particular avail. Honestly, the sense of giving a woman like me so complex a list of directions and expecting me to traverse them without getting lost! For an instant I suspected Val of playing a trick on me, but dismissed the idea. She would not. Her faith in my ability to find my way through this maze of a castle must be rather higher than my own.

  Turn left, said the last of Val’s notes, which I had just done. Turn left… and then what? I considered calling her to ask, but dismissed that idea, too. She hates to have ringing phones around when she’s reading, and would undoubtedly have switched hers off.

  I felt my way along the walls for a while, checking for hidden doors, stones that might obligingly slide aside to reveal secret staircases, that kind of thing. No luck there either.

  I chose a corner at the end of the corridor and sat down with my back against the stone wall, surveying the empty passageway before me with some dismay. How could I be so inept? The answer was probably obvious, so obvious that it had not occurred to Val that I might need help. Jay would have got it in an instant, and treated my confusion with that faint but distinct disbelief I have sometimes detected in his eyes. I could have called him, but my pride revolted against that idea.

  ‘Well, House,’ I said aloud as I hauled myself back to my feet. ‘Your secrets are safe from me.’ I walked back along that puzzling corridor and turned right, following Valerie’s directions backwards.

  Memory is a strange thing, is it not? I remember names, dates, faces and all manner of minute details with the greatest of ease, but I am not so well able to recognise places I have already been. So it took me much longer than it should have to realise that the passageway I was walking down was not the same one I had traversed perhaps half an hour before. The great stone blocks that made up the walls were limestone of a slightly different shade, and cut a little on the smaller side. The air smelled faintly of chocolate, which I had not noticed before. When I passed a gilt-framed painting of an eighteenth-century landscape I did not remember seeing before, I was certain I had gone wrong.

  My stomach fluttered with nerves at finding myself so much at a loss, for I had clearly strayed from Val’s directions and had no idea where I was. If I became hopelessly turned about in House’s twisting corridors, would it consent to rescue me? I could be lost for hours. Days.

  But then there was a door. It obtruded itself upon my notice so suddenly as to arouse my suspicions. Had it been there a moment before? Was I so oblivious as to have missed it? It looked innocuous enough: an ordinary-sized door painted bright white, with a single, large pewter knob set into the centre.

  ‘All right, then,’ I muttered, game to try anything that might get me out of that mess of a maze. I grasped the knob, finding it strangely warm under my hand, and turned it.

  And there it was: House’s favourite room. It could only be that, for before me lay a perfectly preserved parlour whose fittings and furniture clearly proclaimed its provenance. The wallpaper was prettily figured with scrolling flowers, all rosy and lavender and ivory in hue; three elegantly-curved seventeenth-century chairs had been upholstered to match, in handsome ivory silk; portraits in oval frames hung upon the walls, and an exquisite old grandfather clock occupied one corner. It was still ticking, its pendulum keeping time with a drowsy, soothing sway.

  A little white tea table stood in the centre, atop which sat a silver chocolate pot not wholly unlike Milady’s. A puff of steam drifted from its spout as I stepped over the threshold, and a cup appeared beside it.

  ‘Is that for me?’ I sa
id.

  The pot puffed steam again, which seemed a clear enough response. So I settled into the nearest chair — carefully, carefully; one is used to treating antique furniture with great care. But these chairs, while they had obviously been much used and loved, displayed none of the frailty or decay they ought to have accumulated over the better part of four hundred years.

  I took a moment to examine the portraits, idly curious as to whether I might recognise any of the faces depicted therein. I did not. They were ladies and gentlemen for the most part, sumptuously garbed in the silk and lace gowns, the elaborately curled wigs, the velvet coats and jewelled extravagance of the sixteen hundreds. There were one or two exceptions, however. I saw a young, dark-skinned man clad in much simpler garb, his expression earnest and intense. On the other side of the room, a little girl in a plain dress played with a doll; next to her portrait hung that of an elderly woman wearing an eighteen-thirties day dress and a wide straw bonnet, smiling in the sunlight of a bright spring day.

  ‘Dear House,’ I began, setting down my empty cup. ‘Thank you for the chocolate, you are always such a gent. Or a lady, it’s… hard to tell. I have come to entreat your help. May we talk?’

  It felt odd, sitting alone in that eerie little parlour out of time, literally talking to the walls. But a faint creak of assent answered my question to the apparently empty air — or at least, I took it as assenting. Nothing leapt out to cut me off, or to hustle me out of the room again. And so I began.

  13

  ‘Dear House,’ I said. Only as I spoke those words did it strike me as odd that the house had no other name. Such grand places always have spectacular names of course — think of Chatsworth, or Castle Howard, or Buckingham Palace. Iconic buildings, memorable names. Why was this one so different? Had it ever been named, at all? If not, why not?

  I had never heard of its ever being called anything but “House”, or “Home”, or something along those lines. It had never felt strange to call it such before. But now I was addressing the building directly, and it felt as strange to call it “House” as it would be to address a friend as “Person”, or perhaps “Human”.

  ‘Dear House,’ I said again, trying to sound less doubtful about it. ‘I… need your help.’

  I paused — to collect my thoughts, and to give House an opportunity to turf me out, if it wanted to. I mean, if it was going to be totally uninterested in rendering me any assistance at all, better to know that right away and save both of us the time.

  But nothing happened, so I went on. ‘There is a problem with the trolls, you see. They are sick, dying. We’re going to lose a few of their Enclaves altogether if we don’t figure out why, and who knows where it will end? Perhaps they will all go. Something has to be done, but nobody knows where to start.

  ‘We think it might have something to do with Farringale. Baron Alban and I, that is — do you know him? He is the Troll Court’s ambassador to the Hidden Ministry, and he knows things about the Old Court, even if he won’t confide in me. We want to go to Farringale, so we can try to find out what destroyed it. If it’s the same thing that’s wiping out Glenfinnan and Darrowdale and Baile Monaidh, well, maybe we will be able to do something about it. Before any more are lost.’

  I took a deep breath, encouraged by the continued lack of dire consequences to my narration. ‘You’ve probably guessed why I’m here by now. Alban has two of the keys, but we cannot go without the third. I… may as well own that Milady forbids the venture entirely. I don’t really blame her, either. If Farringale was half as vast and splendid as the legends say, then whatever destroyed it was probably not something we want to poke with a stick. But I think we have to try.

  ‘Val thought you might help me, and… I am hoping she is right. Do you have the third key? Will you lend it to me? I promise to bring it back.’ An unpleasant thought entered my head and I felt obliged to add, in a lower tone, ‘Assuming I get out of Farringale alive.’

  Silence. Seconds passed, then minutes, and I heard no sound but the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock; saw nothing move, save the clock’s swaying pendulum.

  Was that a refusal? Was the House even listening to me? I didn’t know, couldn’t tell. All I could do was wait, which I did with increasing impatience and dismay as minute after minute passed and the chocolate went cold in the pot.

  Five minutes. Seven. Ten.

  Fifteen.

  How was I going to explain to Baron Alban that I had failed? He had asked me specifically, with a flattering confidence in my ability to deliver. I did not want to disappoint him. And if we could not get into Farringale, how else were we to save the Enclaves? What else could we do?

  Twenty minutes, and no sign of a response. Either House had not heard me at all, or it had chosen to side with Milady. ‘Very well, then,’ I said. ‘Thank you for listening to me. And for letting me see your favourite room.’ I took a last look around, for the chances were that I would never see it again.

  The clock ticked on.

  I hauled myself out of the chair — really, they were surprisingly comfortable, for all their formal magnificence — and shook out my hair.

  Something fell from my lap with a clink.

  Ohgod. Was it my cup? Had I left that dainty and probably priceless antique upon my knee? But no; there had been no shatter, no crash of porcelain breaking into pieces.

  A key lay upon the floor, not three inches from my left foot. It was a large, handsome, silver-wrought thing, intricately engraved, and it bore a blue jewel that glittered with its own light.

  ‘Oh.’ I bent to pick it up, carefully, as though it might be fragile. But it was heavy in my grasp, sturdy, and faintly warm to the touch. That jewel shone when my fingers touched it, mesmerising.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whispered. This was no small thing. House was trusting my judgement over Milady’s — mine and Alban’s. ‘We won’t fail,’ I said, so rashly, for I had no idea what we might find in Farringale; how could I be sure that we would not?

  My show of confidence pleased the House, though, for a ripple of warm air shivered over my skin like a balmy summer breeze, and the key glimmered on in my hand.

  ‘Onward, then,’ said I, and left the parlour. When I stepped over the threshold of the door, I found myself back in the first floor common room.

  And there was Jay, lounging in an arm chair not three feet away and looking at me like I had just grown a second head. ‘Where did you spring from?’

  I glanced about, confused. ‘I came in through a door… oh.’ The door was on the other side of the room, and I was nowhere near a window.

  ‘You walked out of a wall,’ said Jay.

  ‘Doesn’t seem unlikely.’ Happily, nobody else was around to witness my involuntary feat of defiance of all known laws of nature, if not Magick; the common room was empty besides him. I wandered over to my favourite chair — the wing-back one with the red upholstery — and flopped down into it with a spectacular lack of grace. I was feeling a bit weak at the knees, which was probably a sign of incipient panic. What did I think I was doing, proposing to waltz into Farringale? A place nobody had set foot inside in centuries, which had collapsed due to reasons unknown but undoubtedly dire? I was mad. Baron Alban was mad.

  And the next thing I had to do was convince Jay to get us there, the same Jay who was scowling at me with that fierce frown of his.

  ‘Are you okay?’ he said abruptly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Are you all right? You look a little pale.’

  ‘I am always a little pale.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Paler than usual. You look like a bowl of yoghurt.’

  ‘I’m fine.’ The question discomfited me, because it was unexpected. From his face, I’d assumed he was displeased with me for some reason. Instead, he had shown concern.

  It did make it harder to proceed to knowingly pissing him off.

  Oh well. Delaying unpleasant duties never made them any easier to perform. ‘Jay, I need your help with somethin
g.’

  He sat up a bit, and focused a more alert gaze upon me. ‘That is why I am here.’

  ‘It isn’t exactly why you— oh, never mind. I need to go somewhere quickly, together with… someone else.’

  ‘Someone who else?’

  ‘Baron Alban.’

  He nodded, unconcerned. So far, so good. ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘I don’t… know, exactly, but Alban does.’

  The frown reappeared. ‘We are following the intriguing baron into parts wholly unknown? Are we trusting him enough for that? He’s a total stranger.’

  ‘It isn’t… entirely unknown. I know where we are aiming for, I just don’t know where it is.’

  ‘Enough mystery, Ves. What’s going on?’

  So much for breaking it to him gently. ‘We are going to Farringale.’

  ‘Farri— the Troll Court? The lost one? Seriously?’

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  He stared at me.

  I stared back.

  If I had harboured any hopes that he might assume Milady had given the order, those hopes were swiftly dashed. ‘Why,’ said he with detestable and inconvenient astuteness, ‘is it you asking me about this? Why aren’t we up in the tower hearing all about it from Milady, together?’

  ‘Because she said no.’ Screw trying to be subtle, if he was going to be so bloody clever.

  ‘Then we aren’t going.’ Jay said this with aggravating serenity, picked up the book he’d been reading when I came in, and to all appearances forgot my existence altogether.

  ‘We are. Look.’ I fished the key out of the pocket I’d hastily stuffed it into, and held it up. The blue jewel blazed, which made for quite the impressive effect.

  Jay didn’t even look up.

  ‘Jay. Look at this thing!’

  He raised his head, and subjected the glittering key to a dull, uninterested stare. ‘What of it?’

  ‘It’s the key to Farringale. The third key, of three. House gave it to me.’

  ‘The House gave it to you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘This House?’