by Jane Jordan
“How do you maintain a car like this?” I asked in wonder.
“I had a few problems with it when it was new, but I have connections in London and these days it rarely troubles me. It has been well looked after.” Seeing my look he added, “You do what is necessary to exist in a mortal world.” Darius sat beside me and started the engine that was unexpectedly quiet, it almost purred as we pulled out of the barn.
“And you remain anonymous in this?” I asked incredulously. Darius smiled.
“You would be surprised. In the dead of night an old black car can be inconspicuous, even one as beautiful as this. People see only what they allow themselves to. You never knew I was in London watching you for all those months,” he said, emphasizing the point.
“People walk past each other, without the slightest indication of those other people’s lives. People that are fearful or sad put on a mask and they project a different persona to the world that is different from the one that really exists. Why would seeing an old car in the middle of the night seem sinister to a casual onlooker? Most people do not even see it. Mortals can be very unobservant,” he added.
We drove over the desolate moors and I watched the creeping mists rise up and obscure the landscape all around us. Occasionally the thick cloud cover would break, enabling the moonlight to momentarily light up the shadows and reveal a windswept tree, a clump of gorse, or a few ramshackle farm buildings down in a valley. As the light faded they disappeared and were lost again in the blackness, leaving only the remnants of their dark shadows.
The roads were empty of any other vehicles, and there was no artificial light of any kind. If it had been a clear night, I would have been able to see thousands of stars lighting up the sky. Tonight the only illumination shone from the Wraith’s headlights, reassuringly guiding the way ahead. The moors by day could feel remote, but by night they felt truly wild and desolate, far from any distractions of modern life or the living. We passed through this enchanted landscape and I felt that we were on top of the world, a world in which we could have been the only two inhabitants. We two, immortal and mortal shrouded in the protection of our ghostly apparition of a car, for even it seemed to disappear into the shadows and the damp clinging mists of the night.
I wondered how many times over the years Darius had made this trip. As if reading my thoughts his voice interrupted my musings.
“This is an easy journey by car now,” he declared. “By horse it used to take days and the roads were often treacherous; particularly in winter. An occasional inhospitable coaching inn along the roadside, made the dangers all the more apparent. Travelling back in those days could be very dangerous, especially at night,” he concluded. I smiled to myself, conjuring up an image of a highwayman again.
“Why London, Darius?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me. “Surely there are closer cities for you to go to?”
“These days there are,” he answered. “Years ago London was all there was. The local cities that you see now were little more than small towns if they existed at all. Besides, everything I know is in London or here on Exmoor. This has been my life.” He paused before continuing, “The journey only seems long to you because of your perception of time, but in my life this is but a brief moment.” His words were not said to hurt me, but I found their content pained me considerably.
“Am I but a brief moment?” I asked, feeling dejected. He turned to look at me,
even in the dim light his eyes showed sincerity.
“You could never be, I can live a lifetime with you,” he said reassuringly. Although I was comforted by his words, I was disturbed by the thought that my life would fade in but a few moments compared to Darius’s life. That thought played on my mind as I stared out into the blackness. Could I bear the thought he would endure endlessly without me? Would there be someone else like me in another hundred years or so? Darius sensed my feelings, he placed his hand on mine.
“Madeline, I would never want to find someone else, for me there is only you. What is important is now and the time we have,” he said gently.
“I know,” I said quietly, as I tried to dislodge the negative thoughts. I rested my head on his shoulder. Darius was right, it was the time we had that mattered. I changed the subject for a more agreeable one.
“How long does this drive take in this car?” I realised that it must take a great deal of time, for this was a very old car and I couldn’t’t imagine it speeding down the motorway at eighty miles an hour.
“About four hours.” I lifted my head and stared at him. Darius’s eyes met my own.
“Then how on Earth do you make this journey in the middle of summer? When there can only be four or five hours of darkness.” Darius wouldn’t’t have much time to get to London in the height of the summer months, what if he got delayed?
“I have another house,” he said casually, but he was obviously amused. “I was wondering when you would figure out that this journey would be impossible during the summer months.” I was lost for words for a few minutes.
“The other house, where is it?” I said at last.
“It is in the county of Wiltshire just outside a small remote village named Crossways.” Darius saw my look, and began to explain. “Years ago the only roads in these remote areas were trackways. An ancient, long distance trackway crossed Wiltshire and this route was widely travelled by people who wished to cross the country. I regularly stopped at a particular coaching inn along this trackway, owned by a man called Benjamin Grey. He was relatively a young man, but he was dying of tuberculosis. The inn did not bring him much profit as there were more popular establishments nearby. He had no family left for both his wife and young daughter had died of influenza.” Darius paused for a moment remembering. “We became acquainted and he agreed to sell the property to me.”
“Acquainted?”
“He was dying anyway. I just gave him the option of a quick and painless end, rather than the suffering he was enduring,” he answered, matter of factly. “In return for his quick death he signed the property over to me. I actually liked Benjamin,” he added. “There have not been many people I can say that about.”
“Did he know then?” I asked, realizing what Darius was telling me. “He knew about you?”
“No, not at first, but I would stay there on my way back and forth to London, and we engaged in several conversations. Obviously at the end he knew.” Darius continued, “Once he died I closed the inn to the public, although on occasion I did have cause to accommodate a weary hapless traveller.” I shivered. Darius looked at me and changed the direction of the conversation.
“A few years later new more direct roads were built and no-one apart from a few locals bothered with the old trackways. So the surrounding property has remained unchanged and undisturbed. It is no longer an inn, but a house named Chantille.”
“Did you name it?” I said, now more interested than ever.
“Yes, the original name was Crossways Inn, as it was built close to the point where the old trackway crossed an ancient Roman road -- hence the name. Chantille was Benjamin’s dead daughter’s name. I thought it was a beautiful name and appropriate to name the house after her, seeing as she had died in the house.” I was fascinated by his story and I longed to see this house named Chantille. I turned to him.
“Can we go there?” I asked in earnest. He smiled at me.
“Not tonight, but I will take you there.” My mind was intrigued; just when I thought I knew everything about Darius he still managed to surprise me further.
Chapter Twenty Three - The Museum
The constant purr of the engine, and the darkness all around eventually lulled me to sleep. I awoke some time later and saw that we were no longer in the countryside, but entering London. The bright city lights hurt my eyes for a few seconds, and I blinked several times before they adjusted to the new surroundings, but I had fallen asleep with my head resting on Darius’s shoulder and now I was acutely aware of the stiffness in my neck from the a
wkward position.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked indignantly.
“You looked so peaceful,” he replied, looking down at me.
“How far do we have to go?” I said, sitting up straight and rubbing my sore neck.
“We are very close now.”
A few minutes later we pulled into a narrow alleyway between several tall imposing buildings. Darius turned the car sharply and we were confronted by huge double wooden gates that opened automatically. Darius guided the car between them and the gates shut behind us. We had driven into a small walled courtyard and directly in front of us were double garage doors set into the back of a large building. These doors also opened as if by themselves. I realized that Darius had some sort of remote control device by his side, which made me smile. He drove the car into its garage and turned the ignition key. The engine’s purr faded and Darius turned to me.
“What is so amusing Madeline?” I allowed my smile to widen.
“It just seems strange that you have such modern things, like remote controls.” I said, indicating the device. “It is from the age of technology and you are not.” Darius considered my words for a moment.
“I have to exist in this age, despite being born of another time, I have to learn and
progress. The world today moves faster than it ever has and unless I have the ability to move with it, I will get left so far behind that my existence would be difficult. Besides,” he added cordially, “even I can see the usefulness of some electronic devices.” I stepped out of the car and I saw that we were standing in a large concrete bunker with no windows, only a metallic looking door set into the back wall.
“This is my museum,” Darius announced as he produced a key and unlocked the door that enabled us to enter. At first, I could see nothing, but as my eyes grew accustomed to the subdued light, I saw stacks of old boxes lining a narrow corridor. We walked through, past the boxes to a heavy steel security gate that revealed another locked door. Darius opened both doors and turned to face me.
“We are very safe here,” he said as if in response to an un-asked question. As he passed into the room before me, he flicked on a switch and at once the room was illuminated by subtle lighting, we were in the museum.
I stared in wonder at the sheer enormity and quantity of it all. Rows of glass cases were filled with collections of pottery and ornaments, cases of books and stacks of old maps sat on long tables. Many ancient and yellowing documents filled every available surface along with several jewellery boxes and photographs. I felt like I had stumbled into a treasure trove and I was initially too stunned to speak, I just stared in amazement.
I turned to Darius in disbelief.
“You collected all these things?” Darius shrugged.
“Some of it was my mother’s,” he said pointing to the paintings and the pottery. “But when money is no object and you have all the time in the world, I suppose you can acquire a lot,” he added bemused.
It was strange hearing him talk that way, for I had never thought of Darius as being rich before. After all, he didn’t’t do anything that would indicate that to me, but as I thought about all the land he owned, Ravens Deep, this building with all its contents, the house in Parson Place and Chantille, I was certain that he must be extremely wealthy. Of course it was of no consequence to him, having all the money he could ever have wished for, it could not buy him what he longed for most, the one thing he craved -- peace. I moved closer to him.
“Do you even remember what’s here anymore?”
“Mostly, but not everything,” he confessed.
We walked amongst the treasures and he told me various interesting facts regarding the acquisition of each item, or to whom it had once belonged. I was a little disturbed to learn that many of the small items had been removed from victims over the years. According to Darius, bodies were less easy to identify without personal trinkets.
We negotiated our way through the room’s entire length and I saw that we were
approaching the back wall with another door, which Darius unlocked and we entered into the space beyond. It was a small empty room with a heavy metal gate, secured in place by a heavy chain and padlock. Darius indicated beyond the gate.
“Through there is the rare bookshop I told you about, but there is no way through from here. The lock is securely sealed in case the padlock ever got broken. No mortal has ever entered the museum until now,” he added, looking down at me wistfully.
“The people who work in there, they are not curious?” I asked inquisitively.
“I pay them well not to be curious,” he replied. “They believe it is an old warehouse filled with junk. I already told you they believe me to be some rich eccentric who just pays them handsomely for running a book shop.”
“Then why do it, why risk any exposure?”
“It is useful to have some contacts that will do your bidding,” he paused for a moment, “like leaving magazines in hotels,” he said, waiting for my reaction. I shook my head in disbelief. “But, if I ever had a problem getting here, or was unable to conduct business in the hours of darkness, they would be of use to me. You have to think of all the possibilities Madeline.” He thought for a moment and added: “You need to have some subjects loyal to you.” I laughed at his choice of words.
“You make it sound like you are royalty -- some mysterious prince,” I said teasing him.
“If that were so, then you would be my princess,” he said agreeably, and took my hand. “Come with me and I will show you some of my favourite things.” He led me back amongst the various tables piled high with papers to a glass cabinet and reached in to extract an object for me to examine. It was a decanter made of gold, and it was extremely heavy. It took my breath away, as its beauty was almost indescribable, it was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful objects I had ever seen.
“It is encrusted with emeralds, rubies and pearls,” Darius remarked casually. “It has a matching bowl,” he said, retrieving the bowl from the cabinet. “They are from ancient Persia.” And the bowl was just as elaborately adorned.
“They are beautiful,” I said in awe. “What were they used for? Not wine surely.”
“No,” Darius replied, shaking his head. “It was the custom for the Shah and his privileged dinner guests to wash their hands prior to and after eating. A servant would pour the water over the diners' hands, from the decanter whilst at the table, and a second servant would catch the falling water in the bowl beneath. See how it has a concealed sieve in the bowl, to stop the water from splashing onto their fine clothes,” he added. “Traditionally the water was scented with rose petals, in fact the custom still remains today even in more modest households.”
Darius never failed to amaze me with his knowledge of so many things. I handed the decanter back to him and he replaced it in the cabinet. He then led me through the jungle of treasure to a very old apothecary cabinet, and turned to me.
“I have something for you.” He opened one of the drawers and produced a black box, he undid the clip and I saw that inside as necklace of silver filigree. It was set with three stones which I supposed to be diamonds. It was an exquisite piece of jewellery, beautiful and unique, unlike anything I had ever seen before. Darius unclasped the silver chain.
“This was made for the Persian princess Barsine for her wedding day. The diamonds are African yellow diamonds, but now they are known as Iranian Yellows. You will see in the daylight their true colour and beauty,” he said, as he pulled my hair to one side to place the necklace about my neck. I stared at him.
“But I cannot take that, it’s obviously priceless.” Darius ignored my protest, and fastened the clasp.
“It is priceless and is mine to give to you,” he answered. I was too choked to say much else, until I turned to face him.
“How does it look?” I said looking into his eyes which were firmly fixed upon mine.
“Beautiful,” he replied before turning to another box. Upon opening the small box he produced a
thick band of delicate filigree gold. I stared at it.
“Who did this belong to -- another princess?” I said, stunned by the wealth of jewellery and from where it came.
“No, my mother,” he said quietly. “This was her wedding ring, honeysuckle and roses entwined in gold.” Darius took my hand and fitted the ring onto my left hand ring finger. I looked down at its shining brilliance.
“It fits perfectly,” I said in amazement, feeling overwhelmed by the gesture.
“I know, you were meant to wear this ring,” he said before he kissed me lightly. “It just took me so long to find you.” I pulled back from him.
“Do you believe in fate, Darius?”
“Why?” he looked at me puzzled.
“I was wondering that if you had never seen my name, would you have found me.
“I don’t know . . . maybe.” He hesitated for a moment. “I was meant to find you,” he said with conviction. “It was meant to be.”
“I often wondered why I was called Madeline,” I explained. “It was not a common name. Was your mother reaching out from beyond the grave when they named me? Was it really our destiny to meet, or did fate bring us together?”
“Whatever it was I am glad that it did,” Darius remarked. “But we will never know for sure.” As I stood before him, it struck me that he could know a lot more than I gave him credit for. After all, he would know what was possible and what was not, wouldn’t’t he? He would know answers to questions that had evaded mortals from the beginning of time, or at least he would have a better insight and understanding.
“What do you think happens when you truly die?” I asked now, fascinated to hear his response. Darius was quiet, thinking about the question.
“I honestly don’t know, Madeline” he said at last. “There may be another world, but not like mortals believe. The fact is the majority of mortals, people and creatures alike do turn to dust to replenish the earth. We come from nothing, therefore we must also return there. It is the way of the natural world,” he concluded.