by Lani Lenore
“I think this is the cellar we were searching for,” Adam said lowly, and the girl did not reply.
It’s as if he knew precisely where to go…
Before her thoughts could continue on, Adam started down the stairs with the light, carrying the bar of the door with him. Without being told, Celia followed and closed the door behind her, perhaps to offer the illusion that the way had not been disturbed. Together, they moved down into the darkness.
The storage space at the bottom of the steps was built with numerous tiny alcoves that were easily buried in shadow. There were many wooden shelves standing upright along the walls, and several barrels and sacks of grain resting against the floor. Despite the stock of the place, Celia judged that it was a fairly neglected part of the house. The maids doubtlessly did not waste their energy on cleaning this cellar room, and many years had passed since it had been new.
After letting her eyes drift around, Celia looked back toward Adam, who was standing still, holding the lantern in front of him. She didn’t know what he expected to see, but she stood by patiently, and soon he had directed her.
“This way,” he said. Adam moved down the long room and into further darkness. Celia stepped carefully behind him with her hands clasped at her chest, guarding herself from the cold and the dark. She could not say whether or not she truly had faith in Adam’s venture, but it may have been a good thing that she did not have to dwell on it long. As they moved down the length of the stone room, the firelight fell upon a bricked arch in the wall. It was an opening.
It’s truly here. It’s like he said. But she couldn’t say what that meant.
They began down the passage which was barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. Minutes passed in the narrow space, and Celia felt a mild rush of panic as she imagined coming to a dead end and being unable to turn back. Her chest tightened when she thought her fear was realized, the light falling across a solid obstruction in their path. She found that there was no need to fret, but to rejoice. The solid barrier blocking their path was a pair of tall, sturdy doors.
We’ve found it. We’re finally getting out!
“Hold this,” Adam instructed, passing the lantern to her. She took it dutifully, and then watched as he took the door handles in both fists and began to pry them open. He struggled a bit, for the thick doors seemed to be warped by weather, but he urged them to move. Celia stepped back as the doors began to creak open—and the amount of light that poured out from within caused her to shield her eyes.
In the first moment of viewing it, her heart leapt, thinking that this corridor had led them to the outside, but on second glance, she realized the truth. There was a large room beyond that door, and the windows therein were tall and uncovered, letting in sunlight from the mountainside. As her eyes slowly adjusted, she could see a glossy floor of marble tiles gleaming up toward a ceiling that was decorated with stone arches. She was not sure if the span of the room was as wide or as long as it was tall, but she was too surprised by it to care. The corridor—from the kitchen, to the basement, and through a dark passage—had led them to a magnificent room. She could barely comprehend.
Once Adam had opened the doors wide enough to push through, he turned his body and slipped inside. Celia raised her eyes to the sunlit room, and a further truth was made known to her. She saw three rows of wooden benches, and at the front was a platform and a long altar. This was not some secret part of the house, but it was a small chapel, built on the mountainside and connected to the manor by a passageway for easier travel.
“It’s quite beautiful,” Celia commented lightly, overlooking the dust and cobwebs.
“Not as beautiful as a clear path down the mountain would have been,” Adam muttered.
She overlooked it, unable to say that she wasn’t disappointed as well.
“There may be a way out from here though,” she suggested. “We should have a look.”
Whether or not he heard her, she couldn’t say. He directed himself to the side of the chapel, stepping up to one of the tall windows to peer out. Releasing a little sigh of exasperation, Celia put the lantern down and turned herself to move up the aisle and toward the altar, thinking that perhaps there might be an extension of the room behind it that would lead to an exit.
Her eyes had not failed to notice the large statue carved upon the wall at the front of the sanctuary. As she approached it, she noted that it was an unfinished carving that was neither male nor female, with a jagged, uncut face. The image disturbed her.
It’s as if they don’t know whom they worship, she thought.
Lowering her head in an attempt to ignore the image, Celia carried herself up the steps that took her to the altar. Unwilling to touch the polished piece itself, she looked over it, only to find that it was cleared of all instruments that might be used in religious activity, and though she knew she would likely find them in a cupboard beneath the altar itself, she couldn’t see how that would help her.
This chapel, lovely as it was, made her feel uneasy. She shuddered.
Bringing her arms up to her chest once again as if for protection, she turned uneasily to look at Adam, who was now staring across the room, but not in her direction. She couldn’t ignore the fact that he seemed troubled, or that he had suddenly become different, but she didn’t have a guess as to what was wrong, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Feeling instantly alone and cold, she turned back to search for an exit.
When she had twisted her head, her eyes brushed the area behind the looming statue, and there she noticed a plaque.
The plate upon it was silver, and there were many words etched into it. Though it was not an exit, she let her curiosity get the best of her, and she could not stand but to know what was written there.
Celia moved herself into the space behind the statue, staring up toward the plaque, but a short time after she’d begun to read, her brow twisted. In an attempt to better comprehend, she stared again, reading it aloud.
“These are the Sacraments of The Hallowed, and let it be known that this is the order of things. There must be order beneath Heaven, as has been demanded by Holy God, but there will come a time when what He has created will reach the potential originally meant by God at the beginning of time. Certain signs will come to pass, so as to the order of things. The dead will be as ghosts for a thousand years, cursed by the unmovable curse that can only be lifted once the appointed time has passed. Animals will become as humans, speaking in tongues, and therefore mankind will ascend and become as gods. Man, in time, will learn to create man as God has done, as it was foretold by the prophet, but there must always be higher worship…” Celia stopped, shaking her head. “This is madness. Could they actually believe in this?”
As if she had not been talking to herself, she appealed to Adam for a bit of input, but he was giving her no attention, having paced back to the middle of the building, his head lowered in thought.
“Adam?” she called, but once again he did not seem to hear. Forgetting the plaque, she carried herself toward him, away from the altar and the statue and down into the center aisle. She stepped directly up to him, and still he did not seem to notice her presence.
“What’s the matter?” she urged gently.
He finally heard her voice, but he twisted as if he were stuck to the floor. He eventually managed to turn his body toward her, but for a moment after that, he stared at her feet.
“Perhaps leaving abruptly is not the best idea,” he said, lastly raising his eyes to hers. She looked back at him, aware that her face was showing her confusion. He went on to explain.
“It might be best to linger—but feign contentment. We may be able to figure out what’s going on, and what they intend to do with us. Then we can go, and not only will we be saved, but with information, we may be able to keep this from happening to someone else. This has doubtlessly happened to others before us. Why would it stop once we are gone?”
Celia couldn’t shut down her confusion. He didn’t seem t
he sort who might have such a selfless thought concerning people he had never met.
“Are you sure that it will be safe to do this?” she asked carefully. “If we don’t leave now, it may be too late.”
“I must know the truth,” he insisted firmly.
His eyes pressed insistently toward hers. What was she to say? Tell him no, storm out and leave him behind? She couldn’t do that. She wouldn’t get far. Before she could come to an answer, she felt his hand brush hers, then clasp it.
“Help me,” he entreated.
His brown eyes were pleading with her, and though it may have gone against her better judgment to stay here, she couldn’t say no to him.
“What do you want me to do?” she asked, and her reward was a grateful smile.
“Carry on as you have been. Seem grateful to them for helping you, as if you buy into their story fully. We’ll go back as if we’ve seen nothing, have dinner with them if we must, and then directly after that, I want you to go into your room and barricade yourself inside.”
Her room? Had he forgotten what had happened there? How could they expect tonight to be any different from the night before? Someone would try to come inside, and if she was there…
“But Adam—” she began to protest, but he would not allow it.
“I’ll come for you in a while,” he interrupted. “There’s just something I have to do first.”
“And I can’t stay with you?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want you to have any part of it.”
His words did little to console her. She put on a skeptical expression. “You’re not going to do something dangerous…?”
He only shook his head, but not to answer her question, only refusing to respond to it. What was on his mind? He expected to go off and take some risk while she was left alone, unknowing?
“I’m not sure that I like it,” she said to him.
“Just be tolerant,” he entreated, lifting his eyes over her head to the front of the chapel where the half-carved statue loomed. “Eventually we’ll have answers.”
Chapter Twelve
Irving had been surprised to see the two young guests return for dinner after being absent for the greater part of the day. He knew they’d been wandering through the house, and he had been willing to let them do so without much worry. Appointed eyes were watching them, and he did not believe that they would get far. He prided himself that the house was a fortress. The rain, which was not his doing, was also a blessing. There was nothing like a slippery mountainside to further deter escape.
Dinner had gone well. As usual, Maynard and Anjessica had been sullen and silent, and Baltus had not joined them. Luci and Margot had been attentive. The children had been particularly friendly, with Celia acting more polite than troubled, and with Adam being much less obstinate. Irving had observed it, but had not taken it too seriously. Rightfully so. Adam could not hope to disprove the fact that he was highly suspicious of their presence here, and if he had not yet turned Celia toward that way of thinking, he soon would. Irving knew the value of patience, and understood how things must be handled if the goal was to be realized. He put troubled thoughts from his mind.
After dinner, Celia had gone to her room without fuss—not that he expected any from her—and Adam had seemed particularly weary as well. Irving assured himself that the man was off to his room, and then he had retired to his study to write his letters with a feeling that everything was as it should be. However, he’d only partaken of a few moments of peace when he had been disturbed by Margot, interrupting him to say that, after she had taken the young lady to her room, she had checked in after Luci’s task and the gentleman was not in his room, nor was there a sign that Luci had even been there.
“The young gentleman is not there, my lord. He is gone.”
Had this troubled Irving? Not nearly as much as it had irritated him. Adam was nothing but trouble, and they should have known it. It was, of course, too late now. Things had gotten started, and there was no room to halt progress and replace him. He would have to do—but first he must be found.
Irving had set Margot to the task of locating the straying man, and then he had gone to it himself. Luci also was nowhere to be found. She was not as efficient as Margot; she had too many of her own thoughts. While it was true that Baltus favored Luci, Irving just did not see it. Luci always wound up doing things like this—misplacing people on a whim—taking more kindly to her own thoughts than to her orders. Now, she had let Adam trail off somewhere, though doubtlessly she was following him along, watching him curiously without bothering to stop him. He could have one leg out a window before Luci would raise a flat tone of mild protest.
Faulty designs, that's what it is, he thought. Faulty—
Growing in his fury as he passed down a hallway on the first floor, Irving had nearly sped directly past an open doorway before he noticed the figure standing inside. The image did not strike him until he’d gone just past the door, where he dug in his heels and spun in a turn that brought him back. He stepped to the open door, angered further by the mere fact that this room was open. It had not been opened in a while, and the billows of cold air drifting out of it reminded Irving uncomfortably of death. This room had been his father’s library.
It was Luci who stood there, hands clasped in front of her, staring blankly toward the floor. She could make no excuses about knowing the rules. The servant knew where she was supposed to be, and it was not here. This room was not for general use.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Irving demanded, standing in the doorway. He wasn’t sure that he expected her to respond, other than to look at him blankly, which was why the sound of a voice surprised him.
“She’s just keeping an eye on me,” the voice said—a snide male voice.
Irving jerked his attention toward a chair that was facing the empty fireplace, and he saw a man’s face twist around to look at him.
Adam… How did he even get in here? Did Luci let him in simply because he asked? This room was supposed to be locked, and even though this was an inconvenience, at least Irving had one problem solved. He’d located Adam, even if this was not his first choice of where to find him.
Irving managed a short smile, but he didn’t feel any sense of pleasure. Still, he hoped to appear that he didn’t have any issues with the man being here—though he conveyed otherwise with mild words.
“Ah, there you are, Adam,” he said. “We were looking for you. I know that I have tried to make you feel comfortable and free in my house, but this is my father’s room. I don’t appreciate—”
“Oh, I’m sure your father wouldn’t mind,” Adam interrupted dismissively, as if it was his place to say this. “He’s not here, after all. I was just hoping to get a glimpse of the sort of man he had been; however, I got something better. I got a glimpse of the man himself.”
Adam directed his face to the wall, and Irving raised his eyes to what he was looking at. He felt his blood run cold, though he struggled to keep his expression untouched. Adam had been observing an old portrait that hung above the fireplace—a painting of Irving’s father and mother, Hugh and Leanna LaCroix. Irving took after his father, but a family resemblance did not remedy old grudges. He sneered at the portrait, and then held himself straight as he prepared to deal with this situation.
He’s too smart. Too suspicious. Hopefully, we’ll be done with him soon.
“I think there is something you aren’t telling me,” Adam went on when Irving hesitated. “Out of curiosity, where exactly is the master of this house?”
Adam stood up from the chair, approaching the doorway where Irving stood. Why did he have to be so tall and imposing? What had they been thinking by choosing him? The man came closer, and Irving might have felt uneasy about this confrontation, but his anxiety was soon to fade—because he saw something that Adam didn’t.
“You demand answers? Very well. My mother has passed, and my father has gone away. Now I think we’ll both agree that I
have been very tolerant of you and your unruly behavior. I’m sorry, Adam, but it’s time for you to go back to your room now.”
Irving saw a short smirk arise on Adam's face, which he relished in the brief moment that it existed, for in the next instant, a blunt object struck against the young man's head with excessive force. Adam went to the floor with a weighty thud, and Irving got to keep his own smile as the young man lost his.
Near the spot Adam had been standing, Margot lowered the statue in her hand back to its proper place on the mantle, adjusting it so that the positioning was precise. This was why Irving preferred Margot to Luci. She took care of things, and knew how to handle situations without thought to future circumstances.
“Put him back where he belongs, would you, Margot?” Irving requested, and she did not argue with him. Margot wrapped her hands around Adam’s ankles and effortlessly began to pull him away, dragging his weight with little trouble. Now that Irving was confident that Adam was dealt with, he turned his thoughts to the other matter at hand.
Luci was still standing there, ashamed, though one couldn't quite tell that by her expression. She raised her eyes to Irving when he turned to face her, and if her thoughtful mind did not expect chastisement, then she was more of a fool than he considered her.
“I don't want to hear any of your excuses, because no doubt they will enrage me,” Irving warned her. “Don't pretend that you can’t follow orders.”
The servant's blank eyes stared back at him as if she did not understand his language, and then her gaze drifted away. She looked to the portrait of Irving's father and mother over the mantle with a distant but longing look in her hollow eyes.
“It was the master’s order,” she said faintly.
Irving considered himself to be a man of patience and restraint, but he felt a wave of fury sweep over him that he could not banish. Within seconds, his hand had raised, and he'd not bothered to stop it from raking across Luci's face. The blow should have brought her pain as well as shame, but the stolid creature did not appear to feel either. If the strike had done anything, it merely brought her eyes back to his. His hand left no mark across her pale face, raising no blood from beneath the skin for a bruise.