by Laura Greene
“Yes.”
“I’ll take ye myself,” he says. “And I’ll give you my number. If ye need tae get away from that Deacon Hoose, I’ll come and get ye.”
A few knowing nods and agreed voices swirl around the room. Melody feels the weight of disapproval around her. She wishes she had never mentioned Will Deacon, as she didn’t expect such a difficult reaction. If she could sum up the feeling the people in that room have for Will and his family, it would be distrust. And tomorrow, she must find out for herself.
Chapter 6
Melody did not sleep well last night, and it was difficult for her to get up so early. Her mind is a torrent of possibilities and curiosity, yet her overriding worry is that, if the Deacons are as distrustful as the villagers say, that they have indeed had something to do with her father’s disappearance.
It is now just before 9AM in the morning. Morrison has been driving his blue Range Rover across the jagged landscape of Deacon Island for the last thirty minutes or so. The views have been spectacular. They cut up across a ridge that looks down upon the shore. The waters hundreds of feet below lash against the cliff face, and Melody feels as though the land itself could be battered into the ocean at any moment.
But this is an ancient land. The mountains rear up on the other side, indomitable against the morning rain and wind. They face the unimaginable scope of the sea, and yet they stand tall as if goading the waters to do their worst.
All along, Morrison is talking about the history of the island. Tidbits about his own family and how he is the third generation to own the Howling Dog. But when Melody tries to steer the conversation towards the Deacons themselves, all Morrison will say is that “the sons of Deacon have no respect for the land that reared them!”
Melody pushes for more information, but what surprises her is that, considering his obvious contempt for the family, Morrison does not elaborate on why they are so reviled. She suspects there is more to this relationship than meets the eye.
The Range Rover jeep turns and takes a steep path up the foot of the mountains. The road is bumpy, and Melody peers over the nearest edge as the vehicle moves around unsteadily, feeling every bit as unsafe as she did on the plane journey there. But Morrison seems unperturbed.
“Ye want to know about the Deacons?” He says above the noise of the engine and the rain lashing the windows. “Then look nae further.”
From around the side of an outcrop of rock, there is a further hill to be taken. And at its peak is a large country house. As they approach it, Melody is overwhelmed by its size. Countless windows like spider eyes peer down at her and Morrison, and the ornate red stone used to build the house is decorated by the occasional gargoyle, poking out from beneath the window ledges, sneering at the land and its occupants in equal measure.
“My word, that’s a huge mansion,” Melody says without thinking.
“Aye,” says Morrison. “And it’s filled with more heartache and tragedy than most can take. So be careful, lassie.”
Morrison pulls up outside the huge double doors of the building. It is clear that he doesn’t want to be there for much longer, and so he reminds her: “Call me, and I’ll come runnin’.” He then whispers. “And don’t be fooled, the Deacons cannae be trusted.”
“I’ll be okay, Morrison. Thank you for the lift. I’m sure I’ll be quite safe.” Melody says this as she exits the car, but she does not believe it. Not in her bones. Two large gargoyle figures stare directly down at her from above. Their eyes push into her mind, and she doesn't like it.
Morrison’s engine noise quickly fades into the background of rain, wind, and sea. It is as though he has been swallowed up by the island itself, leaving Melody with no connection to the outside world. All that exists is the bleak visage of Deacon House and all that it contains.
Is my dad in there? She thinks to herself.
Mulling this over, she is startled when the double doors of the house creak open.
“Get in from the rain, lassie!” a loud, cheerful voice yells from the doorway.
Melody moves up the gray stone steps to the door, and then she recognizes the man standing before her.
“I knew we’d meet again,” he says chuckling.
“Thomas?” Melody says quietly.
The man grins, wearing the same tweed suit he did the previous day when Melody encountered him outside the Howling Dog.
“It’s Tam, dear. Yer in Scotland now, remember?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry. You work here, Tam?”
He nods. “Aye. Been the groundsmen here all my days, and faether before that. I tell ye, it’s good to have such a bonnie lassie at Deacon House again. It’s been a long time since somebody as fair as ye has walked over that threshold.”
Melody looks around. Indeed, it is a threshold and a half. The entrance is awe inspiring. A central staircase of white stone moves upward and then clings on both sides to the walls as it moves up and up three or four storeys high. The walls are a muted blue-green, and they are adorned with oil paintings of vast and exotic landscapes. Some of the sea, some of the forest, but all of them exploring the same theme – nature’s unrelenting capacity to endure.
“This is spectacular,” is all Melody can say.
“Aye,” smiles Tam. “I thought you’d say that. Listen, I’m nae butler, but Mr Deacon is up those stairs and through the doors on the first level. Ye cannae miss it.”
“Thank you.”
Melody sees something in Tam’s face for a moment. A sort of wistful look. It’s as though he wants to say something important, but does not. Melody is partly grateful. Given Morrison and Rob’s warnings about coming here, she doesn’t need to be put more on edge.
Melody walks up the staircase, marvelling at the decor. It is grand in a way she has never experienced before. Indeed, the house would not look out of place as the palace of French royalty. Except for the exterior. While the inside is filled with a clear appreciation of art, the outside is far less welcoming.
Reaching the next level, Tam was right, immediately in front of Melody are two large oak doors. Above them, engraved on a piece of brass, is elegant lettering that reads: The Scarlet Room.
Melody raises her hand nervously to knock, but before she can make contact with the door, a voice bellows from inside.
“Come in, Ms. Winter.”
The voice is commanding, and though Melody is never usually intimidated by men, she feels a vulnerability inside of herself rattle around in response.
Opening the door, she is greeted with a warm air. The air is comforting, and it comes from a log fire burning gently in a hearth beneath a mantle. Above it, a large painting stands with a rather indomitable man in 18th century clothes rendered in oil. His eyes follow Melody across the room.
The voice Melody heard just a moment ago would not have been out of place coming from that painting, but it clearly came from the man standing in front of her.
Dressed in an expensive black suit, expertly tailored to fit his athletic build, stands a dark haired man in his thirties. His gaze is piercing, and when he steps forward, the polished oak floor beneath his feet seems to yield to his very presence.
“Good morning, Ms. Winter. I’m Will Deacon,” he says, more softly this time but still with a commanding timbre. He steps forward and extends his hand.
Melody moves to meet him without her usual confidence on show, but when she shakes the man’s hand, it is not cold and stern, but warm and gentle. There is something about this man. Something primal, yet something mysterious. He exudes confidence and charm, but beneath Melody senses a fire raging, one that perhaps even the great seas battering the island could not extinguish.
If ever there was a man cut from the same rock of Deacon Island, it was he.
“Please, call me Melody,” she says. “I received your letter. It was most welcome.”
“Indeed,” his voice is Scottish, but there is a hint of other places. A man who has travelled and been awakened by the vagaries of those experiences.
“I am so glad you could come. Morrison told me last night.”
“Oh, he did?” Melody attempts to hide her surprise. Why would Morrison be talking with a man he clearly detests so much? Her thoughts often focus on the unusual and the out of place. It is for this reason above others that her Uncle Tobias has sent her here to track down her father.
“I hope you have had a pleasant stay at the Howling Dog. I often say the name is worse than its bite.” Will smiles, and though his eyes catch the pinpoints of light from the fire, there is a jovial spirit beneath.
“It’s an interesting place. The whole island is.”
“Yes, and I’m fascinated to learn about your book, Melody. But first, I have to ask you about teaching my niece, Rebecca. Do you feel this is something you would be interested in, per the offer I put in the letter?”
“Yes,” Melody says. “Absolutely.”
“Splendid. When can you start?”
Melody is shocked. “Don’t you want to know about my qualifications or have a chat to see if I should be working with kids?”
“Melody, let me tell you something about myself. When I meet people, I always trust my instincts. My instinct is that you will be able to help Rebecca and, in turn, me.”
“And what do her parents think?”
Will’s face remains resolute, but his eyes flicker for a moment. “I’m sad to say that Rebecca’s parents are both dead. Her mother when she was very young, and then my older brother, Rebecca’s father, just last year.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Melody hears the pain in Will’s voice, she sees it in his eyes. Morrison said that Deacon House is a place filled with enough tragedy for the entire island, now, for the first time, Melody sees a sliver of that.
“I worry about Rebecca, Ms. Winter. She has grown distant since it happened, and she no longer engages with her studies the way she once did.”
“What age is she?” Melody asks.
“Eight. A tender age… I find myself away on business often, and my younger brother Maximillian is not so well equipped to guide her. So, do you think you can help her?”
“Yes,” Melody says. But strangely, there is a feeling inside of her that yearns for more than just answers to where her father has vanished. She genuinely wants to help this family. There is a deep desire within to do some good. If she can make a difference in a young girl’s life while following the trail, all the better. “I lost my father when I was young. My mother not long after. It would be a privilege to help her for these few weeks until she is back at school.”
“I am so pleased.” Will steps forward and gently shakes Melody’s hand once more. “Rebecca is away for the day to a friend’s house in Talon’s Point. It was one of the reasons I wanted to see you today, so that we could discuss things without her being around. She has grown ever so fond of me…
“Maybe she’s still looking for a father figure.”
“That is something I can never be. But I will be a good uncle, as best as is possible given the circumstances.”
A knock comes at the door from behind Melody.
Will looks up as the door opens, revealing a woman standing there in a business suit. He then turns his attention back to Melody.
“Now, Ms. Winter. I am terribly sorry, but I have a pressing matter to attend to and I will have to leave the estate for today. However, I would be happy for you to explore the grounds and this wonderful house. As a student of History, I know there is much you will appreciate here.”
“Of course, Mr Deacon. Thank you. But… Before you go, can I ask a question?”
Will nods.
“Do you get many visitors here or guests?”
There is a moment of silence between Melody and her new boss. Just long enough to make Melody feel uncomfortable.
“Why do you ask?” Will finally says.
“No reason. It just seems a shame for such a great house to remain out of sight from the world. I look forward to exploring it and its past.”
They shake hands, but as they do, Will looks into Melody’s eyes. “Of course, most doors here are open, but some are locked. I only ask that you respect our privacy. Good day, Melody.”
And with that, Will leaves the room with the lady who knocked on the door. Melody listens as their footsteps descend the large main staircase and then disappear to some obscure place out of reach.
It seems strange to Melody that Will should not be more thorough. After all, putting someone in charge of a child’s care should require background checks and extensive interviews. Instead, Melody has had the shortest of conversations leading to an immediate decision on the matter. That’s probably just how he does things, she thinks to herself. But she can’t shake the worry that there’s more to it than that.
Looking around the room, Melody is enthralled by the old volumes of leather bound books in a nearby bookcase. It’s not a large selection, but given the antique selection in the Scarlet Room alone, Melody is convinced that there must be a library somewhere within the mansions’ many rooms and halls.
Leaving the Scarlet Room behind, Melody steps out onto the landing for that floor. Outside, she can hear the wind howling around the grounds, but the sheer vastness of the mansion remains stoic and resolute, much like Will himself. As she wanders through hallways admiring paintings and sculptures lining the walls, she thinks about what her father would have done in such a place.
He was, like Melody, fascinated with relics of the past, and the Deacons appear to have a priceless collection of works around their home. Dad would have had a field day with all of this. Moving to another hallway, lined with oak doors, Melody begins to open them one at a time. They creak, echoing out along uncharted stone corridors and, no doubt, secret passageways.
Some doors lead to bedrooms, others sitting rooms and several studies. Melody’s head is almost spinning with the possibilities here at Deacon House. But the one possibility that haunts her, is that she is somehow retracing her father’s footsteps. Was he here?
With each step through the hallways and rooms, she sees more elegance, more opulence, and more mysteries to be explored at a later date. But finally, on the third floor at the end of a long hallway, there sits two large deep red, leather covered doors. Above them, Melody sees another brass plate with an engraving: The Great Library.
If there’s a great library, there must be a smaller one as well, Melody thinks, looking forward to finding it as well and perusing the collection. Her heart races as she turns the polished brass handle and steps inside. What she sees astounds her. The library expands out as a giant hall. A fire is lit beneath a mantel, as though the library is often frequented, and a black iron spiral staircase leads up to a second level. The walls are filled with books, and Melody cannot help but run her finger along them with glee. Thousands of them. Books of antique maps. Books of philosophy. First edition Agatha Christie novels. Rare Ambrose Bierce works, and even a one of a kind collection of M.R. James ghost stories signed by the great man himself.
For a moment, Melody becomes a little girl again. She remembers her father taking her to an old library when she was about eight years old. It was nothing compared to the vastness of Deacon House’s collection, but it was one memory that now came back to her. For all the time, all the weeks, months, and collective years that her father had spent galavanting around the world in search of riches, there were moments of kindness. Moments of care.
Surrounded by all those books, Melody suddenly realizes something that has always stared her in the face. But she has always looked away from it. Her father is the reason she is an archaeologist. It is his passion, and his sharing it with her, no matter how infrequently, that has led her on the career path she now finds herself. Indeed, she must admit to herself, that although she would never abandon a child for months on end like he did, she has the same burning passion for history running through her veins. That passion leads her on, and…
Melody has a startling thought.
We are the same.
&nb
sp; Just as Melody is drawn to the library, so too would her father have been. Uncle Tobias believes Melody is the only one who can find her father, and now she starts to truly understand why – because she thinks like him.
But if he has been here and something terrible has happened to him, how will Melody ever know?
He’d leave a trail of breadcrumbs. Melody now remembers the story of Theseus. One her father was fond of, where Theseus used a trail of breadcrumbs to find his way out of a labyrinth. If her father had any belief that his daughter would come looking for him, then, Melody reasons, he would leave something for her to find just like Theseus.
That’s when she sees it. On one wall there is an old painting depicting a ferocious sea engulfing a lighthouse. It is one of several which adorn the walls in places where there are no books. But this painting is different. Maybe no one else would notice. But she does. She knows.