The Clockwork House

by Wendy Saunders

  They would have to return to Midnight Island.

  It would have to be done soon, before their funds ran out completely and they couldn’t afford the transport. It wasn’t as simple as getting on a train and then the ferry across to the island. Her husband could no longer walk, and he was not yet strong enough to sit unaided in a wheelchair. He would have to be transferred by stretcher. She would have to hire men to carry him, make special travel arrangements. She wasn’t sure they could afford it… but her father in law could.

  Her husband had been so adamant that they would not ask him for a single dime. In the six months since their wedding, and their hasty departure from the island, she wasn’t even sure he’d spoken with his father. She hated going against his wishes, but she would have to do so now.

  She sat down at the bureau and retrieved a fresh sheet of paper, dipping her quill in the ink pot which had almost run dry. She wrote eloquently, imploring her father in law, for the love of his only son, to send for them and to allow them to return to Midnight Island, to her husband’s childhood home atop the cliffs, where perhaps the familiarity and bracing sea air might aid in reviving his health.

  Once finished she sealed it in an envelope and dug a few coins from the chest. Stuffing the letter and the coins into the pocket of her skirt she grabbed her shawl and wrapped it around her thin shoulders. She would have to be quick; she couldn’t leave him for long.

  She headed out of their rooms, navigating the huge apartment block down to the ground floor and stepped out into the smog filled street. Pulling the shawl closer around her, she squinted through the heavy air. She could see the lamp lighters from the sooty orange glow appearing at intervals along the street. She kept her head down, hurrying along the sidewalk, the clatter of horses’ hooves and the blare of the automobiles clanking along the uneven streets, filling the misty gray air.

  It didn’t take her long to leave the letter with the postal service. By the time she returned to their apartment the chilly evening air was already seeping into her bones. She was tempted to light the fire in the parlor, but she couldn’t waste the coal. She would need it to make sure the small fire in the bedroom kept burning, his frail body couldn’t afford to take a chill.

  Locking the door behind her, she crossed the room, opening the door to the bedroom softly so as not to disturb him if he was sleeping. She quietly clicked the door closed behind her, stoking the fire and adding more coal before she settled in the chair beside the bed and pulled the blanket over her legs. She’d not slept in their bed since the accident, not wanting to cause him any pain as he recovered.

  But he wasn’t recovering, not significantly. He’d been struck by one of those awful automobiles. It had been late, and thanks to the smog, visibility had been low. He’d been pulled under the wheels; it was a miracle he’d survived they said.

  She reached out with gentle fingers and drew a lock of his jet-black hair away from his forehead, revealing an angry red scar which ran from his hairline to his temple. His face was gaunt and pale, he’d lost such a lot of weight in a very short amount of time, his arms and legs laying useless against the sheets.

  He’d been so vibrant, so full of life. He’d held her and swung her around and danced with her. She would have given anything to have him hold her that way again. To just feel the strength in his arms as he wrapped them around her small frame.

  She stroked his cheek, feeling the stubble scratching the pads of her fingers. She’d have to shave him in the morning. She didn’t want to disturb him while he slept. The fits took so much out of his already weakened body.

  She took his lax hand in hers and held on; he couldn’t feel it, but she needed the contact. Turning her head, she stared into the flames of the meagre fire and her heart ached.

  After a while, she sensed him begin to stir, his head turning toward her, her name a slurred whisper on his dry cracked lips.

  ‘It’s okay my love,’ she soothed him, ‘I’m here.’

  She tried not to show her pain, to put on a brave face, for his despair was enough for the both of them and it was etched deeply into his face.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered, ‘this was not the life I promised you.’

  ‘Hush now,’ she soothed the bedclothes over his torso, touching the small gold cross at his throat which he had worn ever since he was a child. ‘Things will look up soon enough. I’ve sent word to your father. As soon as arrangements can be made, we’ll be returning to the island and to Lynch House.’

  ‘No,’ his tired eyes widened in panic, ‘no we can’t.’

  ‘My love there is no other choice. I cannot work and take care of you, not with the kind of care you require and with what I would earn as a seamstress I cannot afford a nurse.’

  ‘Please,’ he begged, his eyes filled with desperation, ‘please, you cannot stay in that house. I cannot protect you like this.’

  ‘Protect me?’ she frowned, ‘protect me from what? Your father is the only one who lives there, and he is very well off. He can afford the care that you need.’

  ‘No!’ he whispered harshly, ‘listen to me. Do you love me?’

  ‘More than anything,’ her eyes filled with tears, ‘you know that.’

  ‘Will you do anything for me?’

  ‘Of course,’ she promised.

  He closed his eyes and dragged in a painful breath.

  ‘Then take the pillow and smother me.’

  ‘WHAT?’ she gasped in horror, feeling certain she had somehow misunderstood the request.

  ‘Kill me,’ he replied as his eyes burned with seriousness. ‘It’s the only way you’ll be free, and you must run my love. Run as far and as fast as you can. Don’t let him find you.’

  ‘Who?’ she shook her head as the hot tears began to fall, ‘please I don’t understand.’

  ‘This is my final gift to you,’ a single tear slid down his cheek, ‘the only way I can protect you. Kill me my love and run, there is no other way.’

  ‘I can’t,’ the first sob broke free of her chest. ‘How could you ask such a thing of me? Even if I could bear to lose you, it is a sin. I’ll burn in Hell.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he breathed heavily, wishing with all his heart he could lift his useless hand and brush away her tears. Her pain, her anguish was destroying him. ‘I will find you, I swear I will. God will forgive, for only he and I know the dark secrets held in that house.’

  ‘I can’t,’ she sobbed, ‘you cannot ask this of me.’

  She tore her hand away and ran from the room in tears, leaving him to curse God for allowing him to come to harm in the first place, after all he’d suffered. Just when he’d finally escaped, when he’d found her to love and was happy, it was all snatched away from him and it was about to get much worse. If she persisted and they returned to his childhood home, he would not be able to protect her, and the thought terrified him.

  16

  ‘This is incredible.’ Drew sucked in a sharp breath and leaned in closer to study the intricate clockwork mechanism covering the back of the concealed entrance in the study. ‘The detail and precision.’

  ‘Have you ever seen anything like this before?’ Ava asked the young architect. ‘You said you’d studied, what was his name… Talbot?’

  ‘George Talbot,’ Drew nodded.

  ‘The guy who built this house, you said you’d studied his other buildings. Did any of them have anything like this in them?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ Drew straightened up from his scrutiny of the strange door. ‘Hidden rooms, yes. That particular period of architecture loved concealed staircases, hidden rooms and secret corridors. It’s very gothic. In some of Talbot’s follies, there have been the odd hidden room, but nothing on this scale, and definitely not with this kind of intricate locking system. I’ve never seen anything like it before. It’s most definitely not Talbot’s work.’

  ‘So, did he build the hidden rooms or not?’ Ava frowned.

  ‘I imagine he probably did,’ Drew scratched his c
hin thoughtfully. ‘They would have had to be built when the house was. I won’t know for certain until I can get my hands on the original blueprints.’

  ‘Still no luck?’ she asked.

  He shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he mused as his gaze locked on the door. ‘It’s possible the hidden rooms were built when the house was and that Talbot commissioned someone else to put in the strange locking mechanisms, or…’

  ‘Or?’

  ‘Or they were added at a later date,’ Drew frowned. ‘There’s really no way of telling.’

  ‘I just don’t get it,’ Killian’s voice drew their attention.

  They turned to where Killian was crouched down next to the gaping hole in the study floor.

  ‘What don’t you get?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Why this happened,’ he frowned. ‘I’ve checked a dozen times and the floor, the supports from underneath, it’s all solid. There is no reason why this section of the floor should have collapsed underneath you.’

  ‘This whole house is full of weird,’ Ava replied. ‘File it with the rest and don’t stew on it. You’ll drive yourself crazy.’

  Killian straightened; his brow still fixed in a dissatisfied scowl.

  ‘Are you sure you want to continue with the restoration of the property?’ he asked. ‘If I can’t figure out why this section of floor collapsed, I can’t guarantee it won’t happen again. You and Kelley got lucky. I don’t know how the hell you walked away with just bruises but it could have been a lot worse and if something like this happens again, the next person might not be so lucky.’

  Ava glanced around the room and at the two men staring at her expectantly. Did she want to finish the house? Killian warned her right from the beginning that the house was a money pit, but that seemed to be the least of her problems.

  The bodies had been safely removed as well as any poisons, the rooms below ground had been cleared and were safe. Although she’d yet to hear from Dr Casey about who the women might be or how they died, there was really nothing stopping her from continuing with her original plan of restoring the house. After all, it would never sell in its current condition but then again, it might not sell at all now they’d literally found skeletons in the closet, only in this case it had been more like preserved bodies in the cellar.

  She found herself releasing a slow sigh. The truth was she didn’t want to sell it, she couldn’t imagine anyone else owning it. In fact, if she were completely honest with herself, she’d already begun to think of the house as hers. Even if she never actually lived in it, she was bound to it in a way she didn’t quite understand.

  She was in love with the island. There was no point in denying it, especially not to herself. In the short space of time she’d spent there she knew she’d found her place. She could no longer imagine living anywhere else, her days of driving aimlessly back and forth across the country and sleeping in her truck were behind her now. She was still far from having a permanent home, but whatever happened she knew that home would be on Midnight Island.

  The letter from her grandmother burned a hole in her back pocket but she ruthlessly squashed the doubt as it reared its ugly head. It had taken a long time for her to find a place she’d fallen in love with and nothing a dead woman had to say to her was going to change her mind.

  ‘Call the crew back in,’ Ava decided, ‘the build is going ahead.’

  ‘Are you absolutely sure about this Ava?’ Killian asked seriously.

  ‘Yes,’ she straightened her spine and looked him directly in the eye. ‘I finish what I start.’

  ‘Okay then,’ he nodded, ‘I’ve got some calls to make.’

  She watched as he left the room, his phone already in his hand, leaving her alone with Drew.

  ‘I have a suggestion,’ Drew turned to face her, ‘and it’s a little out there, but it’s something for you to consider.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  ‘I know you’ve been struggling with what to do with the house. It’s obvious you want to keep it but it’s a lot of house for just one person. Using it as a private residential home is probably not the best use for it.’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘Open it to the public.’

  ‘Sorry?’ she blinked.

  ‘It’s perfect, on several levels,’ he replied, the excitement showing in his eyes. ‘We restore it as much as we can to its original features. It’s an amazing example of gothic architecture at its best. It’s hands down the pinnacle of Talbot’s career. You’ve got all these hidden rooms, with complex clockwork mechanisms, the like of which no one’s seen before. Then on top of that there’s the fact of the bodies you found, the creepy ass secret mortuary. The local legends surrounding the house, the mystery of Luella Lynch and the missing children.

  They’ll come, and they’ll come in droves. Architectural enthusiasts, mystery buffs, paranormal lovers, ghost hunters. Charge them an entry fee. Hell, you could even open the bedrooms and have people stay the night. It’ll bring you in an income and recoup some of the ridiculous amounts of money you’ll have to pay out fixing the place up, and…’

  ‘And?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘And we can take out the Butler’s pantry, and the scullery and build a huge kitchen. The massive glass sunroom can be used for seating. Out back we can put in a sun terrace with more alfresco seating and build a summer kitchen outside with a permanent fire pit, given how much you love to cook on one, and you can open your own unique restaurant.’

  ‘My own restaurant?’ she whispered; her eyes wide.

  ‘Think about it. You get to stay on the island, you get to keep the house and earn an income from it. Plus, you get to do what you love more than anything, which is feed people. The islanders will probably get fat considering how much they love your cooking,’ he laughed, ‘but it’ll be worth it. The tourism it will bring in will be a massive boost to the island’s economy. It’s win, win.’

  ‘Damn it,’ she muttered, the more he kept talking, the more she could see it, and now she could see it, she wanted it.

  ‘So, where’s my kitchen going?’ she asked.

  He grinned widely and grabbed her hand, pulling her through the house until they reached the butler’s pantry. He talked fast, his words tumbling over themselves, his hands gesticulating wildly every time he came up with a new idea. His excitement and passion for the project was infectious and Ava found her stomach churning with endless possibilities.

  He showed her around the sunroom pointing out where the various types of seating would go. The huge double doors opened out into an overgrown garden with spectacular sea views. He described the terrace, the fire pit, where her summer kitchen would be built and how it would function.

  There, in that one moment, she fell utterly and hopelessly in love. For the first time in her life, she could picture her home and she knew, she wasn’t just going to run it as a business, she was going to live there with her dog, on her cliff top, overlooking the sea.

  There was so much to be done. Drew had filled Killian in on their provisional plans for the house and returned to the mainland on the noon ferry to begin drawing up the designs. Killian had begun to call back in the crew to resume work on site. Most of the reporters had lost interest and things largely began to return to normal.

  As Ava left the house, she headed to her truck where Bailey had been waiting patiently. Opening the door and waiting for her to jump down next to her, they headed for the RV.

  She ripped the police tape from the door and entered. Her stomach once again jolted at the destruction of her sweet little temporary home. Angry red letters still stared mockingly at her, slashed across the walls and windows, dire warnings she chose to ignore. Gus and the rest of the Midnight police department had no leads as to who had been responsible and had concluded, in the midst of all the excitement of the bodies being discovered and the grounds crawling with press, paranormal hacks and amateur ghost hunters, that the incident had been no
thing more than a prank.

  ‘Well,’ Ava sighed out loud, ‘I guess we’d better get started.’

  She glanced down at Bailey who was sitting on her haunches chewing a mouthful of the ruined flowers Kelley had bought her, and that up until that moment had been strewn across the floor of the RV.

  ‘That your idea of helping me clean up?’ Ava asked her dryly.

  Bailey stopped chewing and spat out the ball of congealed leaves and stems dripping with drool, onto the toe of her boot.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ava replied flatly.

  Bailey thumped her tail against the floor as Ava rolled her eyes.

  One by one she threw open all the windows. She scraped up all the trash from the floor, the broken mugs, the scattered silverware and the flowers. Saving what she could she dumped the rest and made a note of all the things that would need to be replaced for the Wilsons, who owned the RV and had been good enough to loan it to her, even though they didn’t know her. She felt terrible that their things had been ruined, every bit as much as hers.

  Gus had assured her, that they weren’t holding her responsible, but she still felt guilty. Scrubbing the RV clean seemed to be the least she could do. So, she did. She rolled up her sleeves and set to work. It took her most of the afternoon, but by the time she was finished there wasn’t a hint of red paint anywhere.

  With Bailey dozing on the couch Ava headed into the bedroom, which had escaped more or less unscathed. There had been no permanent damage or graffiti, but the bedding had been ripped off and the mattress upended.

  Bit by bit she righted the mattress, picked up the bedding and remade the bed. She was just folding one of the sheets under the mattress when she noticed something sticking out from under the edge of the bed. Reaching down she retrieved it carefully and turned it over in her hands. It was the black leather-bound notebook she’d bought the first week she’d been in Midnight.