Wyndham Hall

by Midge Cline

  “Remember, watch where you step, these floors and walls are old, really old, if it creaks, change your footing. Do not grab or lean against any beams or walls. Keep yourself clear of debris, and again watch your step.” Nigel advised them all. “And above all, stay together, do not get separated from the rest of us.”

  Colt grabbed a broom and swept the cobwebs aside and the foursome entered the tower with a mix of trepidation and excitement.

  “WOW!” Binne exclaimed as she covered her mouth, “It smells awful!”

  “Yeah, there is no glass in any of the windows, but they have been shuttered up a long time, it is bound to be nasty, slip your masks on before we go any further.” Nigel ordered. Everyone had thin hospital masks and slipped them on over their mouths and nose.

  “We can try to open a few of them while we are here, but we will have to come back in to close them before the rain comes this weekend.” Tate said.

  The first room of the tower was forbidding, dark and gloomy. Stone floors and walls. A large nearly empty round chamber with a stone stairwell wrapping up along the wall disappeared into the open darkness above them. Wide stone supports in the center of the chamber held up the floors above them. Holes in the floor cast stray rays of pale light through the dust filled air. Nigel reminded everyone about the floorboards.

  “Maybe we should all just stay on the stair well as best we can, until we can get a crew in here to shore things up a bit.” Tate advised.

  “I think that is a good plan.” Nigel agreed. He illuminated the round chamber of the main floor with his light as he videotaped the sparse contents. Debris of rotted wood and rusted, corroded metal filled the floor, a large metal chest against the farthest wall, which when investigated contained nothing but age eaten rags that may have once been clothing.

  “Shall we head up a floor?” Nigel asked. Everyone agreed, and they mounted the stairs.

  The second floor emerged as they climbed, there were wooden crates and broken pieces of furniture scattered about the room. Large holes in the floorboards gave a careful view to the floor they had just emerged from. Nigel placed a careful step onto the floor, a loud creak echoed throughout the tower and he quickly pulled his foot back.

  “Yeah, I think Tate is right, stay on the steps until we can get a crew in here.” He announced. They used the vantage of the steps to film video and take numerous flash pictures of the area. A tattered cloth hung haphazardly over a rotting portrait in a corner. A single eye peered out at them from the shadows.

  “Well, that isn’t creepy at all.” Colt said with sarcasm.

  “Right!” Binne agreed. “Can we get to it?”

  Colt ran down to the first floor and returned with the broom. He stretched the handle out to the portrait and knocked the cloth covering to the floor. When the dust cleared they could see the portrait of a man. Or rather, what was left of a portrait of a man. His fair hair was long and curled around his pale face, while his nose and mouth were barely visible any longer. A large hat covered most of his head and from the little that remained to be seen, a heavy cloak over a fine tunic made up the clothing. In his hands he held a long, once-shiny broadsword.

  “I wonder who he was?” Binne whispered. Her skin crawling as the portraits eyes stared back at her. She felt the hair on her arms rise, the long dead guy gave her the creeps. He was sizing her up, like the perverted old men at the park do when other adults aren’t watching.

  “I’ve seen his picture before, in the village library. I think that is Lord Wyndham, I forget his first name, the second son of the Earl who used to live here.” Tate said, “He was kind of famous as being a total jerk to his tenants and to the villagers, treated people like garbage. Raped peasant women, beat people he felt were lower class than he was; lied, cheated and stole to get his way. He was killed by a Duke or something in your front lawn.”

  Colt felt a wave of strange, angry emotions, and the unexplainable need to place himself between the portrait and Binne.

  “John Wyndham, he is the reason you will not find a child born in this village named John over the last 6 centuries. A complete horse’s end. Most hated man in our local history.” Tate added.

  “Well, that will make a great addition to the museum, once it gets restored, of course.” Nigel said.

  “Will that be expensive?” Tate asked. “We might be able to get a local artist I know to replicate it instead. For a lot less money.”

  “Might be an option for the time it will take to restore the painting, it will not be cheap and can take several years to complete. I might be able to get funds from a few of the investors and the British Museum of history to help offset the cost.”

  “Let’s see the next floor.” Binne said, wishing they could cover the painting back up, the eyes were dark and unnerving.

  On the third floor of the tower they found what appeared to be the remnants of cells, with heavy wooden doors with iron bars and hinges against the walls, the main floor, looked weak and thin.

  “Someone kept people here?” Binne exclaimed with horror.

  “Years ago, the tower was used as like a jail. After the days of Brehon Law people were hung in the courtyard for crimes like murder, theft, treason, adultery, and witchcraft.” Tate explained. “the village still is not big enough to warrant a jail, but now we just transport over to the nearest big town.”

  A cold chill slipped through Binne with slow precision. She looked down at the floor and realized she could see through a large hole to the floor below, to the painting, to the eyes of the Viscount, watching her in the darkness.

  ****

  They gathered in the kitchen for warm scones and coffee.

  “So, what do you think?” Gwynn asked, “Can we renovate it? Is it within budget?”

  “I think so.” Nigel sighed heavily. “We found, what very well could be, a portrait of a Viscount Wyndham from the late 1400’s, of course we will have to see it up close and get it dated to determine when it was done and all that. But, in all honesty, from across the room, in the dark, with a flashlight, I would not even dare to guess. It could be worth a few hundred pounds, or a few million, depending on whom painted it when and if it is confirmed to be the Viscount.”

  “You couldn’t bring it out?” Gwynn asked.

  “No, it is currently leaning against a wall on the far side of the room, most of the floorboards between it and the stairs are missing, or too weak to support weight. It will have to be rescued when we get some workmen up here. That floor will have to be shored up before anyone can step out on it safely.” Nigel explained. “A large part of the tower can be saved, but the floors are a total loss, I fear.”

  “There was a lot of metal work, from the frame on that portrait to candle sticks and miscellaneous hardware scattered about. That which isn't used in your museum will bring a fair amount of working cash.” Tate said.

  “Did you see that old chandelier? Looked like it was once a beautiful piece, dark colored iron and bits of glass.” Binne asked, “I think we can maybe hang it in the main hall, near the entrance. It is quite large and looks heavy.”

  “Yeah, good eye, we will get that out and give it a good cleaning. Might be worth more than the whole estate under all that muck.” Nigel laughed.

  “Well, it looks like we have our work laid out for us,” Gwynn said. “When can we get a crew here to get started?”

  “Well, it is Sunday, I can maybe get a crew out here by Wednesday. I have a few men here in the village, but I think we will need to get an inspector out here before we can even let them in there.” Tate sighed. “And that will take at least two weeks.”

  “What if we build a small scaffold, remove the floor piece by piece? Much of the wood could be salvageable, also that would allow us to get out the other artifacts. See what is redeemable.” Nigel suggested.

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I have a one-man scaffold. We will need a couple people to help, but not many since the scaffold will take up most of the space.” Tate agreed.
“I can call in a crew to handle it, in fact if we call in Logan Alexander and his crew, they will handle the permits and scaffolds, as well as debris clean up. He is a fair man, and he will give us a fair price.”

  “I think that is an excellent idea.” Nigel agreed with a smile.

  Nigel, Tate, Gwynn and Bonnie spent the remainder of the morning making plans. Binne and Colt went out to the overgrown vegetable garden to clear brush and debris.

  ****

  “You okay?” Colt asked her as they worked.

  “Yeah,” She said with exhaustion thick in her voice. “that portrait, I can’t explain it. It just sort of gave me the creeps and I can’t seem to shake them.”

  “I know what you mean. Did the same to me. If they restore it and put it in the house you are going to have to see the High Lord of creepiness all the time.” Colt shook his head.

  “Gee thanks, I hadn’t thought of that.” Binne sighed heavily.

  “I’m sorry. Maybe it will not be as creepy once it has been cleaned and restored.” He suggested.

  “Yeah, maybe.” She said with a wry smile. “I can’t believe they used to imprison people here and kill them in in my own yard. It sort of, I don't know, changes the way I see my house, you know?”

  “The Hall has always been a dark place.” He told her. “Not one of those cheery, happy fairytale castles you read about.” He pointed at a large glen beyond the garden. “Hundreds of men died there in battle, right in the grass. A suspected child murderer hid here, back in the thirties, he was found and lynched, then found to be innocent. Back in the 1800’s an entire family was slaughtered by an ill-treated servant who ate bad bread and went nutty. A couple of suicides. During WWII a group of strict nuns used it to house orphans, the graveyard has more unmarked graves than marked ones, I think. So many tales of abuse and pain here at the Hall.”

  “I hope we can change it, the path of sadness. Make it happy again. If it had ever been.” Binne said hopefully. “I've read that one evil act in a place can make it dark and evil for eternity, unless a joyful act happens to counteract its darkness.”

  “I think we are going to need more than one joyful act to save Wyndham Hall.” Colt said quietly.

  ****

  Bonnie Brooks stepped into the quiet study which had served Wyndham Hall for centuries. She sat on the low sofa before the warm fire and raised her tired feet to the table before her. She wondered briefly who had last read those books, the ones in the highest bookshelf in the farthest corner of the room. Bonnie sipped her warm tea and placed it on the table before her and reclined to the side, her head resting on the plush arm rest. She allowed her heavy lids to close. Just for a moment. Just while the bread was rising in the kitchen.

  Bonnie could clearly see Wyndham Hall in her mind’s eye, though the familiar smells and sounds were muted, muffled somehow. She looked at her hands and saw that she carried a tray, heavy with the weight of a full wash basin and a short stack of towels up the main stairwell. Beyond the tray she could see her long skirt and unfamiliar shoes. What was she dressed as? A maid from long ago? The Hall, everything looked so vibrant, so new. There were several things missing, paintings, hall tables and rugs. And where had that tapestry come from? It was exquisite! She watched as her dream form travelled the corridor, noting the changes as she walked. Her sudden stop at what she knew to be Binne’s bedroom door made her heart beat faster. A worn, calloused hand reached out and rapped on the wood quickly, not waiting for a reply before she opened it to bring in the tray. Her quick steps sounded loud on the stone floor as she walked quickly to place the heavy load on the table in front of the window. She turned to find the Lord of the manor, the Earl’s second son, closing the door of the priest hole beside the stone fireplace. Bonnie, and the servant, made a quick nod and half curtsey and nearly ran from the room, ignoring the droplets of blood she had spotted on his Lordship’s lapel and shirt cuff.

  Bonnie awoke with a start and ran to find Gwynn sitting in the garden with a book and the three ever present dogs. She rapidly gave details of her dream. They made their way to Binne’s room with great trepidation, the dogs happily trotting behind them.

  “I wonder how many of these priest holes are hidden throughout the house?” Gwynn said. “We have already found one in the study and one in the Great Hall near that giant fireplace.”

  “Probably several, large homes like this could have quite a few. I know they have found 12 in Hindlip Hall. Tucked away in the walls, behind the wainscoting, under floor boards, and of course bookshelves and fireplaces. I read of one house which had a false stone wall in the cellar, which led to an entire hidden room where they found proof that a dozen priests had hidden at once, and not found by the Queen’s men.” Bonnie explained. “We truly may never even find them all, and the likelihood of secret passages and tunnels is very high considering the world affairs at the time this place was built.”

  They entered Binne’s room without knocking, Gwynn knew her daughter was outside rambling around the estate with her father and the Brooks men.

  Bonnie placed herself in front of the Inglenook fireplace and surveyed it slowly.

  “I think that whenever they renovated to put in the stove, they made the fireplace space smaller. Since they made it smaller, not larger, they may not have found this at all.” She said as she ran her hands along the walls. “Yes!” her hand pressed against a stone in the mantle, it moved only a slight amount, but it moved. The women became excited at the prospect of its existence. Just as in Bonnie’s dream.

  “Let me help.” Gwynn said, moving to stand beside her friend so they could both push on the stone. She took a pocket knife from her jeans pocket and used it to carve centuries of cracked paint and mortar from around the stone, they pressed again. The air filled with the putrid odor of dead stale air which had not seen the light in many, many years.

  They pulled hard, working together to open the small stone panel which served as a doorway to the chamber beyond.

  It was not much of a chamber, it was a small airless, lightless space about 3 feet by 3 feet and barely 4 feet tall. There on the floor, crumpled in an indelicate heap, were the remains of a body, or rather the remains of the bones.

  Bonnie stepped back into the center of Binne’s room and pulled her cell phone from her pocket, dialed quickly and spoke with confidence.

  “Albert? Hey, it’s Bonnie Brooks, can you come on up to the Hall? There is something here I think you need to see. What? Oh yeah, finish your tea, this body looks like it has been here for a bit, I am sure it can wait a little bit longer.”

  Fifteen minutes later Constable Albert Reginald DeBranch stood staring down at the ancient bones hidden in the priest hole of Wyndham Hall’s resident teenager.

  “Well, I am not an expert, but I can tell you this young lady has been here for a long damn time.” Albert said. “I will call the Medical Examiner, have her come out and certify that these are not recent, and we will get a forensic brain out here to put the details together.”

  “When can I have my room back?” Binne asked quietly from the doorway, trying to process the fact that she had been sleeping in the same room as a dead body.

  “I think it will be a few days.” Albert said. “I am sorry.”

  “How about if you go gather the stuff you need to move to the guest room until they are done here?” Gwynn offered. “Maybe, you and Colt and Malcolm could invite those girls over and have a camp out in the garden tonight?” She glanced to Bonnie who nodded her approval quickly.

  “Yes.” Bonnie chimed in, “Why don’t you? That sounds like it would be great fun.”

  The Medical examiner determined rather quickly determined that the remains were of an age outside her jurisdiction.

  “The University will have someone here by morning.” She informed Albert. “My initial assessment would put the COD as BFT, her skull is severely damaged, just based on observation, mind you, not an examination. But I would guess her head was beaten against something very hard,
several times.”

  “I only saw the bones for a moment.” Gwynn offered. “But, am I right in guessing adolescent female?” The cause of death was blunt force trauma! Gwynne thought. That poor child!

  “Off the record I would agree with you.” The examiner asked. “I would say between the ages of 13 and 15, give or take, no visible indication of childbirth, no taller than 62 inches, 157 centimeters or less, if I had to make a guess I would say Caucasian. Maybe been in this hole for a few centuries, looking at the state of the remains and the thick layer of dust and debris piled on them. Again, this is all wild, uneducated conjecture, as I have only observed the body, not examined it. You have some training in the field?”

  “My husband is an anthropologist. This is what he does for a living. I have been his unofficial and official assistant for a very long time.” Gwynn answered.

  “Dr. Nigel Morgan?” The medical examiner said with a smile, to which Gwynn nodded. “Well, that would be the local expert I am calling into verify, assess and dispose of the remains.” She said checking her clipboard. “I suppose, since it is his house I will have to call in Dr. Browning as well. She will have to sign off before Dr. Morgan can take over.”

  “He should be up here in a few minutes.” Gwynn told her. “He and Tate Brooks are just heading back from a supply run.” She paused and smiled brightly, “Dr. Seriah Browning? What a wonderful idea.”

  “So, it really could be that postulate. Mary Katherine.” Bonnie said and sat herself in the window seat. As an afterthought she added, “Why would Dr. Browning have to sign off?”

  “Who?” Albert asked Bonnie.