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I left the room and walked along the corridor. It was very poorly lit as there was no natural light at all, and the damp and cold came through the walls. It was only when I got to the main staircase that light filtered in through the many slit windows high in the thick walls. Standing at the top of the stairs I got my first real look at the great hall of the house. It was two floors high and absolutely massive. And it was in a terrible state of disrepair.
The fireplace was big enough to roast an ox in, but its breast was blackened with soot. Once people had built their fire in it, stoked it, and held their hands to its blaze. But I guessed that had been a long, long time ago—not years but centuries ago. Some of the torches set against the walls were broken. The crossed swords and the coat of arms were dull with dust. Cobwebs hung from the curved and elaborate Gothic ceiling.
There were many paintings missing from the walls. They had left pale squares and rectangle shapes on the walls. The magnificent checkered yellow and cream stone floor was unpolished. Tapestries of majestic proportions were all moth-eaten and almost beyond any kind of restoration. The carpets were threadbare. It was a crying shame that such a beautiful home had fallen into disgrace in this way.
The only thing that rose out of the despair and neglect of the house was a huge vase full of white lilies. Its fragrance and beauty filled the space and lifted it. From my vantage point I could see light and activity coming from the room beyond the huge lobby of the house.
I went down the intricately carved dark wood stairs. The elk’s head mounted on the landing reminded me of my father. How many heads had I seen in my lifetime? How many pairs of glassy eyes? I turned my face away and headed toward the voices and light. It was a saloon. It had fine furniture that had seen better days, worn upholstery, more pale squares and rectangles on the walls, and what looked like a really good grand piano.
Misty was standing in her coat by a large fireplace, her palms spread to the dancing flames, talking to a man in a black suit. Both turned toward me as I hovered at the door.
‘Hello, Lena,’ Misty greeted. ‘Come and meet Mr. Ben Fellowes. It’s his job to take care of Guy. He always travels ahead of Guy to make sure that everything is just the way Guy likes it. Mr. Fellowes, this is Lena Seagull. She arrived last night.’
Mr. Fellowes was a thin man with a long, serious face and slate blue eyes. He focused them on me with unsmiling intensity. ‘Welcome to Broughton Castle, Miss Seagull,’ he said with a formal bow. It was so stiff it was almost a mockery.
‘Thank you. Seagull is not really my name. Please call me Lena.’
‘Did you sleep well?’ asked Misty.
Like a princess in a castle, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. ‘Yes, thank you.’
‘That’s good. Mr. Fellowes was just telling me that the storm brought down the three-hundred-year-old beech tree by the chapel cemetery last night.’
‘Yes, I think I might have heard it fall during the night,’ I said carefully. My English was rusty and I didn’t want to make any mistakes.
‘When you lose such a tree it is like losing a part of history. Who knows what that tree silently witnessed?’
‘It is a terrible shame,’ agreed Mr. Fellowes.
Misty sighed and turned toward me. ‘Well, the power will be back on this afternoon. The weather is terrible, so you can decide if you just stay in here by the fire and read, or explore the castle. It’s in a bad state so you have to be careful where you go. You’ll find that in the summer bats roost in the nooks and crannies of the ceiling.’
‘Am I allowed to play the piano?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t think it’s tuned. I don’t believe anybody has played it for years.’
I felt enthusiastic and happy at the thought of playing again. ‘That’s all right, I know how to tune a piano.’
She looked at me with surprise. ‘Really?’
‘Yes, we had to tune our own. It is not very difficult. I haven’t snapped a string yet.’
She smiled. ‘A girl of many talents then.’
‘You don’t have the necessary tools. I will get a professional tuner in this afternoon,’ Mr. Fellowes injected coldly. ‘Have a good day, ladies.’ Nodding to both Misty and me he went, his back ramrod straight, like an actor exiting the stage.
‘Breakfast will be served in the breakfast room, just through there, in about two hours’ time.’
I nodded, still thinking of Mr. Fellowes and his obvious dislike of me. When I turned back Misty was rubbing her hands together. She picked up a small white object and gave it to me. It was a mobile phone. I had seen Timur use one.
‘I don’t know how to use it,’ I said.
‘It’s really easy. Basically, you have to keep it with you at all times so Guy and I are always able to reach you. If you need to call me I have already put my number in. Just press this button, and then this, and then hit the OK button. Try it.’
I tried it and a ringing came from her pocket. She answered it and said, ‘Hello.’
I heard it like an echo in my ear.
She hung up. ‘OK?’
‘OK,’ I said. It seemed easy enough.
‘The same way you are never to leave these premises without Guy’s consent, you cannot use your phone to have any contact with the outside world.’ Her tone had changed, become more official and stern.
‘All right,’ I agreed immediately.
She put her mobile away and began to rub her hands again.
‘Is there a baby or a small child living in this castle?’ I asked.
She stopped rubbing her hands and looked at me strangely. ‘No, why do you ask?’
‘I thought I heard a baby crying last night.’
‘That will be the wind.’ She grinned. ‘Or the ghost.’
‘Ghost?’
; ‘Yes, local gossip has it that this castle is haunted. She smiled again to show me that she did not believe a word of the local gossip. ‘Legend has it that no woman can ever live here. Each one suffers some tragedy. Over the decades the malevolence has even been felt by anyone simply passing by the large gates. You should ask Mr. Fellowes, he knows all about it.’
‘I will,’ I said thoughtfully.
‘Well, I’d better be off then. I’ve got work to do. See you at breakfast,’ Misty said with a grin and she was gone too. I went to the piano and opened it. It was an exceptionally beautiful instrument. A much sought after French Gaveau. My mother’s piano had been an upright Bechstein, but her favorite brand was the Gaveau. How she would have loved to play such a grand and beautiful piano.
I hit middle C and it was so flat that a cat could have lain on it. Mr. Fellowes was right. I had no business tuning such a fine instrument. My thoughts turned to the master of the castle. Guy. I tried the name on my tongue and it slid off smoothly. So he was coming today. I felt nervous. Soon it would be time for me to collect more wretched memories.
At breakfast time I met Mollie, the maid who ran errands and helped the cook. And Ren, the gardener. And of course the cook, Madeline Littlebell. A stern woman who held her nose at a high angle as if there was a bad smell in the room. She had cooked a wonderful breakfast—bacon, fried eggs, sausages, muffin, toast, and something I had never seen before called a croissant. There was jam and honey on the table and as much butter as I wanted.
‘You’ll never starve here,’ Mrs. Littlebell said.
‘Don’t let Mrs. Littlebell’s appearance fool you. She can rival the best French chef,’ Misty said.
‘How would you know? You hardly eat,’ Mrs. Littlebell replied, but she was pleased by the compliment.
Except for Mr. Fellowes who was subtly hostile, everybody else was guardedly friendly as if no one really knew how to treat me. I ate heartily but my real appetite was for more information about the man who had bought me. Still, I could not get Misty alone. She rushed off after eating two lightly buttered slices of toast and before anybody else had finished.
