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Melisande looked at him. “What—?”
“Shh.”
And then she heard. From deep inside the house there came a dull scraping, as if some subterranean creature had stirred.
Vale slammed his fist into the door, making Melisande start. “Oy! Come and let us in!”
A bolt shot back with a thump, and the door slowly creaked open. A short little man stood in the doorway. He was rather stout, and his graying ginger hair sprang out on either side of his head like the down on a dandelion. The top of his head was completely bald. He wore a long nightshirt and boots, and he scowled up at them.
“Wot?”
Vale smiled charmingly. “I am Viscount Vale, and this is my lady wife. We’ve come to stay with your master.”
“No, you ain’t,” the creature said, and began to swing shut the door.
Vale put out a hand and stopped the door. “Yes, we are.”
The little man strained against the door, trying to close it, but it wouldn’t budge. “No one’s tol’ me about no visitors. We ain’t got the rooms cleaned nor victuals stocked in. You’ll just have to go away again.”
By this time, Vale had lost his smile. “Let us in and we’ll settle the accommodations later.”
The little man opened his mouth, obviously quite prepared to do further battle, but at that moment, Mouse finally rejoined them. The terrier took one look a Sir Alistair’s servant and decided he was the enemy. He barked at the man so vigorously that all four legs bounced off the ground. The ginger-haired little man gave a high-pitched squeal and jumped back. That was all Vale needed. He slammed open the door and crowded in with Mr. Pynch by his side.
“Stay by the carriage until we’re ready,” Melisande instructed Suchlike, and then she entered the castle more sedately behind the men.
“You can’t! You can’t! You can’t!” the little man was shrieking.
“Where is Sir Alistair?” Vale demanded.
“Out! He’s gone out riding and might not be back for hours.”
“He rides in the dark?” Melisande asked, startled. The countryside they’d been driving through was rugged, rocky, and hilly. She wouldn’t have thought it safe to ride about alone and at night.
But the little man was scurrying ahead of them, down a wide hallway. They followed and stopped when he flung open a door. “You can wait in here, if you like. It makes no difference to me.”
He turned to leave, but Vale caught him by the collar. “Wait.” Vale looked at Melisande. “Can you stay here with Mouse while Pynch and I find bedrooms and some food?”
The room was dark and not at all welcoming, but Melisande lifted her chin. “Certainly.”
“Brave, my sweet wife.” Jasper brushed his lips across her cheek. “Pynch, light some candles for her ladyship, and then we’ll have this fine fellow give us a tour.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Pynch lit four candles—all the room held—from his lantern and the men left.
Melisande listened to their retreating footsteps and then shivered and looked around her. She was in a kind of sitting room, but it wasn’t very pleasant. Here and there were groupings of chairs—very old and very ugly. The carved wood ceiling was terribly high, and the candlelight didn’t entirely pierce the dark overhead. Melisande thought she saw wisps of old spiderwebs hanging down. The walls were also of dark, carved wood and had been decorated by stuffed animal heads—several moth-eaten deer, a badger, and a fox. Their glass eyes were eerie in the gloom.
Shaking herself, she walked determinedly to the great gray stone fireplace at the room’s far end. It was obviously very old—probably older than all the carved wood paneling—and entirely black inside. She found a box by the side containing a few sticks and one log, which she carefully placed inside the fireplace, trying not to think of spiders. Mouse came over to see what she was about, but he soon wandered off again to investigate the shadows.
Melisande stood and brushed off her hands. She searched the mantelpiece and finally found a jar of dusty tapers. She lit one from a candle and held it to the sticks, but the sticks wouldn’t catch, and the taper soon burned down. Melisande reached for ƒde ofanother taper and was just about to light it when Mouse barked.
She started and turned. A man stood behind her, tall and dark and lean, his shoulder-length hair hanging tangled about his face. He was looking at Mouse, standing at his feet, but at Melisande’s movement, he turned his head to her. The left side of his face was twisted with scars, lit awfully by the flickering candles, and the eye socket on that side was sunken and empty.
Melisande dropped the taper.
MUNROE’S MANSERVANT WAS telling them that he hadn’t any clean linens in the entire manor, and Jasper was about to shake the man in frustration when he heard Mouse bark. He looked at Pynch, and without a word, they turned and ran back down the dark, twisting stairs. Jasper cursed. He should never have left Melisande alone.
Outside the sitting room, Jasper paused to approach silently. Mouse hadn’t barked again since that first time. Jasper peered in the room. Melisande stood at the far end, her back to the fireplace. Mouse was in front of her, legs stiff, but he was silent. And facing both of them was a big man in leather gaiters and an old hunting coat.
Jasper stiffened.
