Gatehaven Page 24

  “I understand why you want me in here, Miss Aimee.” Cally’s once strong voice sounded shaky and unsure. “But penned inside—penned inside a dark room is not a game I care to play.”

  “Maybe if you tell me why you feel as you do, it might make sitting here easier.”

  I said I would not try to get her to talk, Shannon thought, and I have gone and done it.

  Cally didn’t move or say a word.

  “You do not have to tell me anything,” Shannon said. “But we might need to hide again at a moment’s notice.” She pressed her back against the wall, hoping Cally would relax and do the same. “If we sit here now with the door open, it might make sitting in the dark with the door closed easier, if it should ever come to that.”

  “I know.”

  “Well then?”

  Shannon heard the sound of Cally’s heavy breathing. She patted her quivering hand.

  “I was born in London, I was,” Cally said softly, “and we were very poor. In my eighteenth year, I went to work at an inn near my home—bringing food and drink to those eating at tables and such. One day a handsome young gentleman came into the inn and took a special notice of me. He kept looking at me all evening and finally invited me to have supper with him at the inn that very night. The innkeeper said it was all right. The handsome stranger told me that he was the Earl of Northon and that I was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.”

  Shannon tensed. The earl had told her exactly the same thing.

  “The earl came back to the inn on the very next night,” Cally went on, “and he came again the night after that—and the night after that. He brought me gifts—flowers at first. One day he gave me a lovely pearl necklace. Such a gift was more than I had ever hoped for. I have never felt so blessed. He asked if he could drive me home after I finished work that night, and I said yes.” Cally grew silent for a moment. “I should never have gotten in the carriage with him.”

  Shannon leaned toward her. “What happened?”

  Cally looked away. There was another long pause. Shannon didn’t think Cally was going to reply at all.

  At last, Cally said, “The earl didn’t take me to my home as he’d promised. He took me—he took me to another inn and—and.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CALLY DIDN’T SPEAK or move for what seemed to Shannon like a long time. “I cannot tell you the terrible things that happened that night.”

  “I would not expect you to,” Shannon replied.

  “If the earl ever loved me as he said he did, that love had turned to hate by the next morning. He tied me up, and we set out for Gatehaven. It took another day and—and another night to get there.”

  “Oh, Cally, I wish I had been there to comfort you.”

  “As soon as we arrived, I was taken to the top floor and thrown inside a room with other girls—maybe ten or so. They told me that what happened to me happened to all of them—on their trips to Gatehaven.”

  Shannon reached out and touched Cally trembling shoulder. “It must have been awful.”

  “It was.” Cally sniffed. “I soon learned that if I didn’t do exactly as I was told, I was put in a dark room without food or water.”

  “None at all?”

  “None. Once I stayed for almost three days. But that was not the worst of it.”

  “There is more?”

  “Much more. On nights when the moon was full—and on other nights, too—one of the girls would be taken out, and she never came back. I was told that one of the girls managed to escape on the very night another girl was taken out. She found a room on the top floor—a big room. She peeked inside for only a moment. But she saw enough to last the rest of her life.”

  “What did she see?”

  “Everybody wore robes like the one you were wearing when I first saw you. The girl that was taken out lay on an altar, tied and unclothed. A man in a robe stood over her, holding a knife. The girl who managed to escape the room we were kept in turned and ran.

  “She tried to find the stairs, but could not. She heard someone coming and ran back inside the room where the other girls were, hoping the robed ones never knew she left. All the girls were determined to leave after that. But none managed to escape. And they were taken away—one by one. The last girl to go came from London, too. She had long golden hair. But one night she was taken. I am the only one left.”

  “Oh, Cally, I am so sorry you had to go through such tragedies. You must be very brave.”

  “Not brave. Tough. I had to be. And I will overcome my fear of the dark. I must. You will see. It is the only choice we have.”

  “Yes,” Shannon whispered. “I fear it is.” She paused as thoughts filled her head. “Cally, I made a mistake, and now I’m feeling guilty. I truly thought the earl loved me. Now, I know he never did. My pastor would call my mistake the Spirit of Error, and there is a Bible scripture that I keep thinking about. I would like to recite it aloud. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Please, recite it. Maybe it will help.”

  “And I will give unto thee the keys to the kingdom of heaven: and whosoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whosoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

  “But what does it mean?” Cally asked.

  “I do not understand it well myself yet. I can only tell you what my pastor said it meant to him with regard to the Spirit of Error. He said to ask the Lord in prayer to bind the Spirit of Error in heaven as we bind it on earth and to loose the Spirit of Love and Power and a Sound Mind in the name of Jesus.”

  A gray rat on spindly legs raced across the floor in front of them.

  Startled, Shannon jerked. “Are not rats the wickedest of animals? Frankly, I hate the little beasts.”

  “I do not like them either, Miss Shannon. But if I had a choice between holding a rat in my lap and hiding in a dark place, I would take the rat.”

  Shannon shook her head. “There we disagree. I would take the darkness every single time because God’s light shines— n even in darkness.”

  Leon had his driver park his carriage near the front entrance of The Boar and Tongue. He was about to go inside when he noticed Brother Julian approaching from the opposite direction.

  “Hello there, monk.” Leon laughed mockingly as the round little man in the brown robe started toward him. “I see you went out for a bit of fresh air.”

  “I went to the woods to relieve myself, and you know it. Then I went for a walk. What brings you here today?”

  “I came to discuss our business partnership and a few other things. Have you forgotten that I have the controlling interest in the inn here?”

  “You will not allow me to forget.”

  “I am proud of you, Julian. You were once afraid of the shadow you made on a sunny day. But now you appear to have developed the ability to stand up like a man. Shall we go above stairs to one of the rooms and discuss business matters there?”

  “The rooms are full today,” Brother Julian said. “And I have no wish to talk our kind of business where others might hear. I will fill mugs of ale, and we can go up in the attic to talk. Nobody is likely to hear us there.”

  Leon laughed. “Did you say ale? My, you really have changed. I never knew you to be a drinking man. And you a man of the cloth.”

  “I have not been a real monk since I left France.”

  “I am absolutely void of all speech at the moment. Are you saying that now you are a partaker of spirits as well?”

  “Until recently, we had not seen each other in over twenty years,” Brother Julian pointed out. “As you say, I have changed. Now, do you want to stand on this stoop talking all day? Or do you want to pour some ale and go up to the attic?”

  “I say ale and the attic.” Leon motioned for the monk to lead the way. “Carry on.”

  Brother Julian opened the door and motioned for Leon to go in first. As Leon waited for the monk to follow him inside, he looked around. A portly old woman polished one of the eating ta
bles with what looked like a damp cloth, but nobody stood behind the desk.

  “Who stands behind the desk to greet the customers when you are doing your business in the woods, Monk? I own more than half of this establishment, and I have a right to know.”

  “I am as surprised as you,” the monk said. “My new assistant was here when I left. I will go and speak with Maybell—see if I can learn where he might be.”

  The monk walked over and began talking to the old woman wiping the table. Leon tried to hear what was being said, but apparently they conversed in whispers. At last, the monk looked back at Leon and moved toward him.

  “What did you discover?” Leon asked.

  “My assistant must have left after I did. Maybell said he sat at one of the tables for a short while, talking to a young woman, and then the two of them went outside in front of the inn. She didn’t know what happened after that. She went up the stairs to clean the rooms there.

  “But she said that Cook said he came into the kitchen, talking with that French accent of his, and said that he had to leave for a short while and that it was very important. He promised to return as soon as possible.”

  “You mentioned a French accent,” Leon said. “I have been looking for a young man by the name of Peter Aimee. He would likely have a French accent as well. Was that the man’s name?”

  The monk shook his head. “It was not.”

  “Get someone to stand behind this desk while we are in the attic,” Leon demanded.

  “All right.” Brother Julian gazed at the old woman again. “Maybell.”

  She turned. “Yes, sir.”

  “Go into the kitchen and take over as my cook for a while. I want you to tell Cook I want him out here minding my front desk until I am able to mind it myself. Tell him I will be above stairs talking with my friend, Monsieur Gabeau.”

  “At once, sir,” the old woman said.

  Shannon and Cally continued to sit in the semi-darkness without saying much. Shannon had no idea what Cally might be thinking, but the last shred of trust and love she had for the earl had gone out of her. What had once been love was torn from her heart.

  But I must not hate, she thought. Papa said it was wrong, and so did Ian.

  Ian. How she missed him. Would she ever see him again?

  “I want you to close the door all the way now,” Cally whispered. “I am ready.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Perhaps we should pray first.” Shannon forced a smile that Cally probably wouldn’t be able to see. “My papa is a praying man.”

  “Yes, pray. I would like that.”

  Shannon prayed for their safety in the name of Jesus, and then she reached out in search of the lump on the door. At last, she found it.

  “Are you sure you want me to shut it all the way?”

  “Please, all the way.”

  “Very well.”

  Shannon shut the little door. Semi-darkness turned to ebony. She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

  “Cally, are you all right?”

  “Not yet—but I will be. It takes time would be my guess.”

  “Let me count to one hundred silently, and then I will open it. Is that all right with you?”

  “Fifty would be better.” Cally gave a weak chuckle. “But go right ahead.”

  Shannon counted to one hundred as fast as she could. The total darkness and closeness of the tiny room was beginning to bother her as well. She reached for the lump.

  Sounds came from outside the door. Shannon froze. She heard shuffling feet on the wooden stairway and men’s voices, and they were growing louder.

  “Someone is coming,” she whispered.

  “I—I know.”

  If God was listening, Shannon hoped He had a plan because she had no idea what to do.

  Leon’s breath came in gasps and sweat dampened his brow by the time he’d climbed the first flights of stairs to the attic, and fire filled the veins in his crippled leg instead of blood. He realized he needed to stop and rest before going on.

  Rachel, he thought, putting down his mug of ale. This is all her fault.

  Leon slumped against the wall by the stairway. He pulled the portrait of Rachel from inside his jacket and gazed at it.

  “After all these years, you are still obsessed with that woman,” Brother Julian said. “You need to forget her. There are plenty of women who would favor a man as rich as you.”

  The monk had no idea what he was talking about, and his foolish conclusions didn’t even deserve a reply. Leon continued to study the portrait as if he was alone on the narrow stairway.

  Rachel disappeared from his life after she married Shannon’s witless father, but twenty-five years ago he’d thought he found her. It was the day he entered the English village of Cert. Rachel had lied and said her real name was Magdalena Petit, and he learned that a woman by that name lived in Cert.

  He knocked on a door that day, expecting to see Rachel. A woman much older and less attractive than Rachel stood in the doorway, claiming to be Magdalena Petit.

  So he killed her.

  Leon killed her for having Rachel’s name and not being Rachel, and he’d never killed a woman until that day. But after the first time, killing women became as easy as spreading butter on bread with a dull knife.

  He finally glanced at Brother Julian a few steps ahead. The monk was Leon’s senior by at least ten years. Yet Julian continued to march up those stairs a few steps ahead of him and wasn’t panting at all, and he was sipping ale from a mug.

  “Wait.” Leon gripped the railing. “I must stop and catch what little of my breath is left.”

  The monk stopped and turned around. “Are you sure you can go on, Monsieur?” he asked in French. “We can always have our meeting on another day.”

  “No. We must go on. Give me a moment, and I shall climb those stairs as if I was twenty again—crippled leg and all.”

  Leon grimaced. He counted to ten and stepped to the next level. Now his chest hurt as well as his leg. Panting, he counted to twenty and slowly climbed once again.

  Brother Julian stood at the top of the stairs. He’d also put down his mug, and his chubby hands were on his enormous hips. He offered Leon his right hand.

  “May I give you a help up, Monsieur?”

  Leon motioned his hand away. “That will not be necessary.”

  True, Leon needed assistance. Still, he did have his pride. He straightened his stooped shoulders as best he could and limped forward. To do otherwise would prove he’d given in to the suggestions of a man of lesser birth, and Leon couldn’t tolerate such an outcome.

  He saw a chair near the stairway. It had a straight back, no arms, and it looked terribly uncomfortable to a man in Leon’s condition, but he sat down on it anyway. Another uncomfortable looking chair faced it, and the monk took that one.

  A door led to a second room in the attic. Leon gazed through the open doorway. Wooden boxes were stacked against the back wall. He saw a bundle of what looked like hay in one corner and little else. He turned to the monk, pressing his head back against the hard planks of the chair.

  “Is my inn making money?” Leon asked the monk.

  “Yes, Leon. New people are staying at The Boar and Tongue almost every day.”

  “Leon? You called me by my real name.”

  “So I did, Monsieur. Most regretful indeed.”

  “You must remember that I am Monsieur Etienne Gabeau now,” Leon said, “not Leon Picard.” Leon flinched as the pains in his back and chest increased. “This chair is most uncomfortable. Perhaps we should have discussed our business on the stoop out front instead of coming up to this attic.”

  Leon heard a noise. He glanced toward the door leading to the other room. “Did you hear that?” he asked.

  “Rats. They are everywhere up here. I need to set some traps.”

  Shannon stiffened, afraid to breathe or move. Etienne Gabeau wasn’t the Frenchman’s real name. It was Leon
—Leon— She tried to remember his last name but couldn’t.

  Nevertheless, she was able to hear everything else the men said, and it wasn’t rats they heard. She’d hit her arm against the wall accidentally in an attempt to find a comfortable sitting position. She thanked God that they thought the sound came from a rat or perhaps several.

  “You might recall that I came to England over twenty years ago in search of a certain woman,” Leon said. “Her name was Rachel Aimee.”

  Rachel. Shannon froze. He is talking about my mother.

  “I remember her well,” the monk finally said. “I also remember how beautiful she was and how you fancied her.”

  Shannon remembered that the Frenchman said the portrait of the woman reminded him of Shannon. Small wonder. The portrait was really of her mother, Rachel Aimee. Leon Whatever-his-name-was must be insane to have kept her mother’s portrait at his side all those years.

  “And you sent the earl to Scotland to bring her here so you could have her and then kill her,” the monk said. “Is that not true?’

  “Of course. But the earl brought her daughter, Shannon, by mistake.”

  Shannon’s stomach knotted. She feared that at any moment she might lose the morning meal Millie had served them.

  The earl had never loved her. That fact had never been clearer. He brought her to England for evil purposes. If he’d brought her mother instead as the Monsieur had wanted, her mother could be dead by now. She could scarcely breathe.

  At last, Leon said, “I might add that my traps are better than those one might set for a mouse or a rat. And I understand the son, Peter, is already here. Soon the entire Aimee family will be, and I shall have my revenge.”

  “Am I right in saying, Monsieur, that you sent the young men we spoke of earlier to Scotland to bring Rachel’s entire family here?”

  “Yes, including that husband of hers and the new baby. When all are safely trapped, I will have my way. And then I will be free of Rachel Aimee forever.”

  Shannon put both her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming. She was also shaking. Cally must have noticed. Cally found Shannon’s hand in the darkness and gave it a quick squeeze.