What’s in the attic? Who is the spooky Arthur and what does
he want? And where is the mysterious Miss Mary Delford? Unlaced authors
Elisabeth Hobbes, Virginia Heath and Catherine Tinley now pick up the quill as
our story takes a darker turn…
Captive
at Cragdale Hall
PART TWO
She
made her way into the attic to look for the papers. A draft whispered from a loose slate under
the eaves and the candle streamed in the breeze. From somewhere below her a door creaked. Emma shivered, more from a sense of disquiet
than the chill. She remembered stories
about brides trapped in chests, undiscovered for decades. She forced herself to think of tales of
treasure beyond counting, jewels and riches lying undiscovered. That would be a better story to be in.
Her
stomach gave a sharp tug. She would have
welcomed some refreshments but Arthur had been so persuasive, his voice gently
insistent in a manner that brooked no resistance that she had acquiesced more
readily that she might usually have done.
She shivered again, recalling his mask-like expression.
Left
or right? She had no idea where to start
so spun in a circle and walked the way she ended up. She set the candle down and picked her way
between dusty crates, some of which clearly had not been disturbed for decades,
until her eyes fell on a pile in the corner that was free of cobwebs. Scuffed footmarks in the dust told her
someone had placed it there not too many weeks before. She unearthed a large box with a key attached
to the handle by a piece of plaited twine.
The roll of parchment inside seemed old enough to be the papers she was
searching for but when Emma unfurled it she saw it was something else entirely. She brought the candle nearer to give herself
more light and stared curiously at what she had found.
It
was a portrait. From the state of the
canvas it had been torn from the frame that once held it, leaving the edges
jagged. The colours were unfaded and the
workmanship was excellent. The quality
was not what drew her eye, however. The
subject of the work was a youthful, smiling man with bright red hair and green
eyes that commanded the viewer’s attention even though merely cast in oils. His hand rested on the top of a piece of
furniture that appeared to be a mix of cupboard, lamp and pipe organ and on
that hand was an unmistakable ring. Emma
gasped in surprise for she had last seen the ring adorning the hand of Miss
Delford’s nephew as he had torn open the drapes. Could this be a portrait of Arthur’s
father? She rejected the idea. Arthur’s ice blue eyes and fair whiskers
could not have been passed down by the red headed man in the portrait. Come to think of it, the style of clothing
was too fashionable to be an elderly relative.
It meant the man in the portrait could not be older than his mid-thirties
if he was alive today.
Emma
was so intrigued she only half noticed a footstep behind her. A hand clasping onto her shoulder made her
heart leap to her throat. She looked around and a sense of foreboding filled
her. She glanced from the hand on her
shoulder that bore the ring, to the blue eyes of Arthur which were now hard as
steel and shining on her in an unpleasant manner.
“Oh,
hello,” she began. “What are you doing
here?”
“This
isn’t the right part of the attic.”
It
was no answer.
“I
found…”
“I
know what you found.” Arthur cut her off abruptly. "I think you had better
come with me to my rooms."
Before
she could protest he pulled her roughly to her feet and whipped the parchment
from her fingers.
"We'll
take this too," he muttered.
Arthur’s
fist had clenched her hair and he was dragging her. Stunned at first Emma went
where he pulled, but then her wits returned and she scratched and clawed at his
hands in her struggle to break free. “Let go of me!”
He ignored
her and continued towards a narrow staircase at the furthest end of the attic.
Emma tripped as he yanked her down the stairs, her scalp screaming in protest
and her lungs screaming louder. No servant came to her aid nor called up to see
what all the commotion was about. Her heels scraped the wooden floor as he
pulled, then he abruptly stopped in front of a door. He wrapped one arm tightly
about her throat as he fumbled for a key in his pocket. She fought him as he
turned it in the lock and then found herself splayed on the floor as he roughly
pushed her inside.
It slammed
behind her casting the room into darkness. Emma scrambled to her knees as she
heard the barrel of the lock roll back into place, yet even so she tested the
handle to free herself. The heavy oak door did not budge as she shook it;
behind it only Arthur’s retreating footsteps could be heard receding down the
hallway.
The soft
groan from behind her made her jump.
“Hello… Is
anyone there?” Emma squinted in the blackness as she took a wary step forward.
Another
groan. The sounds of heavy and laboured breathing.
She dashed
to the window and yanked the dusty velvet curtains apart. As her eyes adjusted
to the sudden shaft of light she saw him. Spread-eagled in the corner. Eyes
closed. Long-legged. Broad-shouldered. A thin trickle of crimson blood running
into his thick, red hair. His face the same one from the portrait she had
found.
The fact
that he was locked in here too meant they had kinship and she knelt beside him
to help. She ran her fingers carefully over the wound. The cut was small but
beneath it was a hard bump, warm to the touch. Years of treating the countless
bumped heads of her charges gave her enough experience to know his wasn’t too
dreadful, but he might have other injuries and she already knew he was
concussed. The pulse which beat in his neck was firm and steady as she ran her
hands all over his head and neck. No blood stained his white shirt, which she
also took as a good sign as she undid the knot of his tightly wound cravat to
give him air.
His eyelids
fluttered then opened. That simple movement seemed to take great effort and he
frowned against the unforgiving light before focusing. “Who are you?”
“Emma. Emma
Rehnquist. Who are you sir - and why have we been locked in this room?”
The question
seemed to momentarily flummox him and he struggled to sit, then gave up to rest
heavily on his elbows. “I’m Hugh. Delford. Or Viscount Darby if you want the
full and tiresome moniker. And no, I have no idea why the pair of us are locked
in this room. Where the hell are we?” He rubbed at his temple as he gazed
around dazedly. “This is Cragdale Hall. What are we doing here? It’s been shut up for the winter.”
“Delford?
You must be related to Mary Delford, my new employer, and the man who shut me
in here - Arthur. Her nephew.”
“Mary
doesn’t have a nephew!” This piece of information seemed to annoy him. “And nor
has she employed anyone, Miss Rehnquist. Believe me, I should know! Like me,
you have clearly been lured here under false pretences.”
“No sir- I
have letters from Mary herself.”
“You can’t
have.” Those intense green eyes locked on hers sheepishly. “Because technically
I am Mary.”
“You’re a
woman?” Emma couldn’t help herself, her eyes swept the length of his manly body
before she stared at him, incredulous. Surely it couldn’t be possible? His grin
was exactly the mischievous one she had seen in the portrait.
“Of course not. I made her up to hide behind.
They
inched along the dim corridor, Emma holding her dusty skirts for fear she would
trip on an unseen obstacle. In front of her, Hugh moved assuredly, quiet as a
cat. Despite his size, he was surprisingly precise and controlled in his
movements. They passed an open door, through which Emma glimpsed an unmade bed.
Someone was living here, despite the
house being shut up for the winter.
It
had taken most of the day to loosen the hinges on the solid old door. Hugh had
declined to tackle the lock, which was new, but instead had focused on the
ancient joints. They had worried at them with a spoon and a broken candlestick,
eventually managing to loosen the screws. From there, they had eventually pried
the wrong side of the door open enough to allow first Hugh, then Emma, to
squeeze through.
It
surely had to be the strangest day she had ever spent, mused Emma, as she
followed him along the dusty corridor. They had talked constantly as they
worked, exchanging their life stories, opinions, and speculation on why they
had been brought to Cragdale Hall. Hugh had been brought by force – the last
thing he could remember was a blow to the head outside his Harrogate hotel the
day before.
They
had quickly confirmed that their shared interest in astronomy had to be key to
their imprisonment. Emma knew that amateur scientists were often willing to
share their learning and their discoveries, but occasionally there was
jealousy. She had been unaware that someone would go to such lengths as this
though. Hugh entertained her with tales of lectures given, and challenges made,
and tempers lost among his colleagues, though he also, had never suspected that
rivalries could end in kidnap.
‘It
must be the comet,’ he mused. ‘It has caused great excitement as you know, but
I have not yet published the exact details, which is why I invented Mary to
hide behind.’ He flashed her another of his quick grins. ‘To discourage my more
unscrupulous colleagues from any attempt to steal my papers and lay claim to my
discovery.’
Despite
never having been kidnapped, imprisoned or deceived like this in her life, Emma
found that Hugh’s company meant that the hours had passed with rather more
laughter than distress. As ordeals went, it had been surprisingly enjoyable.
They
crept down the staircase to the ground floor. Ahead of her, Hugh stopped
suddenly, turning towards her and holding up a hand to indicate she should be
still. Emma, lost in reflections of how his eyes crinkled up in the corners
when he smiled, was unprepared, and bumped into his solid frame. His arms
instinctively shot out to steady her, and for a breathless moment he held her.
Their eyes locked, and for an instant she saw surprise, then confusion in his.
She felt as though the earth was standing still, pausing in all the vastness of
space, while they each truly looked
at the other. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then he shook himself and resumed
a friendly, distant expression. He bent his head and whispered softly ‘There is
someone in that room.’
Emma
followed his gaze. The next door in the corridor was ajar, and she could
faintly hear someone moving around inside.
Click here for Part One!
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