CHAPTER NINETEEN

We stare at each other for a moment. Theresa is shocked by the secret entrance that opens behind me. I am shocked by Theresa.

“What are you doing here?” I finally ask.

She blinks and seems to just now remember I’m there. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m…”

My voice trails off. What do I tell her? What can I tell her? I’m caught. What possible good reason could I have for snooping through Lord Edmund’s library?

Then again, what possible reason could she have?

She tells me. “You heard the screaming again.”

I nod slowly. “You did too?”

“Aye. I’ve ignored it too many times. Told myself it was just the wind, but…” she shook her head. “With poor Sarah found the way she was and with Lady Cordelia talking the way Lady Alivia did before she died.”

“Yes,” I reply. “Exactly like that. I wonder if maybe the killer drugged them somehow or influenced their thoughts to feel that they were being chased by ghosts.”

Theresa stares at me for a moment, and I remember that I’m not supposed to know about Lady Alivia’s ravings. Heat climbs my cheeks, and I stammer, “I… well, Lady Cordelia said that she was being haunted by ghosts, and she mentioned that Lady Alivia was unwell before she died and perhaps… I thought maybe her condition may have been worsened…”

I let my voice trail off. It’s a horrible excuse, and I can see that Theresa doesn’t buy it. After a moment, she chuckles drily. “You’re a sly one, Mary. You’ve been looking into this for a while now, haven’t you?”

I don’t respond. Theresa nods and says, “Well, thank God someone was brave enough to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves anymore. Yes, Lady Alivia complained of being persecuted by ghosts before she died. I fear Lady Cordelia might be doing the same. I would say it’s just the curse of this house if not for Sarah.” Her face tightens, reminding me once more of the affection she held for the young maid. “Sarah was a good girl. And she wasn’t screaming about no ghosts hunting her. But then, she was only a maid.” Her lip curls. “Wouldn’t have to be too careful about her, would you?”

“Do you think… I mean… who would you believe could do something like this?’

Theresa laughs. “There’s only one person I know might stand to gain something from this, and only one person I know who would know where this chamber is. Well, three people now, but I think you see where I’m going with this.”

I nod. Then I look behind me. A dark hole looms in front of me. I remember the hollow sockets of Annie’s eyes in my dream, and a shiver runs through me.

Theresa grabs my hand. “We’ll go together.” She reaches into her coat with her other hand and retrieves a flashlight. “See? I brought a light. Never can be sure what you’ll find in these old castles. Figured it would come in handy.”

I return her smile, and nod again. “All right. Let’s go then.”

She releases my hand and steps in front of me. She switches her light on and reveals a stone staircase leading down and curving as it descends. I shiver again. The wall sconces are dark, but in every other way, this passageway reminds me of the one I see in my nightmare.

“Into the maelstrom go we,” Theresa mutters.

She enters the passageway, and I follow. The air is cooler inside, and I draw my coat tightly around my shoulders. I’m grateful that I think to dress warmly.

The staircase descends at least forty feet, and I still see no sign of an end. We must be underground now. I mention this to Theresa, and she says, “Aye. Old keeps like this often had secret passages so the master of the house could escape with his family and his personal guard in case the city was under siege. Usually they lead to a tunnel that opens past the castle walls.”

We descend another forty feet perhaps before the passageway levels out. “This’ll be the tunnel, then,” she says.

She starts forward, but I hesitate and look back up the stairs. “What is it, Mary?”

“Do you think we should worry about someone following us? This goes on for a while. We don’t know how long we’ll be down here.”

“We’ve already gone too far,” she replies. “There’s no turning back now. Lord Edmund knows you’ve snooped here before. Sooner or later, he’ll know you’re snooping again, and me with you. If you want to go back, you can, but I’ve chosen to see this through. Sarah deserves more than to be cast into the sea to have her head bashed in on some rocks just for… hell, for what?” Tears well in her eyes. “I’m moving on.”

Her courage and the passion she shows inspire me. “I’ll follow you.”

She nods, then gives me a grim smile. “Then once more into the maelstrom we go.”

We follow the passage forward. The corridor is somewhat wider and taller than the stairs but just as devoid of decoration. The elder lords Blackwood didn’t feel a need to embellish the path of their defeat.

“I wonder if this passage has ever been used,” I say aloud.

“Well, House Blackwood’s never seen the front lines of a battlefield,” Theresa says. “So I doubt it. Although perhaps some other lords have found less than savory uses for a secret passage that leads into the plains beyond.”

I frown at the thought. I have encountered several wealthy murderers who go to great lengths to conceal their behavior. In the end, they never conceal it well enough. They’re always confident that they can get away with whatever they want because their wealth will allow it. Unfortunately, they are often true.

But I’ve never encountered something like this, a built-in lair for a killer who could make women disappear and never leave any evidence behind. No evidence that anyone could find, anyway. It’s rather macabre to wonder how many women might have been led through here to their doom.

We reach the end of the passage about two hundred yards after we reach the bottom of the staircase. It ends at a large stone door with a single small window covered with a steel grate. I test the handle, and it opens easily.

The silence and ease with which the massive stone slab moves on its hinges is disquieting. It’s proof that this place has been used recently. That door has been well-maintained so that whatever room exists behind it can continue to be used for the purpose for which it was created.

We enter the room, and Theresa’s light reveals its purpose. I gasp when I see it, and Theresa lets out a soft cry.

The room is twelve feet by thirteen feet, smaller than my bedroom. It is an almost completely bare stone chamber. Only two things identify its purpose and illustrate to us just how terrible a murderer this killer is.

The first is a pair of massive iron manacles seven feet above the wall. A person shackled by these chains would be forced to stand, or, if they were shorter like Sarah and Lady Cordelia, to hang by their wrists.

The second thing that shows how terrible this room is reveals itself when Theresa sweeps her flashlight to the floor. The stones there are stained with the dried brown of old blood, and when she lifts the flashlight, similar stains run the length of the wall up to the manacles.

The room carries a rancid, coppery smell, and as we stare at the manacles, a moan echoes through the room. The stone walls focus the sound from the storm outside and channel it here. That means the opposite is true. The stone channels the sound from the room and carries it up that staircase into the house.

Theresa and I share a look. The source of the cries we hear is revealed now. Some of the howls can be explained by the wind, but the screaming and the cries for help? Those came from this chamber, from right up here where women were chained and… and where God knows what happened to them until Lord Edmund was finished with them.

“Mother Mary,” Theresa says softly, crossing herself. “Oh, Sarah. What did he do to you?”

I turn around and catch sight of a small hallway perpendicular to the passageway that leads us here. I touch Theresa’s shoulder and point it out to her. “There’s something else there,” I tell her.

She shines her light, and we see that the small hallway runs for about ten yards before ending in another door.

“More madness,” she mutters. “God help us.”

She takes the lead again. This door opens into a smaller chamber, maybe four feet wide by seven feet long.

There is no wall behind it. The floor ends in an abrupt drop. I can hear the crashing of the waves and know where we are even before a flash of lightning illuminates the ocean.

It’s clear now what happened to Sarah. At some point, she was set upon and dragged down here to Lord Edmund’s torture chamber. There she was used, undoubtedly in the most cruel and vile ways imaginable, tortured until Lord Edmund had his fill.

Then she was taken here and throne to her death.

Theresa is shaking. I can’t tell if it’s fear or anger that provokes her reaction.

“We need to tell someone,” she says. “We need to show this to Inspector Hargreaves.”

I remember my cell phone. “I can take pictures,” I tell her. “We’ll collect evidence and give it to the inspector. Maybe he can get a warrant to search the property, especially if we tell him we’ve seen this for our own eyes.”

Theresa’s eyes widen. “You have a cell phone? That’s wonderful!”

"Yes. I have a friend I can send these pictures too, as well. That way, if something happens to us, he can share them with Scotland Yard on our behalf."

“Nothing will happen to us,” she says firmly. “We’re going to take these pictures, go back upstairs, send them to Inspector Hargreaves and bring that miserable dog to justice.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” I tell her.

“You’ve got to,” she insists. “We’re in the trenches now, Mary. If we’re going to survive, we have to believe that we’ll win, even if all of the odds are stacked against us.”

I meet her eyes and see strength in her gaze. There’s fear there too, powerful fear, and anger as well. But her strength overcomes it all. I have had poor experiences with friendship in the past, but I hope very much that this one will last.

I take the pictures and try to send them to Sean and to Inspector Hargreaves, but the lack of cell coverage means my messages don’t go through. I tell that to Theresa, and she sighs. “That’s all right. We’ll go upstairs and get it done.”

“And just what the devil are you two doing down here?”

Theresa and I both shriek. We spin around, and our flashlight lands on the stern, ice-cold eyes of Lord Edmund.

“Everywhere I find you, I catch you meddling in something, Mary,” he says. “And now you’ve dragged poor Theresa down this path with you. When will you learn to leave well enough alone?”

I don’t answer. Fear has stopped my tongue.

I am trapped underground with a serial killer.