Chapter Nine
Chapter
Nine
“What took you so long?” Marina asks when we join them on the second floor a few minutes later.
“We ran into Leo and his camera crew. It didn’t go well,” I say. “Anything to report up here?”
“Not sure.” She pats a small, deep-set wooden door with a fancy latch and keyhole.
“This is the only door I can’t open. I think it leads up into that small turret at the back.
” She guides us across to the diamond-leaded window seat and points up at the small, twisty turret at the end of the building.
“There’s a window in it so there must be a room, which means there must be access somehow,” Artie says, peering out too.
On that, Britannia Lovell materializes through the locked door. “There’s nothing up there.”
I still and place a hand on Marina’s arm. “Britannia.”
Britannia leans her back against the door, almost as if she is trying to barricade it.
“Do you know where the key is?” I ask, and she bristles with impatience and then reverses through the door again, disappearing as quickly as she came.
“Bugger,” I sigh. “She’s gone again.”
“Short and sweet,” Marina says. “What did she say?”
I repeat her scant words and both Artie and Fletch make a note of it on their phones.
Marina recaps their findings for my benefit. “The rest of the rooms on this floor appear to be bedrooms, mostly used for furniture storage and the like. Smaller than the grand suites on the first floor, probably servants’ quarters back in the day.”
I nod, scanning the windowsills and picture rails for any sign of a key for the locked door. There’s obviously something of importance in that turret and I badly want to know what it is.
“Want me to break it down for you?” Fletch asks casually, and much as I appreciate the offer, the last thing I want to do is smash a centuries-old door off its hinges.
“Perhaps we should just ask Lois and Barty if they have a key first,” I say.
He looks a little disappointed, like “if I can’t have sex then at least let me smash stuff up” disappointed.
Of all the superhero costumes I’d have imagined Fletch in, The Hulk isn’t one of them.
Not that I’ve imagined him in a superhero costume, of course.
That would be weird. Although if he were to be a superhero, his superpower would be seduction, which technically would probably make him Gigolo Man.
I give myself a mental slap. If I cannot keep my mind out of the gutter while Fletch is around, I might have to cancel this shadowing thing altogether and let him make up whatever crap he wants to for his bloody double-page spread.
Heading back down to the ground floor again, I lead the way to the ballroom.
It’s the room where I first witnessed paranormal activity in the castle and I feel inexplicably pulled back there again now.
I don’t explain as much to Fletch of course; I can well imagine his derision at the fact that I count my gut instinct as one of my most valuable investigative skills.
Stepping inside, I stop and catch my breath, because my gut was bang on the money.
No wonder Britannia disappeared so speedily just now; she was due down here to perform for her adoring, imaginary crowd.
It’s such a shame that I’m the only one among us who can see it, because watching Britannia and Dino soar from the chandeliers like exotic, swooping birds for the first time is a sight I’ll never forget.
I lay my hand over my heart and whisper, “They’re here. Britannia and Dino are performing up there on the trapeze. It’s so beautiful, Marina.” I feel her hand slide into mine as I watch, and when I look at her quickly, she’s staring up toward the ceiling too, rapt, even though she cannot see them.
It’s such a sweeping, epic room, and without the constraints of preserving human life, they fly uninhibited by fear.
Dino is a different man now from the one we encountered in the dungeon earlier.
There is tenderness and grace in the way he reaches for Britannia’s outstretched hands and catches her effortlessly, swinging with her as if they are lovers dancing on moonbeams.
They dip and then embrace, then they fall apart and meet once more.
Their hands clasp, and every so often their lips almost touch for the most fleeting of romantic moments.
The crystals on Britannia’s silk costume catch the light like dancing fireflies, and I can hear her laughter and his jubilance as I stand beneath them and watch them perform, awestruck.
What a sight they must have made back in their heyday; people would have flocked to marvel at their stunning bravado.
Britannia reminds me of the beautiful girls from the turn-of-the-last-century dance halls, of the glamour and dazzle of Moulin Rouge; she’s euphoric and ravishing and impossibly sophisticated.
Up there, there is only the two of them, and they delight in each other and the majesty of their private flight.
I see her differently as she perches inside her spinning hoop and pirouettes; she is no longer petulant or spoiled.
I can completely understand how both of the men in her life were so enamored of her; she is magnificent, a triumph of femininity and beauty as she strikes a sensual pose, her head thrown back in abandon.
I watch them as Dino blows her a kiss across the room and releases a swing for her.
She reaches out with one pale, elegant arm, catching it with practiced ease, but as she clutches it and swings free of her hoop, the rope holding the trapeze bar snaps suddenly and she free-falls toward the floor with a hideous, bloodcurdling scream.
I scream out loud too and run to where she lies in a crumpled heap of tangled ropes, her limbs twisted to ugly, unsurvivable angles.
“Britannia,” I gasp, dropping to my knees, scrabbling at the air around her. Dark blood pools around the back of her head and Dino is beside us now, grief-stricken as he gently turns her over. Her eyes flicker open for the briefest of moments and she looks at me, bereft.
“It always ends like this,” she whispers, and then he gathers her into his arms and clasps her to his chest before they both disappear.
I sag onto my knees and hold my face in my hands for a minute or two.
Beside me, Marina rubs my back and waits until I’m ready.
They all do. Artie has taken a seat on one of the chairs set around the edge of the room, and Fletch has watched the whole thing leaning against the doorway.
I can’t even think what this must have seemed like for him; my heart is too busy breaking for Britannia and the tragic way she met her demise.
Covering my mouth with my hand, I realize I feel sick. “I need a couple of minutes,” I say, pushing up onto my feet. “I’ll be all right after a few gulps of fresh air.”
I dash past Fletch without even looking up at him and keep going until I’m outside on the stone steps.
Thankfully I manage not to hurl my lunch over the side of the balustrade, and I grip the cool, rough stone and slowly, slowly, try to regulate my breathing as I concentrate on a planter of pretty summer flowers for distraction.
“You saw them perform then, I take it.”
It’s not a question, more of a statement, and I nod as Leo comes out to stand alongside me. It’s a measure of how shaken I am that I’m relieved to see him, because right now he’s the only one around here who truly understands.
“I saw them earlier,” he says. “Turned my stomach too, if it helps.”
It doesn’t, really. My rational brain knows that I didn’t just witness her actually die in front of me on the ballroom floor. But it sure as hell felt real, and the fact is she did die in exactly that manner and it was a truly terrible way to go.
“She was so beautiful,” I say, looking out over the courtyard.
“Mesmerizing.”
It’s an accurate description for Britannia Lovell. She seems to mesmerize everyone in her orbit.
“Have you spoken any more to them today?” I ask quietly, hoping he’ll reveal his earlier meeting with Britannia in the chapel.
“I have been rather busy with my production team,” he sniffs, which implies two things: He doesn’t want to tell me about his meeting with Britannia and also he’s still pissy with me about the snogging incident in the hallway.
“About that thing in the hallway earlier…” I say, because I should probably attempt to clear the air.
“Please don’t think that I’m bothered, because I’m not,” he says too quickly. “I couldn’t care less what you do or who you do it with, in your spare time at least.”
And there he goes again, making me feel shoddy for getting my face snogged off while I’m on the clock.
“Good,” I huff. “Because you have no right to.”
He looks steadily ahead, his profile etched like a Roman statue in the sunlight. “I know that.”
“Well, I’m glad we’ve got that sorted,” I say stiffly, and after a moment’s awkward silence, I sigh and head back inside to the library in search of Lady Eleanor. She’s there at her usual table in the window with Lord Shilling, and by the looks of it, backgammon is the game of choice today.
“Would it be okay if I sit with you for a few minutes?” I say when they glance up.
“Long as you don’t expect to play,” Lord Shilling says.
Eleanor shoots me a little smile as I sit down. “Busy day, dear?”
I nod, noncommittal because hopefully she still doesn’t know precisely what I’m doing at Maplemead.
“I wondered if you could help me with something, actually,” I say. “There’s a door up on the first floor that seems to be locked. I think it leads up the far tower.”
Eleanor goes statue-still, all apart from the telltale shake of her hand.
“Britannia loved it so up there.”
Lord Shilling sighed. “Why would you want to get in the tower? Full of old junk as I remember.”
Eleanor shoots him a reproachful look, but I answer him all the same.
“It’s the highest window in the castle, isn’t it?” I say, improvising. “I wanted to check out the view from up there.”
“Same as from the bedrooms,” he huffs.