Chapter 19
“Lo, fair lords, how falsehood is always to be dreaded.”
Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur
Henri spotted Gabriel returning to their carriage at The Grim Shepherd with the satisfied air of a man who had successfully completed a complex negotiation.
She had spent the intervening hour alternating between studying their sketches and rubbings and watching the local patrons with the kind of anthropological interest that helped distract her from her growing catalog of marital grievances.
“Success,” Gabriel announced as he settled back into their carriage, producing an ornate iron key from his coat pocket. “The hall’s caretaker was surprisingly accommodating once I explained our interest in renting the property for the remainder of the winter season.”
Henri examined the key with interest, noting its age and elaborate craftsmanship. “He agreed to let us inspect the premises before committing to a lease?”
“Indeed. Apparently, Grimsfell Hall has remained empty for the past several months, and the owners are eager to secure tenants even during the off-season.” Gabriel pocketed the key and signaled their driver to proceed.
“The caretaker seemed particularly pleased by the prospect of winter occupancy, though he did feel obligated to warn us about the hall’s … atmospheric peculiarities.”
Henri raised an eyebrow at Gabriel’s phrasing. “You mean the ghostly organ music?”
“Among other things,” Gabriel replied with the kind of dry understatement that suggested he placed little credence in local superstitions.
“According to the caretaker, the hall has acquired quite a reputation for supernatural activity over the years. Previous tenants have reported strange sounds, cold drafts in closed rooms, and the occasional sighting of a woman in antique dress wandering the corridors.”
“How conveniently dramatic,” Henri observed, though she had to admit that such stories would certainly discourage casual curiosity about the property. “Did the caretaker mention anything specific about the organ?”
Gabriel consulted his notes from the conversation.
“He confirmed that there is indeed an organ somewhere in the hall, though he seemed oddly vague about its exact location. When I pressed for details, he mentioned something about the old chapel but became quite evasive when I asked for more specific directions.”
Henri found Gabriel’s report intriguing despite her frustrations with him.
The combination of local superstition and deliberately vague information suggested that Grimsfell Hall might indeed hold the secrets they were seeking, assuming they could overcome whatever obstacles had been placed in the way of discovery.
Their carriage wound along increasingly narrow roads that hugged the dramatic Cornish coastline, with the sound of crashing waves providing a constant reminder of their proximity to the sea.
As they traveled, Henri began to understand why visitors might find Grimsfell Hall an unsettling place.
The landscape itself had a wild, untamed quality that seemed to dwarf human attempts at domestication.
When the hall finally came into view, Henri felt her breath catch at the sheer dramatic impact of its setting.
It was a substantial Tudor manor house built of weathered gray stone, its multiple chimneys and elaborate windows speaking to the wealth and ambition of its original builders.
But what made the structure truly striking was its position on very nearly the edge of a prominent cliff, with endless views of the frothing sea stretching to the horizon.
The building seemed to grow directly from the rock itself, as though centuries of wind and weather had shaped both the natural cliff and the human construction into a single, integrated whole.
Henri could see why the locals might attribute supernatural qualities to such a place.
The hall was otherworldly, commanding its dramatic perch above the churning waters below.
“Grimsfell, indeed,” Henri murmured as their carriage drew to a halt in the manor’s courtyard.
The wind that swept up from the sea was unlike anything Henri had experienced in their previous travels, carrying with it the sound of waves crashing against the rocks far below and creating an eerie whistling effect as it passed through the hall’s elaborate stonework system.
Even from outside the building, Henri could hear the way the wind seemed to find every gap and crevice in the ancient structure, creating a symphony of haunting sounds that would indeed be unnerving to anyone not expecting them.
Gabriel helped Henri down and produced the caretaker’s key, leading the way to the hall’s main entrance with his characteristic purposeful stride.
The heavy wooden door did not creak in protest despite what must be years of disuse, opening to reveal an interior that was both grand and somehow melancholy in its abandonment.
The caretaker must have been especially diligent to maintain the property so well despite it standing empty for most of the year.
“Impressive,” Gabriel observed as they stepped into the main hall, their footsteps echoing in the vast space.
Henri had to agree. Notwithstanding its current lack of habitants, Grimsfell Hall retained the unmistakable marks of its Tudor origins.
Carved oak paneling, tall, mullioned windows overlooking the sea, and a molded plaster ceiling overhead, beneath which heavy timbers likely bore the weight of centuries.
The furnishings were draped in dust sheets, giving the rooms the hushed expectancy of a stage awaiting its actors.
Gabriel immediately pulled out their sketch of the cave carving, studying the image of the four-paned window with its depiction of a woman playing an organ.
“According to this, we should be looking for a chapel or music room, probably somewhere that would have acoustic properties suitable for an organ installation.”
Henri nodded her agreement, though she found herself wondering how they would search such a large and complex building systematically. “The caretaker mentioned an old chapel. Perhaps we should begin by trying to locate that specific room.”
They spent the next hour exploring the hall’s public rooms, each space offering fresh evidence of Tudor craftsmanship and architectural ambition.
Ornate plaster ceilings, carved mantelpieces, and heavy oak doors spoke of a past both proud and prosperous.
In one long gallery, intricate iron grilles vented the room, their rusting tracery emitting eerie echoes as the wind howled up from the cliffs below.
But despite their systematic search, there was no sign of the organ that the sketch so clearly implied should be hidden somewhere within the building.
“This is puzzling,” Gabriel admitted as they completed their circuit of the ground floor. “The locals clearly know about an organ, the sketch depicts one quite specifically, and yet we have found no evidence of such an instrument anywhere in the obvious locations.”
Henri studied their sketch again, paying particular attention to the architectural details visible in the Tudor window image.
“Perhaps the organ is not in a conventional location. Tudor buildings often included hidden rooms or concealed spaces, especially if they were built during periods of religious or political uncertainty.”
Gabriel’s expression suggested that Henri’s observation had given him a new direction to consider. “You are suggesting that the chapel itself might be hidden?”
“It is possible,” Henri replied. “If Grimsfell Hall was built during the time of Henry the Eighth, when religious practices were subject to rapid and sometimes violent changes, the original builders might well have created concealed spaces for activities that could fall in and out of favor depending on the current monarch’s preferences. ”
Gabriel looked around the main hall with renewed interest, clearly reassessing the architecture from this new perspective. “Then we need to search for evidence of hidden passages or concealed rooms. The organ, and whatever secrets it might hold, could be anywhere within these walls.”
Henri felt a familiar surge of excitement at the intellectual challenge, even as she remained acutely aware of the emotional distance that continued to separate her from her husband.
Whatever lay hidden within Grimsfell Hall, she was determined to help uncover it.
If only to prove to herself that her contributions to their investigation had genuine value, regardless of Gabriel’s apparent inability to appreciate her help in his mysterious quest.
After two more hours of fruitless searching through the manor’s labyrinthine passages and chambers, Henri’s earlier excitement had curdled into bitter disappointment.
They had examined every room, every corridor, every obvious space where an organ might be housed, but found only gloomy chambers and dust-covered furniture.
The water damage to their cave carving was beginning to seem like more than mere inconvenience.
Perchance it had obscured crucial details that would have led them to their goal.
Perhaps this is where our hunt finally ends, Henri thought with crushing dejection. Perhaps we have followed these ancient clues as far as they can take us, and the answers Signor di Bianchi seeks will remain forever out of reach.
The possibility should have brought some measure of relief, given how her new marriage had deteriorated since leaving London.
Instead, Henri found herself genuinely disappointed by the prospect of failure, not just because of the intellectual challenge the puzzle represented, but because solving it might have been the one thing that could have brought Gabriel back to her.
The man who had seduced her with passion and promises in Calais, rather than this cold stranger who treated her like an unwelcome burden.