Chapter 8
In which a cellar is foreboding
I have often thought that it is a great pity that vampiri can only sense the casting of magick, and not the Charm itself.
— from Lady Avely’s Guide to Guile and Peril
After the lacklustre dinner, Trebellow guided Judith back to her room. Dismissing him with thanks, she locked the door after him and waited quietly.
In a few moments, she crossed to her cupboard. Peering in, she saw that Marigold was awake. She yawned largely for such a small creature and asked if Judith had solved the murder yet.
“Not yet,” Judith carried her to the long windowsill, while Marigold looked around the room curiously. “Welcome to the Captain’s Cabin. I’m now, rather uncomfortably, the Captain of Castle Lanyon. Moreover, it seems that my crew is a little mutinous.”
Marigold eyed the massive bell with the rope pulley. “Just ring that, and it should make them all jump.”
“I dare not.” Judith laughed, then sobered. “You know, Marigold, you are free to leave now if you wish and end our bond. It was always intended to be a temporary measure, and here I am dragging you into yet more peril.”
“Ha! As if I would miss out on the adventure!”
“Are you certain?” At Marigold’s nod, Judith sighed and pulled back the sleeve of her gown, and while Marigold fed, she described her encounters thus far, using it as an opportunity to order her suspicions.
“So Trebellow left at noon, and Sgt Finlay arrived around the same time. On the face of it, that excuses Trebellow from guilt, for he tells me he was at his wrassling matches all afternoon.”
“Good. Better not to have a murderous butler, if one can.”
“Yes, nor a vengeful ghost, but it sounds like the Crimson Lady is quite the fixture at the castle. Cador said she walks the corridors, not the cellars, but I haven’t run into her yet.”
“Well, let us hunt her out,” said Marigold cheerfully.
Judith scanned her with misgiving. “You have no clothes with you.” The flannel kerchief inadequately shielded Marigold’s modesty, and furthermore it was starting to look rather grimy.
“I shan’t need them as a bat.”
That did not resolve the question should they need to converse, but Judith reasoned to herself that they should not run into anyone in the cellars at night, so Marigold might avoid too much of a scandal. For one night, at least.
Hoping that the castle’s inhabitants retired early, she cautiously opened the door. The empty corridor beckoned, and they emerged. Marigold hovered at Judith’s shoulders and both of them kept a sharp eye out for any Crimson Lady.
“You go ahead,” whispered Judith, holding a brass candle aloft. “See if your nose can find the kitchens.”
She trod slowly after, and sure enough, Marigold soon returned with a direction, leading Judith down in a spiral through the castle.
The passageways of stone and carpet helped muffle her steps, and she kept her ears pricked.
Only the pounding of the waves met her perception, seemingly upon the very walls of the keep.
The tide must be in again, the causeway covered.
For some reason, the thought made her shiver: they were stuck here, unable to leave until the waters receded again.
Fortunately, the corridors showed no trace of any lady, Crimson or otherwise, though Judith once felt the breath of air upon her neck.
She whipped around sharply but saw nothing; it must have simply been the draught from the old walls.
Eventually, they reached the kitchen. It was empty, though awash with the smell of chicken, cabbage, and fat.
Judith circuited around it, noting that it was neat and ordered: the new young cook had that much to recommend her, even if her cabbage soup left much to be desired.
The larder looked a little sparse, but at the back of it was a heavy door: the entry to the cellars.
Drawing a breath, she wrenched it open and descended down a broad sweep of steps, holding her candle before her. Marigold fluttered at her shoulder, her wings sending faint rushes of air against Judith’s cheeks.
The circle of light showed the dim expanse of a large room, stacked with barrels and wooden boxes, and hung with produce.
Pushing past the sprigs of lavender and rosemary, and the dangling chains of onions, Judith pressed further in.
It grew colder as she went deeper, and she suspected by the smell of it that there were ice blocks placed at intervals, wrapped in hay to keep them cool.
At the far wall, she saw two archways, one leading to further rooms, and one cresting stairs to an even deeper cellar.
Pausing, she wrinkled her nose. It was not the smell of hay or meat that bothered her, but rather the sense of something sad just outside her perception, like tears ignored.
Was this the pall of dread that Drumpellier had mentioned?
It seemed to emanate from the stairs lower down, rather than the other archway.
Resolutely she breasted them, gesturing for Marigold to follow, and trod downward.
Halfway down, she paused, startled. The room below was huge, much larger than the well-stocked cellar above.
The walls stretched out so deep and far that she could barely make out the other end.
She marvelled at the construction of it, even as she saw that it was mostly empty, except for a wheelbarrow, a spade, and broom propped up against a wall, and a bevy of round-bellied kegs crowded in the back.
Uneasily, she was aware that the whole castle pressed down upon her.
The pounding of the waves was now louder, a great murmuring thunder.
Judith descended the rest of the stairs cautiously, lifting her candle.
The massive room was strangely barren apart from the kegs.
Perhaps it was too large to keep cold, and indeed it was oddly warm, moderated in its bower of earth.
Judith looked around in satisfaction: here indeed was a suitable hall for a queen’s roost. She could transform this into something elegant and welcoming, given time.
She could just imagine the walls softened by hangings, and the floor carpeted a warm red.
The long wooden beams across the high ceiling were perfect for bats, and she could affix ropes and landings.
Rectangles of darkness interspersed the left-hand wall, hinting at further storerooms, or possible guest vampiri rooms. She peered into the dark archways as she passed, seeing cells of varying size and cleanliness.
As she strolled along, she noted with interest that the feeling of sorrow was intensifying.
In fact, it seemed to be coming in waves from the far corner where the kegs sat.
It was now mixed with an insidious fear, suggesting to any visitor that they should leave right now.
Judith paused and braced herself against the enchantment, for that was surely what it was.
Grimly, she noted that she had felt an echo of it earlier in the day when Mrs Ulrich had served her plum cake.
That had been an exercise of Diplomacy, subtle yet effective, persuading Judith that she was unwise to stay.
This was a similar weaving, she was certain, but increased manifold times and mixed with a dreadful grief.
She had a moment to wonder if the gloomy housekeeper had fashioned this experience too. Almost, she began to feel sorry for her, to be able to evince such sorrow. Then a glimpse of movement caught her eye. She spun around, her candle flickering wildly.
A shape of woman hovered against the far wall. Her face was dim and indistinct, her dark hair piled upon her head, bare of any cap. Judith had half-expected to see Mrs Ulrich, but this woman wore an ornate gown from a bygone age, glowing deep red in the fluctuating light.
Judith stared, disbelieving. After a long, tense moment, the figure vanished, leaving darkness in her place.
“Did you see that?” she hissed to Marigold.
Marigold dived down, becoming human and clinging to Judith’s skirts. “Yes!” she squeaked.
“She seemed strangely far away. As if she were beyond the wall.”
“Uh huh,” said Marigold nervously.
“It is a trick, of course.”
“Uh huh.”
“A crimson gown, I note.”
Marigold was silent. Then the red figure suddenly flickered into sight again.
Judith tried to master her nerves, despite the fear and dread that now overwhelmed her.
This was not a ghost, she told herself. For one thing, the sense of despair was emanating from the far-left corner with the kegs, not the wall where the Crimson Lady hovered to her right.
There must be two different charms working together in unison.
Ordinarily, someone treated to the chorus of them would be too unnerved to think closely on it, but Judith was not an ordinary observer.
She was accustomed to parsing truth from lies.
The lady vanished again, leaving darkness in her wake.
Bracing herself, Judith turned her back on the spectre and trod towards the awful feeling that came from the kegs, stoutly disregarding the instinct that told her to flee.
Whatever it was, it didn’t want anyone near it, which was enough to pique her curiosity.
Really, it was quite understandable that the last cook had left her position. Who would want to fetch the potatoes with this lurking below? It simply must be hiding something.
She reached the kegs, and stopped, assailed now with the scent of brandy, fruit, and spices.
It was the heady smell of ratafia: peach, citrus, cinnamon, and cloves, mixed with brandy.
The sweetened liquor was commonly drunk by ladies of the ton, and it took months to ferment.
Someone had set up quite the operation here, for there were at least a dozen kegs slowly fermenting in their dark nursery.