Chapter 34
Immediately Meleri left the room and went upstairs to her bed-chamber. She wanted to select a few of the fabrics she received from Robert to use for dresses for the twins. Agnes was nowhere around, so she opened the trunk at the foot of her bed and had just begun to remove a length of cream taffeta, when Lady Margaret poked her head through the door. “May I come in, or are you occupied with something important?”
“Oh, do come in,” she said, and rose to her feet. “I was going through my trunk. Don’t you think this would be a lovely color on one of the twins?”
Lady Margaret came into the room and sat on a long bench beneath the window. She looked the fabric over. “It’s a perfect color. Is there enough, do you think, to make each of them a dress?”
“I will ask Agnes what she thinks.”
“You have given them far too much. It was so generous and kind of you to make the dresses you gave them last week. I cannot tell you what it has meant to them. They have never had anything so lovely.”
“I have received more joy from seeing them in those dresses than I ever would have if I made them for myself.”
“Do you need any help with the sewing?”
Meleri was about to answer that when she heard a noise that sounded like someone scratching on the wall.
“What was that?” Lady Margaret asked. “Did you hear it?”
“Yes. Where do you suppose it was coming from?”
“It sounded like it was coming from over there,” she said, indicating the opposite wall.
The scratching sound came again, and Meleri went to the wall and put her ear against it.
“Can you hear anything?”
“No.”
Suddenly, there was a loud bang and the curtains billowed out and a wind blew into the room, but the window was closed.
“What was that?”
“It’s him,” Meleri said. “It’s the ghost.”
They heard a sound, as if someone was walking on the other side of the wall. Meleri put her ear to the wall again.
“Is it the ghost?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he saying?”
“Thump, thump, thump-ed-thump.”
“Does this go on all the time?” Lady Margaret asked.
“No, this is something new. He’s a bit put out with me, you see.” Meleri went on to explain her brooding friend.
“He’s a Douglas, all right. Sulking is a Douglas male-inherited trait.”
They laughed, then finished sorting though the fabrics. When they finished, Lady Margaret went for her afternoon nap. Meleri busied herself in the room when she heard the word again.
Dungeon…dungeon…dungeon…
“Oh, all right!” she said, wondering if that meant the jewels were hidden there. “You win, you stubborn old ghost of a man.”
She changed into something warmer, remembering that dungeons were cold and damp, still fuming about the earl’s stubbornness. After she had changed into a dark blue dress with long sleeves, she tied a gray woolen shawl about her shoulders. “All right. I hope you’re happy you’ve won. I am on my way, but I am warning you. If I catch my death down there, it will be your fault. I don’t know why you couldn’t have chosen the gardens or at least something a trifle more sensible. I hope you are satisfied!” She left her room and went down the stairs.
She was walking down the long gallery, still unable to contain herself. “Of all the hardheaded, obstinate, headstrong, persistent, contumacious, unyielding, inflexible people I have ever known, you are at the top of the list.”
Beside her, a picture fell to the floor. Bam!
“I don’t care,” she said. “Knock them all down and see if it bothers me.”
Five of six portraits that were grouped together dropped to the floor, one after the other…bam…bam…bam…bam…bam…
“You missed one.”
Bam!
She continued in silence, letting him know she wasn’t too happy with him, either. As she passed the morning room, the crescent clock on the mantel chimed six o’clock and she glanced out the window. Already the sun was going down. She would have to hurry if she was going to be back in time for dinner. She passed a mirror and took one last look at herself before going on her way, like the doomed Marquis of Montrose, led shackled down the Royal Mile to his execution.
Thankfully, she was able to reach the thick oak door that led down a narrow circular stair to the dungeon without encountering any of the family along the way. The door was not designed for someone her size to open, and she found it quite difficult, but after a few tries, she succeeded. A waft of stale, chilled air rushed over her, and she stood very still and closed her eyes, hoping to regain her composure, paying no attention to the air that blew the wisps of hair back from her face. She whispered a prayer before descending the awesome steps that yawned open like gaping jaws waiting to consume her.
Dungeon.
There was something haunting about going into a place such as this, for it embodied all the dispassionateness of disembodied souls, of human suffering and pain, of gruesome torture—and all for some unknown gain, some reckoning, retaliation or punishment. And for what? They were all dead now. Meleri turned up the faint flame of the lamp she had brought, for she knew she would need it to light the way through the dark depths below. With one fortifying breath, she held the lamp aloft as she looked down the steep row of stone steps that led down, deep into the bowels of the castle.
With a slight shiver of dread, she began her descent, stepping carefully, for the stones were damp and slick with moisture and age. The passageway was dank and the air grew cooler as she went lower, the light from the yellow flame of her lamp glistening upon the damp places in walls that were moist from seepage. Now she was really feeling the dungeon’s coolness reaching up to her, and she pulled the gray shawl higher to ward off the creeping chill. Her feet were getting cold, as well, and she wished she had changed into sturdier shoes.
And still she went ever downward, until she encountered the lacelike tracery of numerous spiderwebs like veins of silver spreading through stone. At first, they were nothing more than thin gossamer threads, so pale and fine they gleamed where the light struck them, but as she descended, they grew thicker, spun across the passageway and catching in her hair and eyelashes, like a warning for her to turn back. She swatted them away and took yet another step. By now, her eyes were becoming more accustomed to the dark, and she could see she was almost to the bottom of the stairwell. A skittering sound reached her ears as a rat scrambled out of her way.
Dungeon.
She had left the world she knew behind. A feeling of despair came over her, a sense of disconnection. She was alone, distressed by the feeling she was the only one alive in the entire world. She was truly frightened now, not only from what the darkness reminded her of, but also from the fear of being separate, of being absolutely and completely alone. It was a terrible feeling—a sensation as dismal and terrifying as the nightmarish memory of being locked in a dark closet by a demented maid when she was a child. She felt as desolate as she’d felt then, when she hugged her knees and cried, wanting her mother, afraid to go on without her, afraid to die, afraid to be left alone and forgotten.
She was afraid now, of the creaking, scuffling, scraping sounds that floated up from below, of the very darkness that reached all around her, of the gripping fear that some grisly terror awaited her at the bottom of these fateful steps. At last, she left the last step and found herself in a wider passageway that opened through a dark arch into a large room that could only be some sort of torture chamber, for she had never seen such a hideous and grisly sight.
Of the numerous methods for extracting information or inflicting punishment, she could identify only the press, where prisoners were crushed to a slow and agonizing death. In one corner lay a pile of broken swords and ax heads, rotting leather shields and battered steel bonnets. Hanging on the walls were numerous shackles, chains and torture devices, all too gruesome to give any further thought. She hurried past the awful display and stopped at a large door. It was locked, but a heavy, rusted key hung on a peg next to it, and she put the key into the keyhole and slowly turned it until she heard a click. She dropped the key into her pocket, in case the door closed behind her, then stepped inside.
She was now within a larger room that contained five or six small cells, each with a thick oak door and a heavy lock. Her fear seemed to come out of the darkness like a clawing hand to grab her. She was chilled to the very marrow of her bones. She heard behind her a creaking, scraping sound. Oooo…Howls like the voices of wolves cried out. Rats scampered away from the light, leaving her with nothing to listen to but the occasional drip of water and a never-ending silence. Tip-tap. Creak, creak, creak. Tip-tap, squeak. She stood motionless, listening, but everything fell silent.
Somewhere out of the vast, dark silence that lay behind her, she heard the clanking of a chain, then the faint strains of a tune being played on the pipes, and she knew her peevish ghost was making his presence known. She spied a long, weathered bench that lay along one wall, and she went to it and sat down. She placed the lamp beside her. She had no idea how long she would have to wait, having no knowledge of how long a Scottish ghost was wont to brood and glower before restitution was made.
As she waited, she thought about all the stories she had heard since coming here to Beloyn, stories that were told by Lady Margaret or Iain at night, when the family gathered after dinner. Some dealt with the ancient Vikings and the epic tales of giants, dwarfs and trolls they brought with them to the Orkneys. Other nights there would be stories of the black-clad fin men, or the handsome, gentle and sometime deceptive selkies. Around her, the stale, cold air closed in. Faith! What she wouldn’t give for a puff of fresh air!
Meleri wasn’t certain how long she sat there, but she began to worry that her lamp would run out of oil. She knew she could never find her way out of here in the dark. She was about to call out, to tell him again what she thought of his peevish manner, when suddenly a green mist came out of the darkness beyond the doorway. It swirled and twisted, growing lighter as it approached, until it began to form and she saw a human shape materialize from the cold glow.
She could see out of the lantern light that he was eyeing her with amused curiosity and she breathed a sigh of relief. “Am I glad to see you.”
He spread his feet wide and crossed his arms over his massive chest. “Weel, lass, imagine finding ye sitting down here all by yerself.”
“Yes,” she said, shivering and rubbing her arms, “imagine my surprise at finding you here, as well.”
“Were ye scared coming down here?”
“Yes, and you very will know it. It was enough to keep me on edge and jumping at my own heartbeat.” She glanced around her. “It is a creepy place, haunted by too much death and suffering for my taste. Definitely not a place I would have chosen to visit.”
“Then why are ye here?”
“It seemed like such a jolly place! What do you mean, why am I here? Are we playing guessing games? You know why I’m here. Because you pestered me with that bloody word…dungeon…dungeon…dungeon…night and day, until I was sick of hearing it. You wanted me down here because you knew I was afraid of the dark. Well, here I am.”
“’Tis a brave lass ye are.”
“Was this some sort of a test, then? Some challenge I had to meet?”
“Aye, ’twas a proving ground of sorts.”
“So, did I meet your expectations, or must I prove myself further…scale a glass mountain, perhaps, or swim a monster-filled lake?”
“Ye are a lass like no other, always testing the point of courage. I ken ye have met the challenge. Ye can rest yerself for a while.”
“Does that mean I can leave this horrible, creepy place?”
“If it is that harrowing, what made ye come in the first place?”
“Instinct, impulse, intuition.”
“Not obedience?”
“No. I don’t care for that word.”
“Ye prefer the word rebellion?”
“Not all the time. You might be happy to know I am mellowing…somewhat. I have not lost my temper for some time now.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I am sorry, by the way, for hurting your feelings the other day. I did not realize it would anger a ghost to doubt his existence.”
“I ken ye harbor no such doubts now?”
“No, I am convinced.”
“I suppose ye think I will give you the Douglas jewels now.”
“I don’t know. I thought that might be the purpose of my coming down here, but now I am not so certain. Are you going to?”
“No.”
“Do they really exist, or is it only a tale?”
“What do ye think?”
She remembered what happened when she doubted him. She would not be so foolish again. “I believe they exist.”
“Do ye also believe I will show ye how to find them?”
“If you choose to do so, but I think you have not yet made up your mind.” The lamp beside her flickered and she shuddered, feeling the cold had begun to seep into her bones. “My oil grows low. I must start back.”
“It is already too low for ye to make it back.”
A chill of despair crept over her, and she remembered again being afraid to die in the dark closet the maid put her in. Why was it happening? She had been told the earl was a good ghost, and good people did not entice others to their death. “Was that your plan, then? To lure me down here and leave me in the dark?”
“Is that what ye think?”
“No. I think you are a decent sort. I don’t think you make war with women.”
“And what will ye do, when yer lamp goes out?”
“I will sit here and wait for you to do something.”
“So, ye have gone from not believing I exist to trusting I will save ye.”
“That was the purpose of this test, was it not?”
“Yes and no.”
“You speak in riddles.”
“Aaah, riddles… ‘Nothing is hidden that will not be made known, or secret that will not come to light.’”
“That is from the Bible.”
“Of course. Did ye think I came from the other place?”
“No, and in spite of your not wanting to be called good, I think you are.”
“Titles can be deceptive. Think of all those who called ye a shrew.”
“How do you know about that?”
“A ghost must keep some facts to himself, lass.”
“Do you ever grow weary of being a ghost?”
“Aye. The longer thou livest, the more fool thou art. I am the first of a long and noble line, and I have stood watch o’er it for a long, long time. But my candle burns low and I have no far to go.”
“The end is near, you mean?”
“Aye,” he said, “but for whom?”
She heard a shriek. The lamp flickered and went out. She had never been surrounded by such absolute blackness. Not a ray of light or one of hope could exist in such a place. The air was still, the dungeon strangely quiet. “Are you still here?”
No one answered.
She heard a scuffling sound and she lifted her feet off the floor, then drew them up beneath her and tucked her skirts around them. She was very cold and hungry, and she could not help thinking, what if? What if he did not return? What if no one thought to look for her down here? What if Robert never found her until it was too late? What if she died down here, unable to find her way out of the darkness?
She pushed those thoughts away, and to make certain they stayed away, she began to hum, occasionally singing a verse or two, then singing all the words, until she was so inspired, she was singing at the top of her lungs.
A sound, like wind blowing through a church belfry, swept through the dungeon. She stopped singing and the sound grew faint. A deep voice spoke out.
O I forbid you, maidens a’
That wear gown on your hair
To come or gae by Caterhaugh,
For young Tam Lynn is there.
There’s nane that gaes by Caterhaugh
But they leave him a wad,
Either their rings, or green mantles,
Or else their maidenhead.
The sound of the rushing wind grew louder, then faded completely away. She was trembling as she sat there in silence, too afraid to move and holding her breath until she had to breathe.
“Are ye afraid, lass?”
She released a breath. “I am afraid of the unknown, but I’m not afraid I will be harmed. I have learned something today.”
“What is that?”
“To never, ever doubt something you are sure about.”
“Ye are sure I will see you safely from this place?”
“Yes, I am certain, because I have decided I like you and I know you would not be called the Good, if you were so bad.”
“I ken I would fill yer lamp with oil if it were in my power, but it is not.”
Another cold chill swept over her. “Then I must remain down here, in the dark?”
“No. I can give ye something else. Something that belongs to me.”
The lamp flickered and came back on, illuminating the room brightly and burning with brilliance that was not there before. The light was so bright and glaring against her eyes that for a few moments, she could not see. When at last her vision returned she searched the room for a glimpse of him.
But the ghost of the earl of the clan of Black Douglas was gone.
She reached for her lamp and was stunned. There was no flame there, no burning light, but there was something that blazed in the center, like a flash of lightning, intense and blue-white.
It was a large, many-faceted stone, smooth and sparkling like polished glass. Brighter than silver, it glowed and lit up the room, but did not consume itself. She rose to her feet and lifted the lamp higher so she could better see it. It sparkled like star shine. Was it a diamond?
No, she told herself. It could not be. Diamonds were not this large, for in truth, it was as big as her fist. She would show it to Robert. He would know. At the reminder of her husband, she headed back the way she had come, passing through the rooms and passageways as she went toward the circular stairs.
When she reached the stairs, her feet moved with surefooted ease over the narrow steps until she burst through the heavy oak door and into the hallway of the castle. She paused only long enough to give the massive door a mighty shove and sent it clanging into place. Then, and only then, did she pause to take a deep breath, relieved at last to have fresh, living air, to be surrounded once more by the welcome of Beloyn’s brooding peace.
Still clutching the lantern, Meleri walked quietly down the hall, then paused at the doorway that led into the gallery. There, she stopped long enough to think about what she should do. She looked at the stone in the lamp. It was as large and beautiful as before, but the brilliant light that guided her from the dungeon was gone. She must find Robert, but she did not want to encounter anyone else before she had a chance to talk to him. She removed her slippers, then opened the door slowly and listened. The sound of a piano came tinkling down from the music room, and she recognized a duet the twins loved to play. At the end of the gallery, Corrie and Dram had taken up their customary place to gaze at the grim-faced ancestors that lined the walls. Everything seemed to be going along as normal.
Shoes in hand, she went on silent, stocking feet until she reached the staircase. She gave the dogs her usual pat, opened the gate, closed it behind her and went up the stairs on tiptoe. Once she reached the top, she paused to listen again. She decided she would hide the lamp in her bedchamber, then go to find Robert.
She opened the door to her bedchamber and stepped inside, then turned to close it. She put the lamp on the table beside the door, then dropped into the chair next to it and leaned her head back until it rested against the wall. Safe at last, she closed her eyes and said, “Thank God, I made it back.” She let out a long-held breath.
“I would not breathe that sigh of relief if I were you.”
She jumped up from the chair so fast the slippers fell out of her hand. Robert was sitting on the trunk at the end of her bed. “Oh, am I ever so glad to see you,” she said.
“You may not be in a minute, because I have been sitting here for the past hour, wondering if when I saw you I would kiss you senseless, or take you over my knee. Right now, I am leaning quite severely toward the latter. Where in the name of everything holy have you been? Did you not think I would be worried? Or did you even care?”
She rubbed her cold arms. There was a chill in her room, but thankfully the fireplace was lit, and the low-flickering light illuminated his handsome countenance in a way that made her want to rush into his arms. His linen shirt was open at the throat, and his hair was mussed, as if he had, a time or two, run his hands through it. There was something vibrant, alive and reassuring about him sitting there as he did, but she did not see any of the kind benevolence, or the gentle tolerance in his face, that she had grown accustomed to seeing.
She wished he were not angry with her, now of all times, when she so desperately wanted to feel the assurance of his arms around her, the warmth of his breath as he kissed her forehead. But she could tell there would be no such demonstrations coming from him this night, so with a sigh, she bent over and picked up her slippers, while she waited for him to fire the first shot.
“What’s the matter, love? Can’t you come up with an answer? Did you fall asleep in some corner of the stables? Did you take a long walk and lose your way? Perhaps you paid a neighbor a visit and did not realize you overstayed. Well, have I guessed it? I am waiting. What is the answer?” He looked down at the floor, where her slippers had been. “Surely you did not slip away to meet some unknown lover….”
“I have never been so insulted in all my life.”
“Don’t despair. The night is still young.”
That he would even suggest such a thing was appalling. What did he think she was? She couldn’t decide if she was more angry or hurt at his hateful words. She did not stop to think what might have prompted him to say what he did. She only knew she was so furious at his insinuation that she did not care if he had a reason or not. And when she spoke, she did not use her best judgment, either. “If that is all you have to ask after what I have been through, I have nothing to say to you. Not one single, solitary, isolated word.”
“You have one second to tell me where you have been.”
“Where have I been? I’ll tell you where I’ve been! Freezing my arse in the dungeon with your ghostly ancestor!” she shouted, and threw her slippers at him, first one and then the other.