“Told you the place was a honeycomb,” he said. “Meant to take my time exploring it, but, circumstances being what they are, I pushed it a bit.” He handed her the house plan. “An annotated version.”
“Secret passages?” Emma asked, tracing a line of red ink with her finger.
“Most weren’t included on the older set of house plans, none at all on the newer ones. Want to see what I’ve found?”
Emma didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she turned off all the lights in her room, switched on her flashlight, and headed for the wardrobe, where she moved aside to let Derek take the lead. Once she’d closed the wardrobe door behind her, she pushed through the hanging dresses and stepped into the gaping hole, then waited while Derek slid the panel back into place. As the darkness enfolded them, Derek said, in a low, excited voice, “You’re not going to believe this.”
18
The flashlights danced an eerie pas de deux on the smooth stone walls, and the silence was absolute. No moaning wind disturbed the musty air, no lightning pierced the inky darkness. The coming storm might break and shake the rafters, but it would not touch the core of Penford Hall.
The massive building slumbered all around them, and the passage stretched before them endlessly. The floor was dry and level, the ceiling high enough for Emma to walk upright, though Derek crept, half crouching, by her side. They scanned the way ahead, their shoulders touching, the thick stone walls absorbing every sound.
“I imagine the castle had a network of passages just like this one,” Derek told her. “Grayson’s predecessors probably used it to store their loot.”
“But I thought the first duke gave up piracy,” Emma objected.
“And what did he get in return? A title and a scrap of land unsuitable for farming. Old habits die hard, Emma, and food must be put on the table. I’ll wager the old devil gave up piracy for smuggling and perhaps a spot of wrecking now and then.”
In the past, small coastal towns had considered shipwrecks a boon to the local economy. For some, “wrecking” had become a way of life. Emma had read chilling tales of bonfires lit to lure ships to their doom, of sailors left to perish while their vessels were plundered. “The Nether Shoals would make it easy enough,” she agreed, with a shudder.
“I’m all for carrying on family traditions,” Derek commented dryly, “but there’s such a thing as carrying them too far. Ah, here we are.” He played the beam of his flashlight on a narrow opening to his right, where a spiral staircase wound away into the darkness. “Runs from the subcellars to the roof,” he explained. “This passage and several others feed into it, and at least four rooms open off of it.”
“Sounds like a main thoroughfare,” said Emma.
“Hasn’t been used for a long time, though. Took hours to get the hinges on all the doors oiled up and working properly.” He jutted his chin upward. “Our first stop is up there.” Emma started forward, but Derek put an arm out to block her way. “Not so fast. We’ll have to kill the torches first.”
“You want me to turn off my flashlight?” Emma peered uncertainly into the gloom.
“I’m afraid so. It’s the only way we’ll be able to see if light’s leaking around the doors. If it is, we’ll have to assume that someone’s on the other side and pass them by.”
“But what if someone’s asleep inside one of those rooms?”
Derek shook his head. “No bedrooms lie off of this staircase. I’ve checked.”
Emma watched unhappily as Derek turned off his flashlight and hooked it on his belt. She understood the need for caution, but she wasn’t thrilled by the idea of groping her way up an unfamiliar staircase in utter darkness.
Derek seemed to read her mind. When she hesitated, he reached for her hand. “We’ll take it slowly,” he promised. “One step at a time.” He tightened his grip. “I won’t let you fall.”
Smiling weakly, Emma thumbed the switch on her flashlight. Derek vanished, the walls seemed to close in around her, and she was acutely conscious of the great weight of stone hanging just above her head. Please, God, she prayed, as her heart began to race, please don’t let my palms perspire.
Derek’s disembodied voice was reassuring. “Remarkable, isn’t it? Like being in a mine. I’m just glad there aren’t any rats.”
Emma’s hands turned to ice. “You’re sure about that?” she asked faintly.
“Quite sure.” He tugged her gently forward. “Come on, now, slide your foot straight ahead....”
Climbing the stairs wasn’t so bad, once Emma got the hang of it, although it would have been easier if she hadn’t been straining to hear the rustle of rodent feet. Her imagination populated the darkness with tiny glowing eyes and razor-sharp teeth, and though she tried to ignore the morbid fantasy, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched.
Derek stopped and Emma squinted as his flashlight flared, illuminating a narrow landing and a sturdy wooden door. A heavy iron ring was bolted to the door, and Derek reached for it.
“We’ll have to keep our voices down once I open the door,” he warned, passing his flashlight to Emma. “This room’s buried in the servants’ wing.” Gripping the iron ring with both hands, Derek planted his foot on the wall, and heaved. As the door swung silently toward them, Emma nearly screamed.
“Rats,” she hissed. Her heart began to thud and her knees turned to water and Derek’s strong arms were all that kept her from fleeing headlong down the stairs.
“No, no, no,” he whispered urgently, his breath warm on her face. “Computers.”
“Wh-what?” Emma slowly turned her head to peer again into the room. Raising a hand to straighten her glasses, she saw that the red and orange pinpricks punctuating the darkness weren’t beady rodent eyes, but the telltale lights of a bank of electronic equipment. Beyond the thunder of her pounding heart, she heard the steady hum of computers at work, a sound she’d heard every day for the past twenty years. Limp with relief, she laid her cheek on Derek’s chest and murmured, “Sorry.”
“No need for that,” Derek soothed, his hand floating lightly through her hair. “Be still a moment, get your bearings.”
A strange, halting note in Derek’s voice made Emma tremble. Raising her face to his, she saw him wince, and it was only then that she realized she’d jammed both his flashlight and hers directly into his rib cage.
“Oh, God, I’m sorry, Derek,” she said, but though she tried to pull away, he only drew her nearer, and the kiss, when it came, was so sweet and so surprising that she forgot about the flashlights altogether.
Derek remembered, fortunately, and when at last they paused to take a breath, he caught both flashlights neatly before they clattered down the stairs. As Emma’s senses swam back into focus, she murmured muzzily, “We shouldn’t, Derek, we really shouldn’t.”
“Quite right,” he breathed, burying his face in her hair. “Not here, at any rate. You’ll break both our necks. What do you wash your hair in, Emma? Incense?” When Emma made no answer, he wrapped his arms around her and closed his eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “Not the right time or place. May never be, for us. I never expected to find you, and I know you weren’t looking for me.”
“It could never work,” said Emma.
Derek took a deep breath, then blew it out in a long sigh of resignation. He straightened, and looked down at Emma. “I know,” he said softly. “It’s just a dream.”
“Just a dream,” Emma murmured. She pulled away, touched a finger to her glasses, then turned unsteadily toward the colored lights. “Let’s take a look.”