Late that afternoon, he’d made a detailed tour of the East Wing, noting the extensive changes that had resulted from the midseventies renovation. While it retained much of the grandeur of the main massing of Dark Gables, it had clearly been designed to be a more utilitarian space: recessed fluorescent lighting had replaced wall sconces, and — in the offices and labs, at any rate — the gothic moldings and other ornamentation had been largely removed, creating a cleaner, more functional — if less visually interesting — look. Externally similar in shape and size to the West Wing, it had three stories and a single basement, as compared to the main building’s four stories and multiple basement levels.
Based on the plans Logan had looked over, Willard Strachey and his architectural partner had a completely different idea for the remodeling of the West Wing. In its initial realization, the wing had been the most eccentric of Edward Delaveaux’s conceptions. Logan had peered at old black-and-white photographs of the West Wing, taken in the months directly before and after Lux bought the mansion, and he could picture it now in his mind. On stepping in from its grand entrance, the visitor had been confronted with a large, oval, and comparatively stark gallery stretching up unimpeded three stories to the roofline. This was devoted to a series of standing stones — two huge menhirs at one end, surrounded by a henge of liths. Delaveaux had purchased the relics, whole, from a mysterious and very old site on Ambion Hill near Market Bosworth, Leicestershire. The original purpose of the standing stones was unknown — it was thought to have been a site for prehistoric burial ceremonies — and Delaveaux’s purchase and subsequent wholesale removal of the megaliths in 1888 caused a furor in England that, legend went, precipitated the founding of the National Trust. Early on, Delaveaux had enjoyed giving costume parties in this space, whose perimeter he’d furnished with divans, ottomans, and chaise longues. In later years, after the deaths of his wife and son, he had apparently held séances in it. Galleries ran along all four sides of the second and third levels of the open space.
The ring of standing stones took up perhaps the first quarter of the West Wing. Beyond it had lain a confusing welter of spaces: three stories’ worth of galleries, workrooms, art studios, music salons, specialized libraries — literally dozens of interconnected chambers, each designed to indulge one of Delaveaux’s numberless pastimes, hobbies, and avocations. According to rumor, it was the building and fitting out of this strange wing that finally exhausted the onetime millionaire’s funds.
When Lux had taken over Dark Gables, one of the first things they did was to fill in as best they could the second and third floors, retrofitting the — to them — wasted space with offices and laboratories. Their options were limited, however, since the massive liths had been incorporated into the mansion’s foundation. When it came to the labyrinthine series of chambers that lay beyond, Lux had opted for the simplest solution: removing all of Delaveaux’s detritus and simply assigning the empty rooms as work spaces for various Fellows. But this was a stopgap solution: in order to reach one’s office, people would often have to walk through the offices of various other members of the staff and faculty: an inconvenience for all concerned. “Very confusing to get around,” Albright had observed. No wonder people had been eager to find new digs once the East Wing reconstruction was completed.
Willard Strachey’s plan to address the vast welter of rooms was to tear down walls and gut nonstructural elements in order to create two parallel corridors running north to south. Off each corridor, modern offices and labs would be built. The original decorative elements, windows, and wood veneers would be retained and reused wherever possible.
Logan realized that his feet had taken him all the way to the end of the central first-floor corridor. Ahead, two wooden doors blocked his way. Before them was a velvet rope, hanging from brass stanchions and holding a large sign, which contained the symbol of a hard hat and the message CONSTRUCTION AREA. AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
Logan had signed a long series of documents for Dr. Olafson absolving Lux of any obligation or responsibility in the case of personal injury, and he had carte blanche to roam the entire campus. Glancing over his shoulder and finding the wide corridor behind to be empty, he stepped past the velvet rope, pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the doors, and stepped inside. It was very dark, and the air smelled of sawdust and joint compound. Closing the doors and fumbling in his duffel, Logan pulled out a flashlight, snapped it into life, and swiveled it around. Locating a bank of light switches, he flicked them on, one after another.
He found himself in a small vestibule, apparently a kind of front office for the entrance to the West Wing. The furnishings were all covered with protective drapes, and the wooden floors were hidden beneath multiple layers of drop cloths. They gave the space a strange, anonymous feel. There was only one exit — a large, doorless arch directly to the south — and after finishing his reconnoiter Logan moved through it.
He paused a moment to put down his duffel and page through the working blueprints and reports he had brought with him. Based on the construction schedule, the first job would — naturally enough — be the demo. One team of workmen had been tasked with demolishing the fixtures in preparation for a full-scale rebuilding. A second team of workmen had been given the rather more delicate job of tearing down certain non-load-bearing walls on the second floor to make way for what had been termed in the architectural specs “lateral corridor A” and “lateral corridor B” — the two new hallways off which the redesigned office and lab spaces would be constructed. The rest would follow later.
Stepping into the space beyond the vestibule, Logan found himself in darkness once again, the only light being that which filtered in from the front office. He looked around, found another bank of lights, and turned on the switches. Nothing: clearly, the electricity had been turned off for the purposes of demolition. Switching the flashlight back on, he found he was standing in a seemingly roofless space. There were additional drop cloths on the floor, but here they had been wadded and twisted this way and that by the passage of numerous booted feet, and Logan could see the heavy dust that lay on the floorboards beneath. On all sides, ancient stones rose up around him: Delaveaux’s ceremonial henge. Hemmed in by walls, the liths seemed even larger than they actually were. Logan let his flashlight shine on them, angling its beam up toward the ceiling far above. They were rough-hewn, dark, tapering slightly toward their top edges. What events, good or ill, had they witnessed? Had they seen Richard III die in the nearby battle that marked the fall of the Plantagenets? Or older ceremonies, profane and dark? There was something about these silent sentinels that Logan found unsettling, and he was careful not to touch them as he moved on.
Beyond the standing stones, a corridor led deeper into the wing. Logan moved down it until he reached a staircase, which he ascended. The second floor was a confused jumble of half-destroyed offices. Bare lights dangled from cords. The dust was heavier here, but it was primarily plaster dust, caused no doubt by the wholesale demolition of walls and nonstructural elements to make way for Strachey’s two parallel hallways. Standing where he was, Logan could make out the rough outlines of what must be lateral corridor A. It was visible, not so much from what had been built but from what had been torn away: a long, gaping hole, ripped out of offices and storage rooms and corridors, heading due south into the dark.
With the aid of his flashlight and a compass, Logan consulted the work orders for the construction. The demo work for lateral corridor A was to come first, to be followed later by corridor B.