Sarah eased her foot off the accelerator, causing the sound of the motor to be drowned out by the noise of the tyres crunching on the gravel. As she approached the manor, with its windows sparkling in the sunshine, she began to appreciate the peaceful charm of the place.
She had hardly cut the motor when the front door opened. She immediately recognised Brian. Thinner than his brother, he looked old for his age. Was that due to his weary manner, his bony face with its premature wrinkles, his balding head with its long russet hair, or the disillusioned look in his pale, deep-sunken eyes?
He came over to Sarah with a smile on his lips. But sadness clouded his otherwise warm and welcoming look.
‘Greetings, Sarah,’ he said as he extended a brotherly hand. ‘I trust your journey went smoothly?’
‘Perfectly. And the weather is beautiful. I’ve been thinking of nothing else but the pleasure of discovery and I’m not disappointed! So spacious and so calm… Now I understand why you’re so attached to the place, and I hope that our arrival won’t disturb the peaceful life you’ve led until now.’
‘Rest assured, Sarah, my solitude can sometimes be a burden. Welcome inside these old walls, which will be rejuvenated by your graceful presence and that of your family.’ His expression darkened. ‘Even as I wonder whether it’s a good thing….’
Brian noticed Sarah’s eyes widen in astonishment and lowered his head.
‘I… I was talking about all the modernisation work, which is an affront to the past. But didn’t Harris come with you?’
‘He was detained at his company headquarters in Coventry, but he’s promised to be here before nightfall.’
‘Good!’ he exclaimed pensively. ‘But come, allow me to show you around. I’m sure you’re dying to see the place.’
On entering the main hall, Sarah was first struck by the imposing staircase of dark wood whose balustrade extended all round the balcony, where the wide landing gave access to all the rooms on the upper floor. Next, her admiring gaze fell on a magnificently ornate Gothic bench.
‘That’s a period piece, isn’t it?’ she asked.
Brian smiled indulgently.
‘It’s an artful copy, commissioned by Harris. The tiled floor is original. I had to fight to save it.’ There was a vaguely damp smell which mixed with the more agreeable one of the freshly waxed wood. ‘Harris wanted to replace it with marble.’
Sarah mused privately that it was a pity Harris had yielded to his brother’s wishes, but she kept her thoughts to herself so as not to upset Brian, who seemed to get considerable pleasure from acting as guide. He ushered her into the salon to the right of the hall.
A wide opening revealed a spacious room bathed in sunshine from the large mullioned windows. Deep leather armchairs of a more modern style faced the monumental stone fireplace, mixing audaciously with much older pieces of furniture: a remarkable French Renaissance chest; another one of English origin lacquered in black with chinoiserie; English baroque chairs; several delicate Louis XVI chairs; all standing on an oriental carpet. The walls were panelled to head height and whitewashed above.
‘Harris had the door and a good part of the wall removed, thinking to make the room lighter. Which is what happened.’
Sarah detected a note of regret in her brother-in-law’s voice, but she was too excited by the visit to attach any importance to it. She discovered the library and the game room, with its billiards table and congratulated herself for having given Harris a free hand for the renovation: the modern touches he’d introduced didn’t clash with what was there before, whatever Brian might think.
After having shown her the closets and cloakrooms accessible from the hall, their doors concealed in the panelling, he pushed open the door of the dining room. Like the salon, the windows opened to the south. Two Dutch chandeliers sparkled in the sunshine above an immense table. The room was connected by a corridor to the kitchen located in the wing, which also contained an office and a laundry room. The vast kitchen, with its old earthenware and copper pots, combined modern comfort with ancient charm and pleased Sarah enormously.
‘And what about that door there, Brian?’
‘It leads to the service entrance, and also to an old stone staircase which goes to the floor above and the attic, where the servants’ rooms are located. Take a look….’
‘Oh!’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘A spiral staircase!’
‘It’s the oldest part of the manor, the only vestige of the original construction built by a knight who fought in the Hundred Years’ War. He witnessed Joan of Arc being burnt at the stake and was appalled by the horrifying spectacle, after which he returned to England. The nightmare vision haunted him and he was often heard to say “We burnt a saint.” He began to lose his reason and one day the castle he had built went up in flames. Some said it was God’s punishment. Others insisted it was the knight himself who burnt it down, taking his own life at the same time.
‘The castle was never rebuilt and fell to pieces, with only the staircase left standing. The manor was only constructed much later. My dear Sarah, don’t try to climb these steps in your pretty high heels. We’re better off taking the main staircase.’
Once they were on the upper floors, Brian showed her the rooms destined for her parents and those for Paula and Francis, together with the two luxurious bathrooms, leaving to Harris the pleasure of showing Sarah their own rooms with adjoining boudoir. He pointed out his own bedroom and study, situated at the angle of the corridor, but without showing them to her on the pretext they were too untidy. Sarah looked down the corridor leading to the wing of the manor. There were two doors, one after the other. It was the closer of the two which attracted her attention. The door wasn’t set back in the frame as was the case with the other doors, but was flush with the wall. She noticed it didn’t have hinges or a handle either.
‘What’s that?’ she asked, intrigued.
‘The door at the end just before the staircase? A storage room, full of old junk.’
‘No, the one in front of it. But….’ She went to look at it and seemed bewildered. ‘But it’s not a door! It’s just a wooden panel built into the wall! Is this one of Harris’s modifications?’
‘No, it’s not one of his modifications and never will be. I’ll make sure of that.’
Surprised by the cold determination in his voice, Sarah turned to look at him. She was struck by the fixed stare in his almost translucent blue-grey eyes which seemed to look at her without seeing.
‘I–I beg your pardon?’ she stammered in alarm.
‘It’s an old story,’ he said, still with the same absent look. ‘This room has been sealed up for various reasons.’
‘Various reasons? By someone who, like Harris, wanted to modify….’
‘No. This room was sealed so that nobody could ever get in again. It’s no longer part of the house.’
‘But why?’
Brian fell silent and Sarah sensed him shiver before he finally answered:
‘To protect the Thornes.’
5
It was just before ten o’clock when, the meal finally cleared away, Sarah, Brian and the new arrivals got together in the salon. If Mr. and Mrs. Hilton were tired by their journey, they didn’t show it. A smiling Howard Hilton looked very much at ease in a stuffed armchair. As for his wife, not even a trained observer could have detected her real feelings. Paula, whose blue dress matched the colour of her eyes, was her usual ebullient self, laughing heartily at Harris’s jokes — which seemed to irritate Francis, who obviously felt that the circumstances warranted a more serious demeanour. Paula’s husband was one of those men who easily pass unnoticed, due to their regular features and conservative dress, but his eyes held a steely expression.