It figured—it took a death-defying act for Meg to get a mobile phone signal, and then it would be only to receive bad news.
Meg hung halfway out of one of the leaded-glass casement windows on the attic storey of the house, high above the weedy kitchen garden and terraces that led to Alec’s studio. She’d almost even considered climbing out onto the ledge.
At least the view was fantastic from here, she thought wryly. She could practically see London. Wonder if Radcliffe ever painted this scene. She should at least photograph it, maybe sell the resulting Yorkish panorama to the tourism council. She’d need some way to make money if she couldn’t finish this job, and based on what Frank was telling her from London via their crackly mobile connection, who knew when she could even get started.
On the other hand, if the window didn’t stop banging open and closed, she’d fall out and all her worries would be over.
Get a grip, she told herself.
“Frank, how bad is it? Is she going to be okay?”
Frank and Celia Danville had been friends of Meg’s since before she could remember. Their fathers had been childhood friends, and Frank had been Meg’s builder since her theatrical days. She didn’t know how she could do a house without him.
“It’s bad,” Frank’s voice was strained with fear and worry. “Broken jaw, a few cracked ribs. They want to do a brain scan.”
When Meg had climbed up to the attic this morning, desperate for a signal and contact with civilization, she never expected this. There were five missed calls from Frank, two from Clarice, one from Brad, and one from Audrey, her dad’s caregiver. She’d called Frank first and learned that Celia had been in a serious car accident the night before. Frank was at the hospital, where he’d spent the night.
Damn—the window blew outward and then flopped back in her face. She propped an arm against it.
“So when do you think you’ll be able to come?” Meg said.
“I’m sorry, Meg, that’s what I’m saying. I can’t leave her. Can you get Tony to help you?”
Meg’s heart sank. “Tony’s on a build in Scotland.”
“Got to go, Meg. The nurse is calling me back,” Frank’s voice crackled in and out. “What about that Italian guy you used in—” Static.
“Frank?” Meg tapped her phone with a finger and twisted around in the window frame to get a better signal. “Frank? Are you there? Frank?”
She’d lost signal. Damn. But she’d seen something interesting across the roof of the house.
The window blew violently open and banged back against the exterior wall of the tower. Meg jumped down into the room and reached out for it. Then, hanging onto the window latch, she craned out to get another glimpse. Set above the main roof, she spotted what looked like another small tower with a peaked glass roof. Almost like a greenhouse or conservatory of some kind. This hadn’t been visible from ground level nor did she remember it from the plans or the project file.
She jumped back in and fastened the window latch securely, then tried texting Clarice and Brad that she’d call back later. Naturally the texts both bounced back. She tried again to get a signal so she could call Audrey, to no avail. Meg tried not to worry. She had given the woman instructions to let her know on a regular basis that her dad was okay. So maybe Audrey was just checking in. She may have also sent an email. Meg made another note to get a call through to BT about the internet.
Next immediate priority: check out whatever was beneath that intriguing hidden roofline.
The attic was a large space that ran the width of the old manor house, and it was full of dusty junk. Old artist’s easels leaned in stacks against the walls or stood in groups partially covered by dust sheets. Meg sneezed. Millions of particles of dust swirled in the bars of sunlight that slanted in through the casements.
She made her way across the creaky wood floor over to a windowless wall behind the stairwell, sneezing again as she moved aside a stack of easels and an old wooden folding screen. Aha—there it was. A door. She rattled the knob and shoved a shoulder against it, but it stood firmly locked. She’d need her tools.
Her mind ablaze with possibilities, she made her way down to the ground level of the house, where she’d hurriedly stashed her tools in one of the shabbier back rooms. Crouching next to her stack of crates and metal toolboxes, she sorted through them until she found a crowbar.
“Greg’s headed off,” Alec’s voice said behind her. “Couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
“His loss,” Meg muttered, distracted. She made to push past him.
“Everything okay?”
“Celia’s been in a car accident.”
“Oh my god. Is she all right?”
“Yeah, but Frank has to stay and take care of her.”
Alec followed as she made her way hurriedly up the grand staircase.
“You mean he’s not coming? What will you do?”
“Tony’s in Scotland. No one else is around. I can’t even get a damn phone signal. I’m going to have to find a local.” She paused to gather her patience. There was genuine concern on Alec’s face. “Hey,” she smiled up at him. “Can you help me with something upstairs?”
The wooden door finally began to give with the two of them putting their weight against the crowbar.
“Thing must be nailed shut!” Alec said. “Why would anyone do that?”
“No idea,” Meg said. She looked for another advantageous point to insert the crowbar.
“Maybe they had super-naughty kids,” Alec said.
“Too bad we never thought of that one.” She worked the crowbar in higher up between the door and the jamb.
“You kidding? Ours are too smart for that. We’re lucky they didn’t nail us in first.”
“One, two, three—shove!” Meg said.
Alec grunted. “What’s in there, anyway?”
“No idea. But judging from the roof over it, it’s big.”
They heaved again, and this time, the door opened a crack.
“Nearly there!” Alec said. He reached a finger in to prise the door open and yanked it back quickly.
“Shit!” He clasped one hand with the other.
“You okay?”
A drop of blood appeared between his clenched fingers. “Just a nick. Come on. We’ll get it this go. Together on one … two … three …”
The door squealed open so suddenly they stumbled in after it and found themselves in a large shuttered room. Meg looked around in wonder, the prickle of discovery again running up the back of her neck.
The mysterious room was shadowy and dim in the corners and brilliantly illuminated in odd-shaped sections by rays of light that needled through the gaps between the shutters. It was an enormous space, maybe twenty metres square, Meg thought, with a high ceiling that soared at least another fifteen metres, maybe more.
The walls were mostly brick, with built-in masonry archways around two sides. Light filtered down from an enormous skylight. Above the skylight, Meg could just make out the glass roof she’d seen. The skylight was difficult to see through, either frosted or just dirty. But what stood out was the intricate, jewel-like pattern of stained glass worked all around its edges.
They stood there for a moment, both stunned into silence.
“What the hell was this for?” Alec finally whispered.
“I have no clue. It wasn’t on any of the plans I saw.”
“I wonder why.”
Meg walked over to one of the shuttered windows and used the crowbar to open the shutter; light streamed in through leaded panes of glass.
“It’s almost like some kind of chapel,” Alec said.
“Kind of high up for that, wouldn’t you think?” she mused. “I mean, why would you make all the elder members of the family climb way up here to pray? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Could have been a disco,” Alec joked.
“Never know.”
“Opium den? Torture chamber?”
“My guess is it’s something started but never finished. Perhaps it was to be a nursery, or some kind of meeting room.”
“Seems kind of elaborate for that.”
“Maybe a library or reading room?”
“Long way to haul books. And there are no shelves.”
“I know. Wild guesses. We may just never know.”
“What are you going to do with it? A den for Mason’s kids? Man cave maybe?”
“Looks a bit grander than that.”
She tipped her head back and studied the ceiling glass again. The beautifully intricate stained-glass border of the skylight glowed in rich tones of crimson, blue, and gold, even as dusty and dirty as it must be. Around the skylight was an ornate arrangement of hammer beams, with roundels picked out in red and gold. It was all covered with filth but clearly would be magnificent once cleaned and restored. By that mysterious as-yet-to-be-found builder. She sighed. The whole place was overwhelming in every way. Its state of disrepair, its beauty, and—she had to admit—its creepiness. The silence up here was even overwhelming. It wasn’t just quiet in a museum-like way. There was much more than just the absence of sound. It was like the silence made by someone who was watching and waiting.
The image came to her of the sad, pale woman in the filmy, white gown, staring so intently at her in the dark the night before.
Nonsense. If she kept on like this, she’d soon be flying off the deep end like Penny. “I have a feeling this house is full of surprises,” she said, keeping her voice carefully bright. Good old practical Meg.
Walking to the centre of the room, she looked up more closely at a beam where four thick hooks were embedded. “Look at this,” she said. The hooks were attached to an iron crossbar, one on the end of each crossed arm.
Alec joined her. “Meat locker, maybe?”
She felt a surge of irritation. Could the man not be serious about anything? She knew it was his way of coping, but still. Ideas for the room spun through her brain, her excitement mounting, and all he could do was make stupid jokes. Plus, he was sweating. His forehead was shining with it, and she could even hear the plop, plop, plop as drops hit the dusty wooden floor. She looked down, peeved. This floor didn’t need any more crap on it.
Drops of blood from Alec’s finger were steadily dotting the floor with dark, wet red.
“Don’t you have a handkerchief or something?” she said to him. “Wrap that up?”
“A handkerchief? Didn’t those go out in like the 1950s?”
She frowned at him.
“Do you have a handkerchief?” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. Never mind,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. I want to look at those plans again.”
As Alec went to leave, she turned to look back up at the mysterious hooks in the ceiling, fixing them in her mind in case she needed more. They appeared to be cast iron, large, maybe seven or eight centimetres long. She looked back down at the floor—Alec was already gone, and she could hear him crossing the squeaky floor in the attic room beyond. She hoped he wasn’t tracking blood spots all through the house.
But that was funny. The blood that Alec had dripped behind her just a minute ago was gone.