Page 43 of One Last Whisper

Theresa grabs my hand. “We’ll go together.” She reaches into her coat with her other hand and retrieves a flashlight. “See? I brought a light. Never can be sure what you’ll find in these old castles. Figured it would come in handy.”

I return her smile, and nod again. “All right. Let’s go then.”

She releases my hand and steps in front of me. She switches her light on and reveals a stone staircase leading down and curving as it descends. I shiver again. The wall sconces are dark, but in every other way, this passageway reminds me of the one I see in my nightmare.

“Into the maelstrom go we,” Theresa mutters.

She enters the passageway, and I follow. The air is cooler inside, and I draw my coat tightly around my shoulders. I’m grateful that I think to dress warmly.

The staircase descends at least forty feet, and I still see no sign of an end. We must be underground now. I mention this to Theresa, and she says, “Aye. Old keeps like this often had secret passages so the master of the house could escape with his family and his personal guard in case the city was under siege. Usually they lead to a tunnel that opens past the castle walls.”

We descend another forty feet perhaps before the passageway levels out. “This’ll be the tunnel, then,” she says.

She starts forward, but I hesitate and look back up the stairs. “What is it, Mary?”

“Do you think we should worry about someone following us? This goes on for a while. We don’t know how long we’ll be down here.”

“We’ve already gone too far,” she replies. “There’s no turning back now. Lord Edmund knows you’ve snooped here before. Sooner or later, he’ll know you’re snooping again, and me with you. If you want to go back, you can, but I’ve chosen to see this through. Sarah deserves more than to be cast into the sea to have her head bashed in on some rocks just for… hell, for what?” Tears well in her eyes. “I’m moving on.”

Her courage and the passion she shows inspire me. “I’ll follow you.”

She nods, then gives me a grim smile. “Then once more into the maelstrom we go.”

We follow the passage forward. The corridor is somewhat wider and taller than the stairs but just as devoid of decoration. The elder lords Blackwood didn’t feel a need to embellish the path of their defeat.

“I wonder if this passage has ever been used,” I say aloud.

“Well, House Blackwood’s never seen the front lines of a battlefield,” Theresa says. “So I doubt it. Although perhaps some other lords have found less than savory uses for a secret passage that leads into the plains beyond.”

I frown at the thought. I have encountered several wealthy murderers who go to great lengths to conceal their behavior. In the end, they never conceal it well enough. They’re always confident that they can get away with whatever they want because their wealth will allow it. Unfortunately, they are often true.

But I’ve never encountered something like this, a built-in lair for a killer who could make women disappear and never leave any evidence behind. No evidence that anyone could find, anyway. It’s rather macabre to wonder how many women might have been led through here to their doom.

We reach the end of the passage about two hundred yards after we reach the bottom of the staircase. It ends at a large stone door with a single small window covered with a steel grate. I test the handle, and it opens easily.

The silence and ease with which the massive stone slab moves on its hinges is disquieting. It’s proof that this place has been used recently. That door has been well-maintained so that whatever room exists behind it can continue to be used for the purpose for which it was created.

We enter the room, and Theresa’s light reveals its purpose. I gasp when I see it, and Theresa lets out a soft cry.

The room is twelve feet by thirteen feet, smaller than my bedroom. It is an almost completely bare stone chamber. Only two things identify its purpose and illustrate to us just how terrible a murderer this killer is.

The first is a pair of massive iron manacles seven feet above the wall. A person shackled by these chains would be forced to stand, or, if they were shorter like Sarah and Lady Cordelia, to hang by their wrists.

The second thing that shows how terrible this room is reveals itself when Theresa sweeps her flashlight to the floor. The stones there are stained with the dried brown of old blood, and whenshe lifts the flashlight, similar stains run the length of the wall up to the manacles.

The room carries a rancid, coppery smell, and as we stare at the manacles, a moan echoes through the room. The stone walls focus the sound from the storm outside and channel it here. That means the opposite is true. The stone channels the sound from the room and carries it up that staircase into the house.

Theresa and I share a look. The source of the cries we hear is revealed now. Some of the howls can be explained by the wind, but the screaming and the cries for help? Those came from this chamber, from right up here where women were chained and… and where God knows what happened to them until Lord Edmund was finished with them.

“Mother Mary,” Theresa says softly, crossing herself. “Oh, Sarah. What did he do to you?”

I turn around and catch sight of a small hallway perpendicular to the passageway that leads us here. I touch Theresa’s shoulder and point it out to her. “There’s something else there,” I tell her.

She shines her light, and we see that the small hallway runs for about ten yards before ending in another door.

“More madness,” she mutters. “God help us.”

She takes the lead again. This door opens into a smaller chamber, maybe four feet wide by seven feet long.

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