Page 17 of Kept 2
Note: Refrigerate it as flat as possible, without rolling, don’t refrigerate in a ball.
6
The little black and white uniform I am wearing is tight, but otherwise it is neat and unobtrusive, and I look the part as I stroll down Ereston’s lengthy and wide main hall, the fifth in a line of twenty waiters carrying silver platters full of delicacies.
As I had hoped, staff were hard to come by in Ereston, and Daniel’s assertion that his party was larger than usual had helped immensely in enabling me to gain a position as a kitchen hand and waitress for the duration of their stay.
I now have work for the next two weeks, a comfy room in a cheap little B&B in the village, and a solid plan to save my arse. This is my third night working in this creepy manor, and I have no intention of staying any longer than I need to. The very walls seem to close in on me every time I’m here, and I’m as jumpy as a prawn hitting hot water – I want to get the hell out of this place.
Tonight, phase two of my plan kicks into gear; I’m on a mission to find the library where Lord Montague stores his journals – because I’m keen to return the two I have. I don’t believe, knowing what I know now, that I will find a way to kill him or be able to kill him. I have to be honest with myself – I’m no Buffy. Sure I have knife skills; but they revolve around sharpening away from my body until the blade sings, slicing with precision and speed with a smooth rocking motion and holding the knife loosely enough that it can be removed easily from my hand, ensuring I don’t get blisters or cut myself – skills that would hardly come in useful in a fight to the death. I need a new solution.
I haven’t finished the first journal yet, but I have photographed every page, and I can now read them on my phone. I’m hoping, secretly, not even really admitting it out loud, that if I return his journals, he might let me live. And either way, I have decided I want to see the land of my forefathers before I die. So regardless of whether it is obvious, and stupid, and reckless, I’m going to France as soon as I leave Ereston.
But first, the journals.
I walk in line, sedately, eyes down, and place the silver platters on the long dining room table as directed. If Daniel is here, I haven’t noticed, but then we have been told not to make eye contact with the guests and to remain silent at all times in the manor until we are back in the kitchens and servants’ area, then we can ask questions.
As we leave, I squat down, ostensibly to retie my shoelaces, and allow the others to pass me by in their quest for more dishes. The butler gives me a frown, but continues down the hallway with the rest of the staff, and I rise as soon as they are out of view and vault down a nearby, smaller hall, trying each doorknob as I walk until, eventually, I find the one that was unlocked when I came this way earlier.
It is being used by a hunting party guest, an open suitcase sits on the long brocade stool at the end of the large four-poster bed, and the fire is lit. Under the bed, I have my bag with the two journals, and I quickly draw it out and slip it over my shoulder.
Turning, I stick my head back out into the hall and, seeing it still empty, scarper back out, shutting the door quietly behind me.
I need to find the family wing, the areas out of bounds to guests, because I’m positive that is where the private library will be.
Walking as fast as I can without drawing suspicion if I am caught, I round the corner and head into another wing of this vast building. The portraits that line the walls seem as though their eyes are following me; some look like they are trying to warn me.
‘I’ll bet if some of you women could talk, you’d be saying ‘run – fucking run.’ I hear you, believe me, I hear you.’
As I reach the end of the corridor, I have to make a decision whether to turn left or right, at a junction. Both hallways that branch off in either direction look the same, but this area feels somehow scarier. The walls are no longer painted and hung with tapestries and paintings – these are plain stone walls, signifying this is a much older section of the manor.
I turn right, on impulse, and head at a brisk walk along the hall, again trying doors as I go. None are locked, but each one I glance into is either a bedroom or an empty sitting room, the furniture all covered in white sheets – like rooms full of stationary ghosts. No fires are lit in any of the rooms, and I am beginning to think I will never find the library and will have to turn around and try again another night, when I see a set of thick, timber double doors at the end of the hall.
The rock lintel above the door features a gargoyle similar to those on the entry gates at the end of the long, oak-lined drive that I passed under each evening on my way to the manor. Beneath the hideous gargoyle are the words: Mors Rapit Omnia.
“Bingo,” I breathe.
I’m just about to turn the big, metal handles on the doors when I hear a man call my name.
Daniel laughs as he holds the candle up to his face and widens his eyes.
“Spooked?”
“No,” I laugh. Although in truth, yes.
We are standing together in the private library of Lord Nicholas Montague, AKA Dracula, in front of rows and rows of journals which Daniel has just happily informed me are reputed to be covered in the skins of the enemies of the family – who wouldn’t be spooked?
The fact that the journals I have been lugging around all this time are covered in human skin is just one more reason why I want to get them the hell out of my bag and get the hell out of this place.
I squat down and pull the journals out of my pack, rising to peruse the shelves.
“What on earth are you doing now?” he laughs, “or shouldn’t I ask.”
“I was given two journals a while ago,” I murmur as I scan the shelves, “and I need to return them. I’ve travelled from the U.S to do it – I want to make sure I put them back exactly where they belong.”
“My, my,” he laughs again, “you are full of surprises and, as I said earlier when I agreed to sneak into this room with you, much more fun than the stuffy parliamentarians and their vacuous mistresses downstairs.”
I laugh, nervously.
