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Chapter 24: The Last Known Footsteps
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2026-11-02 08:35:42The blood led him to the chapel.
He ventured out in the dark. No-one knew. He wrapped up his lantern, closed the shutters just a sliver and grabbed a short iron bar from the tack room. He exited through the gap in the garden wall.
He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t. The village surgeon had visited to treat his burns. A gruff man with glasses, a strong smell of camphor and a kind but abrupt manner. He had told him that he was an idiot. Then he had given him some laudanum which he had quietly poured into the straw. His back felt as if it was on fire and his left arm throbbed. He had a piece of black silk ribbon tucked into his shirt over his heart. Every hour he would pull it out and stare at it.
He had noticed the scuff marks. The cart. On the way back from the ruins he had seen something. In the fading light there was a small dark splash on the gravel of the east path, leading away from the burnt wing.
The chapel had not been used for years. At the end of long path lined with over grown yew trees. The chapel was an squat old grey stone building with boarded windows and a chained door. The DeNovas had stopped using it the year the Duchess died. The Duke didn’t like the smell.
The chain was broken.
Stephen stood in the moonlight, holding the lantern. The neat links of iron were shining brightly. They had been cut tonight.
He eased the door open.
The chapel was cool, with a scent of old incense and a hint of blood. He flicked on his lantern and saw the long, narrow nave. The altar was covered in dust. The floor was covered in grey flagstones and dead leaves. There was a dark patch in the centre. The patch was a hand width and still slightly sticky. A stub of candle was beside it. There was a piece of torn fabric and a trail of crushed dust leading towards the vestry.
He followed the trail.
The vestry was small. There was a table, a locked cupboard and a boarded window. In the east wall there was a low archway with a bolted door. Behind the moth eaten curtain was a staircase leading down into darkness.
Standing at the top of the stairs he listened. The air was cool and dry. There was a hint of earthiness. Somewhere far away there was a faint drip of water.
He crouched down and picked something up.
It was a button. A simple brown horn button. There was a piece of frayed thread hanging from it. He recognised it. He had seen the twin button on the coat that night. The coat had been patched many times.
He was alive. He was there. Hours after the fire. They hadn’t killed him. They had brought him here and taken him on.
He descended the staircase with the lantern low.
The passage was a tunnel. It was low and narrow. It ran along under the chapel garden to the east. It was old. Probably dug during the time when the first Dukes of De Nova needed an escape route. There were boot prints in the dust. Two sets of heavy and light prints. In the centre there was a long double print from a mans heels.
He followed them.
The tunnel opened into a sloping door. The door was made from rotting planks. Behind the door was a ruined gamekeeper’s hut at the edge of the estate woods. The door had been forced open. The night was dark and cold. There were clear cart wheel prints in the soft earth. Two sets of horse hoof prints were leading towards the river road.
He stared at them.
Then he looked back. The dark silhouette of Vareth Hall. The black wing was burnt and there were a hundred dim windows. There was a slight yellow light shining from one high room on the east side. Maybe someone wasn’t sleeping either.
He thought of the girl with green eyes. Slapping him across the face. Tears in her eyes.
He thought of his mother. On Alder Street. Come home on Sundays. I’ll make the lamb.
Three hundred and eleven names.
He took a deep breath of the cool night air. He placed the lantern on a stone and started running.
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