A Parish Darker: A Victorian Suspense Novella (5 page)

I could only nod in empathy. It appeared to me that the Baron did not share this part of his past with great frequency.

“Oh, my friend, you shall forgive this foul mood of mine, surely?” asked the Baron. “My mind has been occupied with only distress today. A bout of thunder and storm as we saw last night has this most predictable and distressing effect on my temperament.”

“Of course, we are all privileged to the occasional trying day,” I replied, relieved that my exploration of the castle was not the source of the Baron’s apparent ire. As I reflected on his tone and behavior, I recognized my initial concern as misplaced and once more felt at home with my host.

“Tell me, Edwin, what is it you intend to do with this life of yours? Would a family be desirable? Are children in your future?”

My cheerfulness at imagining such a future with Emilia must have been on display, as the Baron wasted not one moment continuing. “Oh, I see! A young lady is already in your future, is she? I imagine she is enchanting, the very ideal of beauty and grace, yes?”

“She is indeed very dear, my Emilia, and has been for some years,” I admitted with little reticence but perhaps some red in my blush. “We met at the home of a mutual family friend where she would come with her mother on occasion to learn of tailoring. She enjoys fabrics and design very much and often jokes of creating all of her children’s clothes in the future.”

“My, such a wonderful sentiment!” the Baron said with a cheerful spirit I had not seen to that point in the day. “I certainly envy you, my friend. I am but an old man now but such pride in one’s youth is refreshing. Do not ever let it leave you; it is, without doubt, the true source of happiness.”

The two of us spoke cordially, with Baron Lechner von Savanberg inquiring in great detail as to my past and present relations. I spoke to him of my parents, my close relatives, and my education with specificity. Few stones were left unturned by the end of the conversation. I attempted to change tact throughout, but to no avail. Finally, as we were speaking of my work, I took the opportunity.

“Baron, regarding work, since I will be leaving tomorrow, it seems we should convene our business regarding your uncle Alderman’s estate.”

“Oh, my, forgive me, I forgot to mention,” said the Baron in response, “there has been a change of plans. The weather has taken a turn for the worst—you can taste the coming storm, which will no doubt land early tomorrow. I sent word ahead to postpone your escort for a day, for your safety, Edwin. While my guest, I cannot allow any harm to befall you, yes?”

As he spoke, I had no words. The Baron smiled as he had informed me of the turn of events and placed his hand over my wrist. My senior host’s grip was strong and seasoned; despite his advanced age, he would still be suited for any manner of physical labor.

I do not know if what I said next were merely sounds or some platitude in the form of a poor vocalization. My astonishment at the Baron’s proactive move for my benefit somehow rang both genuine and yet still puzzling. After all, his temperament had transformed over the course of only minutes. He was taking great joy in our rapport though I was unsure of how to characterize our interactions.

I had come to the dinner believing myself to be free of all worries or concerns come morning. This change in schedule at the Baron’s hand resulted in me vacillating between uneasiness and gratitude.

What I did not know was that I was in for not only one of the longest nights of my life but also one that would forever change my every thought for the twenty years that have followed.

The estate and business the Baron was to inherit as part of the will settlement was a substantial one—indeed, one that would have changed the lives of the vast majority of the population should they come into such fortune. What was becoming increasingly clear was that my host had no interest in the money and property he would gain, instead investing his attention in something he felt far more imperative.

The exact chronology of what transpired that night is of great importance. What follows is my attempt to place all details in the order in which they became apparent to me. My hope is that this will allow insight into my decisions that followed thereafter. I do not expect sympathy—only some degree of understanding, should I be worth such a consideration all this time later.

The Baron and I finished dinner that night by exchanging the usual parting pleasantries.  Upon returning to my room, I wasted no time in contemplating the relative strangeness of the day. I did not expect to spend an additional day in the old castle, but here my host had saw it fit to delay my departure over a looming storm. Though I made no obvious protest in his presence, I nonetheless sensed an inkling of insincerity in his words.

What could his motivation be for keeping me at the castle longer than intended? Was such a ferocious storm truly on the horizon or was it some ploy to keep me in his company a day longer?

It was almost the same instant that this thought crossed my mind that a cacophony of applauding thunder broached the peace outside the window. Trailing that roaring clap of the sky was a strike of lightning so near and so commanding that my eyes lost sight momentarily. Without hesitation, a volley of rain soon pelted the side of the castle with intensity far exceeding that of the day before.

The Baron, it had seemed, was right. His assessment of the ensuing weather had been an accurate one. I was henceforth convinced that he was most concerned with my safety, having only my well-being in mind when he called for the delay in my departure.

Perhaps as a result of a lethargic day, sleep did not call to me with any sort of urgency. I sat at the desk admiring the nearly ink-like void outside the window. I could hear rain and witnessed dashes of lightning skirting the sky on occasion, but I was otherwise unprivileged to the state of the outside world.

It was within the hour that things took a turn for the unexpected. I was somewhere in the first quarter of my loaned Dickens tale when a scurry of footsteps on the stairs caused me to turn toward the door. The steps had been few, leading me to believe whoever was making their way upstairs was doing so in a hurry, skipping two and three stairs at a time.

The visitor tested the doorknob—it had been locked, as I had taken the habit of doing since the night before. “Edwin,” my host said from the other side, “please open the door.”

I confess to some hesitance in leaving the desk and going to the door at such a late hour. The storm persisted with violent fury outside, yet what waited on the other side brought an air of malevolence foreign even to such relentless weather.

“My friend, you must do me one courtesy,” Baron Lechner von Savanberg had begun speaking as I turned the doorknob but before the door itself had rasped open. “You must stay in this room until I return.”

Any opportunity to protest was preemptively answered by the Baron closing the door. I managed only a nod to acknowledge having heard his request. Locking the door behind him, I inspected the bolt only to find it delicate and unlikely to withstand any test of its integrity.

The room had grown cold. Whatever the temperature before, a noticeable chill had settled over my assigned chambers following the Baron’s visit and request. Perhaps, I had thought, it was a demand. The change may well have ultimately been psychological but it was disconcerting all the same.

I returned to the desk across from the door and peered into the glass only to see darkness. Rain had clouded what little visibility remained. I spoke to myself softly, repeating the Baron’s words to myself in a manner that, to the casual observer, may have seemed mad. There was something in his voice and his demeanor that had me questioning once more.

No matter my apprehension, it was the middle of the night. I resolved, calmly, that there was little to do but act as instructed. After all, waiting in my room seemed to be the most judicious course of action.

I write this with such confidence now, as you may see, but I only wish that I held such resolve in retrospect. It would be that lack of resolve that led me further into my own undoing.

I cannot speak for my mindset at the time other than to say it was in an endlessly curious space. I had, without much consideration, turned the chair that once faced into the desk around so that it faced the door. I waited, seated and lurching forward, watching the still door by the lamp across the room.

It felt as if my body reacted first, and then my ears. An incidence of some sort of destruction forced me to brace myself on the wall by the desk. The unexpected sound that interrupted my thoughts came loud, with a shatter. Shattering glass, elsewhere on the property—that was my immediate perception.

In such instances, we are compelled to listen quietly afterward. Adrenaline races, your heart whirring to compensate. I braced the wall, listening for any sound to confirm what I had heard. Nothing came.

The incident of the Baron in the night, the warnings, his asking me to stay within the confines of my room: all such thoughts swarmed with propinquity. I knew not what to do nor did I know if this or another reason was the motivation for his placing me in the room for the night.

If the Baron were in need of aid, it would be my obligation to support him in any manner possible.

Additional concern came in the form of offending my host, who had known, by whatever means, that I had intruded—innocently as it was—into his chambers earlier in the day. He had directly instructed me to stay in my room, which may have meant, I thought, he had been in the process of some labor that night and my interruption could come as distrust. Naturally, such feeble apprehensions were given little thought, as safety took priority.

I lay out my thoughts for you as simply as they came to me, with no amendments. I do not wish to cast myself in a light more favorable than I deserve. This is my motivation for showcasing behaviors that, while human, defy the norms of acceptable behavior, such as my intruding on the Baron’s quarters and taking free roam of his estate without implicit invitation.

The source and target of the destructive sound I had heard were a mystery to me as I undid the lock on the door as discreetly as one ever could. The rugs covering the ground made a silent approach in the quarters more possible, whereas other portions of the castle retained stone and wooden flooring where appropriate.

Nightfall had made navigating the castle difficult, as most corridors now meshed static darkness with dim candlelight. Numerous candles had been lit along core passageways, and thankfully so, as the candlestick I bore would have proven scarcely useful on its own accord.

The chandelier in the main hall remained unlit as it had on my arrival. Candlewax had solidified at the base of the large structure overhead, creating an unsettling sight that, to some, would certainly evoke feelings of unrest. While my eyes continued to wander, my mind had been fixated on the disturbing sound from elsewhere on the grounds.

I initially found nothing amiss in the main hall as I made my silent approach. My first glances around the dimly lit doorways gave way to no suspicions of any changes or dangers within the estate. The floor itself still remained blanketed in a thin darkness.

Within that absence of light, I sensed feint movement. It had been a single misplaced step in an otherwise silent approach but it was all that was needed to capture my attention. With a wince, I extinguished the candle with my forefinger and thumb as a precautionary measure.

I leaned over the railing and squinted, seeking any change in the dark below. What I expected to do upon discovering a disturbance I wasn’t sure. I was not armed save for the now unlit candlestick and had no access to any offensive objects.