Chapter 156:
Orpha Polk
“Nothin’.” Violet grunted as she wiped her hands on her apron. “We pulled up every carpet in the place and there ain’t no way down to the cellar.”
“Don’t give up hope yet, Violet.” Charles said as calmly as he could. The girl was already distraught after what had happened to her. Charles didn’t care to upset her further.
“I didn’t have hope to begin with.” Violet sighed. “You sure there was a cellar?”
“Reasonably sure,” Charles responded. “I can’t think of another reason why there’d be such a low window on the rear façade. These old lodges often had cellars to keep wine and meat as well as powder and such.”
“What good is it if we can’t get there?”
“That’s just it, Vi.” Charles replied. “This cottage was built for convenience—purely that. Even out on the hunt, the riders could have easily made the journey back to the Grange. After a late hunt, a house such as this would have been designed as a comfortable stopping point and an excuse for further revelry.”
“Huh?”
“I suppose this cottage is here to make the hunt easier. Certainly, having to go outside to seek out supplies wouldn’t have been convenient. Each hunter would have had a man with him. I imagine that their men would need to have…”
“What’s gotten into you?” Violet asked.
“I just thought of something.” Charles’ eyes widened. “Where would the servants be?”
Violet shrugged.
“So far, all we’ve seen are the bed chambers and this drawing room. But, there must be some small hall for the servants, and, possible, even a scaled-down range and kitchens.”
“I ain’t seen nothin’ like that.”
“There must be a service entrance.” Charles sniffed. He looked toward a corner of the cottage’s small drawing room, squinting into the darkness. “Did we look over there?”
“Sure.” Violet frowned. “There’s nothin’ over there but them cases of trophies.”
Charles hurried to the other side of the room.
“What are you doin’?”
“Gentlemen of the Eighteenth Century loved their novelties.” Charles smiled. “I remember a palazzo near my home town in Italy. I visited there once with my Uncle Giacomo. I was very excited when I saw one room that had a hidden door. It was built into the wall and made to look like a case for books, but, if one tugged on the moulding it was a door which led to a service hall.”
“Do ya think…”
“Maybe.” Charles nodded. He ran his hand along the side of the trophy case and found, on the left side, a raised metal nob. Pulling the bob forward, the case opened to reveal a staircase.
“Oh!” Violet squealed. “You’re brilliant!” She rushed to his side.
“Take my hand,” Charles said. “It’s dark. I don’t want you to fall.”
Charles guided Violet down the winding staircase into the musty, black cellar.
“Look over there.” Charles exclaimed. “There’s that window. I can see the moonlight through it.”
“I don’t know if either of us can fit through that.” Violet said softly. They walked briskly to the window.
“I think I can.” Charles said. “We’ve got to find something to boost me up to it. If I don’t fit, you’re much smaller than I…”
Charles stopped. He’d bumped into something—clearly a person.
“Who is there?” Charles asked, reaching forward with the hand which Violet wasn’t holding.
“What” Violet chirped. “Someone’s here?”
“Don’t hurt me,” a meek voice whimpered.
“Who are you?” Charles demanded.
“My name is Ellen.” The voice replied.
“Miss Barrett?” Charles growled.
“How did you know my name?” The woman gasped.
“You’re not fooling me.” Charles barked. “Your innocent pantomime isn’t going to be effective.”
Suddenly, Charles and Violet squinted as the woman lit a candle. As their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw in front of them a complete stranger.
She did, in fact, look vaguely like Ellen Barrett, however, she was gaunt, and considerably thinner. She wore a dirty gown, slightly tattered at the sleeves. In whole, she looked defeated and frightened.
“I don’t know you.” The woman said meekly. “I don’t know you.”
“Nor we you.” Charles said slowly.
“You aren’t Miss Barrett.” Violet snapped.
“I certainly am.” The woman replied, clearly hurt. “Why do you doubt me?”
“Because we know Ellen Barrett. She’s a brash, miserable creature of pure evil.” Charles replied.
“Oh…” The woman began to cry softly. “She’s not Ellen Barrett. I am.”
“Who is she, then?” Violet asked suspiciously.
“Her name is Orpha Polk. She’s taken my life.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-155? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 157 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.
“Nothin’.” Violet grunted as she wiped her hands on her apron. “We pulled up every carpet in the place and there ain’t no way down to the cellar.”
“Don’t give up hope yet, Violet.” Charles said as calmly as he could. The girl was already distraught after what had happened to her. Charles didn’t care to upset her further.
“I didn’t have hope to begin with.” Violet sighed. “You sure there was a cellar?”
“Reasonably sure,” Charles responded. “I can’t think of another reason why there’d be such a low window on the rear façade. These old lodges often had cellars to keep wine and meat as well as powder and such.”
“What good is it if we can’t get there?”
“That’s just it, Vi.” Charles replied. “This cottage was built for convenience—purely that. Even out on the hunt, the riders could have easily made the journey back to the Grange. After a late hunt, a house such as this would have been designed as a comfortable stopping point and an excuse for further revelry.”
“Huh?”
“I suppose this cottage is here to make the hunt easier. Certainly, having to go outside to seek out supplies wouldn’t have been convenient. Each hunter would have had a man with him. I imagine that their men would need to have…”
“What’s gotten into you?” Violet asked.
“I just thought of something.” Charles’ eyes widened. “Where would the servants be?”
Violet shrugged.
“So far, all we’ve seen are the bed chambers and this drawing room. But, there must be some small hall for the servants, and, possible, even a scaled-down range and kitchens.”
“I ain’t seen nothin’ like that.”
“There must be a service entrance.” Charles sniffed. He looked toward a corner of the cottage’s small drawing room, squinting into the darkness. “Did we look over there?”
“Sure.” Violet frowned. “There’s nothin’ over there but them cases of trophies.”
Charles hurried to the other side of the room.
“What are you doin’?”
“Gentlemen of the Eighteenth Century loved their novelties.” Charles smiled. “I remember a palazzo near my home town in Italy. I visited there once with my Uncle Giacomo. I was very excited when I saw one room that had a hidden door. It was built into the wall and made to look like a case for books, but, if one tugged on the moulding it was a door which led to a service hall.”
“Do ya think…”
“Maybe.” Charles nodded. He ran his hand along the side of the trophy case and found, on the left side, a raised metal nob. Pulling the bob forward, the case opened to reveal a staircase.
“Oh!” Violet squealed. “You’re brilliant!” She rushed to his side.
“Take my hand,” Charles said. “It’s dark. I don’t want you to fall.”
Charles guided Violet down the winding staircase into the musty, black cellar.
“Look over there.” Charles exclaimed. “There’s that window. I can see the moonlight through it.”
“I don’t know if either of us can fit through that.” Violet said softly. They walked briskly to the window.
“I think I can.” Charles said. “We’ve got to find something to boost me up to it. If I don’t fit, you’re much smaller than I…”
Charles stopped. He’d bumped into something—clearly a person.
“Who is there?” Charles asked, reaching forward with the hand which Violet wasn’t holding.
“What” Violet chirped. “Someone’s here?”
“Don’t hurt me,” a meek voice whimpered.
“Who are you?” Charles demanded.
“My name is Ellen.” The voice replied.
“Miss Barrett?” Charles growled.
“How did you know my name?” The woman gasped.
“You’re not fooling me.” Charles barked. “Your innocent pantomime isn’t going to be effective.”
Suddenly, Charles and Violet squinted as the woman lit a candle. As their eyes adjusted to the light, they saw in front of them a complete stranger.
She did, in fact, look vaguely like Ellen Barrett, however, she was gaunt, and considerably thinner. She wore a dirty gown, slightly tattered at the sleeves. In whole, she looked defeated and frightened.
“I don’t know you.” The woman said meekly. “I don’t know you.”
“Nor we you.” Charles said slowly.
“You aren’t Miss Barrett.” Violet snapped.
“I certainly am.” The woman replied, clearly hurt. “Why do you doubt me?”
“Because we know Ellen Barrett. She’s a brash, miserable creature of pure evil.” Charles replied.
“Oh…” The woman began to cry softly. “She’s not Ellen Barrett. I am.”
“Who is she, then?” Violet asked suspiciously.
“Her name is Orpha Polk. She’s taken my life.”
Did you miss Chapters 1-155? If so, you can read them here. Come back tomorrow for Chapter 157 of Mr. Punch of Belgrave Square.
5 comments:
No! I didn't see that one coming!
Heh. Heh.
Wow! Another twist , this opens up a whole bunch of new questions to be answered. I can't wait!
If I had a mustache, I'd twirl it.
Fabulous!
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