The Madman's Room

‘It leads to the service entrance, and also to an old stone staircase which goes to the floor above and the attic, where the servants’ rooms are located. Take a look….’

‘Oh!’ exclaimed Sarah. ‘A spiral staircase!’

‘It’s the oldest part of the manor, the only vestige of the original construction built by a knight who fought in the Hundred Years’ War. He witnessed Joan of Arc being burnt at the stake and was appalled by the horrifying spectacle, after which he returned to England. The nightmare vision haunted him and he was often heard to say “We burnt a saint.” He began to lose his reason and one day the castle he had built went up in flames. Some said it was God’s punishment. Others insisted it was the knight himself who burnt it down, taking his own life at the same time.

‘The castle was never rebuilt and fell to pieces, with only the staircase left standing. The manor was only constructed much later. My dear Sarah, don’t try to climb these steps in your pretty high heels. We’re better off taking the main staircase.’

Once they were on the upper floors, Brian showed her the rooms destined for her parents and those for Paula and Francis, together with the two luxurious bathrooms, leaving to Harris the pleasure of showing Sarah their own rooms with adjoining boudoir. He pointed out his own bedroom and study, situated at the angle of the corridor, but without showing them to her on the pretext they were too untidy. Sarah looked down the corridor leading to the wing of the manor. There were two doors, one after the other. It was the closer of the two which attracted her attention. The door wasn’t set back in the frame as was the case with the other doors, but was flush with the wall. She noticed it didn’t have hinges or a handle either.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, intrigued.

‘The door at the end just before the staircase? A storage room, full of old junk.’

‘No, the one in front of it. But….’ She went to look at it and seemed bewildered. ‘But it’s not a door! It’s just a wooden panel built into the wall! Is this one of Harris’s modifications?’

‘No, it’s not one of his modifications and never will be. I’ll make sure of that.’

Surprised by the cold determination in his voice, Sarah turned to look at him. She was struck by the fixed stare in his almost translucent blue-grey eyes which seemed to look at her without seeing.

‘I–I beg your pardon?’ she stammered in alarm.

‘It’s an old story,’ he said, still with the same absent look. ‘This room has been sealed up for various reasons.’

‘Various reasons? By someone who, like Harris, wanted to modify….’

‘No. This room was sealed so that nobody could ever get in again. It’s no longer part of the house.’

‘But why?’

Brian fell silent and Sarah sensed him shiver before he finally answered:

‘To protect the Thornes.’

5

It was just before ten o’clock when, the meal finally cleared away, Sarah, Brian and the new arrivals got together in the salon. If Mr. and Mrs. Hilton were tired by their journey, they didn’t show it. A smiling Howard Hilton looked very much at ease in a stuffed armchair. As for his wife, not even a trained observer could have detected her real feelings. Paula, whose blue dress matched the colour of her eyes, was her usual ebullient self, laughing heartily at Harris’s jokes — which seemed to irritate Francis, who obviously felt that the circumstances warranted a more serious demeanour. Paula’s husband was one of those men who easily pass unnoticed, due to their regular features and conservative dress, but his eyes held a steely expression.

Seated between his sister and Brian, he forced himself to listen attentively to the comments his brother-in-law was making, punctuating his speech with forceful gestures. The contrast between the two men was striking. Francis, with his dark, curly hair, small pointed beard and discreet manner, practically disappeared before the overpowering personality of Harris Thorne, whose red hair and beard contrasted with the checked suits in every shade of blue which he customarily wore. Authoritarian yet likeable, he had his own distinctive way of talking, punctuated with loud roars, facial expressions and gusts of laughter. Sometimes the good-natured joviality froze on his face, most often when Sarah talked about some previously unknown episode in her past, which was the case now.

‘What? You were in the theatre?’ he asked tersely. ‘When and with whom? I don’t remember you telling me about it!’

Sarah laughed daintily.