The Madman's Room

Sarah pushed the director’s report away in annoyance. As always, there was nothing new and business was fine, so she attributed her bad mood to the gloomy wet weather. She looked at the clock: almost a quarter to nine already. She sighed, turned towards the window and, pressing her forehead against it, watched the night engulf the greyness of the day. As she listened to the rain pattering on the window she allowed her thoughts to wander. In the first place, she wondered why she’d habitually come there, Harris’s old study, to conduct her business. After all, it was so oppressive. Not only was it a sinister reminder of her husband’s death, there was something else she couldn’t put her finger on. Could it be the old furniture and carpet, and those old books whose pages had blackened during the years great-uncle Harvey had lived there? Possibly, but the place was a haven of silence and peace, unlike anywhere else in the manor. And calm and tranquillity was what she was most in need of, as Mike kept telling her. The room seemed to hold a secret attraction for her. Maybe she would end her days there, like great-uncle Harvey… and Harris.

Feeling suddenly tired, she decided to lie down. Extinguishing the old oil lamp, she wondered whether it wasn’t about time to install electricity. If Brian refused every attempt to modernise his room, that was up to him, but there was no reason for her to live in the last century. She would speak to Mostyn about it the next day.

She reached the divan and lay down. As she was about to close her eyes, she remembered that Mike had told her he’d drop by at around nine o’clock. She’d go downstairs in a few minutes, just a few short minutes — enough time for a short nap….

The monotonous sound of the rain against the windows was fading and drowsiness was overcoming her when she suddenly heard the door creak.

She froze as the feeble light of the corridor gradually penetrated the room.

Who could it be?

The deformed shadow thrown on the wall offered no clue.

Advancing gingerly towards the door, she closed it behind her. Darkness reigned again in the room. She opened her mouth to ask the figure to identify itself, but no words came out. The only details she thought she had seen were red glints in the figure’s hair. A picture of Harris flashed into her mind.

She heard muffled footsteps on the carpet and saw a silhouette at the window, outlined in the dying light. The sound of a match being struck broke the silence and, to Sarah’s intense relief she recognised Brian, who was lighting the lamp. How could she have mistaken him for Harris? His dull brown hair had none of the flamboyance of her late husband’s. She must have been thinking about him at that very moment, that was the only possible explanation. Decidedly, she hadn’t been her normal self lately.

‘Oh! Sarah!’ exclaimed Brian. ‘Excuse me, I didn’t know you were there… How pale you are. Anyone would think you’d seen a ghost.’

The light-hearted manner in which he uttered the words didn’t stop Sarah from shivering. But she recovered with a shake of her head.

‘I was about to take a nap,’ she replied, telling herself she didn’t owe him any explanation. ‘Brian, can you tell me what you’re doing here?’

‘I–I…’ he stammered, looking down. He thought for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I wanted to do some research.’

‘Research, here? Ah, I understand,’ she added, looking around the room at all the books on the shelves.

‘It’s not exactly that. I think I mentioned it already: I believe there’s still a manuscript by my great-uncle in existence.’

‘You did. But I’d like to know why you think that.’

Brian looked straight at her, then opened his hand as if something was written there.

‘No particular reason, really. Just an impression. How can I explain it? As you know, I believe our great-uncle’s writings should be considered a masterpiece. A masterpiece unique in its own way. Admittedly, I haven’t read a single word myself, but several different testimonies confirm the genius of the author. I refuse to believe that every single thing he wrote has disappeared. It’s not possible, do you understand? All the….’

Sarah wasn’t listening. She was looking at Brian’s hand. It was pale and large. Very large, even. When her brother-in-law had finished, she agreed, vaguely:

‘I see what you mean.’

Silence.

‘So you think there might be a manuscript hidden in this room?’

Brian turned to look at the shelves bracketing the chimneypiece.

‘It’s not out of the question. Think about the door hidden behind those shelves. Why wouldn’t there be a secret drawer or some such thing. I’ve been thinking about thoroughly examining this room for a long time.’

‘Well, if that’s what you want, go ahead. And, while you’re at it, look at the storage room next door. Cathy sweeps it from time to time, but that’s all. Everything’s still as it was and I don’t think anyone’s touched it since we arrived.’

‘That’s a good idea. I’ve already looked once, but maybe not hard enough.’