Page 24 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Rosamund nodded meekly. If Lord Studborne had a notion to think they were destined, it would make her task all the easier. It would hardly matter if she came as a pauper on her knees, were he to believe she was his fated mate.
They advanced downwards again, until reaching a door leading to an inner courtyard, the abbey surrounding on all four sides. It was uncannily quiet.
“The quadrangle formed the original cloister,” explained the duke. “Some of the abbey's wooden structures were lost in a fire some years after it passed into my ancestors’ hands. They made clever work, however, in building new wings upon the foundations of the old.”
Rosamund surveyed the looming stone. Sculpted griffins and ugly-faced gargoyles leered back. The abbey rose four stories; five if one counted the reaches of the towers. So many windows. Anyone might be at them, looking down.
Rosamund had the strongest feeling that it was so, although the servants must be occupied in their work, and Madame Florian surely had better things to do than idly gaze into the courtyard.
“And here we finish.” The duke smiled benignly at Rosamund. “Since your mother hasn’t been able to tour the abbey herself, you must persuade her of your delight in all you’ve seen.”
The thought of returning to her mother suddenly seemed less than appealing. The duke frightened her a little but there was something about him that exerted a strong attraction.
“Is that not the chapel?” Rosamund indicated the building jutting slightly into the courtyard from the opposite side. “Might we see inside? Just quickly.”
The duke considered a moment before leading the way. “It is not used for holy service anymore; not since the duchess’s death. The servants walk to the church in the village, and I attend on high days—Easter and so on.But you may see inside if you wish.”
To Rosamund’s surprise, he drew a key from his waistcoat pocket to open the door.
Did such a place need to be locked?
Inside, simple wooden pews ranged either side of a central aisle. The floor, stone-flagged, was chill beneath Rosamund’s feet, and the air musty.
There was little adornment; no rich coverings nor banners for the walls. Not even a statue of the Virgin, nor a crucifix—as if the place had been stripped of its Christian trappings.
“Is that…The Garden of Eden?” Rosamund stared at the stained-glass window above the altar.
“I believe so.” The duke came to stand next to her. “Naturally, the chapel was among the original buildings of the abbey, and the window was made to follow a sketch by Vasco de Benevente himself.”
Rosamund started at the mention of the old friar’s name. It had been Vasco, according to Madame Florian, who’d given them the message of doom during the séance.
Standing in the gloomy chapel, she could almost imagine the first abbot lingering. Such ancient places were not like others—as if the past were caught between its thick walls.
“Vasco was a fascinating man,” the duke went on. “Some of his journals remain in the library. He travelled to Mexico early in the sixteenth century and, though he was a Christian missionary, was intrigued by the local customs and myths.”
“But, the snake?” Rosamund studied the predominant image within the window. “A strange choice, isn’t it? I can see the tree and the apples, but no Adam or Eve.”
Although Rosamund knew the Faithful of old were inclined to favour Old Testament themes, it seemed odd to have the snake looming over them. Hadn’t the devil himself spoken through the serpent’s mouth?
“The snake symbolizes rebirth and renewal in many cultures,” the duke explained. “Some think it a sacred creature, joining the realms of living and dead. Vasco was fascinated by the parallels between Christian orthodoxy and that of the ancient Maya. His views were unconventional for the time, but the abbey was his domain. The snake may be thought to represent Christ, resurrecting to walk again on the earth.”
“I see.” Rosamund frowned.
She wasn’t sure that she did, but it seemed only polite to try.
Looking at the altar again, she saw someone had left a wooden cup upon the bare stone—and there was liquid within.
“Is that—?” She sniffed. “Is that cocoa?”
“Ah!” Taking her by the arm, the duke led her away. “It is only my hot chocolate. I am fond of it, as you know. I was here to lay a wreath upon my wife’s tomb. I must have left it, without thinking.”
The duke certainly does have his eccentricities, thought Rosamund. But she was touched, as she had been on their first meeting, by his devotion to his wife’s memory.
“And where are the tombs?” she asked. “There must be a great many—the family having lived here for centuries.”
“As is customary, there is a crypt. But, that is one place you should not wish to see, Miss Burnell. The steps are worn and there are many spiders.” He moved, so that his back was towards the small door Rosamund surmised must take one beneath the chapel.
“I alone go there, to pay my respects, and to make sure all is well. The chambers beneath where we stand are the oldest in all the abbey—not just the crypt but other rooms and passageways. The monks slept there, long ago.”
