The Map of Chaos (Trilogía Victoriana #3)(86)
The others agreed and, bundled up in their coats, walked toward the supposed shelter offered by the coach.
“I hate dogs and you hate the stairs at Edwin Hyde’s drapery, isn’t that so?” the coachman whispered to Wells as he walked past.
Wells looked at him in astonishment while he tried to recall when he had told the old man that the stairs he had fallen down as a youth were the ones in the draper’s at Southsea. The old fellow grinned to himself, pointing to the tiny scar on Wells’s chin. Just then, a loud din caused everyone to look over toward the brow of the hill. Gleaming through the mist, a peculiar-looking vehicle was rolling down the hill toward them at an alarming speed, announcing its arrival with a sort of bellow that echoed across the moor, vying with the howl of the wind.
16
THE SOUND OF THE DOOR creaking shut behind them echoed off the walls of the vast entrance hall for several minutes, and the small group that had dared disturb the silence of that place huddled even closer together. They glanced about uneasily, mesmerized by those walls steeped in a thousand gloomy winters and crammed with weapons and emblazoned shields. Murray, who had organized that expedition into the heart of darkness and therefore felt responsible for the mood of its members, decided to speak first.
“I plan to install a handful of Edison’s electric lightbulbs there, there, and there,” he said resolutely, pointing randomly into the murkiness. “I shall also get rid of all the shields and weapons and replace them with beautiful paintings.”
“Get rid of the weapons?” Doyle protested. “That would be madness, Gilmore. Why, this collection is worthy of a knight of old. Look at that mace, for example!” He pointed to one of the walls where a club with a big, rusty ball studded with spikes had been mounted. “The perfect weapon for use in man-to-man combat, every bit as noble as the sword, while clearly requiring less skill and more brute force. And what about that crossbow? I’d say it’s probably twelfth-century,” Doyle added, referring to a wooden device resting on the wall like a monstrous dragonfly. “Although the fact is I’ve always considered crossbows to be despicable weapons, allowing any oaf to kill from a safe distance a knight trained in the art of war. They are a test of marksmanship, not manliness. And terribly difficult to reload so that during a battle every crossbowman needed a shield bearer to protect him while he reloaded the damn thing.”
And Doyle instantly launched into a detailed description of how to load a crossbow, accompanying his lesson with a pantomime of the movements. Murray interrupted him before everybody started to yawn.
“I’m glad you find them so interesting, Doyle. But in my view all these weapons merely illustrate man’s ingenuity for dreaming up fresh ways to kill his fellow man, and I will get rid of them at the first opportunity,” he said, inventing scruples he did not possess, or at least not in his old life, Wells reflected, when he had doubtless been skilled at handling weapons. “We’ll hang up a few works by Leighton instead. What do you reckon, Emma?”
He took his betrothed by the arm and, without giving Doyle a chance to reply, began a tour of his recently acquired mansion while he chatted about the various improvements he was planning to make. The others had little choice but to tag along behind them. From the hallway, they passed into the main reception room, which seemed slightly more welcoming due to the enormous fireplace gaping in one corner and the tall stained-glass windows, which, despite the dull grey light filtering through them that day, promised rainbow colors when the sun shone. However, the smoke-blackened oak-beamed ceilings evoked the leaden skies that hung over the moor, and the dozens of deer heads mounted on the walls seemed to observe the passing group through glassy eyes tinged with death. Next, the group entered an enormous dining hall that offered no respite from the somber atmosphere pervading the house; on the contrary, it was a windowless, gloomy room that gave off a powerful smell of mustiness and despair. When Murray lit one of the few lamps there and placed it in the middle of the long central table, a feeble pool of light spilled from it onto the dusty wood. But it was enough for them to make out through the surrounding thicket of shadows a ring of pale phantoms spying on them. After the initial shock, Murray lifted the lamp and drew closer to one of the walls. A sigh of relief spread through the group as they realized that the ghostly faces belonged to a row of portraits, doubtless ancestors of the Cabell family. Regarded in descending order, these gentlemen, with their alternately stern or stoical expressions, exchanged dress coats for frock coats and prior to that the more sober tailcoats of the Regency era, illustrating the passage of time more entertainingly than rings on a tree ever did. Apart from the dozen portraits, there was a second door located just opposite the one they had come in through, as well as some rusty shields crossed with swords, a couple of faded tapestries depicting mythological scenes, and an enormous mirror that enclosed the whole room in an ornate gold frame.
“Heavens,” Doyle murmured, pointing toward the portraits, “I don’t think I’d be able to dine easily in their company.”
Ignoring Doyle’s commentary, Murray began pacing round the table, rubbing his hands together excitedly.
“Think how beautiful this room will look, Emma, when we, when we”—he glanced around, trying to imagine what refurbishments could miraculously embellish the room—“change it completely.”
She chuckled. “Why, I think it’s charming as it is, Monty. What is there to change? It’s perfect . . . If you don’t manage to sell the house, we could throw parties here. We could invite all the people we don’t like and make them sit in this dining room eating interminable meals, and at night, when they are asleep, we could drag chains along the corridors and let out bloodcurdling howls. That way we’d be sure they’d never accept another invitation, and we wouldn’t have to accept theirs either, assuming they ever invited us anywhere after such an experience.”