A Keeper(33)

The wind was strong, but after so long in the car she enjoyed it rushing across her face, tasting the salt from the sea. The road curved slightly and the trees became a little thicker, but then she came to a gap that was filled with dead grass. Pushing forward she saw the rusted remains of a gate leaning against the wall. This was the entrance to a lane or old driveway. Elizabeth hesitated for a moment, thinking how underprepared she was for this sort of exploration. Her sneakers and thin jeans would be soaked. Maybe she should wait until she had got some wellington boots from somewhere? No. There were dry clothes to change into back in the car. It wasn’t ideal but it would have to do. Taking high steps and trying to flatten the grass, she continued. Back from the road the lane was slightly less overgrown and she found she was able to pick her way along a single track, avoiding most of the puddles and patches of mud. To her right behind a low stone wall were some geriatric apple trees. On the left was a sloping meadow that looked as if it had been used for grazing fairly recently. She could hear the sea but wasn’t able to see it until the lane climbed gently and all at once there it was, stretching out in front of her. Elizabeth gasped, it was so beautiful. A couple of lines of a Keats sonnet she had been teaching that semester popped into her head.

‘Oh ye! who have your eyeballs vexed and tired,

Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea.’

The sea. The sound of it, the smell, the ragged white edges as it met the distant cliffs. She scanned the horizon, wondering about her mother Patricia. Had she stood here? Was this the first time Elizabeth had looked out at this view or had her infant eyes already soaked it in just to forget it all? It was only then that she caught sight of the house wedged between the sea and the ruins of a castle. That must be it. Castle House. With a burst of enthusiasm, she made her way as quickly as she could down towards her legacy.

Elizabeth wasn’t exactly sure what she had been expecting but this house wasn’t it. Not grand enough to be a country pile, but not small enough to be considered a cottage, it was a nondescript two-storeyed house that had clearly seen better days. Faded blue paint was cracked and peeling off the windows and doors. Behind the glass, net curtains hung grey and exhausted. The path from the small gate to the porch had disappeared under a carpet of weeds. Behind the house loomed the castle with its ghostly outline. The wind seemed to be pursuing itself around the walls and Elizabeth felt oddly ill at ease. She wouldn’t have said she was frightened but nor was she sure that she wanted to let herself into this house alone. A few small clouds of spume danced on the air and the roar of the waves sounded almost threatening. She felt for the key in her bag and held it for a moment.

At first the lock seemed so stiff that Elizabeth thought the house had made her decision for her: she wouldn’t be going inside. But suddenly it had a change of heart and the key lurched to one side. She twisted the handle and the door swung open with a long creak. Peering into the gloomy interior Elizabeth could see the dusty floor covered in a scattering of dead flies and bees, with a staircase leading up into darkness. She found a light switch and to her great surprise it worked. A weak bulb illuminated the hall and Elizabeth stepped fully inside and pulled the door behind her. A room on either side. She opened one door and then the other. Both rooms were more or less the same apart from the wallpaper. Newspapers were scattered on the floors. Only a single wooden chair splattered with paint remained of the furniture. Small drifts of soot lay in front of the fireplaces. She was struck by how loud her footsteps seemed. Moving past the staircase she went through an open door into the kitchen. A few of the cupboard doors were hanging open as if abandoned and small piles of dusty crockery were dotted along the counter tops. Against what must be the back door a broom was resting, as if someone had decided to do some cleaning but then thought better of the idea. Again, the light switch worked and the bare neon tube on the ceiling flickered into life. Somehow the brightness made the room seem even colder. Elizabeth shuddered and stepped back into the hall. She examined the staircase. Would it be safe? She wondered if the floors upstairs would hold her weight. Did she need to go up? What was she looking for? This was just some abandoned house with no trace of the people who had called it home. She wondered how long it had been empty.

Unwilling to admit defeat and determined to find some trace of her father in this house, she tentatively started up the stairs. The creaking floorboards joined in with the rattle of the window frames and Elizabeth realised she was walking on tiptoe, sneaking her way around the house as if she was afraid to disturb it. Upstairs it was almost dark. She felt for the switch but it clicked ineffectually. Turning to go back downstairs towards the light she thought she heard a noise. A clicking sound that stopped and started with no sense of rhythm. It seemed to be coming from the bedroom door opposite the top of the stairs. Somehow her curiosity was stronger than her fear and she stepped across the landing. Silence, but then there it was again. Tap, tap, tap. Silence. She put her hand on the door knob and twisted. A pause. Two deep breaths and then she pushed open the door. She saw the long-toed feet moving across the floor and then a whole flapping pigeon hurled itself at her in an explosion of feathers. She felt the heavy warmth of its body graze across her face. Elizabeth screamed and fled down the stairs and out of the front door only to find her way blocked by a man. She screamed again.

‘Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ The man took a couple of steps back. Her heart pounding wildly, Elizabeth tried to examine her would-be attacker. He was a little taller than her but around the same age, she guessed. He had short dark hair and was wearing a tattered green V-neck jumper over a collarless shirt. He didn’t look particularly dangerous.