Craven Manor(26)

Block after block of ground came out under the pressure of his shovel. The first foot was easy, but after that, Daniel began to encounter stones. They slowed his progress but didn’t stop it.

Without help, he couldn’t dig far enough to create a genuine six-foot hole—but he got it to at least four feet. It wasn’t wide, but the bones didn’t have any flesh clinging to them that would require more space.

From freelance janitor to groundskeeper and now undertaker. You’re really moving up in the world, Daniel.

He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead as he considered the logistics of moving the bones. If the skull was anything to go by, the rest of the skeleton would be too fragile to remove in little pieces. It would be easier to shift it over in blocks.

He noted the space the bones protruded from then traced the area where he thought the body might be resting. Weedy grass grew over it, and he cleared the plants away before beginning his dig.

The first thing he found was a rib bone. He adjusted his angle and kept digging past it until he also found a hip bone, then a shin. Finally, when he was certain his marks encircled the entire body, he dug down and levered the bones out in square-foot-sized chunks.

Just like a jigsaw puzzle. He lowered three ribs and an upper arm bone into the new grave. Keep the pieces in order. Don’t let them get scrambled.

It took more than an hour to transfer the whole skeleton, moving as carefully as he could to make sure he hadn’t left any parts behind. By the time he began filling the new hole, the sun was setting.

All right. I either did a really good job giving a body a dignified burial, or disturbed a century-old crime scene. A hysterical giggle escaped him as he tamped down the earth. The sense of dread refused to abate. His instinct was to trust Bran. Except for some bizarre requests and odd behaviours, the man hadn’t caused him any harm. But it was impossible to stop doubt from creeping in.

He didn’t have a tombstone, but a few minutes of searching found a long-dead branch that was shaped like a very wonky cross. Daniel snapped it off its tree and thrust it into the earth at the grave’s head. It was still a far cry from the crypt’s elegant dignity, but it was better than nothing.

Crows cawed in the distance as they settled around Craven Manor for the night. Daniel jogged to his cottage and let himself inside. The clock above his fireplace said it was already after seven, so he hurried to wash as well as he could in the sink and change into fresh clothes before making the return trip back to the dark mansion.

Its front door hung open, and Daniel entered under the watchful eyes of a multitude of sombre birds. The space was just as empty and desolate as it had been earlier. Daniel ran his hands through his hair, trying to make sure he looked at least a little presentable, then approached the fireplace. He stopped by the ancient furniture and waited for his host to appear. Instead, a door farther into the foyer drew open with a slow, prolonged creak.

Daniel didn’t move for several moments. Light came through the doorway to illuminate the cobwebs clustered around its frame. They looked almost like a halo, both delicate and threatening.

Move. Don’t keep him waiting. Daniel forced his feet to work. They carried him as far as the tile before the doorway then stopped.

A sense of unreality washed through him. The dining room was lit with lamps spaced along the walls and on candelabras in the centre of the table. A crackling fireplace dominated the room’s closest wall. Three large wingback chairs were spaced around it, and the bright flames sent twisting shadows rollicking up the wood-panel walls.

The massive table stretched the length of the room. Daniel imagined at least forty guests could sit around it without bumping elbows. Heavy dust coated the surface. Only one place had been set—the seat at the head of the table, closest to the fireplace. A bowl was filled with steaming soup, and a plate beside it held a bread roll and butter.

Is this what he meant by dinner? I’d assumed we’d be eating together. Daniel snuck a look behind himself, but the foyer remained deserted. “Bran? Sir?”

Did I arrive too late? Did he give up and leave?

Curiosity pulled Daniel towards the table. The bowl was clean and modern. The soup looked like some kind of minestrone. But they’d been placed on top of the powdery dust thick enough to obscure the wood’s colour.

The door slammed closed. Daniel flinched and swivelled towards it, but no one had followed him into the room.

A voice rasped from one of the wingback chairs by the fireplace: “Sit.”





Chapter Twelve





Daniel did as he was told, fumbling to pull the chair out from the head of the table and slip into it. The voice was unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was cracked and dry, as though it had been stolen from a man on his deathbed. But at the same time, there was enormous force inside the word, the kind that told Daniel it would be dangerous to cross its instructions.

“Enjoy your dinner, Mr. Kane.”

The words made Daniel shudder. He clenched his hands in his lap and hazarded a glance around the back of his chair. “Will you be joining me?”

“Not tonight. I do not have much of an appetite.”

The voice came from the central fireplace chair. Its high back and flared sides perfectly hid the occupant. He and Daniel sat back-to-back, less than five feet apart but blind to each other. The idea of creeping around the chair’s side to see his mysterious host’s face flittered through Daniel’s mind, but he didn’t dare follow through. The voice didn’t invite games.