CHAPTER SIX

 

 

 

 

‘Phew – retrieving relics from the north face of the Eiger I can do. But saying ‘hi’ to this many old friends in the course of one evening? Now that’s a challenge!’

Sydney favoured Nigel with one of her affectionate, open-mouthed smiles as she settled down next to him on a sizable leather sofa. It was one of those pieces of furniture so large that it seemed it might swallow you. Nigel had been lolling there for the past half-hour, politely rebuffing requests that he rejoin the party, and had already sunk sleepily into the far corner. Sydney found that the natural undulation of the sofa made her slip down next to him. Their bodies were squashed together even before her arm began to curl around his shoulder.

‘Tired?'

'Mmmmm,’ replied Nigel vaguely. Trying to jolt himself back to wakefulness, he glanced across the large, people-filled drawing room at an antique grandfather clock. ‘It's nearly 1 a.m. already,’ he noted. ‘Ugh - look at that!'

Nigel absorbed the sight of Claudia and Preston, engaged in an increasingly intimate tête-à-tête on a ‘chaise longue’ in front of the blazing fire. Claudia's voice carried right across the room.

‘Wow - Preston, you’re amazing! If you hadn't stopped to rescue that boatload of drowning schoolgirls, you really would have found the Lost Ark of the Covenant! And I can't believe how many times you've helped out Sydney and Nigel. It's kind of rude they never told me more about you…’

Nigel huffed noisily. 'Look at that! He's all over her! And what's worse, she's all over him - and she seems to have forgotten to put her skirt on!’

‘Don't be such a prude,' laughed Sydney, casually noting that the über-trendy red mini-dress, which Claudia had changed into for the party, indeed only just covered her modesty.

‘I'm not a prude!' retorted Nigel defensively. 'Preston - now he's a prude!’

‘Not tonight he isn’t!’

Nigel groaned and covered his eyes as the last of the gap between Preston and Claudia on the ‘chaise longue’ evaporated. 'I’m going up to bed! I can’t stay in the same room as that a moment longer!'

'Oh, Nigel! Let them be. You know, if it works out between them, it could be wonderful for all of us. It might even change things between you and Preston.'

'Not likely,' muttered Nigel, peeping out between his fingers.

'Wait and see,' drawled Sydney enigmatically. As he pulled away his hands, she took his chin and turned his head to face hers. She kissed him once, tenderly on the lips. 'We can all change in unexpected ways, remember?’

'I suppose we can,' replied Nigel, starting to feel happily relaxed again. ‘Shall we go up to bed now?’

‘We've got a relic to find, Nige! You'd better try waking up!’

‘Oh, yes.’ He shook his head rapidly, trying to stir himself. ‘Actually, I’ve been thinking about that. I wish I’d had another chance to speak to that guide - she said the relic is in a ‘sacred place.' Surely the chapel is just too obvious?'

Sydney shrugged. 'I think she wants us to find it - it was just some sort of promise that prevented her from telling us more.’

‘I suppose so,' said Nigel, sounding anything but convinced. 'But she certainly knows her Celtic legends. It took me a while to place that name she gave, but now I remember – Braingain! She was Iseult’s maid, and devoted to her mistress. According to Béroul, Braingain took her mistress's place in the marital bed under the dark of night, after the Irish princess’s forced marriage to King Mark of Cornwall. Apparently, it was so that the King would not find out his bride was no longer a, um…’

‘…virgin,’ finished Sydney contemplatively, as Nigel trailed off in slight embarrassment. ‘Of course! I remember that story, though I didn't recall the maidservant’s name. She really was a faithful friend.’

‘Too faithful, some might say! I wonder why the guide decided to take her identity?’

Sydney looked at her fiancé curiously. ‘Nigel - this afternoon I had to rescue you from the undead poltergeist of Iseult’s uncle. Has it is even crossed your mind that she might actually be Brangain.’

‘Err, no, it hadn't actually,' said Nigel honestly. ‘And I had been trying to forget all about earlier…’

At that instant, an eruption of girlish voices and screams in the hallway signified that another group of Sydney's ex-students, colleagues and fellow relic-enthusiasts had arrived, and were seeking their friend and heroine.

Sydney winced apologetically. 'That must be the party from the Dalhousie University, Nova Scotia - I've at least got to go and say ‘hi’’

The exclusively feminine sound rendered Nigel mildly terrified. 'How many more people did you invite? And are they all girls? The women at this event are starting to outnumber the men, ten to one!'

Sydney giggled. 'I did invite a lot of guys too. But I'm not sure they were so keen on the, uh, occasion.’

‘You mean that most of them were your ‘ex’s’?’

'No… not all of them. There are plenty of men here, Nige - including one or two I didn't invite.’

‘Too true,' conceded Nigel. Apart from Francois, Stewie Harper was currently propping up the bar, having failed in a desperate attempt to hit on Karen.

‘And Derek Lloyd messaged me to say he would be here,’ continued Sydney. 'Apparently he's found some sort of way to fit us in between his latest international criminal hunts.’

'Well that’s something, I suppose. Talking of criminals, have we had any update on the whereabouts of your French former beau - and the, uh, wedding rings?'

‘I'm afraid not,' confessed Sydney. 'I guess he really has run off with them. I’ll get them back, I promise, but I’ve asked for those roman-gold rings we found last year in Avignon to be sent over as substitutes for tomorrow. I'm sorry they won’t mean quite so much…’

‘It doesn't matter,’ said Nigel sincerely. 'It's funny, we spend all of our life finding relics, things, but sometimes it's not objects that really count, is it?’

'No, it's not,' replied Sydney, smiling adoringly as Nigel yawned widely.

Once he'd finished, he gazed at her blearily. ‘I’m dead tired,' he admitted. 'I think I'll head off to the bedroom for forty-winks. You'd better come up and find me when you can get away.'

'Fine. Don't fall too deeply asleep, though. I'll just go greet my friends and be up in five minutes…’

……………………………………………

As soon as the noise of the busy partygoers faded into the background, the creepy atmosphere of the castle closed in around Nigel, accentuating the silence of the night. It suddenly occurred to him that he would rather not go back to the honeymoon suite without Sydney - after all, the painting hung in that particular room was where all the trouble had began. He slackened his pace, perusing some Tudor-era portraits of ruffle-collared dignitaries on the grand, main staircase - he might as well admire the artwork than have to doze outside the bedroom door until Sydney arrived.

As he sauntered along the first corridor of bedrooms, however, something else grabbed his attention. One of the doors was ajar.

'Odd,' thought Nigel, noting the room number. 'That's Claudia's suite.' It occurred to him he ought to check that everything was okay in there. He knew she was still downstairs flirting with Preston. Nevertheless, considering that he would probably forgive her for that in the long term, he decided he would not like his ditzy, blonde friend to have an unwanted encounter with either a mad ghost or a passion-fuelled Frenchman.

Very tentatively, Nigel peeped through the door. Then he gasped.

Never in his life had he seen so much wedding attire. Dresses large and small, of all shades of cream, pink and ivory, were draped over absolutely everything. In the middle of the room, hanging from a crystal chandelier, was a pink, puffball bridesmaid’s dress.

Nigel stepped into the room, undeniably curious. Okay, the pink puffball affair, which he thought embarrassingly hideous, had to be Claudia's - if anybody could look good in it, it was probably her! But surely all those fancy wedding dresses were intended for Sydney! He couldn't quite picture her in any of them. He didn't even want to see her in them. It just wasn't her.

Feeling slightly guilty he'd ever uttered the stupid marriage proposal, he absent-mindedly rubbed his fingers over the cool, shiny silk of a dress that was draped over a pile of hatboxes. It did feel wonderfully smooth and sensuous, almost like running his fingers against Sydney's long, lustrous hair…

The sudden squeal of a high-pitched voice in the corridor snatched Nigel out of his moribund imaginings. He knew instantly who it was: Claudia! Nigel panicked. She would skin him alive if she caught him poking around the wedding dresses!

Realising it was too late to leave by the front door, he yanked open the wardrobe. There was no refuge there - it was stuffed full of dresses of all shapes and sizes. The bathroom door was also too far off, so he had only one choice. Just as the door swung fully open, Nigel threw himself under the bed.

In walked a petite pair of sparkly stilettos, followed by a distinctive pair of black brogues, purchased from a well-known shoemakers in Jermyn Street, London. Of course, there was only one person who Nigel knew that always bought his leathers from that particular retailer: Preston!

Preston lingered uneasily in the doorway. 'Are you sure this is quite alright?'

'Why wouldn't it be?' Claudia scooped up an armful of dresses from the king-sized bed and tossed them casually onto the top of the hatboxes. 'Its only right that the Best Man checks out the bridesmaid’s dresses before the big day - and makes sure that the chief bridesmaid is quite clear of all her duties. All of them.'

The final three words rolled lasciviously of her tongue as Claudia bounced down onto the bed. This caused the bottom of the mattress to sag down, just a little, towards Nigel, who was currently trying not to explode with anger. 'Best Man! Best Man!’ he seethed. ‘The lying bastard!!’

'Well, if you insist, I’ll give them a quick seeing to, err, I mean, a quick look,' Preston shot her a sheepish grin. 'Which one are you going to be wearing tomorrow?'

‘I haven't decided yet.' Claudia fluttered her eyelashes girlishly and uncrossed her long, bare legs, stretching them out in front of her. Preston took deep, calming breaths, and tried to think of boring childhood afternoon teas with Aunt Maud to prevent himself hyperventilating. As he sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, it sunk down a great deal further than before, pressing onto Nigel’s shoulders and bottom.

‘They're all stunning,’ he said, scanning the bridal wear - looking anywhere but at the creamy, painted toes that had started tickling the outside of his thigh. ‘But, if I had to pick a favourite, it’s going to have to be the pink one.’ He pointed at the puffball horror hanging from the ceiling. Nigel cringed. Trust Preston to have such God-awful taste. Even Claudia must have rejected that one…

The next instant, Nigel found that he was spread-eagled under a dangerously depressed mattress, his nose buried deep in the shag-pile carpet. On the top of the bed, Claudia bounced on top of Preston, her knees practically in his lap, and her arms flung around his neck.

'Oh my God! You are so totally right! I love that dress to death, but everyone else hated it. They said it was too, err, pink.'

'Then they must all have had a surgical taste bypass,' replied Preston earnestly, now unable to think of anything but the baby-blue eyes and cherry lips that hovered so enticingly close. 'You can never be too pink, Claudia! Oh…Claudia!’

Claudia began to envelop him with noisy kisses. Preston moaned with desire: ‘Oooh, ah, this is, um, lovely, but don't you think it's all going rather fast?'

'Too right!' thought Nigel, fighting a growing wave of nausea.

'This isn’t fast!' snapped Claudia playfully. 'Believe me, this is way too slow. I’ve been waiting all my life for you, Preston Bailey!'

Preston stared at her, open-mouthed, not quite believing any of this was real. Yet, there she was: blonde, beautiful, breath-takingly sweet - and all over him!

He gathered her hands into his and kissed them both.

'Claudia,’ he declared ardently. ‘Marc Antony may have marched armies across the ancient world just for the beauty of Cleopatra's nose and Helen may have launched a thousand ships! But I would gallop to hell and back just for one glimpse of your…’

Under the bed, Nigel gagged, as Claudia seized the object of her desire and smothered his mouth with hers. They rolled back onto the mattress with an almighty ‘creek’.

‘The tea-lady was right!’ cried Claudia, her mind lost in a lustful whirl. 'You're my fate! You're my destiny! Take me, Preston Bailey! Take me now!'

'Oh my love, my darling, my little cupcake!’

Nigel had heard enough - he had to get out of there! Not that he could have stayed if he wanted - he was now squashed so hard against the carpet that there was simply no room to breathe. Past caring whether he was caught or not - and guessing the occupants of the upper side of the bed were too preoccupied to notice, anyway – he wriggled out from under it. Nigel began crawling towards the door on his hands and knees.

He was only a metre from the exit, when a high-pitched squeal told him he'd been rumbled.

'Good God!’ exploded Preston, pink lipstick covering his face and his shirt hanging open. ‘Nigel! What the hell do you think you're doing?'

'Nigel! You peeping Tom!’ wailed Claudia, untangling her fingers from Preston’s hair. Then another thought occurred to her. 'Were you peeking at the wedding dresses? Surely you know that it's bad luck for the groom to see this stuff before the wedding!'

'No!' said Nigel angrily, clambering to his feet. 'If you must know, I saw your door was left open and I was just checking for any intruders!'

'Under the bed?’ demanded Preston. 'Oh, come on, you don't you expect me to believe that? You deserve a good thrashing for spying on this angel the night before your own wedding!'

‘Oh, shut up!’ Nigel shot him a particularly withering glare. ‘Why the hell would I be spying on Claudia? And who gave you the right to tell her that you’re my Best Man!'

'Well, um,’ began Preston, finding his self-righteous outburst prematurely undermined. ‘Joel still isn’t here, and…’

‘I don't care!' yelled Nigel. ‘I'd ask the concierge before I’d ask you!'

'Preston’s not Best Man?' pouted Claudia. 'That's so mean. He is your brother! And it's the least you can do after spying on us like this!'

Nigel thrust his fingers back through his hair in frustration; Claudia and Preston glared at him accusingly, a united front. 'I was not spying….oh, what's the use!'

He turned on his heels and was about to depart swiftly when there was a tap at the door.

‘Nigel? Is that you in there?' The door opened an inch, and Sydney peeped in.

'Hey,' she said, seeing all the dresses still lain out. 'Surely you're not supposed to be in here…’ She broke off as the stench of bad atmosphere overwhelmed her.

'He was just leaving!' bellowed Preston.

‘Too right I was! Come on, Syd. Let’s leave these two fools to discover just how pathetic they both are in any relationship!’

‘Nigel!’ Sydney grabbed her fiancé's arm and jolted him back as he pushed past her. ‘What the heck is going on here? That wasn't a very nice thing to say!’

‘No, it wasn’t Ni-gel!’ squawked Claudia emphatically. ‘It was mean!’

Nigel and Preston said nothing as their eyes met each other’s. Sydney all but heard the electric crackle of anger as it simmered between them.

‘Nigel,’ she said calmly. 'What is going on here?’

‘I didn't mean to spy!' he blurted. ‘Claudia's door was open and I was just checking for intruders – honestly, I'd forgotten all about the dresses although, I have to admit, when I saw them I was a little… interested. Then I heard voices and I sort of panicked.’ He winced as he admitted: ‘I hid under the bed.’

A shadow of amusement crept across Sydney's face as she pictured the scene. ‘Fair enough,' she concluded. She turned to the others. ‘I think it's reasonable that Nigel should have been concerned for Claudia, considering this afternoon's events.'

‘I suppose so,’ pouted Claudia. ‘He didn't have to say such nasty things, though!'

'You were hardly sweetness and light either!’ protested Nigel. ‘And that idiot,’ he continued, pointing to Preston, 'still seems to think he’s my Best Man!’

‘Well, after everything I’ve done for you over the years,you’d think that it was a given…’

Sydney held up her hand for peace. ‘Okay guys - maybe this isn't the best time to start unpicking three decades of conflict. Nigel and I have a relic to find - and I kind of imagine we all need some sleep.’

‘Quite,' mumbled Nigel. His better nature forced him to offer Claudia an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry I said what I did.’

Claudia screwed up her nose prettily. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t believe you, I guess. But I think you’d better apologise to Preston too. After all, you’re going to need his help to find the thingy. He is the world’s leading expert in mediaeval relics! And he's helped you so many times before…’

Fortunately Sydney, who still had a firm hold on Nigel's arm, managed to squeeze it hard enough to prevent his saying anything else that he might - or might not - regret.

'I'm not sure that Preston coming along is a good idea, Claudia,’ she smiled. ‘We’ll, err, consult him if we need to.'

Nigel mumbled something unrepeatable under his breath. A fortuitous rumble of thunder meant that nobody heard.

Claudia suddenly looked concerned. ‘You’d better watch out, Syd. Poltergeists feed on the energy of storms, remember? If the bad guy comes back, getting rid of him could be even harder than it was the first time.’ She pulled out a magazine from her bedside table. ‘I was checking this out while I was getting ready for the party and, apparently, for really powerful apparitions, the only way is to find the means by which he was killed the first time and repeat it. Now that can finish off even the stickiest of evil spirits…’

‘You pay a lot of attention to Occult Weekly, don’t you?’ said Sydney. ‘Look,’ she turned to Nigel, her expression slightly apologetic. ‘I think maybe Claudia and Preston should come along. We really might need a little of their expertise.’

‘Can’t we just take Claudia?’ pleaded Nigel.

‘Don’t be so horrid! Your brother is the cleverest man alive - and I need somebody to protect me!’

The swiftness with which Sydney bundled Nigel out into the corridor, and placed silencing fingers on his lips, was just enough to repress his infuriated reply.

……………………….

Preston, in all honesty, had never been keen on the idea of accompanying Sydney and Nigel on this particular late-night relic hunt. Indeed, he didn't even think it was the best way to demonstrate his masculine prowess to Claudia - he would have been much happier regaling her with exaggerated tales of his triumphs over a nice cup of tea. Better still, he would have liked to finish what had been started when Nigel so rudely interrupted them. Yes - he was still feeling decidedly frustrated about that. After all, he was only a man!

The potential awfulness of the situation was highlighted when Sydney began to pick the lock on the grate that partitioned off the old part of the castle.

‘Remind me again why we are not waiting until the morning?' he pleaded.

‘Because it's their wedding day, silly!' replied Claudia amicably.

‘Oh, that,’ mumbled Preston. He began to feel a lot better, however, when he felt Claudia's hand slip into his. Her fingers felt very tiny and cold; he boldly caressed the back of her hand with his thumb. As the thunder crashed again, she looked up at him imploringly - fear bubbled in those baby-blue eyes.

‘Don't worry. I'll do anything to protect you, ' he said. He really meant it.

Meanwhile, Sydney was through the barrier and she and Nigel had started up the spiral staircase, their flashlights penetrating the foreboding darkness.

‘So, where do you think the old chapel would be?’ asked Sydney.

Nigel was about to answer when a voice called out from behind: ‘In a fortress of this antiquity, I wouldn't be surprised if the chapel was built separately, outside the walls, vis-à-vis the Manoir de Hilgay.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Preston’ scoffed Nigel, as he turned and shone his torch aggressively into his brother’s eyes. ‘It's far more likely to be tucked away in a turret or outer wall, like at Bodiam Castle, or beside the solar like at Ightham Mote or Penshurst Place. Your knowledge of internal structures appears to be at least three centuries off kilter… ’

Sydney rolled her eyes at the pettiness of it all. ‘Can we save the contest to find out who's the best architectural historian until later?’ she hissed. ‘Braingain seemed to imply that it was part of the castle. Let's start by looking behind the Great Hall.’

…………………

Sydney led the way through the decorated arch into the Great Hall. Shining her torch around, she immediately noticed something was different.

'That's weird,' she murmured. 'The weaponry that covered the walls earlier has gone.'

'Maybe the manager took it away for safety reasons,’ suggested Nigel. 'It would hardly be surprising, after what happened with that suit of armour earlier.'

'I guess,' replied Syd, unconvinced. 'But look - that sword is still there.' The silver sword, which Nigel had been making for earlier when they candelabra started plummeting towards him, shimmered in the distant reach of the rays. It still hung vertically down the wall, but now had two other swords crossed diagonally over it, so the display resembled a six-pointed star.

‘So it is – its been rearranged a bit, though. I don't remember those two other crossed swords on top of it. Why would that be left when all the other weaponry has been moved?'

'I've no idea.'

The sound of muffled laughter from the staircase - obviously Claudia and Preston - ignited Nigel's ire. 'I wish they'd hurry up. Why did you let them come along - I'm not sure Claudia’s having read a few articles in Occult Weekly will make any difference. As for Preston – well, he’s always useless.'

Unexpectedly, Sydney's temper snapped. ‘Sometimes,' she hissed. 'I wonder why I’m marrying you! You can be every bit as pathetic and small-minded as your brother. At least he has the virtue of height!’

Sydney gasped, even as the last of the words poured from her mouth. Flashing her torchlight up to her fiancé's face, she saw his brow furrow with hurt.

‘I'm so sorry,’ she began. ‘I don't even know where that came from. Unless…’ She seized Nigel's hand and pulled him close to her, as Preston and Claudia crept tentatively through the archway into the Great Hall.

‘Maybe you're right,' mumbled Nigel, his gaze cast to the floor; despite her actions, the harsh words still burnt him. 'It's not too late to call it off…'

‘No,' insisted Sydney, raising her voice as the storm outside whipped up to new heights. 'We all have to keep close, now - and try not to dwell on any negative emotions. Morholt's here…’

………………………………….

They all kept close to Sydney as she led them through the chamber behind the Great Hall, where Nigel had had his first 'bad experience' with Morholt.

Sydney stretched for Nigel's hand more than once but, having extracted himself once, he kept just out of reach. She desperately hoped he hadn’t taken her unheeded, alien words seriously. Nigel, for his part, wasn't entirely sure what he thought about anything at that moment - apart from that the sight of Preston and Claudia clinging to each other was decidedly irritating.

‘There ought to be a door out of the back of this chamber into the chapel,’ he whispered, sensing Sydney’s quandary about where to go.

Sydney’s light hit a closed wooden door in a low, narrow archway: ‘Like that one?’

'Just like that one,' confirmed Nigel, as Sydney turned the dangling, brass loop-handle.

……………………

The small stone apartment had clearly once been a chapel. There was a niche for the holy water by the entrance and jagged scars on the floor where the altar and font had been removed. Beyond that, however, there was little of any significance: no inscriptions, no carvings and no sign of any hidden compartment.

'Maybe this wasn't the original 12th century chapel,' said Preston in an 'I-told-you-so' voice.

‘Rubbish!' retaliated Nigel, pointing to the ceiling. 'Those arches are clearly of the period. I think we still have not found the right ‘sacred place’'.

'Maybe you're right,' said Sydney slowly. 'Tristan and Iseult’s love drove them to live outside the rules of their peoples and religion…’

‘Absolutely,' interjected Nigel. ‘So we need to think what would have been a ‘sacred place’ for them and those who loved them.’

Sydney shrugged. ‘A secret meeting place, maybe?’

'Where were they happiest?' wondered Nigel out-loud, rummaging his memory for the details of the legend. 'I've got it! After they realised that their love could not be concealed from King Mark, Tristan and Iseult ran away into the Great Forest of Cornwall, where Tristan kept them alive through his skill as an archer. So the tale goes, they found a paradise there, huddled together in a simple wooden bower. It was the only place they ever really found happiness - that was their sacred place!’

‘Well, it’s a shame you don't respect the sanctity of such things!’ scoffed Preston. 'Besides, what do you propose? That we catch the next flight back to Heathrow, and head for the A303?’

‘He’s not suggesting we go to Cornwall,’ countered Sydney. ‘We shouldn't have been looking for the chapel, we should have been looking for the…’

‘Bedchamber!' jutted in Claudia. Preston's foul mood was lightened by her obvious enthusiasm and the delighted wring of his hand. 'Oooh!’ she squealed, ‘I like this hunt!'

It was then that they all heard the moan: a loud, whining but decidedly human cry.

Claudia's playful spirits vanished. ‘What's that?' she squeaked.

'I hate to think,' muttered Nigel. 'Let's go find this ‘bower’ - before we find we’ve got into bed with more than any of us can handle!’

 

Continue to chapter 7