The Dead in Their Vaulted Arches by Alan Bradley

Author:Alan Bradley [Bradley, Alan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-345-53969-4
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 2014-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

I hereby give, devise, and bequeath to my—

Bang!

I nearly leaped out of my hide.

A thunderous knock at the door was followed by another and another and yet another: Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

My immediate thought was that the noise would waken Father, whose bedroom was next door to Harriet’s boudoir. Or had Dogger, perhaps, given Father something to make him sleep?

“Who is it?” I called, my voice shaky in the sudden silence.

“It’s Lena,” came the hissed reply, muffled by the heavy paneling. “Unlock this door and let me in.”

I was too shocked to reply. Here I was standing over an open coffin, nearly nose-to-nose with my mother’s body, her last will and testament shaking in my hand—

It was like a fevered nightmare.

“Flavia!”

“Yes?” It was all I could think of.

“Open this door at once.”

Sometimes a very great shock has the effect of slowing down time, and this is exactly what happened. Almost as if disembodied, I watched myself shove the will into the wallet, drop it into the coal scuttle, close the zinc flap of the inner coffin, grab and replace the wooden lid from where I had leaned it against the wall, drape it with the black pall, shove the coal scuttle under and behind one of the heavy velvet hangings, turn the key, and open the door, all in slow motion.

“What are you doing?” Lena demanded. “Why did you have this door locked?”

As if I hadn’t heard, I sank to my knees on the carved prie-dieu that had been provided for those who might wish to offer their prayers for the repose of Harriet’s soul. I hoped that it would look as if I had been there all along.

“What are you doing?” she repeated.

“Praying for my mother,” I said, after a long-enough pause.

I crossed myself and got to my feet. “What is it, Lena?” I asked. “What’s the matter?”

One way of getting an immediate upper hand in a pinch is, as I have mentioned, to make use of an adult’s name.

“You frightened me,” I added.

Another way is to squeeze in an accusation—even a veiled one—before the other person has a chance to say a word.

“I thought I smelled smoke,” she said. “It seemed to be coming from here.”

“It’s the candles,” I said immediately. “They’re awfully hot—and there are so many of them. With these heavy hangings—” I waved my hand vaguely. “And with all the windows shut—”

“I suppose,” she said, sounding somewhat skeptical, but having a good look round the room nevertheless.

From where we stood near the door, everything appeared to be in order, every detail as it had been before I began.

It was at that instant that my supersensitive hearing registered a new sound in the room.

Drip.

Drip.

It was agonizingly slow, but as evident to my ears as a series of cannon shots.

Surely Lena must be able to hear it.

“So everything is all right, then?” she asked.

I gave her a sad nod.

“Very well,” she said, but she made no move to leave. Rather, she looked slowly round the room as

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