The Staircase: A haunting romantic thriller by Deryn Lake

Author:Deryn Lake [Lake, Deryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Endeavour Press
Published: 2017-11-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

Far below, Helena could see Hal cradling a motionless body, and to her horror she realised it was her own. But no one could hear her cries, for she was trapped in a time to which she didn’t belong . . .

*

The room in which Helena found herself now revealed itself in all its glory. Candles flamed in candelabra suspended from the ceiling by gold chains, while a blazing log fire threw more illumination from the grate. On the largest walls hung fine tapestries, all depicting Diana as goddess of the hunt, while the floor was covered with a red Turkish carpet, which was echoed in the bed which had a canopy above, an elaborately woven back of considerable height, and a stiff, formal embroidered bedcover.

“What is this place?” said Helena, still held closely in Etienne de Fleurmont’s arms.

“The bedroom in my apartment at Chambord,” he answered.

Helena struggled loose. “Please tell me where I really am.”

The expression on Etienne’s face changed dramatically and he turned away from her, the colour mounting in his thin-boned cheeks.

“Please,” Helena persisted.

“Before I do so, be assured of one thing,” he said without meeting her eyes. “I love you, have loved you ever since you were a child; that is what made me do what I did.”

Helena stared at him blankly, longing to comfort him but somehow afraid. “What have you done?”

“I summoned you here,” Etienne said softly. “Or rather, I asked another to do so on my behalf.”

Helena’s legs felt suddenly weak and she shivered, realising that she was wet through from her recent spell in the river. Etienne rushed to her, pulling her close to him and leading her to the fire.

“First let me get you some dry clothes. Then I will tell you everything that I know. Giving a small bow he left the room and Helena was alone instantly gripped by panic, knowing that she should run away, yet held fast by the attraction that this extraordinary man had for her. She stood by the fire, arms clutched round herself, wondering what to do next, then crossed to the window and stared out, face pressed against the glass, to see more clearly.

Outside it was as light as day, and in this amazing clarity every detail of the grounds round the chateau could be seen distinctly. For the first time, Helena realised that something was seriously amiss, that she was either suffering a terrifying hallucination or an event beyond her comprehension had occurred.

Gone were the canals and the formal, shaped green lawns; now a carpet of grass ran down to a crescent of water that shimmered like a brooch in the moonlight. Helena’s hand clutched her throat and she closed her eyes. But when she opened them again the image had not changed. Chambord was fully moated once more.

A sound from the doorway had her wheeling round, eyes staring, but it was only the return of Etienne de Fleurmont, who stood smiling at her, holding out a gown so elaborate that Helena could only think it had come from a film set.

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