The Patchwork House Read Free Page B

kitchen.”
    She led me past the stairs to the double doors at the far end of the hallway. Stepping through, it was clear we were moving into a different age. This was likely the part of the house that had burned to the ground and been rebuilt. The windows were larger here, with wider panes and wooden framing. The décor was a huge change from the other rooms we’d seen in the Gothic section of the house. The flooring went from creaking hardwood to unforgiving stone. As a kitchen it was dramatic; a huge space with two great iron stoves, a huge slate-topped workspace in the centre and an enormous fireplace you could stand in, filled with pots, pans and a roasting spit. Of course, we stood in the fireplace and stared upwards into the dark chimney.
    “I wonder if this goes all the way out,” I said.
    “I don’t see daylight.”
    “Well no, it doesn’t go straight up to the roof.”
    “Is it a kinky fireplace, Jim?”
    “I believe it’s very kinky, my dear. Much like the lady standing in it.”
    “Ho ho.”
    “Hark! I hear Santa.”
    She laughed at that and gazed upwards again. “I think he’d get stuck.”
    We stepped out of the fireplace and opened a door beside it. Stairs led up so we followed them around a bend until we came to a modest-sized, self-contained apartment. The windows were small but they didn’t have bars like I’d expected.
    Beth almost seemed disappointed. “I thought this would be where the lord of the manor imprisoned his ex-wife or something.”
    “More likely just the housekeeper’s apartment. Shame though. You could lock up your ex, tell everyone she’s dead and find yourself a new young hottie to marry.”
    “And when you’re bored with her you can lock her up here too.”
    “Perfect,” I agreed. “I’ll get right on it.”
    Downstairs again, we passed from the kitchen into a conservatory filled with all manner of exotic plant life, and then onwards to a giant ballroom with a stage at the far end and doors on either side.
    I found the key to the door on the right and we stepped into a narrow corridor. The only light came from a window in the external door at the far end. Two more doors stood at either side of us. Opening the one on the left revealed a darkened dressing room filled with mirrors and little else. The other door opened to steps leading down into the blackness.
    We stopped there, just listening. The unmistakable sound of ticking rose from the dark.
    “Is that a clock?” Beth asked.
    “Could be a time bomb.”
    Beth mock-punched my arm. “I didn’t realize there was a basement.”
    “I guess there’s no windows down there so you wouldn’t know from the outside.”
    Beth shivered. “I don’t like it.”
    “The basement or the dark?”
    She linked her arm around mine and gripped my hand. “The ticking.”
    I listened. It was strange. It didn’t tick-tock like a normal clock. It seemed to skip beats ever so slightly, sometimes sounding rushed and sometimes falling behind. The slightly arrhythmic beats weren’t loud or particularly ominous, but they were unpredictable. Like listening to a short piece of music in an imperfect loop, where the beat would restart slightly too early each time around. I’m not particularly musical, but it bothered me. For Beth, it must have been torturous.
    “Let’s go back,” Beth said. I agreed and together we went back through the ballroom to the conservatory. There were several different paths through this mini-maze of foliage, and we headed towards the back of the house this time. We passed by the back door we’d seen from the outside, at the end of a short corridor, and walked through an oak paneled dining room and then back into the living room again.
    Beth went straight for the piano, perhaps intending to reset the off-kilter beat of the ticking basement with her own musical tempo. The distant sound of car tyres on gravel halted her.
    Derek and Chloe had arrived.
     

 
     
     
    CHAPTER 2
     
     
    The driver was