Posted on 2008-10-31

There was a room in my father’s house which no one ever entered. Why other people did not do so, whether it was because there was no key that could open the lock, whether they had been warned away from it or whether they simply did not know it existed, I have no idea. I only know that I myself was mortally afraid and scarcely ever dared to come near its entrance. There was only one way you could reach that room - down a steep, narrow, spiralling staircase and through a passageway smelling of mould.

I was but a child when I stumbled upon the ancient wooden door for the first time. It was a rainy, stormy day, and forced to remain in-doors, my sisters and I had been playing hide-and-seek. Mary, little Mary, had disappeared into the library. I went after her, expecting her to crouch behind the desk or under an armchair, but instead, I saw an opening between the books - like all ancient houses, my father’s now revealed that it too had a secret passageway beginning in the library. My curiosity got the better of me and, making sure that no one could see me, down the stairs I went. It was cold on the dwindling steps and I soon felt clammy; it seemed to take forever to reach the bottom. In the passage itself, the sunlight that shone through the entrance was no more than a faint line above me. A single torch mounted on the wall was the only source of light down here. With trembling hands, I took it from its holder while I asked myself why I had come down here in the first place. There was no turning back, however; if Elizabeth heard about what I had found, and that I did not dare to explore it, she would call me a coward, and that was to be avoided at all costs.
The smell of rotting in the passage was overwhelming. I gripped the torch tightly and tried to breathe through my mouth as I stumbled forward, wondering whether the ceiling might come loose and collapse in mouldy bits upon me. At the end of the passage, there was the door. It seemed abnormally large to me with its enormous metal bolts and the wood that was black from soot or old age. The lock-box was black and rusted and the door handle would not budge when I tried to push it down. Only now that I was standing so close to the door did I notice the strange noise that seemed to be coming from beyond it. It was a low, deep pulsating, getting faster, much like the beating of my own heart. Was it only because I was now paying attention to it, or was the beating becoming louder, becoming closer?
Ever closer it seemed to come - it was directly behind that door - ever louder - it was scratching the door - moaning - as fast as I could, I ran back, stopping only to put the torch back in its holder and up, up the staircase -
The secret door swung back in place after me, leaving no trace of the secret room it was guarding but my own beating heart.
Little Mary, however, denied ever having been in the library. She had, she claimed, found the best hiding-place of all in mother’s drawing-room, and would not tell anyone about it for the world.

More than ten years passed. I seldom ever entered the library again, but I started to forget about the door. As I grew older I became able to discern between fact and fiction and as I thought of myself as an educated person, one who knew that secret passages and hidden rooms belonged into the realm of mystery stories and Gothic novels rather than into my quiet life, I dismissed my adventure in the cellar as a childish fancy, as a nightmare from my younger days. Sometimes at nights, when the house became quiet, I thought I could hear a faint pulse, a heartbeat in the deep, but in the mornings, the fear was forgotten, replaced by reality.
I grew up to be, as they call it, a lady of means. While I was never as out-going, as lively, as my sister Elizabeth, I began to enjoy my share of attention from the young men of the neighbourhood as they sought me out at dances and parties. They were all, as young men tend to be, lively and good-natures, but one particularly caught my eye. Charles Musgrove was the son of a neighbourhood squire, only one year older than me and always teasing. We soon became good friends, riding out together or quoting nonsensical verses at each other. Even my parents liked him and I was comfortable with the thought that one day, rather later than sooner, I would be marrying him. Nothing had ever been said about that matter by either of us, but there was a silent understanding all the same.

One summer evening, we were riding out together when we suddenly realised that above us, the sky was darkening rapidly and wind was coming up. A thunderstorm was brewing and we needed to get away as soon as possible. We had been meaning to spend the evening at Uppercross, Charles’ parents’ home, where my parents had often been invited for dinner. Mr and Mrs Musgrove delighted in seeing me and often invited me to family dinners. When it became clear, however, that we would not be able to make it, we crossed the meadows to Kellynch instead, arriving at the stables just as the downpour began. I was soaked in sweat from our ride and begged Charles to wait for me in the drawing-room while I quickly changed upstairs. Not five minutes later, I rushed down again to the drawing room, only to find it empty. The candles had been blown out and the door was banging against the door-post, as if someone had just left the room. I noticed that the door to the library stood slightly ajar, so I naturally assumed that Charles had stepped in there for a moment, perhaps to speak to my father. The library, however, was empty and dark as well. As a lightning momentarily lit it, I could see the door I had seen so many years before and believed to be a figment of my fancy. It had opened once more and there was a dull pulse coming from it. I wondered whether perhaps Charles had seen it and been lured down those stairs like I had been so many years ago - for I now had to acknowledge to myself that all I had seen as a child must have been real!
I went down the stairs once more, trembling all over, fearing for Charles, but I did not dare call his name. I knew not what was behind that door, but I was as afraid of it as I had been a decade before. Down the stairs I rushed, through the passage again, clutching once more that torch, but Charles was nowhere there!
There was the beating again, just like the last time, getting louder, faster! Something scratched behind that door - came nearer - moaned - shouted my name! ‘Anne!’ it shouted. ‘Anne!’
Once more I rushed back that passage, up the stairs, up again - my heart beating as fast as the pulse, beating, faster, faster, in the deep - up I ran - once more I ended up back in the library - once more, the door slammed shut behind me with no hint of its having ever been there.

Outside, the storm was still raging. The lightning threw the outlines of the trees in sharp relief as the library door burst open and my parents ran in.
‘Anne!’ my mother cried, ‘Thank goodness you are safe! I was so worried about you, outside in that storm!’
‘Where is Charles?’ I asked while she embraced me.
‘Did he come with you?’ she asked, astonished. ‘I thought he would have ridden home. I never saw him.’
‘Neither did I,’ my father added. ‘I was sitting in here until a moment ago and I never saw a soul.’
‘But he must be somewhere here,’ I said. ‘Where could he have gone?’
Something, I know not what, held me back. I dared not mention that room below, as if mentioning it would make what I had heard and seen become real.
‘Maybe he went to tend to his horse,’ my mother suggested. ‘Surely he would not suddenly ride home in such weather.’

We searched the whole house but Charles was nowhere to be found. His horse was still in the stable together with mine, but of Charles, there was no trace at all. We were left to conclude that, possessed by some sudden madness, he had wandered off home on foot. As we learned the next day, however, he had never arrived there, and after searching the countryside far and wide, we had to accept the fact that on his way home, some dreadful accident must have befallen Charles, or else, that he had decided to leave all his family and friends for good, contrary though it was to his character.
Weeks turned into months and still there was no sign of Charles. Winter came and I began to resign myself to the idea that I would never see him again. In December, my sister Elizabeth married our cousin William, who took up residence with us, much to my mother’s chagrin. She had never been in favour of William, but when she realised that both my father and Elizabeth approved of William’s suit, had been forced to accept him as her son. I myself knew not what to make of my new brother. When he began to court Elizabeth, I was still too much consumed with my grief for Charles to take much notice of him; and I think that William scarcely took notice of me. I know not what his interest in Elizabeth was either. She obviously adored the very ground he was walking upon, but he, or so it seemed, could not care less about her, and had apparently only married her to ingratiate himself with our father. Whilst Elizabeth steadily became more miserable, William enjoyed himself at my parents’ expense. He spent the days lounging around on sofas, shooting in the grounds, riding my father’s horses or, occasionally, going to Bath to meet friends of his, whom he would wine and dine with Elizabeth’s money. He did not want to change this way of life anytime soon, and my mother’s subtle hints that he might like to become involved with the managing of the estate, or find another occupation, were generally overheard. Father was happy to have a handsome heir and son-in-law, and if he ever saw any evidence that his favourite daughter was unhappy, he chose to ignore it.
Months passed and summer came again. Still there were no news about Charles and the man of dubious origin whom the Musgroves had paid to search for him had to admit that he had not found out a single thing. Elizabeth’s beauty was waning, but no one except mother and myself seemed to notice, and little Mary sent letters from school detailing how much she suffered.

September brought new excitements into the neighbourhood. A new curate had been hired in Monkford, and to everybody’s delight, he turned out to be young, handsome and well-spoken. Within days, every woman was on intimate terms with his housekeeper, and even mother’s friend, Lady Russell, had to admit that there was nothing not to like about Mr Wentworth, although I overheard her telling my mother in private to take care I did not become too attached, for his fortune was rumoured to be rather small.
It was not Mr Wentworth, however, who caught my eye, but his brother, Captain Wentworth, who came to stay at Monkford that autumn. Normally a very shy person with strangers, for some reason I took to him instantly, and Christmas already saw the two of us having become fast friends.
His calm intelligence and gentlemanly conduct appealed to my mother; his spirits, his kindness, his wit, his everything endeared him to me. Charles I had liked a lot, Frederick, I soon discovered to my own amazement, I loved. It did not take long until an agreement was reached upon by the two of us and for three blissful weeks in January, I was engaged to be married. Mother feared Frederick would not be able to support me, but in the end, her wish for my happiness outweighed her concerns and she gladly gave us her blessing and promised to speak to father about us as soon as he and William returned from town, where they were parading one another about. Even Lady Russell with time could be brought to see the benefits of the match and as she got to know Frederick better, she came to like him quite as much as mother. Frederick in turn admitted that Lady Russell’s point that he could not yet afford to have a wife was valid and that a solution would have to be found.

Father and William came home at the beginning of February and were full of embroidered waistcoats and their visit to St. James’.
‘Have you spoken to father yet?’ I asked my mother that evening as we were waiting for father and William to join us in the drawing room. Mother and I were embroidering items for my trousseau, as we had done for most evenings those past weeks; mother argued that every penny that could be saved on my trousseau could instead be spent on Frederick’s and my future income.
‘I shall speak to him this very evening,’ mother promised. ‘He certainly will see the benefits of the match.’
Elizabeth, as usual, took no part in the discussion. As on most evenings, she was sitting on the window-sill, gazing into the darkness outside.
‘Have some cake, dearest,’ mother said to Elizabeth, ‘or at least a crumpet. You ate nothing during dinner and you had no meals during the day either.’
‘Mother, I cannot bear -’ Elizabeth began, but what she meant to say, neither mother nor I learnt. In the very same moment, the door opened and Mary, our own little Mary, of all people stepped inside!
She was dripping wet from the rain, her skirts were soaked in mud and what looked almost like algae; her hair had become loose and was hanging down her back in one long, ratted tail.
‘Mary!’ mother exclaimed and rushed to her. ‘Dear, what happened?’
‘I had to leave the school,’ Mary sobbed and dripped into an armchair, not caring that she probably ruined it. Elizabeth looked up and glanced at Mary with an almost eager expression.
‘Two of the teachers and another girl contracted typhoid,’ Mary continued. ‘They said it was deadly. I could not stay a minute longer.’
Mother did not speak to father about Frederick and me that night.

It was Elizabeth who broached the subject the next morning at breakfast. Obviously, she assumed that father had already been informed.
‘When will you get married, Anne?’ she asked, suddenly looking up from the roll on which she had been nibbling for the past half hour.
‘Married?’ Father asked. ‘Anne is getting married? To whom?’
‘Captain Wentworth, father,’ I said, quietly but, as I hoped, firmly. ‘He has asked me for my hand and I accepted it.’
‘Wentworth, eh?’ Father asked.
‘Very common name,’ William added. ‘I am sure Anne could do better. We would not want our Anne to be shackled to some dreadful commoner, now would we?’
He gave me such a wink as to upset me greatly; I had never particularly liked my brother, truth be told, but since his return, he had become downright frightening.
‘I like Captain Wentworth,’ mother said softly, ‘I have given them my blessing.’
‘Very well, very well,’ father muttered and returned his attention to the society columns in his newspaper, over which he had been whispering with William. ‘Send the fellow to see me in the library one of these days and I shall decide.’

Frederick came to visit that very afternoon and after a rushed but passionate greeting in the hall, I sent him straight into the library, in the hope that father would welcome him into the family. He was not dismissed from it at once, which I took as a good sign. However, when first one hour and then another passed, and still no word from either father or Frederick was heard, I began to grow restless. Had I missed, unlikely though it was, their exit from the library?
Hesitantly, I knocked on the door. Nobody answered. I knocked again, louder this time. Again, there was no response. Slowly, I pushed down the door handle. An acute sense of foreboding overcame me as I realised that what was happening right now distinctly felt déjà vu. The library, as I had fear, was empty and once more, the secret door between the books had opened.
Only the thought that Frederick might be down that awful corridor prevented me from leaving the room at once, never to return. With trembling hands, I took a candlestick from the table and lit it in the fire. Shivering, I made my way down the spiralling staircase. I was alone in the smelly corridor. There was no sign of Frederick. Relieved, and, paradoxically, even more anxious, I was about to make my way upstairs again, when suddenly, I heard a moan behind me, coming, as I had known it should, from that dreaded door.
‘Anne!’ it called, ‘Anne,’ just as it had the last time. Were my ears deceiving me, though, or was it Frederick’s voice, Frederick calling my name?
Up, up the corridor I ran - I stopped in front of the door - never thinking - the beating was all around me, louder than ever - I pushed down the door-handle - again and again - until it budged - ‘Anne!’ Frederick called, ‘Anne!’

The chamber beyond was quiet. Whatever noise it emitted was scarcely heard inside. What that chamber was, I could not see - it was dark, and warm, and for a moment, I felt comforted, until the light of my candle fell on a shape on the floor.
‘Frederick!’ I cried.
He was unnaturally pale; the blood had been drained from his body. His chest was heaving. Calling out my name had been the last effort his body was capable of.
‘Frederick!’ I urged him again. ‘What happened? Where are we?’
‘The beating heart …’ Frederick muttered, ‘the beating heart of Kellynch.’
His eyelids fluttered.
‘Don’t!’ I shouted, ‘You can’t! I -’
‘And I you,’ he whispered.
The walls seemed to come nearer. All turned black.

When I awoke again, I was lying on my bed. Elizabeth was sitting in an armchair next to my head and mother was mopping my brow. My first thoughts were for Frederick.
‘Where is he?’ I asked them. ‘Frederick - he was dying!’
‘Shh,’ mother said, ‘you had a bad dream. Father found you outside in the garden. What were you thinking of, wandering into the storm with not even a spencer on you?’
‘Frederick? Where is Frederick?’ I asked again.
‘Father says he left him hours ago, directly after they spoke in the library and father gave him his permission for your wedding. Yes, dearest, you will marry. Now, will you smile again?’
‘Frederick is dead,’ I said. ‘I shall never marry.’
‘She is still not awake, poor thing,’ mother said, and that was the last I heard before I drifted into an uneasy sleep once more.

When I came to myself again, it was night. I was alone in my room. Far away in the depths, the pulse was still beating. At once resolved, I got up and quietly dressed, grabbed a candle and left. I owed it to Frederick to at least find his body.
I had no idea how to work the hidden door in the library, but when I entered, I found it ajar once again. Hastily, I descended once more.
‘Anne!’ Someone called. ‘I thought you would come.’
I made my way up the passage.
‘Elizabeth?’ I asked incredulously. She was sitting in the chamber beyond, a candle in front of her. The form of her husband on the floor was barely recognisable.
‘Elizabeth?’ I asked again. ‘But - how?’
‘I always knew this chamber must exist,’ Elizabeth said softly. ‘I read about it. The owner of Kellynch must keep the house alive if he wants his family to prosper, legend says.’
‘Keep it alive?’ I whispered. ‘You do not mean -’
The warm air stifled me. I felt my knees give way beneath me and sat down next to Elizabeth. Either it was the way the chamber was lit, or the walls kept moving to and fro us - my head began to spin.
‘When you moaned in your sleep this afternoon, I realised where the entrance must be,’ Elizabeth continued. ‘That was all I needed to know.’
I stared at her in amazement. Slowly, she got up from her position on the floor and walked to the door. With one swift move, she had closed and bolted it.
‘I do not think anyone else will come,’ she said.
‘You cannot - we cannot -’ I began. ’What shall happen to us?’
‘I do not know,’ Elizabeth answered, sitting down again. ’I do not think anyone ever told the tale.’