Vambéry handed up his cane, then followed after me, favoring his bad leg.
I crawled from the chimney into the firebox on this secondary level and found myself in a room much smaller than the one below. It, too, smelled dank, and while no footprints were evident upon the dirty floor, I noted this deficit with caution, remembering the complete lack of footprints in the tower at Artane or in Nanna Ellen’s room.
Vambéry hoisted himself up behind me with a grunt and dusted off his jacket and pants. There was a small window to the east, and he looked out. “The sleeping chambers were on this level; this one most likely belonged to Lady Hilda.” He cautiously inched forward. “Be careful where you step; this floor is brittle and can collapse underfoot.” There was a narrow door at the far side of the room, and he went to it. “The tower keep is one more level up.”
Beyond the small room, we found the remainder of the staircase adjacent to the ruined hallways running to the left and to the right. While the steps leading down below were missing and the shaft sealed, those leading up remained intact. Vambéry advised me to stay close to the wall and follow directly behind him, placing my feet where he placed his as he tested the steps ahead of us with his cane. This part of the structure felt very much like a house of cards that could fall with little provocation, and I pictured us both crashing through the floor and landing under a pile of stone and rubble.
The stairs ended at a large oak door that stood ajar, and a dark room beyond.
THE DIARY of THORNLEY STOKER
(RECORDED IN SHORTHAND AND TRANSCRIBED HEREWITH.)
17 August 1868, 6:19 p.m.—We dug about three feet down before we discovered the old wooden box.
An old box of teak approximately three feet long and one wide. At first I thought it was a child’s coffin, but as we unearthed the box, I quickly realized it was too small even for that.
A part of me believed we would find Emily buried within this grave. I pictured her sleeping soundly under this thick blanket of earth, waiting for the rise of night before she would somehow find her way past the smothering soil and tangled roots and busy maggots and worms to the land of the living. I then pictured her as she appeared that last moment before she bounded from our dining room out into the gloom, her eyes filled with fright, her lips so very red against her pale skin.
I cursed Bram and the others for putting these thoughts into my head, for making me believe my wife had somehow been transformed into a monster.
“Help me lift it out,” I heard Matilda say.
I forced thoughts of Emily from my mind and reached down into the hole. I had to lie on my side and stretch out in order to make purchase with the box, forcing my fingers under one corner and tugging. It was heavy, far heavier than it appeared.
The rain was falling steadily now, and the bottom of the hole began to fill with water. When I pulled at the box, it lifted away from the mud with a sickening smack. I worked my hand beneath it again and carefully raised the corner until Matilda could grip it and pull it from its hellish hole. Even with both hands, she could barely lift it, and I had to assist her.
I sat up in the tall weeds and looked down at myself. I was a mess. I was soaked to the bone, my clothing was caked with mud. Matilda fared no better, her long hair sticking to her face, cheeks covered in dirt and grime. Had anyone seen us, we surely would have been arrested for vagrancy, possibly even for grave robbing. Were that to happen, we would fit right in with the common criminals, the frightful way we both looked. But Matilda did not seem to care—I watched her brush her hair aside with her hand, leaving a muddy trail across her temple.
The box was nailed shut, and I had to employ the tip of the shovel’s blade to pry it open.
My heart stopped