The comte drew two candles and matches from his waistcoat pockets.
“Voilà, dear Arabella. As you see, I have come prepared to explore.” She couldn’t believe it. She was surely cursed. She took a candle from his outstretched hand. They lit the candles, Arabella saying, “It is wretchedly dark down there at the bottom of the steps. Take care and go slowly.”
They made their way carefully down the jagged rock steps into the subterranean passage. But for the flickering of their candles, the darkness was complete. Arabella stepped gingerly over fallen stones. She wished he would fall and break his neck, but she said, “Be careful where you step, Gervaise.” Her voice sounded eerie. She paused a moment and lifted her candle above her head. “Look, it is always so.” She pointed to the walls. “They are always clammy with moisture. Isn’t that strange when the sun shines so brightly above us?”
Gervaise obediently stepped nearer to the wall and ran his fingers over the rough wet surface. “It is fascinating. Where are the monks’ cells, Arabella?”
Odd, but he sounded abstracted, impatient. It had been his damned idea to explore the ruins. It was even his damned candles. Where had all his fervor fled to? “The passage forks to the left just ahead. The passage to the right crumbled many years ago. It is too bad that the chambers are empty. There is really not much to see.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said behind her. “It is the marvelous atmosphere, the menacing romance of it all. I wish to have it seep into my bones.” The passage ended abruptly, and Arabella raised her candle. “This is the only corridor that is still standing. The rooms are in a straight row along the left.”
She slipped through the narrow doorway into the first cell. “Don’t put any weight against the door frame. You can see that the stones are already working themselves loose from the oak beams.” They stood side by side in the small stone room, their candles casting shifting dark shapes on the damp walls. The air was musty and close. “I hope it was more pleasant seven hundred years ago.” Arabella stooped and ran her fingers through the soft sand that covered the floor.
“I wish to see the other cells,” Gervaise said, moving away from her as he spoke. “Stay here, Arabella, I shall be back soon.” She nodded, quite content to stay where she was. It was very peaceful, and she didn’t mind at all being alone. She saw his candle flicker outside the cell, then disappear.
She looked about the chamber, thinking how large it had appeared to her as a small child. She pictured a rude wooden cot along one wall and perhaps a small table along the other. Certainly the room was too tiny for anything else.
Suddenly there was a loud thumping noise overhead, just above the oak-beamed doorway. She clutched her candle close to her and stepped forward, only to hurl herself back when stones above the doorway tumbled to the floor in front of her.
She wanted to scream, but didn’t. Oh God, she was stupid to have brought him down here. She had known it wasn’t safe.
“Gervaise! Where are you? Are you all right?” There was dead silence.
The silence didn’t last. More stones fell, very close now. Arabella watched in horror as larger and larger stones worked themselves free of their ancient molding and crashed to the floor, blocking the open doorway, spewing dust and dirt into the air.
She screamed, falling back, choking, her nostrils clogged and her eyes burning from gritty dust and sand that swirled about her. Her candle flickered. She whipped about, cupping her hand about the precious flame.
A rock struck her shoulder, and she cried out more in surprise than in pain. She scurried to the corner of the cell and huddled down against the wall, her legs drawn up to her chest.
The walls began to tremble around her. She tensed her body for the inevitable pain. She knew it must be just moments away. She’d brought this on herself. She was a fool. But, Justin, she didn’t want to leave Justin. Dear God, she was only eighteen years old. She didn’t want to die. She sobbed aloud, tears burning her eyes. Then she shook herself.
Fool, one hundred times a fool, and now she was crying like a ninny. She got herself together. She raised her candle. In the dim candlelight she saw the far wall of the cell gently collapse forward, strewing more stone and rubble toward her. She closed her eyes tightly, fighting the swirling dust, and buried her face against the wall.
The oak beams overhead gave a final groan and fell silent. She raised her head and knew a moment of surprise that she was still alive. She raised her candle again. She swallowed another sob. Alive, yes, but buried amid a tomb of rubble.
She surged to her feet and screamed, “Gervaise? Gervaise, are you all right? Where are you?”
She waited many long agonizing moments before she heard his voice on the other side of the crumbled doorway, muffled by the thick pile of stone between them. “Arabella? Is that you? Thank God you are alive. Are you safe?”
Safe? Was he perfectly mad? Still, she felt better hearing his voice.
“Yes, I am all right. There is much fallen stone and dust is clogging the air, but I am as yet unharmed.”
His voice came clearer now, confident and sure. “Do not worry, Arabella.
The passage still seems safe. I am going to fetch help. I swear that I will not be long. You must be brave. I shall return soon.” He would get
