Chapter 1. Lord Chelmsford and his castle
The footman waited respectfully while the man at the massive desk counted and sorted the notes. The solid steel safe from which the owner took the money was crammed with banknotes of various denominations.
– Thomas!
- Yes, my lord!
"Here's the thing, Thomas," the man with a pale face and nervous movements repeated absently.
“Yes, my lord, I am listening.
- Put the money in an envelope. Yes, not in that stupid one, but in gray. Did you write the address?
“How about it, my lord!” "Herr Lubitsch, Leipzig, Frankfurter Strasse 35".
“Seal it up and put it in a box. Is Mr Richard in?
“No, my lord, he left an hour ago.
- Where? You do not know? asked Harry Almsford, eighteenth generation Lord Chelmsford languidly, and yawned sleepily.
He was a man in his thirties, thin and anemic, like many people who spend much of their time in office work. His blue-black hair further set off an unhealthy complexion, and his eyes seemed inflamed from book studies.
The library in which the lord sat was in a huge hall with a high ceiling and a gallery that occupied three walls, with a narrow spiral staircase in one of the corners. The walls were filled from floor to ceiling with bookcases, and only above the large fireplace was a space free from books - there hung a full-length oil painting of a young attractive lady.
It was enough to look at Lord Chelmsford and the lady in the picture once to see that they were close relatives. Indeed, it was my Lord Harry's mother: the same delicate and slightly nervous features, black hair and deep-set brown eyes. In addition to the portrait, there were no paintings in the library.
The Lord slowly got up from the table, walked over to the canvas and looked at it. He adored this work and admired it every minute. He considered it a real treasure of painting and said more than once that the whole luxurious Chelmsford family castle was nothing more than a frame for a portrait of a countess.
Footman Thomas Young, in black livery, with pomaded hair, reappeared in the doorway.
"So I'll go with the letter, my lord?"
"Yes," said Harry Almsford absently, but as the servant moved silently towards the door, he called out to him. - Wait!
"Anything else, my lord?" he turned around.
“I happened to overhear your conversation with Filling when you were walking under the library windows this morning…
“He told me about the Black Abbot.
The lord's pale face twisted into a grimace. The mention of the Black Abbot made Mr. Harry's heart beat uneasily. He frowned, and a wicked glint shone in his eyes.
“You know, Thomas,” he clenched his fists. I'm tired of listening to this nonsense day after day. Put it on your nose and tell all the servants: if anyone ever mentions the Black Abbot in the future and starts spreading these rumors, he will be immediately fired with a bad review. And I'll make sure he's never hired anywhere else. Do a better job instead of scratching your tongue. Ghost! What nonsense! Are you all crazy?! the lord raised his voice, his face reddened, the veins on his forehead tensed, his eyes became even darker due to anger. - That's it, no more words! he went on a cry. I don't want to listen to nonsense! The idiotic joke about Chelmsford Castle being bewitched is being played by some local idiot, and I'll get to him. And you and Filling are happy to pick up gossip and spread it around the estate. Shut up! he stopped the lackey with an impatient gesture, trying to mumble something in his own defense. – Go! I don't hold you up anymore.
The footman, bowing, backed away to the threshold, and the lord sat down at the table and plunged into reading a thick book bound in black leather, received in the mail from Germany that morning.
Thomas smirked for a moment as he slipped out the door, but soon his face returned to its former grim expression. The sight of the safe, full of money, brought the greedy servant out of balance. “What wealth! There must be a hundred thousand pounds, no less, Thomas thought. “That's ten times more than what I stole five years ago when I ended up in jail. What if this time I'm lucky to run away and hide with the money? If only I could find out the code, but there is a master key! Harry is absent-minded and would not immediately miss that he was robbed, but look for me already, fistulas! True, Richard Almsford is always snooping around the house and sticking his nose into everything. But it seems that Dick does not know about my past ... ".
Lord Chelmsford really didn’t know that Thomas Young was a former prisoner, just as he didn’t suspect that his footman was secretly corresponding with one person who was extremely interested in everything that was going on in Chelmsford Castle, that is, simply put, he was spying on his master. and his brother.
After sending the letter, Thomas returned to the castle and, confronted on the stairs with Glover, Mr. Harry's valet, shared the latest news with him:
- Well, his excellency gave me a dressing down for gossip about the Black Abbot!
- Why? the valet was surprised. – The ghost in the black robe and hood actually exists, and many people have seen it with their own eyes. Personally, I will not agree to walk along the oak alley at night, even for a million pounds! He shook his gray head. “Yes, his grace is afraid of the Black Abbot himself. In general, his Excellency's nerves have been playing tricks in the last year. He would rather get married - maybe it will do him good and make him more balanced.
"We'll get rid of Dick, right?" When the brother marries, the younger Almsford willy-nilly have to get out of the estate. Why does the young mistress need him here?
The valet hesitated and answered hesitantly:
“Mr. Richard does not bother me personally, although you are right: some people hate him. But we never quarrel with him. Oh, Thomas, someone is calling at the entrance!
The footman hurried to the front door and flung it wide. On the stairs stood a pretty ruddy girl in a smart fashionable suit. Thomas smiled at her.
- Good morning, Miss Viner. Such a surprise!
Is His Excellency at home?
The footman seemed a little taken aback by this question.
“At home, miss, but you understand… I can’t take you to him. Do not be offended by me - I am a simple employee and am obliged to follow the orders of Mr. Richard.
– Richard Almsford? - the guest was indignant. - Yes, who is he! Are you saying that I came here from London in vain and will leave without seeing Lord Chelmsford?!
“I'm afraid so, lady,” remarked the footman sadly, blocking the entrance of the visitor to the lobby, although Thomas sympathized with this girl, who, when she was his secretary to His Excellency, never put on airs and was always friendly to all the numerous domestic servants.
Young would have gladly taken her into the house and assumed that his lordship would have been delighted with her, but the image of Dick Almsford immediately appeared before the mind's eye of the lackey, the gloomy and laconic manager of the estate, from whom, in case of non-fulfillment of his order, one could expect only one thing - immediate calculation.
“I'm sorry, miss, but I'm under strict orders not to let you in, and I won't risk disobeying you.
“All right,” Miss Viner waved her hand sadly. “But what impudence! Just think about it! I am forbidden to enter the house, the mistress of which I could become! Do you agree with me, Thomas?
“I repeat, Miss Viner: I am truly sorry,” he said, trying to express his deepest understanding and deepest sympathy and closing the door right in front of the girl's nose.
- Who's there? the valet asked as Young returned to the lobby.
“Mary Viner,” Thomas explained, “who was fired by Richard Almsford, fearing that the lord would start courting her.
At that moment, a call was heard from the library, and Thomas hurried to the call of the owner.
- Who came? Harry asked gloomily. - I saw from the window how a woman's dress flashed.
“Miss Viner, my lord.
Harry became darker than a cloud.
"And you didn't invite her in?"
- No, my lord. Mr. Almsford strictly forbade me.
- Oh, yes. I forgot. However, it may be correct. Thanks to. Go.
He pulled a green shield over his forehead, because because of the semi-darkness that reigned in the library, even during the day he worked under artificial light, and again began to read a thick book. But his mind could not focus on its content. Finally Harry stood up, clasped his hands behind his back, and walked around the room, head down on his chest. Then he stopped in front of his mother's portrait, sighed, and returned to his desk.
There was a newspaper clipping next to the inkwell and stack of paper. Harry took it and read it a third time. He was annoyed by the fact that impudent, sensationalist journalists allowed themselves to unceremoniously mention the name of the Lords Chelmsford in the tabloid press.
"A ghost haunts Chelmsford County ," read the title of the article. -After a long break, the Black Abbot again reminded of his existence. It is known that the hero of this ancient legend, Rupert Redrath, a local priest, was killed several centuries ago on the orders of Lord Chelmsford, furious that his wife, Countess Anne, fell in love with Redrath and they secretly met. Since then, from time to time, the “spirit” of the abbot appears in the vicinity. In recent months, a new wave of rumors about a mysterious ghost has swept the county. Chelmsforders and residents of nearby villages allegedly hear heart-rending cries at night; sometimes a figure in a black robe girded with a rope and a hood pulled down over his eyes flickers in the darkness. Someone's daring trick? Or is there really reason to be afraid? Several residents at once claim that they saw the dead man with their own eyes, and they scare the neighbors with a terrible ghost. By the way, the legend of the Black Abbot is not the only one associated with Chelmsford Castle. There is another: as if in the time of Queen Elizabeth a treasure was hidden in these possessions, and so successfully that, despite all the attempts of the Earls of Chelmsford to find it, they never managed to succeed in this. The present lord, thirty-year-old Harry Chelmsford, who soon intends to marry Miss Leslie Jean, sister of the famous London lawyer Arthur Jean, told our correspondent that, in his opinion, the gossip about the appearance of the Black Abbot was an idle invention of some local loafer. .
Almsford Sr. wanted to tear the clipping, then crumpled it up, but suddenly changed his mind, smoothed it out with his fingers and put it under the paperweight.
The phrase about the idle invention of a local idler calmed him a little, and he really needed calmness, because, despite all his skepticism, he himself, like no one else, believed in the existence of the Black Abbot.
With a nervous hand, Lord Chelmsford tugged at the bell. Thomas grew up on the doorstep.
Has Mr Almsford returned? Harry's servant asked indignantly.
- No, my lord.
Harry drummed his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.
Where the hell did he go this morning? he exclaimed irritably, jumping up from his chair.
Thomas prudently pretended not to know the answer to that question.