The village was so dreary and so utterly miserable, even the locals warned against visiting during the winter. When Joseph arrived, he expected to see Michael and was unprepared for the cold welcome he received. No one knew what he was talking about when he inquired about the abandoned property. The innkeeper thought he’d had one ale too many and suggested he sleep it off.
“I have a room, sir. If you are feeling unwell…”
“I am feeling perfectly well!” Joseph snapped, glancing around. “Do you serve meals?”
“Only supper. Breakfast may be had at the tavern, but expect nothing but fried eggs and porridge.”
“If you see my brother, kindly inform him he may jump in the lake.”
“There is no lake, sir.”
“Then whatever passes for a lake around here.”
Michael showed up two days later, unapologetic, and anxious to return to his new fiancée. “Let’s get this over with.”
Joseph was appalled. “You already have a wife!” he railed, denouncing his brother’s engagement as unbecoming a former Army officer. “Shouldn’t you have waited until the ink was dry on her record of death?”
“Don’t give me that!” Michael snapped, dismissing his brother’s concerns. “I’ve waited long enough to move on with my life. No thanks to you!”
“You really don’t care if she lives or dies, do you?” Joseph breathed in wonder. “My God! You truly are Father’s son.”
“Oh, and I suppose running off with my wife makes you a saint? When have you ever done the honorable thing? Do you even know how?”
“At least I never proposed to another woman while my wife still breathes!”
To avoid an altercation, Michael paid for a separate room and vowed he would leave if they found nothing on the abandoned property. They departed the next morning when the tide receded enough to reveal the causeway leading to the village. A hired carriage dropped them yards from the main gate with instructions to be outside no later than five. If they were late, they would have to spend the night.
“This is just wonderful!” Michael grumbled resentfully. “Out here in the middle of nowhere! Now, what are we supposed to do?”
“Stop your caterwauling!” his brother shot back, picking up his bag. “Might I suggest you start behaving like a man instead of a mouse?”
The abandoned property was the former summer retreat of a wealthy physician and his wife. Dr. Peter Timmons inherited the house from a distant relative and lived there for several years before his wife died during a difficult birth. His ill-advised attempt at a cesarean section cost him both his wife and his unborn son. Grief-stricken and shamed out of the medical profession, he left the house to rot where it stood.
No one knew what ever became of Dr. Timmons.
Joseph thought the house might be haunted.
Michael just wanted to return to London. “You can search the property if you wish,” he said, tossing his bag onto a dust-riddled chair. “Call me if you need me.”
“Aren’t you going to help?”
“Should I?”
“You’re hopeless,” Joseph muttered, washing his hands of the brother he once worshipped. “Whatever did you do in India when they needed someone to carry those heavy rifles?”
“I don’t owe you a damn thing!” Michael shot back bitterly. “When I asked you to take care of my wife, I didn’t mean to take her into your bed!”
“And where were you when she was screaming your name? When the doctor had to reach inside her and pull your dead child from her body? Where?”
Michael didn’t have a riposte for that one. “Father threatened me. Said he’d cut me off at the knees if I so much as set foot in the garden.”
Joseph began laughing, sending chills up my spine. “Since when do you let our father dictate to you? Your wife nearly dies during the labor, and you can't even be bothered to hold her hand.” He eyed his brother with contempt. “You’re a coward!”
“I did what I had to.”
“And what of Anjuli?” Joseph demanded. “Did she have a choice? You were supposed to protect her!”
Michael shook his head. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what Father is really like.”
“I don’t? Try living in a basement flat without a proper stove for a month and see if the truth doesn’t reveal itself.”
“You allowed it.”
Shamed into silence, Joseph left his brother to wander the grounds at will. He began his search in the conservatory, picking through desiccated plants and an algae-filled pond. Finding nothing but the skeletal remains of koi, he went outside to conduct a thorough search of overgrown vegetation, coming upon the caretaker’s cottage. A dilapidated brick structure, it was full of broken furniture and dead animals. Disappointed, he canvassed the area behind the house, finding a small cemetery and mausoleum.
The mausoleum was locked.
He ran back to the house to find Michael ranting and raving about the amount of mold on the walls. “Well?” he wheezed, coughing into a handkerchief. “Did you find anything?”
“There’s a mausoleum, but it’s locked. There’s got to be a key.”
Michael checked his watch. “It’s already half-past two!” he cried. “I refuse to be a party to this—”
“Then sit down and shut up!” Joseph barked, infuriated by the lack of progress. He rifled through a drawer and dumped a slew of stained receipts into his brother’s lap. “Here! Make yourself useful.”
“What am I supposed to do with these?” Michael held one up by the corner as though it were riddled with the pox. “We didn’t come here to inspect—” He set it aside carefully. “Why do you want to search the mausoleum?”
“Why not?”
“You won’t find anything. There’s nothing here.”
Joseph ransacked drawers until he found an iron keyring full of mismatched and rusty keys. “I’ll be the judge of that.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “Have you been upstairs?”
“No.”
“While I’m inspecting the mausoleum, see if you can find something. Anything.”
“Up… there?”
Rolling his eyes, Joseph asked his brother how he managed to attain the rank of captain if he was this craven. “You never should have made officer if you can’t be bothered to get those lily-white hands dirty.”
“Father purchased my commission!”
“You’re hopeless. Since you’re afraid of mice and mold, why don’t you search the kitchen instead? You might find a friend to sleep with.”
“Most amusing.”
Joseph left Michael to his mold and raced to back to the mausoleum.
* * *
Another hour passed as a group of sullen clouds gathered overhead. “Damn!” Joseph muttered, trying another key. He’d already gone through most of them, even slicing his hand when he attempted to pick the lock. The last key broke, leaving remnants inside the mechanism. “Bloody hell!” He hurled the keyring to the ground in frustration, deciding to rip the door off its hinges.
He just needed rope and a willing participant.
Storming back to the house, he swore under his breath, vowing to throttle his brother if Michael didn’t pull his weight. Once back inside the moldy interior, he found Michael disconsolate and drowning in self-pity. “I thought I asked you to go through those papers!” Joseph growled, thoroughly disgusted by the pitiful display of a former Army officer raiding a liquor cabinet in search of something to take the edge off. “Does your fiancée know?”
“Know what?” Michael mumbled, clumsily going through half-empty bottles reeking of Bordeaux and the remnants of Dr. Timmons’ wine collection. “Didn’t he drink anything useful?” He pried a cork from its resting place, took a whiff, and winced. “There’s nothing here!”
“Oh, I’m not so certain,” Joseph drawled. “I’m sure we could use them to set fire to the place.”
“Ha-ha.” Michael flung another bottle aside in disappointment. “Did you find the mausoleum?”
“It’s locked tight. And the key broke off in the lock.”
“Well, I’m sure whatever they buried isn’t going anywhere.”
“That’s not the point!” Joseph hurled himself onto a settee, sending up plumes of dust. He coughed a little. “They abandon the place and make damn sure the mausoleum is locked up tighter than your fiancée’s drawers? Does that sound right to you?”
“Leave Millicent’s drawers out of this.”
“Is that her name?”
Clearing his throat, Michael pointed out it was almost time to leave. “And I won’t miss the place, let me tell you.”
“I’m not going back,” Joseph muttered, fingering an embroidered throw pillow.
“What’s that?”
“I said I’m not going back with you. I’ve decided to stay the night.”
Michael eyed his brother as though Joseph had just lobbed a bomb at him. “What did you say? Surely you are not serious!”
“I am. And you may return in the morning. Preferably with rope and a sturdy horse. I want to get inside that mausoleum.”
“Rope and a horse?” Michael repeated incredulously. “Is there anything else you require? Like your head examined?”
“Scoff if you like. But the family crypts are accessible. Why not the mausoleum? What were they trying to hide?”
“They say Dr. Timmons became a recluse after the death of his wife and son. Maybe he wanted to insure no one tampered with their remains. Grave robbing is a lucrative business, you know.”
“How morbid!”
Michael removed his watch and noted the hour. “At least have the courtesy of walking me out.”
“Fine.”
Joseph walked his brother down to the gate and stood watching forlornly as Michael climbed into the carriage. “What about food?” he shouted. “You’ll starve!”
“I’ll manage!” Joseph shouted back, caring little about whether his belly was full. He was rather disappointed in his brother, who had been no help at all and rather a hindrance. “What time will you return?”
“If the tide holds, expect me in the morning!” Michael closed the carriage door, all too eagerly, when Joseph thought about it. The carriage made a U-turn in the mud, gathered up speed, and left him staring at wheel tracks that would soon be washed away by the tide.
Then he was alone, gazing at the barren landscape stretching out before him, unaware Anjuli was only a few hundred feet away.
With a heavy sigh, Joseph returned to the house.
