I opened my mouth to reply, then snapped it shut again. A heavy silence settled between us. His words had struck pain like no others could, all because I refused to stand by and let a boy die. That act had rendered me unnatural, more abhorrent than even a ghost. Tears stung my eyes. I pushed them back, refusing to let Henry see how much he had hurt me.
When the carriage came to a stop, Henry opened the door and stepped out into the cold air. He turned and offered his hand, which I ignored until my boot heel caught on the step and he grabbed my elbow to keep me from falling. Mumbling a reluctant “thank you,” I looked up at the dark outline of the stone church. In the shadow of night, the massive black bulk reminded me of a crouching giant, the spire an outstretched arm reaching toward heaven.
One of the hired men remained on the driver’s box while the other came down next to Henry.
“Stay here,” Henry told him. “We shan’t be long. Get me at once if there is any sign of trouble.”
The man grumbled his assent and leaned back against the carriage to wait.
Henry held up the lamp, illuminating the pathway that led up to the church. Gravestones filled the yard. “Let’s get this done with,” he said, taking my arm as we started forward.
Perturbed by his behavior, I almost offered to go myself, but changed my mind once I glanced again at the church. Back in Hopewell, I never feared going into the forest in the middle of night. All Hallows was different, cold and foreboding, surrounded by graves and who knew what else. Though I would never admit it out loud, I was truly thankful for Henry’s company.
We passed through the yard, arriving at the door where Henry held the lamp near the lock. The larger key scraped against iron as he forced the bolt aside. Using his shoulder, he pushed the door open and we stepped inside, into darkness that verged on pitch-black.
“The nave is this way.” He held up the lantern and moved straight ahead through a stone archway.
Though unable to see beyond a few feet, I could feel the vastness of the space, the ceiling that soared overhead and the towering walls that stood off in the distance. We continued forward, our footsteps echoing an undeniable announcement of our presence.
At the far end, Henry stopped at the main altar and placed the lantern on the smooth wooden surface. “Here you go. Be quick if you can.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t it.”
“How do you know? You’ve never been here before.”
“Because it’s made of wood,” I said, making no effort to conceal my annoyance, “and not conducive to burning herbs.”
He brushed a hand over the polished surface. “This is the only altar I know about in All Hallows. Maybe there’s a stone slab or metal dish somewhere to protect the surface.”
I looked down at the beautifully carved wood. It was definitely old, but not near old enough to be the first altar established outside of Ireland. “It’s too new,” I countered. “There has to be another altar somewhere else.”
Henry sighed. “Let’s check the undercroft. I’ve heard some of the vaults were built on Roman ruins.”
I smiled, momentarily forgetting my anger. “That’s got to be where it is.”
He picked up the lantern and we moved toward the outer wall. “If I remember right, the stairs are over here.”
After a minute, I was staring through another archway, down a stone stairway into the deepest black I had ever seen. I hesitated, my imagination rife with what could be waiting below.
Henry obviously felt no such qualms. “This way,” he said, descending the first few stairs ahead of me.
When the light began to fade, swallowed up into the darkness, I spurred my feet forward and hurried after him, the basket bumping clumsily against my side. We came out together into what looked to be a small chapel with a stone altar directly to our left. The rest of the room was also made of stone, from the floor beneath to the low arched ceiling overhead. The air was damp, noticeably colder from the nave and smelled of mold and bitter herbs.
I inhaled a deep breath. “We’re getting closer.”
We moved toward the altar where I ran a hand over the unblemished stone. Henry watched me as I glanced around the small chapel, my eyes coming to rest on a narrow passageway. I moved a few steps closer, the smell of bitter herbs growing stronger.
“Where does this lead?” I asked.
“Probably another chapel,” he said, coming alongside me, “or perhaps a crypt.”
The passage was only wide enough to accommodate one person. Henry went first. I followed, taking but one step when I heard a scraping sound at my back. I spun around and stared into the pitch black.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” Henry asked, his voice somewhat muffled.
I strained my ears, then gasped from what sounded like soft footsteps in the stairway.
“That,” I hissed.
No answer came.