Victoria Holt: The House of a Thousand Lanterns

I should not like to be in this room when darkness fell. I had a silly notion that then all these seemingly inanimate objects would come to life; it was these—and their master Mr. Sylvester Milner—who had brought that strangeness into the house.

How to get out? I was again at the window. Someone might come into the garden. Oh let it be my mother, I prayed. But even if it were one of the maids I could attract her attention. It was hardly likely to be Mrs. Couch who rarely stirred from the house. Whoever it was I would be grateful and humbly confess my curiosity.

I went to the door, passing the bronze Buddha with the evil eyes. They seemed to sneer as they followed me. I turned the handle. I shook the door. I beat on it and called out in sudden panic: “I’m locked in.”

There was no answer.

Memories of my childhood came back to me. How many times had I been told “Curiosity killed the cat.” And I could hear my mother’s recounting the fate of Meddlesome Matty who lifted the teapot lid to see what was within.

I had been wrong to come in here. I knew it was forbidden. It was, as my mother would tell me, abusing hospitality I had been graciously allowed to stay here and I had behaved with ill grace. I was as bad as Meddlesome Matty and the Curious Cat. Both had suffered for their curiosity and so should I.

I tried to be calm. I looked once more at the beautiful objects. My attention was momentarily caught by a collection of sticks in a jade container. I supposed them to be made of ivory. I counted them. There were forty-nine of them. I wondered what they were.

I went into the small adjoining room and examined it. I opened a cupboard door and saw brushes, dusters, and a long coat which presumably Ling Fu wore for cleaning. There was a chair and I sat down on this and stared despondently at my feet.

From below I heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and I ran to the window. That was the carriage coming round from the coach house and Jeffers was taking it down the drive.

I went back to the chair and asked myself how I could get out of this place.

I didn’t care that I should be caught. I only wanted to get out. I called at the top of my voice. No one answered. The walls were thick and people rarely came to the third floor.

I was beginning to get frightened particularly as twilight, which came early on these winter afternoons, would soon descend. It must have been just after three when I tiptoed into this room. It would now be past four.

My mother would not miss me yet but later she would…

I started to imagine what would happen to me. How often did Ling Fu come to the room? Not every day. Then I should be locked away like the bride in the Mistletoe Bough. They would find nothing but my skeleton. But before that I would have to face a night alone with that leering bronze Buddha. Some of the other pieces made me feel uncomfortable too. Even now when the shadows were beginning to fall they seemed to be changing subtly. And when it was dark… The idea of being in the darkness with such objects sent me to hammer on the door.

I tried to think what was the best thing to do. From the window I could see the wintry sun low in the sky. In half an hour it would have disappeared.

I hammered on the door again. There was no response. They would miss me soon, I consoled myself. My mother would be anxious. Mrs. Couch would sit in her rocking chair and talk of the terrible things that could happen to lost girls.

The room was filling with shadows; I was very much aware of the silence. The shapes of the ornaments seemed to change and I tried in vain to divert my eyes from the bronze Buddha. For a moment those eyes seemed to flicker. It was almost as though the lids came down over them. Before it had seemed merely mocking; now it was malevolent.

My imagination grew wilder. Mr. Sylvester Milner was a wizard. He was a Pygmalion who breathed life into these objects. They were not what they seemed—pieces of stone and bronze. There was a living spirit within each one of them—an evil spirit.

The light was getting more and more dim. Some impulse made me pick up the ivory sticks. I stared at them in concentration trying to think how I could get out of this room before it was completely dark.

Then I heard a sound. For the first time in my life I felt the hair lift from my scalp. I stood very still, the ivory sticks in my hand.

The door was slowly opening. I saw a flickering light. On the threshold of the room stood a figure. For the moment I thought the bronze Buddha had materialized, then I saw that it was only a man standing there.

In his hand he carried a candlestick in which was a lighted candle. He held it high so that the light flickered on his face—a strange face, blank of expression. On his head was a round velvet cap the same mulberry shade as his jacket.

He was staring straight at me.

“Who are you?” he asked imperiously.

“I’m Jane Lindsay,” I answered and my voice sounded high pitched. “I was locked in.”

He shut the door behind him, advanced into the room and came close to me.

“Why are you holding the yarrow sticks?” he asked.

I looked down at the ivory pieces in my hand. “I… I don’t know.” A terrible horror had come to me because I knew that my second wish had been granted; I was face to face with Mr. Sylvester Milner.

He took the sticks from me and to my amazement set them out on a small table which was inlaid with what I learned was ivory. He seemed absorbed by this—more interested in the sticks than in me. Then he looked at me intently.

“H’m,” he murmured.

I stammered: “I’m sorry. The door was open and I looked in… and then before I knew what had happened someone came and locked it.”

“This room is kept locked,” he said. “Why did you think that was?”

“Because these things are valuable, I suppose.”

“And you appreciate fine objects of art?”

I hesitated. I felt I could not tell him an untruth for he would know immediately.

“I’m sure I should if I knew about them.”

He nodded. “But you are inquisitive.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“You must not come in here without permission. That is forbidden. Go now.”

As I walked past I glanced sideways at the ivory sticks laid on the table. I had a terrible fear that he would seize me by the hair as I passed and turn me into one of the figures. I would disappear strangely and no one would know what had become of me.

But nothing of the sort happened. I was out in the corridor. I ran to my room and shut the door. I looked at myself in the mirror. My cheeks were scarlet, my hair more untidy than usual and my eyes brilliant. I felt as though I had had an uncanny adventure.

My mother came into my room.

“Wherever have you been, Jane? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Your trunk is almost ready.”

I hesitated. Then I thought I had better confess the truth.

“I think, Mother,” I said, “that I have met Mr. Sylvester Milner.”

“He came back a short while ago. Did you see him from your window?”

“I saw him in the Treasure Room.”

“What!” she cried.

As I told her what had happened she grew pale. “Oh Jane,” she said, “how could you! When everything was going so well. This will be the end. I shall be asked to leave.”

I was very contrite. She had worked so hard and my curiosity had destroyed our chances even as the cat’s had killed it.

“I didn’t mean anything wrong.”

How often in the past had I said those words. “I just thought… a quick look and out again. You see, the way they talked about the Treasure Room I didn’t think it could just be things, ordinary things. I thought there must be something mysterious…”

My mother wasn’t listening. She was, I knew, thinking of packing and leaving in a month’s time and the weary business of finding a post would begin again. And where could she ever find anything as suitable as that which she had held at Roland’s Croft?