Craven Manor(12)

Daniel collected the plate of Spam and took it down to the ground floor. Though the black cat remained elusive, Daniel left the plate between two overstuffed, collapsing wingback chairs near the fireplace. He’d seen the cat there when he’d entered the building, so he hoped it would return and find the food.

In line with the house’s aesthetic, the fireplace was oversized and elaborate. Daniel could have lain down in the grate and fit comfortably. A row of decorations ran along its mantelpiece. The candles were all half melted, and the dead branches had probably once held fir leaves. Next to a clock that hadn’t ticked in a long time were six metal photograph frames, all highly detailed, and all empty.

Daniel retrieved his note from his pocket and placed it in one of the empty patches near the centre of the mantelpiece. The space was cluttered, but everything else was blurred with dust, so his crisp white note stood out clearly.

A shadow moved along the wall near the stairs. Daniel squinted at it, trying to make out shapes amongst the heavy gloom. A small clot of shadows broke away from the wall and strolled towards him. Daniel grinned as he recognised the cat. “Hey, buddy, came back, did you?”

The cat planted its front paws on the stone and dipped its head and shoulders, stretching its back. The skin moved over sharp bones as though there was nothing in between, and heartache tightened Daniel’s throat again. Then the cat straightened and resumed its sentry position a dozen paces away from him, sitting tidily, tail wrapped around its feet.

“Food.” Daniel pointed to the plate. “I’m not going to chase you again, but I’ll leave this here for you to eat, okay? I’ll bring more tomorrow.”

He knew the cat couldn’t understand him, but the words made him feel better. The cat had probably been a stray for so long that it would never let him get very close, but he could at least feed it and make sure it was comfortable in its twilight years. Its fur hadn’t started to grey yet, but its joints seemed stiff, making its movements stilted and slow. A haggardness around its face suggested it had lived a long life.

“Take care, little guy. If Bran drops by, say hello to him for me, okay?” Daniel kept his movements smooth as he backed towards the door. The cat’s amber eyes followed him, but it showed no sign of curiosity about the plate he’d left.

Bran’s envelope containing Daniel’s instructions and payment waited in the leaf litter not far away. Daniel scooped it up and tucked it into his pocket before retreating to the porch.

The crows had gathered in the tree outside the door again. Their mournful caws rose as they saw him, and several shifted warily. The tree was nearly dead. A few stray leaves clung to it, but Daniel suspected it would be gone within a year. The crows were so numerous that they almost appeared like surrogate leaves, dark and ever shifting, as they weighed down the branches. He ducked his head as he passed underneath and waded through the tangle of dead bushes and living, snaking vines.

He’d done his best to memorise the garden’s layout from the window, and he pressed through the plants in the direction he remembered seeing the tomb. Bran’s letter had instructed him to salvage the garden, but keeping the tomb clean had been listed first, so Daniel assumed that was the priority. He’d already wasted the entire morning poking around the mansion and chasing cats, so he figured it was time to do some work and earn his keep.

He found the copse of pine trees first. They shielded the tomb almost perfectly, and he had to weave between them to find the slate-grey stone fa?ade.

The building was beautiful, even in disrepair. Built entirely out of stone slabs, it was almost large enough to be a small house. The peaked roof was a few feet higher than Daniel’s head, and the walls had been carved to create images of plants and animals. The arched entryway led into a six-foot-wide nook where people could shelter. Hints of dark brown suggested a door was set into the back of the nook, but Daniel couldn’t get close enough to be sure. Vicious, thorny bushes had overgrown the space, tumbling out of the entryway and clustering around the tomb’s sides. Ivy tangled through the bushes, and the plants simultaneously supported and strangled each other.

Daniel ran his fingers through his hair as he examined the mess. It was no wonder Bran wanted it cleared; there was something innately horrible about a person’s final resting place being smothered in the ugly, thorny plants. Daniel looked at his hands. He really needed gloves if he didn’t want his fingers shredded. But then, he had no idea how quickly Bran would find his note and deliver his supplies.

Find a compromise. He examined the walls. The ivy grew higher than the bushes. Their stems snaked around the intricate carvings on the walls and across the roof and seemed to engulf the crypt. If they had been under control, they might have created a sweet softening effect. But they’d grown so far out of bounds that the effect was suffocating.

Daniel jogged back to his groundskeeper’s cottage. Inside the small kitchen, he found a knife and two tea towels. He dropped off the lamp and the envelope with his payment, then he returned to the tomb and wrapped the towels around his fists for protection.

The work was clumsy and awkward, but Daniel managed to gain some height by clambering onto a fallen pine tree to reach the higher vines. Thorns still pricked him, even through the cloths, but he made steady progress cutting the ivy that grew over the tomb’s roof. Fistful after fistful of the dark-green leaves shed away from the stone, and Daniel let them fall into a clear patch of ground where he could collect them later.