cb.imajica1-第51节

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feehouse　for　many　years。　Even　at　his　zenith　he'd　attracted　gossip；　mainly　because　he　kept　the　pany　of　magicians。　Cagliostro；　the　te　de　St。　Germain；　and　even　Casanova　（reputedly　no　mean　thaumaturgist）　had　spent　time　on　the　estate；　as　well　as　a　host　of　lesser…known　practitioners。
　His　Lordship　had　made　no　secret　of　his　occult　investigations；　though　the　work　he　was　truly　undertaking　was　never　known　to　the　gossips。　They　assumed　he　kept　pany　with　these　mountebanks　for　their　entertainment　value。　Whatever　his　reasons；　the　fact　that　he　retired　from　sight　so　suddenly　drew　further　attention　to　his　last　indulgence；　the　folly　Light　had　built　for　him。　A　diary　purporting　to　have　belonged　to　the　choked　architect　appeared　a　year　after　his　demise；　containing　an　account　of　the　Retreat's　construction。　Whether　it　was　the　genuine　article　or　not；　it　made　bizarre　reading。　The　foundations　had　been　laid；　it　said；　under　stars　calculated　to　be　particularly　propitious；　the　masons…　sought　and　hired　in　a　dozen　cities…had　been　sworn　to　silence　with　an　oath　of　Arabic　ferocity。　The　stones　themselves　had　been　individually　baptized　in　a　mixture　of　milk　and　frankincense；　and　a　lamb　had　been　allowed　to　wander　through　the　half…pleted　building　three　times；　the　altar　and　font　placed　where　it　had　laid　its　innocent　head。
　Of　course　these　details　were　soon　corrupted　by　repetition；　and　Satanic　purpose　ascribed　to　the　building。　It　became　babies'　blood　that　was　used　to　anoint　the　stone；　and　a　mad　dog's　grave　that　marked　the　spot　where　the　altar　was　built。　Sealed　up　behind　the　high　walls　of　his　sanctum；　it　was　doubtful　that　Lord　Godolpnin　even　knew　that　such　rumors　were　circulating　until；　two　Septembers　after　his　withdrawal；　the　inhabitants　of　Yoke；　the　village　closest　to　the　estate；　needing　a　scapegoat　to　blame　the　poor　harvest　upon　and　inflamed　by　a　passage　from　Ezekiel　delivered　from　the　pulpit　of　the　parish　church；　used　the　Sunday　afternoon　to　mount　a　crusade　against　the　Devil's　work　and　climbed　the　gates　of　the　estate　to　raze　the　Retreat。　They　found　none　of　the　promised　blasphemies：　no　inverted　cross；　no　altar　stained　with　virginal　blood。　But　having　trespassed　they　did　what　damage　they　could　inflict　out　of　sheer　frustration；　finally　setting　a　bonfire　of　baled　hay　in　the　middle　of　the　great　mosaic。　All　the　flames　did　was　lick　the　place　black；　and　the　Retreat　earned　its　nickname　from　that　afternoon：　the　Black　Chapel；　or；　Godolphin's　Sin。
　If　Jude　had　known　anything　about　the　history　of　Yoke；　she　might　well　have　looked　for　signs　of　its　echoes　in　the　village　as　she　drove　through。　She　would　have　had　to　look　hard；　but　the　signs　were　there　to　be　found。　There　was　scarcely　a　house　within　its　bounds　that　didn't　have　a　cross　carved　into　the　keystone　above　the　door　or　a　horseshoe　cemented　into　the　doorstep。　If　she'd　had　time　to　linger　in　the　churchyard　she　would　have　found；　inscribed　on　the　stones　there；　entreaties　to　the　good　Lord　that　He　keep　the　Devil　from　the　living　even　as　he　gathered　the　dead　to　His　Bosom；　and　on　the　board　beside　the　gate　a　notice　announcing　that　next　Sunday's　sermon　would　be　〃The　Lamb　in　Our　Lives；〃　as　though　to　banish　any　lingering　thought　of　the　infernal　goat。
　She　saw　none　of　these　signs；　however。　It　was　the　road　and　the　man　at　her　side…with　occasional　words　of　fort　directed　towards　the　dog　on　the　back　seat…that　consumed　her　attention。　Getting　Estabrook　to　bring　her　here　had　been　a　spur…of…the…moment　inspiration；　but　there　was　sound　logic　behind　it。　She　would　be　his　freedom　for　a　day；　taking　him　out　of　the　clinic's　stale　heat　into　the　bracing　January　air。　It　was　her　hope　that　out　in　the　open　he　might　talk　more　freely　about　his　family；　and　more　particularly　about　brother　Oscar；　What　better　place　to　innocently　inquire　about　the　Godolphins　and　their　history　than　in　the　grounds　of　the　house　Charlie's　forefathers　had　built？
　The　estate　lay　half　a　mile　beyond　the　village；　along　a　private　road　that　led　to　a　gateway　besieged；　even　in　this　sterile　season；　by　a　green　army　of　bushes　and　creepers。　The　gates　themselves　had　long　ago　been　removed　and　a　less　elegant　defense　against　trespasses　raised：　boards　and　corrugated　iron　covered　with　barbed　wire。　The　storms　of　early　December　had　brought　down　much　of　this　barricade；　however；　and　once　the　car　was　parked；　and　they　both　approached　the　gateway…Skin　bounding　ahead；　yapping　joyously…it　became　apparent　that　as　long　as　they　were　willing　to　brave　brambles　and　nettles；　access　could　be　readily　gained。
　〃It's　a　sad　sight；〃　she　remarked。　〃It　must　have　been　magnificent。〃
　〃Not　in　my　time；〃　Estabrook　said。
　〃Shall　I　beat　the　way　through？〃　she　suggested；　picking　up　a　fallen　branch　and　stripping　off　the　twigs　to　do　so。
　〃No；　let　me；〃　he　replied；　relieving　her　of　the　switch　and　clearing　a　path　for　them　by　flaying　the　nettles　mercilessly。
　Jude　followed　in　his　green　wake；　a　kind　of　exhilaration　seizing　her　as　she　drew　closer　to　stepping　between　the　gateposts；　a　feeling　she　ascribed　to　the　sight　of　Estabrook　so　heartily　engaged　in　this　adventure。　He　was　a　very　different　man　to　the　husk　she'd　seen　slumped　in　a　chair　two　weeks　before。　As　she　clambered　through　the　debris　of　fallen　timbers　he　offered　her　his　hand；　and　like　lovers　in　search　of　some　trysting　place　they　slipped　through　the　broken　barrier　into　the　estate　beyond。
　She　was　expecting　an　open　vista：　a　driveway　leading　the　r　eye　to　the　house　itself。　Indeed；　once　she　might　have　enjoyed　just　such　a　view。　But　two　hundred　years　of　ancestral　insanities；　mismanagement；　and　neglect　had　given　symmetry　over　to　chaos；　parkland　to　pampas。　What　had　once　been　artfully　placed　copses；　built　for　shady　dalliance；　had　spread　and　bee　choked　woods。　Lawns　once　leveled　to　perfection　were　wildernesses　now。　Several　other　members　of　England's　landed　gentry；　finding　themselves　unable　to　sustain　the　family　manse；　had　turned　their　estates　into　safari　parks；　importing　the　fauna　of　lost　empire　to　wander　where　deer　had　grazed　in　better…heeled　times。　To　Jude's　eye　the　effect　of　such　efforts　was　always　bathetic。　The　parks　were　always　too　tended；　the　oaks　and　sycamores　an　inappropriate　backdrop　for　lion　or　baboon。　But　here；　she　thought；　it　was　possible　to　imagine　wild　beasts　roaming。　It　was　like　a　foreign　landscape；　dropped　in　the　middle　of　England。
　It　was　a　long　walk　to　the　house；　but　Estabrook　was　already　leading　the　way；　with　Skin　as　scout。　What　visions　were　in　Charlie's　mind's　eye；　Jude　wondered；　that　drove　him　on　with　such　gusto？　The　past；　perhaps：　childhood　visits　here？　Or　further　back　still；　to　the　days　of　High　Yoke's　glory；　when　the　route　they　were　taking　had　been　raked　gravel；　and　the　house　ahead　a　gathering　place　for　the　wealthy　and　the　influential？
　〃Did　you　e　here　a　lot　when　you　were　little？〃　she　asked　him　as　they　plowed　through　the　grass。
　He　looked　around　at　her　with　a　moment's　bewilderment；　as　though　he'd　forgotten　she　was　with　him；
　〃Not　often；〃　he　said。　〃1　liked　it；　though。　It　was　like　a　playground。　Later　on；　I　thought　about　selling　it；　but　Oscar　would　never　let　me。　He　had　his　reasons；　of　course。　。　。〃
　〃What　were　they？〃　she　asked　him　lightly。
　〃Frankly；　I'm　glad　we　left　it　to　run　to　seed。　It's　prettier　this　way。〃
　He　marched　on；　wielding　his　branch　like　a　machete。　As　they　drew　closer　to　the　house；　Jude　could　see　what　a　pitiful　state　it　was　in。　The　windows　were　gone；　the　roof　was　reduced　to　a　timber　lattice；　the　doors　teetered　on　their　hinges　like　drunks。　All　sad　enough　in　any　house；　but　near　tragic　in　a　structure　that　had　once　been　so　magnificent。　The　sunlight　was　getting　stronger　as　the　clouds　cleared；　and　by　the　time　they　stepped　through　the　porch　it　was　pouring　through　the　lattice　overhead；　its　geometry　a　perfect　foil　for　the　scene　below。　The　staircase；　albeit　rubble…strewn；　still　rose　in　a　sweep　to　a　half　landing；　which　had　once　been　dominated　by　a　window　fit　for　a　cathedral。　It　was　smashed　now；　by　a　tree　toppled　many　winters　before；　the　withered　extremities　of　which　lay　on　the　spot　where　the　lord　and　lady　would　have　paused　before　descending　to　greet　their　guests。　The　paneling　of　the　hallway　and　the　corridors　that　led　off　it　was　still　intact；　and　the　boards　solid　beneath　their　feet。　Despite　the　decay　of　the　roof；　the　structure　didn't　look　unsound。　It　had　been　built　to　serve　Godolphins　in　perpetuity；　the　fertility　of　land　and　loin　preserving　the　name　until　the　sun　went　out。　It　was　flesh　that　had　failed　it；　not　the　other　way　about。
　Estabrook　and　Skin　wandered　off　in　the　direction　of　the　dining　room；　which　was　the　size　of　a　restaurant。　Jude　followed　a　little　way；　but　found　herself　drawn　back　to　the　staircase。　All　she　knew　about　the　period　in　which　the　house　had　flourished　she'd　culled　from　films　and　television；　but　her　imagination　rose　to　the　challenge　with　astonishing　ardor；　painting　mind　pictures　so　intense　they　all　but　displaced　the　dispiriting　truth。　When　she　climbed　the　stairs；　indulging；　somewhat　guiltily；　her　dreams　of　aristocracy；　she　could　see　the　hallway　below　lit　with　the　glow　of　candles；　could　hear　laughter　on　the　landing　above　and…as　she　descended…the　sigh　of　silk　as　her　skirts　brushed　the　carpet。
　Somebody　called　to　her　from　a　doorway；　and　she　turned　expecting　to　see　Estabrook；　but　the　caller　was　imagined；　and　the　name　too。　Nobody　had　ever　called　her　P