Much later, a hand clamped over my mouth and I woke. I shot up in bed, struggling against hands that seemed to be coming from everywhere in the sleep-hazed darkness, but they overpowered me, my mouth still firmly covered. Before my mind had fully righted itself, I was being hustled out of bed and toward the far wall, stumbling over the cold floorboards.

20

You believe happiness to be derived from the place in which once you have been happy, but in truth it is centered in ourselves.

~Franz Schubert

It was impossibly dark. We had somehow melted into the paneled wall, which opened in one spot, and now I was stumbling between my faceless kidnappers through a dark, short passageway. I bent over to keep from hitting my head, and they hurried me along with whispers and shushing until I thought I’d scream for want of answers. “Where on earth am I?”

A woman’s voice answered. “Priest’s hole. There’s one in most of the great houses, you know.” It was Bridget, off to my left.

“They found a skeleton here once,” said another high-pitched voice nearby. Clara.

“Oh, leave off. They did not,” hissed Kat.

“Sure they did. Put one of them priests in hiding, then something happened, and they couldn’t come back for him. Got trapped here.”

“Oh, that’s just a rumor. Any man could have gotten out if he’d wanted to.”

“Yes, but he wouldn’t—not if he’d been threatened on pain of death to stay put.”

“Hush up, the both of you,” Bridget said. “We’ve no idea who can hear us in this old tunnel.”

I breathed dusty air. “Why are we in it? I’m no priest.”

“You’ll see.”

The other ladies laughed, and we shuffled forward. At last the corridor released us through another door into a wide-open room with moth-eaten curtains and dusty crystal chandeliers filled with drip-laden candles. Moonlight fell in silver streaks across a checkered floor . . . and highlighted the most magnificent rosewood pianoforte I’d ever seen.

I could almost feel the music vibrating off the paneled walls, a nocturne to capture the wonder of nighttime in a forgotten old room. I held my breath and approached the great instrument, a full grand pianoforte, in the glowing moonlight, as if nearing the royalty who must have owned such a piece. I ran my palm over its surface, appreciating its rich finish and perfectly curved sides. What would it sound like? Perhaps deep and throaty to match its regal bearing, but the smooth wood and finely crafted inlay spoke of a gentler side too.

I turned back to Bridget, who stood with arms folded between half a dozen other patients all watching me eagerly. Bridget cocked a small smile. “Perhaps you can think of it as home—at least for now.”