Shadows of the Silver Screen (7 page)

X

 

A pale face stared out from the carriage window, soft curls of raven hair framing her delicate features. The girl squinted nervously into the sunlight, lifting her hand to shade her gaze as she took in the scene before her.

The carriage had come to a halt close to the shadow of the pithead, the horses whinnying impatiently as the nearby waterwheel creaked in the wind. A huddle of men and children were clustered around the carriage, their faces filthy and with ragged clothes hanging off their stooped frames. Some of the youngest children looked no more than seven or eight years old, the shackles around their wrists and ankles clanking as they dragged themselves forward.

The tall figure of a man stepped down from the carriage, the collar of his shirt upstanding beneath his black frock coat, a dark red neck tie knotted in a cavalier fashion around his throat. Grabbing the riding crop from his driver’s hand, he snapped it with a whip crack to clear a path through the gathering throng.

“What is the meaning of this insolence?” Monty barked, his dark-eyed gaze thunderous beneath bristling eyebrows. “Get back to work at once!”

At the sight of the flashing whip, the workers closest to Monty’s path shrank back in fear, but one of the oldest children was pushed by the others to the front of the throng until he was standing directly before him. Monty stared down his nose at the boy’s upturned face. Beneath a mop of black hair its grimy countenance somehow had a healthier glow than the sallow, frightened faces around him.

“Didn’t you hear me?” the actor snapped, flexing the riding crop in his grasp. “Why has the mine fallen silent? I want to see you all back down that pit, bringing up my copper.” He curled his lip into a snarl at the boy’s silent defiance. “Maybe I should make an example of you, boy, to show the others what happens to any workers that slacken.”

“But please, Lord Eversholt,” the boy began, his quavering voice sounding strangely refined despite his threadbare clothes. “There’s been a flood in one of the tunnels. I was just pulled free in time, but my friend is still trapped down there. Nobody can work until the level is pumped dry.”

A look of concern flashed across Monty’s face.

“Which tunnel is flooded?” he demanded, as behind him in the carriage window the young girl pressed a handkerchief to her lips in horror.

“The lower main level,” the boy replied. “One hundred fathoms deep. It’s the tunnel that was dug out last week to search for new deposits.”

At this news, Monty blew out his cheeks in relief.

“There’s no need to worry, then,” he said. “We leave the tunnel flooded and get back to the levels where there’s still copper to be dug.” He raised his voice to a pitch of stern command. “Now shut down those pumps and get back to work.”

With this final order, Monty turned to return to the carriage, but before he could leave, the boy reached out and tugged at his sleeve.

“But, sir, my friend is still down there—”

Glancing down, Monty grimaced at the sight of the urchin’s grubby paw on the cuff of his coat.

“How dare you!” he snarled. He drew back his arm in anger, the riding crop raised high in the air, ready to punish the boy’s impertinence. But before he could strike, an anguished cry rang out from the carriage window.

“No!”

For a split-second the action froze, Monty’s arm suspended in mid-air, then Gold’s voice rang out across the scene.

“And cut!”

From her vantage point, half a dozen paces to the filmmaker’s right, Penelope watched as Gold emerged from behind the Véritéscope, a broad smile breaking across his face. With one deft action, he cranked the camera’s winder a final half-turn, bringing the whirring film reel hidden inside to a halt. Then he stepped away from the tripod and began to stride towards his leading man as Monty finally let his arm fall, the riding crop swishing harmlessly by his side. Next to him, the grubby face of the boy turned to watch Gold’s approach too, his features anxious as he awaited the director’s verdict.

“That was wonderful!” Gold declared as he reached the two of them. “Mr Flinch, your performance was simply sublime. Lord Eversholt himself came alive in your every action.”

Beneath their bristling brows, Monty’s eyes twinkled at this praise, his haughty countenance relaxing into a grin.

“Ah well, I must confide in you, Mr Gold, that I have played many a leading role before in amateur theatricals,” he replied. “As a schoolboy, my Sweeney Todd had my classmates cowering in their seats. This blue-blooded scoundrel isn’t too much of a stretch after bringing that butcher to life on the stage.” He waved his riding crop in the direction of the Véritéscope. “I just hope that your cinematographic device saw it all.”

Monty glanced back over his shoulder at the raggedy band of men and children now standing idle, waiting for the filmmaker’s next command, and then lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone.

“I’m sure that some of these fellows were blocking its view of my grand entrance when they swarmed around the carriage. Any chance we could film the scene again?”

Gold glanced down at the fob watch that hung from his waistcoat pocket. It was nearly midday. High in a cloudless sky, the sun beat down, bathing the mine in a golden light. The conditions for filming were perfect. With a nod of his head, he agreed to his star’s request.

“If one more take will make you happy, Mr Flinch,” he replied magnanimously, “then one more take you shall have.”

Gold turned his gaze towards the boy standing by Monty’s side.

“And this time, James, let me hear the fear in your voice,” he snapped. “You sounded as though you were asking Lord Eversholt for the time of day, not begging him to save your friend’s life.”

Beneath his artfully mussed hair, the young actor’s face fell, the gleam of his blue eyes amidst the grime suddenly dulled by disappointment.

His direction delivered, Gold turned away from James to address the assembled throng.

“A five-minute break,” he told them with a clap of his hands. “As soon as I’ve set the camera for the shot, we’ll take that scene from the top.”

As Gold paced a path back to the tripod, Monty slung a consolatory arm around the young actor’s shoulder. Looking on, the sight of it seemed oddly strange to Penny, the villainous lord of the manor offering some kindly words of advice to one of his downtrodden workers. The rest of the extras hunkered down in the shadows of their own homes.

Penelope yawned. For the last hour she had stood here beneath the shade of her parasol, watching as Gold shaped the scene. The filmmaker had led Monty and the rest of the actors through the action countless times, twitching their strings like a puppeteer then retreating behind the lens of the Véritéscope to try and capture the spark. As Gold fussed again with his machine, threading the film reel into position, Penny’s gaze wandered across the scenery.

When she’d arrived there that morning to watch the filming begin, Mr Gold had offered her only a cursory greeting. Fixing his eye to the camera’s viewfinder, he’d waved Penelope away, telling her she could stay and watch as long as she kept out of the shot. He hadn’t even taken the trouble to introduce her to the stars of her story.

Still feeling a nagging sense of annoyance at this slight, Penny’s gaze alighted on the carriage. At its window, she could see the raven curls of
The Daughter of Darkness
’s leading lady, Miss Vivienne Devey. Penny glanced across at Gold. With the door to the Véritéscope hanging ajar, the filmmaker was still fiddling with the spokes and sprockets inside. He wouldn’t be ready to begin filming again for at least another five minutes. That would give her plenty of time to make her own introductions.

Unfurling her parasol, Penny stepped towards the carriage, carefully picking her way across the loose stones on the path. At the sound of her approach, Miss Devey’s gaze turned towards her. Raven curls of hair framed the actress’s face, her porcelain skin flawless in its perfection. She looked only a year or so older than Penny herself, but her green eyes glittered with what seemed like a superior air.

“Miss Devey,” Penelope began, “I wondered if I might introduce myself?”

The girl stared disdainfully down at her from the carriage window.

“And who exactly are you?”

Penny’s cheeks coloured at the older girl’s rudeness. For a second, she stumbled over her reply.

“I’m the – I mean to say, I’m Penelope Tredwell,” she stuttered. “You’ve already met my uncle – Mr Montgomery Flinch – the author and star of this tale.”

At this mention of England’s most celebrated writer, Miss Devey wrinkled her nose with a sniff.

“I think you will find that
I
am the star of this production,” she replied curtly. “Mr Gold has assured me of that, even though as yet I’ve only spoken a single line.” She brushed a stray curl of hair from her forehead and then cast a dismissive glance in Penny’s direction. “I mean, it may as well be you sitting here for all the difference it would make – although we’d have to keep the camera away from your face.”

Penelope’s mouth fell open in shock, her already flushed cheeks turning scarlet with indignation at the older girl’s insult. Before she’d had the chance to summon up a suitable reply, the sound of a boy’s voice came from behind her.

“Pay no mind to Vivienne. She thinks she’s the next Lillie Langtry.”

Penny turned around to be greeted by a smudgy smile. Dressed in the ragged clothes of a miner, the young actor inclined his head in greeting.

“Whereas I am the first James Denham,” he said with a friendly twinkle in his eyes. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Tredwell. I am a keen reader of your uncle’s work and it is such a privilege to be working with him on this production.”

Penny proffered her hand in reply, but then recoiled slightly as she saw James’s grimy fingers reaching towards hers. Seeing her reaction, the young actor glanced down at his hand.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” he apologised with a rueful grin. He brushed his hand against a threadbare trouser leg. “I had quite forgotten that I look as if I have just climbed out of that pit.”

From the carriage window, there came the sound of a scornful laugh. Ignoring this, James met Penny’s gaze with a solicitous look.

“So what do you make of our performance so far, Miss Tredwell?”

Penelope took a moment to compose her reply. Her gaze flicked past James to take in the scene at the pithead: the huddling extras, men and children alike, sheltering from the pitiless sun, and Monty swishing his riding crop with a venomous swipe as he strode back towards the carriage. Every sight a twisted reflection of the story she had written.

With an almost inaudible sigh, Penny’s gaze returned to meet James’s earnest stare.

“My opinion is really of no consequence,” she replied. “I am sure my uncle will—”

Her sentence was interrupted by a sudden flurry of handclaps. Penny turned to see Edward Gold emerge from behind the Véritéscope, the inscrutable stare of its camera lens returning her gaze. With a wave of his arms, the filmmaker exhorted the resting extras to rouse themselves from the shadows.

“If you could all return to your places, please,” he demanded in a hectoring tone. “We have a moving picture to make here.”

XI

 

Penelope awoke with a start. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was, struggling to shake the blanket of dreams from her senses as she pulled herself into a sitting position. In the inky blackness the only sound she could hear was the thumping of her own heart.

Penny strained her eyes against the gloom. Faint rays of moonlight crept around curtain edges, casting strange shadows across the scene. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see the shape of a wardrobe towering above her like a beast of prey. Sat next to this, the silhouette of her suitcase finally reminded her where she had rested her head after the long day filming: her room in the guest wing of Eversholt Manor.

As the frantic thrum of her heart gradually quietened, Penelope sat there in the stillness of the night, trying to work out what exactly had woken her. It was then that she heard it again: the soft tread of footsteps upon the wooden floor. A prickle of fear crept across her skin with the realisation that she wasn’t alone. With trembling fingers Penny reached for the candle on her bedside table, scrabbling for a match and striking it into life.

“Who’s there?” she called out, holding the match to the candle’s wick as its flame took hold. As the circle of light cast slowly banished the gloom, Penny’s gaze swept the room. In the broad mirror that sat upon the dressing table, she saw the pale outline of a young woman’s face, her eyes staring anxiously out into the darkness. As Penny’s hand reached up to her mouth in fright, she saw her reflection do the same, a sudden smile of relief breaking across both of their faces. There was nobody else there.

But behind her nervous grin, Penelope knew that something wasn’t right. An unpleasant sensation still crawled across her skin, as if something or someone was watching her even though it was plain to see that the room was empty. Moments passed in silence, and Penny was just about to dismiss the whole thing as an attack of the night terrors when, from the window, there came a rustling sound.

Glancing up, she was startled to see the heavy curtains shiver as though moved by a breeze. Throwing back the bedclothes, Penny snatched up the candle from her bedside table, holding this aloft as she marched towards the window and pulled the curtains back.

The window was locked shut.

Penelope shivered. Outside beneath a full moon, the moors lay still; not a whisper of a breeze could be seen as the trees slept in silence.

From the room behind her, Penny heard a faint sigh, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps.

“Monty, if this is your idea of a joke…”

The words died on her lips as she turned to see the room was still empty, the sound of footsteps falling upon the wooden floor where no feet could be seen. As a creeping panic seized hold of Penelope’s heart, the bedroom door slowly swung ajar and she heard the soft tread of this invisible presence step into the corridor beyond.

For a second, Penelope stood there frozen, unable to believe the evidence of her own ears. But then she heard the familiar creak of footsteps descending the stairs. There was something out there.

Tightening her grip on the candlestick, Penny followed the footsteps, the thud of her heartbeat threatening to drown out their sound. Leaving her room, she held the candle before her like a brand, its flickering flame throwing dancing shadows across her face as she walked down the corridor. The soft tread of her own steps echoed in the darkness, the chill night air bringing goosebumps to her skin.

From the landing, the grand staircase curved down to the hall below. Pausing there for a moment, Penelope strained her ears to try to make out a sound. Beneath the shadowy gaze of the portraits that lined the walls, she heard a faint creak, the footstep so light that she almost thought she had imagined it.

Then, at the bottom of the stair she glimpsed a shadowy form glide past the newel post, moving towards the doors of the dining room. Trailing her free hand down the banister, Penelope hurried down the stairs, a heady mix of adrenalin and fear driving her pursuit of this presence. Despite all the haunting stories she had written in the guise of Montgomery Flinch, Penny didn’t believe in ghosts, but this was beyond her rational understanding. She had to find out what was happening here.

Penny reached the bottom of the staircase as the shadow disappeared through the dining-room doors. The grand hall lay in darkness, its
stone-tiled
floor freezing beneath her bare feet. From the walls, the portraits of previous generations of Eversholts watched her as she stepped towards the dining room and, suppressing a shiver, Penny reached for the door handle.

The dining-room door squeaked open, the noise of it painfully loud. As Penelope cautiously entered the room, the flame of her candle threw a flickering light across the scene. Hanging from the dining-room ceiling, the crystal chandelier sparkled and beneath this, the dining table lay silent, its handsome chairs empty and the dinner plates and cutlery long cleared away. From the open window there came the distant screech of an owl, the moorland outside bathed in a spectral light as a swooping silhouette wheeled above it in search of its prey.

Penelope’s eyes searched the shadows, but every patch of darkness lay still. There was no sign of the strange presence that she had glimpsed at the foot of the stair. A flicker of doubt crossed Penny’s face. Had she imagined it? At the far end of the room a second door stood slightly ajar. If what she had seen was real, there was only one place it could have gone.

Penelope now headed towards that dark oak door, her nightgown gliding noiselessly across the floor. The flame from the candle lit her face with a golden glow; her expression was set in an inquisitive stare, her thoughts fixed on what she would find. Turning the handle, the door opened to reveal a room shrouded in gloom.

As Penny stepped inside, the glimmering pool of candlelight illuminated dark oak bookcases, their shelves filled with countless leather-bound volumes. These books stretched into the shadows, whilst further back the depths of the room still lay in darkness. Penny could see the outlines of seats and tables, the shapes of reading desks and several easy chairs, but her gaze was drawn to the three-legged silhouette that stood alone in the centre of the room: the Véritéscope.

For a moment, she stood there motionless, straining her ears against the silence. The room was filled with shadows, but all of these were static too. No flickering phantoms could be seen and the only sound that she could hear was the solemn ticking of a grandfather clock. Penelope felt the strange fear that had haunted her from the moment she awoke slowly slip from her shoulders. Somehow she sensed that the unseen presence that had brought her to this place was now gone.

With her free hand, Penny drew the collar of her nightdress more tightly round her neck, goosebumps still prickling her skin. Her gaze slowly returned to the Véritéscope and her mind flicked back to Gold’s grubby backstreet office and the shadows she had seen dance across the screen. A trick of the light, Wigram had called it, but it had conjured a scene so real, she had almost forgotten herself. Perhaps that was what she had glimpsed at the bottom of the stair, some kind of optical illusion cast by the moonlight.

Setting her candle upon a nearby stand, Penny stepped towards the camera, a sense of curiosity now creeping in where fear had lurked only moments before. The brass fittings of the cinematograph box glinted in the candlelit glow and she noticed that the small door on its side hung slightly ajar. Looking closer, she could see the film reel hidden inside, fixed into place amidst a confusion of spokes and tubes. Penny closed the door with a click, an intrigued smile creeping across her lips. Maybe she could solve at least one mystery tonight and discover how the workings of this machine created such a mesmeric effect.

Its lens was pointing towards a white sheet draped over one of the bookcases, creating a makeshift screen. Examining the camera, Penny searched for the mechanism that would coax the device into life. Beneath the winder, her fingers found a switch and, as she pushed this forward, the winding handle began to turn of its own accord. With a whirring sound, a silvery light sprang forth from the lens of the Véritéscope and splashed across the hanging sheet.

As motes of dust danced in this ghostly light, Penelope watched the swirling patterns on the screen slowly disappear to reveal a familiar scene. In the shadow of the pithead, a carriage rattled to a halt. From the eyrie of his box seat, the driver peered nervously at the ragged band of workers barring the track, their filthy hands raised high in a plaintive appeal.

Entranced, Penny could feel the warmth of the sun seep from the screen, but the expressions on the faces of the men and children gathered around the carriage were cold and foreboding. Above the creak of the waterwheel, she heard an angry shout and then, dressed in the garb of Lord Eversholt, Monty stepped down from the trap, his dark eyes blazing with a barely contained rage.

“What is the meaning of this insolence?” he barked, snatching the riding crop from the driver’s hand as he forced his way through the throng. Flinching at every crack of the whip, Penny shrank back in fear as his glowering face filled the screen. “Get back to work at once!”

Penny wanted to flee, but the shadows on the silver screen held her spellbound. The camera had pulled back to show the huddled mass of workers, tattered clothes hanging from their haggard frames. She felt as though she was standing there amongst them, and she watched the scene unfold with a growing sense of dread.

A boy was pushed forward to the front of the crowd. The camera closed in on the boy’s haunted gaze, his grimy countenance almost as black as his hair.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Monty snapped, his face twisting into a snarl. “Why has the mine fallen silent? I want to see you all back down that pit, bringing up my copper. Maybe I should make an example of you, boy, to show the others what happens to any workers that slacken.”

The boy stared back at him, a faint glimmer of hope still shining in his eyes.

“But please, Lord Eversholt,” he began. “There’s been a flood in one of the tunnels. I was just pulled free in time, but my friend is still trapped down there.”

Half holding her breath, Penny listened intently to the boy’s impassioned speech. The words ripped from the pages of
The Daughter of Darkness
were at once so familiar, yet also strangely new. As he pleaded, the image of the trapped child took shape in Penelope’s mind. She could see his frightened face, alone in the darkness, dazed as the floodwaters rose to his neck. In that moment, his perilous plight seemed to her so real that Penelope almost forgot that this was a story.

On the screen, Monty turned to leave, dismissing the boy’s pleas with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

“We leave the tunnel flooded,” he said, raising his voice to a loud tone of command, “and get back to the levels where there’s still copper to be dug. Now shut down those pumps and get back to work.”

Penny watched as the boy reached out with a desperate hand to tug at Monty’s sleeve.

“But, sir, my friend is still down there—”

Monty glanced down at the boy’s grubby paw, his lip curling into a snarl.

“How dare you!” he roared, raising the riding crop high in the air. As the boy cringed in anticipation of the blow to follow, Penny couldn’t stop the cry that escaped from her lips as, from the screen, a raven-haired girl called out the same.

“No!”

At this cry, the image froze, the frame slowly flickering and then fading from view as the silvery trail of light disappeared and the screen turned black. On the side of the Véritéscope, the winder whirred to a halt as the reel inside ran out with a click.

Transfixed, Penelope’s gaze clung to the screen, the sheet now shrouded in darkness again. She could scarcely believe what she had seen. Every moment had seemed so real. Penny shivered; the room was suddenly cold.

Behind her, beyond the circle of candle light, she heard a faint rustling sound. Penny turned, her heart thudding in her throat as from the shadows she saw a dark shape rise from the depths of an armchair. Snatching up the candle from the stand, Penny took a faltering step forward, thrusting the flame before her like a rapier to keep this spectre at bay.

But instead of a ghost, the face of a man emerged blinking from the shadows. His ruddy features had a curious waxy sheen. As he rubbed the sleep from his red-rimmed eyes, his gaze fell upon Penelope, and he let out a low gasp of surprise.

“Amelia, is that really you?”

It was the filmmaker, Edward Gold, his handsome features set in a haunted frown. Penny froze in fear as, with a heavy tread, Gold stepped towards her, reaching out with a trembling hand.

“It worked,” he said, his voice little more than a cracked whisper. “It brought you back to me.”

Gold’s fingers brushed against Penny’s as he reached for the shimmering light. She recoiled at his freezing touch, the candle slipping from her fingers and falling to the floor, its flame suddenly extinguished. In an instant, darkness surrounded them.