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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