Hamelton (Dr. Paul) Read online

  Maggie curtsied and winked to Cindy suggesting Cindy to enter. "This is called the princess's room." Cindy just stood there. Maggie said, "I'll be back in a few minutes to show you where everything is... or do you want to see the other bedrooms?"

  The four of us impatiently watched as the next door was opened. "This is the hunting room, for the Don Juan. Or should I say Jeff?" The room was the same size as Cindy's. The fireplace was the first thing I noticed. Massive marble columns were on both sides and book shelves were built on the sides of the columns. The mantel displayed trophies on top. A white bear skin lay in front. The walls had the busts of animals of prey. The bed had a tiger skin draped across it.

  "Look behind the right shelf," Maggie said to Jeff in a soft playful manner.

  The parade skipped the next door and went across the hall. "Chris, I think you may like this. This is the renaissance room." The room was made of mahogany. A suit of armor stood on both sides of the stone fireplace. The heavy bed was high off the ground, about four feet with a small set of stairs leading up to it, I later learned in the days before they had indoor plumbing, it folded out into a toilet pot. The walls were covered with old shields and weapons. I thought what a good judge of character Maggie must be because she was right, I loved this room. For a moment my mind drifted to wonder if this babbling maid had more going for her than I had given her credit for. I came back to thinking about running into the room to play with everything. What is the history of this, of that, who made this, how did they use that? Questions flooded my mind, but I composed myself knowing there would be time for looking around later.

  "And for you," Maggie directed Handy "I have the Master"s bedroom."

  "I don't think it would be proper to have me sleep in the Simon's room, especially with all these vacant rooms?" Handy questioned.

  Maggie smiled out of the corner of her mouth. "The master of the house prefers to sleep on the first floor close to the kitchen. Easier on the knees to avoid stairs for older people you know. And besides he locks up his room when he is away." She led us to the big double doors at the end of the hall. I caught myself thinking "Of course Handy gets the biggest room." Then I remembered he did invite us, he deserves the best treatment.

  The master bedroom was everything I thought it might be and more. The square footage was three times the size of the previous rooms. The ceiling was two stories tall. Windows were on three sides. The oversized bed was a long walk directly across from the door. Handy was impressed. He walked in with his hands straight out to his sides and spun around. In the corner sat our entire luggage.

  "I guess Albert didn't know where to put the cases." We took our perspective suitcases back to our own rooms and waited for Maggie who said she would come back to get us all set up.

  I was enjoying myself just looking around my new room for what seemed to be only minutes, but I know an hour must have gone by when Maggie knocked on the door with clean towels. She was more business minded now. She avoided my probing questions about my room that still clouded my mind. She was talking to me like a mother. She told me that I must take a nap if I'm planning to enjoy the rest of my day. I agreed but had no intention of sleeping. After she left, I laid on the bedspread to think for a moment.

  If you, the reader, have not guessed as of yet, I was then and am now the inquisitive type. I admire the fictional detective Sherlock Homes. The way that he puts facts together to form or eliminate a new fact. In many ways perhaps I'm like him, although I've never had the desire to pursue criminology. I get intrigued, almost addicted to know and understand the unknown equation. Now this boy from California found himself far from home, in an unknown surrounding, meeting people with such different upbringings that I could not stereotype them in any known category. In short I was not in control of my surroundings, a feeling I wasn't used to. I'm Chris Blake, only son of a printer. I am the only known member of the Blake family to attend college. I was raised in a home where my father and his four brothers spent most of their lives. I had the same friends all my life. I did not know that I would find change so uncomfortable. Perhaps this is why I found comfort in learning all I could about my surroundings. I think now if I could have only let things ride then, I would not have had to spend the next 30 years of my life repeating in complete detail over and over that one month of my life. I would have never killed anyone. My dreams would not be haunted with the past. Enough of that now, back to the Simon's house.

  I lay there fully clothed on the bed contemplating. Why was Maggie so long winded on some parts of her stories and so brief in others? Was she cleverly avoiding parts or just as nutty as our first impression? Was she nervous about something? Would the Simons have kept her around if she acted like that all the time? Why is Albert so cold? Why do the Simons really sleep downstairs? What did the house look like originally? How do I get into the upper floors? Do I want to go up the top floors? Why would a Hamelton, or anyone, refuse an invitation from the royal palace? Is that how they lost the house?

  II

  Handy's loud voice startled me out of a sound and deep sleep with dreams of sword fighting. I was slightly disoriented because I had not planned on sleeping, and for a moment I had to think where I was? Handy's playful face was looking down on me. "Can Chris come out and play?" Handy teased, "All the other kids are coming. ... Come on Chris we're going out. It's mid-day." He paused as I nodded to him. "We'll meet you downstairs in say... 10 minutes?" I nodded again.

  I sat on the bed as Handy left the room. I looked around with a smile, "I like this place," I said out loud to perhaps the room or the house, or maybe England. I wished I had time right then to look over the armor on the walls but I knew I had to get moving. I went into the bathroom and splashed water on my face. The sink, although porcelain with hand painted designs, seemed out of place. I took my first look around the bathroom as I dried my face. A sudden wave of "How stupid can you be?" came over me as I realized they had no bathrooms at the time this house was built. I changed my clothes and met my friends down stairs. We explored many of the parts of the house that were open. We ran, leaped and played for about two hours. I say "about" because we all agreed to leave our watches at home since time should not be a factor on our vacation. There were also few rooms that had clocks.

  During our exploration, we found at the far end of the right wing on the second floor a library. The library was large even for this house. It reminded me of the Henry Higgins library in "My Fair Lady." On this floor the walls were all covered with book shelves made of oak. Brass ladders with wheels on the bottom went up the walls periodically. Many pleasant areas of comfortable chairs were scattered around the room. A few inviting full sized desks were just waiting to be used. The furniture did not seem to match; however, it looked good together. How enormous this room was. It was two tall stories high with an inside balcony completely surrounding the sides. Close to the entry door was a staircase going up. In two parts of the room were circular brass stairs. On the balcony level of the study, the walls continued to have shelves and rolling ladders. Some shelves protruded inward to create cubbyholes for privacy.

  The far side wall on the upper floor had a prominent stained glass window that must have been fifteen feet across. The window picture, I found out later, was named the “Garden of Eden before God created birds or animals”. It was of such quality it could be in the best churches of Rome. Around the sides was a border which was leafs in the fall season, or maybe just a design. In the center was a tree which wrapped itself around a gold colored circle. The morning sun light reflecting in through the diverse colored panels left sparkles around the library.

  As I walked past the window I glanced out clear pane. I saw a person in a black and white maid's uniform picking flowers in one of the gardens. She was too skinny to be Maggie, so I knew it must have been Hanna. This room, although welcoming, seemed rarely used and seldom dusted. Jeff wanted to see what kind of fleet of vehicles they had, so we headed out looking for them. Jeff is an interesting fellow; we had kn
own each other for about ten years. Jeff and I, although we had spent much time together over the years, have never been really good friends. Jeff was always a tag along, even on this trip. He was never funny, energetic, or thoughtfully deep, just always there. I don't want to sound as if I disliked him, he was just always there. Kind of like socks, no one needed socks until someone invented them, now it would seem as if something is wrong if you didn't have socks. About six months before the trip Jeff met Cindy, his first and only girl friend. They seemed to be moving toward marriage soon. Cindy had just about as much personality as Jeff, so she also was not much more of a bother than Jeff is to have around. Handy liked to go out in groups, so that's why he invited them. Besides Jeff would have complained until we took him with us anyway.

  Jeff was a funny looking man, he was my height, six feet, but so bony that his arms looked as if they were going to fall off every time he moved. His dark hair came down into his eyes in front. I admired his light blue eyes that livened up his face; too bad no one could see them because of his sheep dog haircut.

  Cindy on the other hand, was blond hair and also blue eyed. She wore her hair to her shoulders and it curled up at the ends. Her timed smile and gentle blushing were a pleasure to look at. She was only slightly overweight and wore clothes that were outdated.

  Off to the left side of the main house, behind a light thicket of trees were several small structures. There were two houses for the gardeners and caretakers to live in, a large storage barn, the stables, and the garage. We followed the driveway to the garage. The garage was less than 20 years old and disappointing. Inside was the Bentley limousine we arrived in, several average late model four door cars, a van, a pickup truck, and a tractor. It seemed several other spaces were for cars that were not there at the time or no longer owned. On one end was a portioned room that seemed to be for tool storage.

  "What looks like a comfortable fit to you?" Came a woman's voice from the rear. Behind us was Hanna. Her face was long, plain and had no makeup on. She was about 21 with long almost straight light brown hair. She had a closed mouth smile that seemed proud of herself for startling us. "You can use anything you see in here for your enjoyment. Some things are more fun than others," she said suggestively. Her healthy body was a tall five foot nine, and slinky. Her chest was small and firm. Although, due to her masculine face, she was not what I would call attractive, she did however have a unique sensuality about her.

  Handy later described that first meeting, "...wearing that maid's outfit, several kinky movies about the stupid nymphomaniac French maid in a mini skirt putting her legs up, came to mind."

  "Which one have you had the most fun in?" Asked Handy trying to return the playfulness.

  She told him, "The keys are in each one and they are ready to go. You need to get in it and turn it on to get the real feeling. What are you all planning to do to night?" "What are you planning for us to do?" Handy asked. She winked playfully then said more seriously "The night life is not too lively around Hamelton. You may want to stop by the 'Knight's Edge'. It's a friendly pub."

  "Are you going to be there?" Asked Handy.

  "No, not tonight. But it's the only thing for you to do around here. I will see you in the morning." Hanna turned and left through the main doors.

  Despite her sexual suggestions, I did not take any of it to heart because I had known several girls like her that find sexual play a way to overcome shyness. I knew nothing would ever come of it, and I don't think I wanted anything to come of it. Handy nudged me with his elbow as she left. I was worried Handy thought he had something going with her.

  Maggie's stuffed cabbage and corned beef dinner was excellent and filling. Her stories about the gardener's prize rose garden was slightly interesting but mostly repetitive. Handy asked if we were indeed allowed to use the cars in the garage.

  "Treat the yanks like the master of the house... he said" Maggie imitated in a firm voice, seemingly her perception of Master Simon. "...make sure they take home memories for a lifetime. That is what he said he wanted. The master always gets what he wants." She went on about some yard worker she caught in the "Hidden Six" passed out from drunkenness last year.

  Jeff and Cindy wanted to stay home that night and Maggie offered to build them a fire. Handy and I took off in the pickup truck in search of the Knight's Edge. I felt the pickup may make us more liked by the locals than the limousine. Handy drove aimlessly around the town looking for the pub. We talked about how much bigger the town seemed now that we were lost. The west side of town seemed newer and slowly growing, while the east side seemed almost untouched by time.

  The Knights Edge ended up in what looked like a very old part of town. The sign protruding over the door was a cross section of a large tree trunk with the name carved into it. The door was big and thick. Handy and I both stopped before the door, we looked into each other's faces and realized we shared the feeling of being out of place; we were outright scared of the unknown. I smiled and took a slow, loud, and deep breath, to show the gaining of courage to Handy. Handy did the same. I think I grew up a lot at that moment by not turning and running. Every muscle in my body was waiting for the approval to run back to the truck. I grabbed the forged metal handle protruding out of the door and thrust the door open. Handy and I, still holding our breaths marched in shoulder to shoulder.

  The room was dark, oil lanterns could be seen all around the room. It seemed everything was made of rough wood. The floors, the walls, the rafters on the ceiling, everything all wood. There were pillars that seemed to hold the rafters up throughout the place. On the left were lots of uneven tables and chairs with a few small groups quietly chatting. On the right was a long and heavy looking bar. Even at that distance and the darkness I could see chips, dents and slashes imbedding history forever in its quiet majesty.

  "Ya come to take pictures or to drink?" Came a voice from the bar.

  I realized I must have been standing there for half a minute still holding my breath. I relaxed, then walked toward the voice. There were five outspoken men sitting at the end of the bar. I sat two empty seats away from them and Handy sat on the other side of me.

  The bartender was thin and looked wrinkled like a seventy year old man but his voice and mannerisms made me think he was only fifty. His eyes seemed oversized through his thick-rimmed black outdated glasses. He was clean shaven and had short straight dark hair. He wore a brown shirt with an open brown cardigan.

  "What can I get for you gentlemen?"

  Handy answered automatically, "Harvey Wallbanger."

  Still silence overtook the area. The barkeeps face slowly forced an amused smile; he looked at me through the corner of his glasses with a sparkle in his eye, almost to see if I was amused. Realizing that something was wrong, I glanced around and noticed no hard alcohol bottles behind the bar.

  "We'll take whatever local light beer you have," I said, looking in his eyes as a good recovery.

  "You're looking for Harvey Wallenger you say? Don't know him. He supposed to live in Hamelton?" Came that voice from the corner again.

  "Wallbanger. George, he said Wallbanger not Wallenger, it's a mixed drink," replied the barkeep in our defense as he poured our beers.

  "Bangers..," said the voice, "...we do not sell sausages here." "Leave it alone George," said the barkeep.

  George walked up to introduce himself "You mates can call me George. Where are you from?" George had at least one too many to drink that night. He was well over six feet tall, wiry, about forty-five years old. He wore a work shirt with his name on it that made me believe he might work for the city. He was friendly but had an annoying habit of leaning forward into our faces.

  As Americans we have an invisible wall of privacy around us, which also extends to our cars, houses or anything we consider ours. We feel great discomfort when our boundaries are penetrated. However, in Europe people do not have such walls. They freely put their arms over people and stand in their “space”. I did not understand this at the time a
nd was constantly uncomfortable with intrusions.

  "Name's Handy, meet my buddy Chris." We all shook hands and George introduced us to the gang, whose names didn't seem important to remember, even at the time. For hours we all talked about our two different countries. Handy and I laughed off several almost rude American jokes. In general the men were kind and friendly. When one man asked which inn we were staying at, I replied, "The Simon's house." There was a moment of thoughtful silence, and then they avoided the subject and continued to treat us well. A younger crowd was now coming in filling the place, but we stayed at the far corner of the bar with the older men we then knew and felt comfortable with.

  Later, that night, I felt a hand firmly on my shoulder. As my laughing face turned, I met the piercing eyes of a stern faced man with a look as if he was on a mission. His eyes were dark and cold. His white beard perhaps on a different face would have reminded me of Santa Claus, but not on his. He wore a hooded cloak that covered his head and made shadows in his wrinkled puffy face. Long white hair appeared from under the hood around his neck. I looked down to his feet and noticed he had black leather boots that tied above his knees.

  "You are the boys staying in Hamelton mansion, aren't you?" He demanded to know, "Aren't you?" The answer did not come fast enough for him.

  "Yes sir, we are," I said, looking to my new friends for help, who just sat there apparently not concerned.

  "Take my word for it boys..," he grumbled out of the side of his mouth, "you couldn't get me there if my life depended on it. The rogues show up about every eighty years. It's nearing that time. Do you hear me? It's nearing that time! William Hamelton cursed our town three hundred years ago when his satanic band of murderers pledged their souls to the devil himself, who swooped down and took his children home. Take my word for it boys." He turned suddenly and headed for the door, wind seemed to lift his cloak as he walked out. That was the scariest thing I had seen up until then in my young life.