The Secret Beneath White Hart Inn

The White Hart Inn had an illustrious history, boasting a number of presidents among its former guests. Of course, when we bought it at auction it had been derelict for over a decade, and it was in a sorry state.

We took possession during the Summer, and our first weeks were a blur of replacing tiles and re-sealing windows. They weren’t kidding when they called it a fixer-upper. The smell of mildew was pervasive, our clothes damp when we pulled them on each morning.

It wasn’t till the first frosts that we began to tackle the inside. We moved our way through each room of the old hotel, stacking broken chairs and nightstands riddled with dry rot into a pile out back. Crisp golden leaves fell from the large beech trees, providing kindling for our bonfires.

If we had our doubts, we kept them locked up inside, afraid that if we spoke them aloud the whole dream would crumble around us like the decaying plasterwork. Shireen plastered a smile on her face as she tied a bandana around her unruly auburn hair and attacked the ceilings with a long-handled duster. She was a magnificent sight, in her blue denim dungarees and one of my old flannel shirts, the sleeves pushed up.

“Don’t just stand there gawping, Sam – why don’t you make a start on the basement? Sure, who knows what’s down there, we might find treasure!”

I dutifully headed down to the basement, surprised to find the lightbulb still functional. It stretched the full length of the property, ninety feet of storage space, filled with a century of junk and cobwebs.

I skirted the edges, checking walls for signs of mold and rodent activity. Halfway along the back end of the basement, I was surprised to find an area of arched stonework, implying a door had once been there. I tapped on the brick and sure enough, it was hollow. I hesitated, wondering if I should ignore it and keep going, but curiosity got the better of me. I took a mallet from my toolbox and gave it a pounding.

Dust flew everywhere as the bricks toppled inwards. The air cleared, revealing a dark alcove. My torch barely illuminated a few feet inside, I’d have to go through the hole if I wanted to see more. It seemed to lead to another doorway beyond.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell Shireen about my discovery when I headed upstairs for lunch. We sat on the floor of the old ballroom, scooping mackerel chunks straight from the tins onto thick-cut white bread. Food always tastes best after hard work, and as I swirled my crust around the tin, mopping up the last of the spicy tomato sauce, I couldn’t imagine a finer meal.

“Anything interesting down there?” She asked me, and I finished my mouthful before answering.

“Not yet, but who knows… so many boxes of junk to go through.”

“Well, I found something in one of those old nightstands in the attic.”

“Oh, yeah? We going to be able to retire?” I teased.

“Hardly. But look…” She pulled out a small wooden box and opened it, revealing an array of trinkets. Odd earrings, bracelets, watches, bangles, rings… several crucifixes on chains.

“Weird. None of it looks particularly valuable. Maybe it’s stuff that got left behind in the rooms over the years?”

“Probably. Still, more exciting than the stacks of paperwork and bills I keep finding. Honestly, did they ever throw anything out at all?”

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and headed back up the main staircase.

Down in the basement, I was ready to explore in my potholing helmet, with the torch set in the front. If there were treasures to be found, I was going to find them. I stepped through the hole in the wall, brushing aside a dusty cobweb and heading into the gloom beyond.

It was a short tunnel, slanted downwards. My footsteps echoed around the rough-hewn walls – bedrock, not brick. Twenty feet in it branched. On the left I saw a wooden sign, one nail missing, hanging precariously. “The Games Room”. I walked down that way another fifteen feet, reaching a solid door at the end. How was none of this on the blueprints? I went through all the hotel keys on the heavy metal ring. Eventually one worked, and the old door swung inwards.

Cold air rushed past my face, pressing me back against the damp wall. My heart pounded – for a moment I thought I heard a scream coming from somewhere below.

A staircase was cut into the rock, descending sharply in a spiral, like the stairs of a cathedral tower. I clung to the walls as I went down, aware that if I fell and injured myself nobody knew where I was. Another door at the bottom, this one even thicker and bolted in three places. Maybe I had finally found the treasure room.

The door screeched open, rusty hinges protesting as I shouldered my way inside.

I don’t know what I had expected – but it wasn’t this. I was in some kind of small theatre, wooden benches forming a semi-circle around a sunken stage. Maybe some kind of concert area? The natural stone had an interesting effect on the acoustics of the chamber, concentrating and redirecting sound, so that when I whistled it seemed to come from over my shoulder.

I walked down to the stage, looking for clues as to what kind of show they put on here. I found a paper program on the bottom row, a list of names, mostly female, and their ages. It wasn’t much to go on. Above the stage were sturdy metal hooks, strong enough for acrobats to swing from. I imagined a burlesque show, scantily clad women in sequins and ostrich feathers performing exclusively for the most important guests. It must have been something a little risqué, to be hidden so far from the main building.

I went back up the stairs and followed the other path, where it ended abruptly – stairs leading both up and down. I figured up must lead to some part of the hotel, so I went down. Here a small sign read “Staff only.” It spiraled round and round, deeper even than the hidden theatre, and I began to feel claustrophobic. How many tonnes of rock lay overhead?

The stairs ended abruptly in a dark room. Storage of some kind – a stack of brown boxes in the center. I rummaged through the top one, tossing aside brown paper to reveal an array of Venetian masks. Black plague doctors made of leather, scary pigs, and wolves, their lips upturned in a toothy snarl. Creepy.

Other boxes were filled with clothing – nothing particularly theatrical – old shoes in one, sneakers, heels and boots… another contained only underwear – graying bras and girdles, thongs… Not the brocade and silk items worn by burlesque performers – just average clothing, musty and decaying.

I headed to the back of the room, through a low archway. The corridor beyond was narrower, I had to stoop as I felt my way along. The door at the end had bars across the top and a small panel that could slide open… a dungeon door! I shivered. What the hell was something like this doing under our hotel? Was there some shady S&M past to the White Hart Inn that we hadn’t read about? I fumbled through my keyring, but I didn’t find a key to fit the lock, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. What if there were skeletons inside? Was that blood or rust on the metal bars?

The darkness pressed in on me and I hurried back to the junk room, glad to be in a wider space. Whose clothes were these, in the boxes? Just unclaimed items, I told myself, forgotten by guests over the years and dumped here. I moved the boxes, tossing them everywhere as I searched through them to find something, anything to explain what I was seeing. A box of old medical tools, bone saws, and scalpels. A box of tools – claw hammers, hand drills, and pliers.

Beneath the boxes was a metal grate. Circular and heavy. It took all my strength to shift it a few inches aside. I jumped as it clanged down on the stone, the sound echoing around the room. My nerves were frayed. An old well, the shaft plummeting into the darkness. I dropped a coin and counted… twelve seconds before the tiny splash as it reached the bottom. I closed my eyes and my mind filled in the blanks – white skulls floating in the water below, their empty eye sockets staring up, beseeching me to rescue them.

I fled from the chamber, back up the stairs. I hesitated at the tunnel… I wasn’t sure I could take any more adventuring, but the stairs leading upwards seemed the fastest route to daylight and to Shireen.

Forty-five steps in all, curving upwards until there was brickwork around me again, the familiar sandstone of the hotel. At the top of the stairs there was no door – only a narrow space barely wide enough to walk sideways through. I held my breath, sucking in my gut as I slid inside. I must be within the hotel walls!

A moment later I felt something give underfoot, and a section of the wall opened outwards. I found myself in the Presidential suite – the grandest of our rooms. The wall swung closed behind me, and I was amazed how invisible the seam was – even knowing about the secret entrance, I could barely make it out.

Shireen walked in, surprised to find me there. “You startled me, Sam! I thought you were in the cellar!” I reached for her and pulled her close, breathing in the familiar apple blossom scent of her shampoo. My heartbeat slowed down, and I felt myself relaxing into her.

She laughed. “What’s got into you today? Sure, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“There are lots of spiders in the basement,” I said, not untruthfully. “Big ones. And you know I get claustrophobic.”

She gave my hair a tousle. “You big softie, scurred of a few wee creepy crawlies. It’s a good job you weren’t in the attic with me – there’re bats up there, I think!”

We headed downstairs, hand in hand, and she put the kettle on while I washed the grime from my arms and face.

“I found something interesting myself,” she said, reaching into her dungaree pocket. “Look at these – there was a whole box of them up there! A hundred at least. Some are from the sixties!” In her hand were a pile of driver's licenses, the photos staring up at me mostly female. “Sure, how do so many guests manage to leave them behind? Wouldn’t you think they’d have wanted them mailed on?”

She poured the boiling water into our mugs, placing the licenses on the counter between us.

“Maybe we should try to find them – the owners? We could set up a twitter account – might get some publicity for the hotel…”

“No!” I could hear the panic in my voice. Shireen gave me an odd look, her head on one side. “That is – we’ve got so much to do before we can reopen this place. We don’t have time to muck about with publicity. Maybe once we open we can think about it...”

Of course, by then I’d have disposed of them all down that deep subterranean well, their secrets lost forever in the darkness. I would rebuild the wall in the basement tomorrow. Nobody would ever find it again. Only I would know about the secret passage in the presidential suite. The thought was strangely thrilling. What possibilities lay ahead… I thought of the box of trinkets, the list of names, the dungeon… my own secret place.

Just in case.

You never know, it might come in handy one day.