The door leading to the cellar steps was not locked but stiff to push open. Instead of the dusty wooden stairwell she had expected there was a flight of relatively clean stone steps leading down to the darkness flickering with gas light. It struck her as odd that the cellar would be lit, Sir Michel was so strict about not wasting lights in the house - why would the cellar be lit?
Her barefeet made little noise on the steps as she descended into the cellar, the stone was clammy on her bare skin and she wished she had taken the time to get her slippers. But if she had returned to her room for that little bit of comfort then surely she wouldn't be here now breaking Sir Michel's most important rule about never entering the cellar?
At the bottom of the steps was a metal door, it was well oiled and made only a slight shush noise as she pushed it open.
Beyond the doorway the cellar was tiled and filthy, the smell of the gas lights mingling with something she couldn't identify but that made her stomach roll as if ready to vomit. The tiled walls were filthy and the floor broken in places leaving patches of dirt. There were passages seemingly endless and doorways, some open and others closed.
Taking the door closest to her she entered what looked to be a laboratory, instruments and shelves holding books and jars. In the centre of the room was a wooden chair with a pool of congealing blood under it - bile rose in her throat making her gag. Beside the chair was a small metal trolley and laid out on its surface were surgical instruments.