Catherine gulped. “I’m not sure I liked them all that well in the first place,” she admitted. “I think you were very brave, Angelina.”
Angelina looked surprised. “I was?” She considered the matter. “Since I was so brave, will you give me a piggy-back this time?”
Catherine consented, and sprinted to the next fence. The manor was just ahead now, and Laura’s nervousness increased. Maybe it had been a terrible idea to come here. What if the wrong person saw them or they couldn’t get in? And how were they to keep Angelina quiet while she figured out their next move?
Catherine proved equal to that task. “This is like one of Nigel’s mystery games,” she told Angelina. “We have to sneak around and not let anyone see us. We might even try to sneak into the house without anyone seeing us!”
“I know how to do that,” Angelina said confidently. “Nigel showed me. You have to go in through the cellar. It’s nasty down there, though.”
Laura was startled. That was an unexpected boon, if it was true.
“I bet your cellar is no worse than the one at the cottage,” Catherine said. “Besides, we’ll be there, too. We can all go together.”
“Okay,” Angelina agreed. “We have to go in there.” She pointed at an old-fashioned folding door that lay at an angle against the side of the house at ground level. Each side of the door had to be lifted up and then folded to the side to reach the cellar below. They would probably creak, Laura thought, and looked around nervously. No one was in sight, but someone could appear at any moment.
“Worth a try,” Catherine whispered. The sound of a car coming up the road decided them. Together, they scuttled to the house and heaved the heavy doors open, revealing a set of steep stairs. Holding Angelina between them, they went cautiously down; then reached back to pull the doors closed behind them. Immediately, the darkness was absolute. A musty smell so strong they had to struggle for breath enveloped them. Gasping, Laura fumbled for her flashlight and switched it on.
Angelina seemed unaffected by the dank atmosphere. “I want to hold the torch,” she stated, and held out her hand.
“You can if you promise to shine it all around,” Laura agreed. Angelina complied, moving the thin beam in a wavering circle. The cellar seemed to go on forever, stretching into the blackness like some medieval dungeon. And perhaps it was, Laura thought. Torrington Manor must be very old.
Catherine brought out her own flashlight and shone it more methodically around the huge space. On the far wall, rows and rows of slatted shelves held moldy-looking wine bottles that Laura suspected were magnificent vintages. She hoped they weren’t too old to drink. What a waste that would be!
A huge structure that looked like a trouser press except larger loomed against one wall. “Do you suppose it irons sheets?” Laura whispered.
“If people iron sheets,” Catherine replied, displaying a cavalier ignorance of how the sheets on the bed she had slept on last night had acquired their pristine smoothness. “There have to be stairs around here someplace,” she went on, moving her light around.
Laura saw a number of doors, some open, some closed, and wished she could search the rooms behind them. They might hold all manner of clues as well as junk. Later, she would come back and look into all of them.
Angelina corrected Catherine’s idea. “It’s not stairs, it’s a tunnel and then stairs,” she told them impatiently, as if they really ought to know. “You have to go through the tunnel first.”
A tunnel! Laura was thrilled. Maybe the manor really did have a secret passage, as Maude had suggested, built during one of the rebellions so the inhabitants of the house could hide or escape from their enemies. In books at least, there was often a door concealed in the paneling of one of the rooms from which steep stairs or a ladder led to the underground passage. Sometimes the passages led all the way from the house to a concealed exit in the rocks or some other secluded place.
“That’s pretty neat,” Catherine said enthusiastically. “I think a tunnel’s a great idea. Show us the way, Angelina. Let’s go!”
Gratified by their excitement, Angelina proudly led the way across the room, shining the torch in front of her. “You have to pull that away,” she told them, pointing to a large and very old chest of drawers. It looked as if it had stood undisturbed for hundreds of years, but when Catherine shone her light on it, Laura saw clear handprints in the dust on each side of the massive piece. Nigel must have moved it, so perhaps it wasn’t as heavy as it looked.
Beside it, looking distinctly out of place in this ancient setting, was a gleaming white freezer chest. A long extension cord snaked across the floor, suggesting that it was in use. Laura frowned at it, offended by its modernity, then turned her attention to the big bureau. Placing their hands firmly against its sides, she and Catherine managed to pivot it slowly out of the way. Behind it was a hole about four feet high. Laura’s enthusiasm waned. Did she really want to crawl through that? She had never liked being confined in small spaces.
Angelina darted into the hole and sped along, waving the torch wildly ahead of her. Catherine slipped off her backpack and followed at a slower pace, since she had to stoop and shove her pack in front of her. Laura had no choice but to follow. The others had the flashlights, and being left alone in this huge dark cellar was definitely worse than squeezing through a hole.
“Wait for me!” she called. The sound reverberated along the muddy walls but no answer came back. Bending over as far as she could, Laura crept into the dark space in a vain effort to catch up. She bumped her head hard, pulled it lower and bumped her back instead, and she kept tripping over her backpack. Her elbows scraped painfully against the sides of the hole, which was rocky as well as narrow, much too narrow to turn around in. Laura felt the beginnings of panic. There wasn’t much air in here, either. Almost none, in fact. It was already getting hard to breathe.
“Wait,” she called breathlessly. “I can’t see. You’ve got the lights.” This time there was an answer, and some of her panic receded.
“Sorry. I’ll try to shine mine back.” Catherine’s answer seemed to come from a great distance. A feeble glow lit up the ground ahead of Laura’s feet. She lumbered toward it, trying not to think about spiders or rats.
“This is horrible,” she muttered as she bumped her head for at least the tenth time. Dropping to her knees, she tried crawling instead, but that was worse since her knees and hands suffered as badly as the upper part of her body. She raised herself stiffly again and scrambled on, feeling like a stiff and exceptionally clumsy crab.
Catherine heard her labored breathing. “Almost there,” she said comfortingly. “It opens out up here.”
“If I could, I’d go backwards,” Laura rasped. “I don’t think I can stand much more of this.”
Fortunately for all of them, she didn’t have to. As Catherine had said, the passage opened out, revealing a ladder that led straight up into the darkness. It was a very old ladder with rungs that looked as it they could crumble at a touch. Laura eyed it warily.
Angelina scrambled up like a monkey; so did Catherine, which didn’t surprise Laura. Hesitantly, she put her foot on the first rung, tested her weight, tried the next rung and the next, all the while concentrating on not looking down, or up for that matter.
“We’ll keep going. There’s not enough room for all of us on this ledge,” Catherine whispered from above. “I’ll shine the light down for you, though. Isn’t this exciting? Imagine, a real secret passage!”
“Exciting is one way of describing the experience,” Laura agreed caustically, but Catherine had already disappeared into the darkness above.
The ledge to which Catherine referred was indeed small, but what came after it was worse. Steep and very narrow circular stone stairs wound up and up and up some more, so that even when Laura craned her neck backward, she couldn’t see where they ended.
A spell of dizziness assaulted her, and she focused intently on the steps in front of her. They were very old, hollowe
d and pitted in the center, making them so shallow her boots wouldn’t fit. What had once been a handrail had rotted away. Laura wedged the tip of one boot against the first step, raised herself carefully, and tried the next step, pressing against the cold stone wall of the turret for balance.
Faint noises above reminded her that the occupants of the house could be nearby. “Wait until I get there before you do anything,” she called softly. An image of Angelina and Catherine bursting into Lord Torrington’s bedroom flashed into her mind.
There was no answer. The light Catherine had been shining down to show her the way suddenly disappeared, and Laura almost screamed.
“I can’t see,” she muttered irritably instead, struggling to keep her nerve in the darkness. This wasn’t just horrible. This was a nightmare!
Catherine’s whisper finally came. “Sorry. Someone was in the room. We come out in a closet, so it’s okay to come on up now.” She shone the light toward Laura.
Laura scrambled up as fast as she dared. When she reached the last step, she saw a small hole above her. It was barely big enough for her head, never mind her body. She managed to squeeze one shoulder through, then the next, and Catherine hauled her out the rest of the way. The sharp edges of the hole tore her shirt, making an audible ripping sound, and she stumbled ungracefully over a box when she tried to stand. If there was anyone in the room beyond, the person must realize that something unusual was happening in the closet.
Angelina made that particular fear irrelevant. Twisting impatiently from Catherine’s restraining grasp, she opened the closet door and walked out.
“I don’t like the closet,” she explained. “It’s dark in there.”
Laura sighed. So much for secrecy. She should have known it wasn’t possible with Angelina in tow.
She might as well go out herself. The closet was extremely dusty, and she would soon give them away by sneezing, anyway. Dusting themselves off, she and Catherine followed Angelina into the room.
At exactly that moment, a door on the other side of the room opened and the Baroness walked in.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Laura repressed an impulse to laugh hysterically. This was like a replay of her first entrance into the manor.
“Hi Gram,” Angelina said. “We came through Nigel’s secret passage and I escaped from the cottage with Laura and Catherine, but it was pretty boring in the woods, so then we took a train ride and that was fun. They made me get off again, though, and we had to walk some more.”
The Baroness took a deep breath, visibly steadying herself. “Hello, Angelina, my dear.” Her voice shook despite her effort to control it, and for once the emotions in her eyes were clear and unguarded. The grande dame was immeasurably grateful, and almost unbearably relieved.
She must have aged a few years from worry and fear while Angelina was missing, Laura thought. Despite the child’s obstreperous ways, Angelina was obviously precious to the Baroness.
Except she hadn’t aged. Instead, the grande dame looked younger, more like the woman in the painting. Laura frowned, trying to identify the change.
“Excuse me for a moment,” the Baroness said, and disappeared into an adjoining room. The sound of running water suggested that it was a bathroom. No doubt she was composing herself, Laura realized. Seeing the missing Angelina suddenly pop out of her closet must have been quite a shock.
When the Baroness returned, she looked just as she always had, not really old, but not young either. Perhaps, Laura thought, the unexpected look of youthfulness had been a trick of light. Anyway, there were more important issues to think about right now, and time was short.
“Now, child,” the Baroness told Angelina calmly, “come with me and wash your face and hands. Once they are clean, you may play with the face paints while I talk to Mrs. Morland and her companion.” She led an astonishingly unresisting Angelina into the bathroom.
“That’s Catherine. Her baby name was Cat, but she doesn’t like people to use it now,” Angelina explained with dignity as the Baroness handed her the soap. “She’s nice and plays games with me.”
“Good afternoon, Catherine.” The Baroness inclined her head in welcome, as if seeing a strange young woman emerge from her closet was an everyday occurrence.
“How do you do,” Catherine replied with equal composure.
Laura looked around the room curiously while they waited for the Baroness to finish with Angelina. A few sculpted heads were set on a table; under it were large bins that held plasticene or clay. Two half- finished wax figures stood near a window, and masks in all stages of completion hung on hooks or lay flat on other tables. In one corner, wigs and hairpieces spilled from a box, and racks of costumes lined the walls.
This must be Nigel and the grande dame’s workroom, Laura realized. It was very professional, as Thomas had said. She had hoped to find a few theatrical supplies and some clothes here, but she hadn’t expected all this. Now she wouldn’t have to use all that cash to buy what she needed to put her plan into effect.
A much cleaner Angelina erupted from the bathroom and ran eagerly to a dressing table covered with an enormous variety of jars and pots, all presumably containing makeup. Laura was amazed. She hadn’t known so many kinds of makeup existed.
The Baroness’s voice recalled her. “Now,” she said, settling herself on a chair and indicating two others. “Sit down and tell me what has happened.”
Laura took a deep breath. “First,” she began, “I will say that I am glad you are the one who found us. I had hoped that either you or Nigel would be the ones to do so. I would like to tell you what has happened in the last few days, what I am worried about, and what I hope to do about it, which will necessitate your help if you are willing.”
“And I want to know where my father is,” Catherine put in. “We haven’t heard from him and I’m worried.”
“That would be Thomas Smith?”
“Yes. Do you know where he is?” Catherine’s eyes lit up with hope.
The Baroness considered before she answered. “I am not sure where he is at this moment,” she said finally, “but I can tell you that when I saw him this morning he was all right despite a knock on the head.”
“Another one?” Catherine was appalled.
“I believe there have been two, maybe three so far,” the Baroness replied with a straight face. “He seems to have a very tough skull.” Interesting, Laura thought, that she knew so much. Did that mean Thomas had confided in her? Either that or she had eyes everywhere, which for the Baroness wouldn’t be surprising.
Some of the tension left Catherine’s face. “If he was all right this morning, I guess he’s okay,” she conceded. “But he should have called.”
“When last I saw him he did look a little the worse for wear, as if he’d been rolling about in the dirt,” the Baroness added, surveying Catherine and Laura with mischief in her eyes.
Laura flushed, suddenly aware of her disreputable state. Her pants were once again covered in mud, her shirt was torn and filthy, her face and arms streaked with cobwebs and dirt, and she suspected that her hair was fast reaching the dreadlock phase.
“I’m sorry we’re so grubby,” she apologized. “We climbed through a window and walked through a lot of mud, and we have no other clothes.”
“Nor does Angelina, I can see,” the Baroness answered with a more pronounced twinkle. “Still, she is safe and that is all that matters. Thank you for bringing her back.” Once again, emotion suffused her face. She controlled it quickly.
“It was all a bit accidental,” Laura demurred. Feeling like a schoolgirl reciting her lessons, she launched into her explanations, trying to include everything that might have significance. It was quite a long story, and by the time she had finished, the Baroness looked dazed. She was silent for a time, thinking hard. Then her face cleared and to Laura’s astonishment she began to laugh. It was a warm, rich laugh that seemed to Laura to have retained the exuberance of youth.
“Most ingenious,” the
Baroness said, still chuckling. “Most ingenious indeed. And yes, I will be happy to help. I have some experience in these matters and will do my best to make the plan a success.”
Amazing, Laura thought. No questions or comments, just a quick assessment and an offer of help.
“We will get to work as soon as you have cleaned up,” the Baroness continued in a businesslike tone. “To save time, I want to visualize the effects I wish to achieve and do the preliminary work tonight. I will do most of the actual restructuring in the morning.”
She stopped, considering them. “First, however, you need sustenance. Nigel will be back soon and can get food for you. Tonight, you will stay in a room we do not usually use for guests. It will not be quite as comfortable as some of our other rooms, but no one will go there. I would prefer that you do not leave it. I will keep Angelina with me; tomorrow I will send her to a trusted friend for a few days. She will be quite safe there. Do these arrangements sound satisfying?”
Laura nodded, too overwhelmed by the older woman’s efficiency to think of an appropriate answer.
“Good. There is a washbasin and a shower in the bathroom, with all the supplies you will require to clean up. When you have finished, please put this on.” She opened a drawer and handed each of them a garment that looked like an over-sized hospital gown. “In the meantime, I will excuse myself to make arrangements.”
Catherine and Laura took turns in the bathroom, and by the time they had finished, the Baroness had returned, with Nigel behind her, carrying a tray bearing a pot of tea, some orange drink and four portions of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper. Laura wondered where they had come from and hoped the new cook, if she had been installed, hadn’t produced a meal like this. They were horrendously greasy and not very hot, but she consumed her portion with relish anyway.
Between bites, Catherine told Nigel what had happened to them, with Angelina’s noisy help. Nigel was enormously pleased to see the child again, and kept staring at her as if to confirm the fact that she really was there. Laura was touched at his devotion, but Angelina, alternating happily between stuffing fish and chips into her mouth, interrupting Catherine, taking large gulps of orange drink and applying still more make-up to her now very greasy face, was oblivious.
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