Pugh put his finger on it without a second’s hesitation. It was a large iron affair hanging with two more of similar age and size and, even without close examination, I could tell that all three had been there undisturbed for quite some time. There was a layer of dust on them and the barrels were dull and dark, not a single bright scratch to show recent employment.
‘Can you tell me where in Mr Bewer’s book room the other key to that door is kept?’ I said.
Pugh emanated grievance and outrage better than any butler I had ever come across, and it is one of a butler’s special talents to do so.
‘There’s another board like this one here, isn’t there?’ he said, huffily. ‘At the back of the last bay with the Romans and Greeks.’
‘And the keys are in the same arrangement?’ I said, counting two down and three along to fix it in my brain where I should be looking.
‘Exactly,’ said Pugh. ‘This is an orderly house we run here. But Mr Bewer’s book room will be locked up for the night, madam, if Mr Bewer has gone up. It’ll be locked tight.’ He could not have sounded more pleased to be thwarting me.
I simply gave him what I hoped was a withering look and helped myself to the small key, plainly marked ‘book room’, from three pegs down on the board.
Pugh insisted on accompanying me. His dour presence at my side, his plodding gait, and his utter lack of a single word of conversation meant that I was soon sunk in a gloom to match his own. Even if I solved this little puzzle of Mrs Rynsburger’s ghost, I thought to myself, it would not help me with the overarching mystery. It would only turn the players against me for spoiling their fun and that would make my task harder still.
So I was looking at the floor as we arrived on the library corridor and would have missed the sight if Pugh, beside me, had not drawn in a sharp gasp. When he did so, I glanced up just in time to catch a glimpse of someone disappearing around the far end and making towards the gallery. Mrs Rynsburger was exactly right: the figure was shining as it lurched away.
‘Hey,’ I said. ‘You there. Stop!’ I gave chase, calling over my shoulder to Pugh to check the keys, for it seemed to me that this ‘shining ghost’ might well have just left the book room after returning one.
When I reached the gallery door there was no sight of him anywhere in the huge empty room and I stood still for a moment watching the shadows from the dying fire leap and dance across the portraits, seeming to make expressions cross those flat painted faces for the first time in centuries. I padded to the centre of the room, still listening, and was rewarded with three little sounds in quick succession: a door let bang, a whispered shush and a smothered giggle. I took off again, slipping through an archway into a corridor I had not entered before and following the source of the sound, which I thought had come from above me. I rounded a turn in the stairway and ducked, sure that something was about to hit me. When nothing did, I straightened and then immediately ducked again as once more a black shape seemed to come straight at me. It happened a third time and now, emboldened, I stood tall and tried to decide what the strange flit of shadow was. Then I had it. Someone was racing up the stairs and every time he passed a candle sconce his shadow was thrown back down to taunt me. I gathered up the skirts of my dressing gown and set off after him.
The stair narrowed and the steps grew more and more bowed and slippery the further up we flew, until at last the stones were so close around us that I could hear his ragged breath and I am sure he could mine. I was just beginning to wonder where he was going and to ask myself if it really could be one of the actors, who had been here only a day and could not have memorised the layout of this turret, so far from his own lodgings, when there was a knocking sound above and then a gasp and, before I could brace myself, a bundle of shining tatters and flags came plunging towards me. I caught it in my arms, teetered, put one foot down one stair, teetered again, then somehow we managed to find our four feet and stand steady.
‘It’s you, Mrs Gilver,’ the bundle said, panting a little as she spoke.
‘And it’s you too, Tansy,’ I said, recognising the apparition as one of the witches. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Running away from whoever was chasing me,’ she said. ‘If I’d known it was you I wouldn’t have given myself such a stitch.’ As if to lend credence to her claim she pressed a hand to her side and bent over awkwardly, there on the shallow, bowed stairs.
‘I called out,’ I said to her. ‘I don’t have the most mellifluous voice ever but I surely don’t sound like some kind of ruffian, do I?’
‘I didn’t hear you calling,’ she said. She stared at me out of her large eyes, her face like that of a choirboy: perfectly solemn and fooling no one. Choirboys are notorious for hi-jinks in their stalls while they sing like angels.
‘But what are you doing?’ I said again.
‘Going to bed after my fitting,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘From the kitchen to the players’ lodging via the book room?’
‘Book room?’ she said. Her eyes were so wide that even in the very dim light of this turret top I could see the whites all around.
‘Well, gallery corridor anyway,’ I said, flustered. For of course it was true that she had been a long way from the book room when I saw her. ‘Look, let’s get down from this eyrie before one of us falls to our death, shall we?’
She made her light-footed way, leaving me to pick my rather more ponderous way down after her.
‘Did you want to see me for some reason, Mrs Gilver?’ she said when we were one landing down, onto better steps and could make faster progress.
‘I wanted to catch whoever was dashing about dressed as an apparition,’ I said, wondering if her act of innocence could possibly be sincere.
‘To ask me something?’
I hesitated. I did not want to appear foolish, accusing her of mischief when I had no proof. Gratifyingly, my hesitation bore fruit. As I followed her down a further turn in the stairs a voice hallooed from a fair distance off.
‘There you are! I thought you’d fallen down an oubliette or something. Look, let’s call it a night, shall we? They’re all abed and it’s no fun haunting if there’s no one to scare.’
Tansy made some kind of furious gesture that was hard to interpret from behind but which I guessed was an attempt to shut the man up. I came around the corner of the staircase and into the light while he was still talking.
‘Mr …’ I said.
‘McEwan,’ he said. ‘Miles McEwan. Donalbain, Menteith, Murderer, and Apparition. At your service.’ He executed a bow with a heel click, the sharp movement making his shimmering costume dazzle in the candlelight.
‘Now look, you two,’ I said. ‘I am going to have to insist on complete candour. Tansy, you’re not in trouble but you must come clean.’ It was like talking to a small child and, like a small child, Tansy scowled and drew her brows down. I waited in silence and eventually she puffed out a sigh.
‘Oh very well then,’ she said. ‘Yes, when Delia finished us off we decided to have a bit of fun on the way to the wardrobe room. Why be in a castle in the dead of night dressed as a ghost and not do a bit of flitting about and moaning?’
‘And the key?’ I said.
Mr McEwan and Miss Bell exchanged a look and somehow came to the agreement that Mr McEwan was to be the spokesman.
‘What key?’ he said.
‘The key kept in the book room that opens the unused door halfway up the stair to the Bower Lodging,’ I said.
‘What?’ McEwan said, giving me a look of deep puzzlement. I was not to be caught with the same trick twice in such quick succession, however, and I took them each firmly under the elbow and marched them to where Pugh stood waiting in the open book-room door. He had a large key in his hand, held aloft like a torch. As I drew near I could see from the fresh, silvery marks on its barrel that it had been used very recently, that it had been scraped and scratched while turning a stiff lock. Just the sort of lock – unoiled and dusty – one would expec
t in a seldom-opened door.
‘Aha!’ I said. ‘Did you find it back on the key board, Pugh?’
‘I did, madam,’ Pugh said. ‘And I took it to the door in question and checked that it was working. It turned as nice as nice and back again, not so much as a squeak.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘You did, did you? I don’t suppose you gave it a close look, beforehand by any chance?’
‘Close look?’ said Pugh. ‘What for? Best way to try out a key is to stick it in the lock, madam. No point just gawping at it, is there?’
No more point berating him for his dull wits, I thought to myself, especially since I had not mentioned the need to study the key while we were plodding through the house towards it.
‘Very good, Pugh,’ I said. He recognised the dismissal and took himself off. Tansy and Miles were close to giggles. I was not entirely sure what was entertaining them so – their ghostly garb, the solemn Pugh with his hangdog look, or the thought that they had got away with something. But I am sure that my matronly ‘very good, Pugh’ was part of the fun and it made my heart sink a little to be old enough to give youngsters giggling fits the way drawing masters used to dissolve my brother, my sister and me.
‘Do I have your word,’ I said to them, ‘that you did not open a door into Mrs Rynsburger’s bedroom and go in to frighten her?’
‘I didn’t,’ Miles said. ‘Go into a lady’s bedroom who hadn’t asked me?’
‘Stop being silly,’ I said and was gratified that his face straightened and his next words were sincere.
‘I mean it, Mrs Gilver,’ he said. ‘I need this job. I wouldn’t risk getting the sack bothering the guests of honour like that.’
I turned to Tansy. ‘What about you?’
‘I might have if I’d thought of it,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t know where the keys were kept till you and Mr Pugh told us both just then.’ She gave me an impish look, but as I drew breath to reprimand her we all heard something, faint but unmistakable, that put thoughts of mischief out of our minds.
‘Help,’ came the voice. ‘Minnie! Bluey! Help.’
It was impossible to tell from where in the castle the feeble cry came – whether up chimney or down slop chute, in or out of open windows or across rooftops – but there was only one person within these walls, besides Alec and me, who called Minnie and Bluey ‘Minnie’ and ‘Bluey’.
‘Ottoline!’ I cried and took off at a run.
Alec and Penny got there just before Tansy, Miles and me. I arrived in time to see Alec shove Penny behind him quite roughly and burst into Otto’s bedroom.
‘I’m here, Mrs Bewer,’ he said. ‘Help is at hand. What’s the matter?’
‘Isn’t he decisive?’ Penny said. I could not tell if her tone was wry or enraptured. I gave a quick knock on the half-open door and strode in. The room was in darkness except for the embers of a very smoky fire.
‘Just me,’ I said. ‘What is it, Otto? Have you seen something?’
‘Someone was in here!’ Ottoline said. She was standing by her bedside, evidently having leapt out in fright, and she looked terribly wobbly and frail. As I gave her my arm to help her back in, I cast my eye around wondering if there were unused doors in this room too. I saw none but even still I turned to Penny and said in a low voice, ‘Find Roger, please. I want to know where he is and if he’s still got his apparition costume on.’
‘Roger?’ said Penny. ‘Why?’
‘Ottoline,’ I said. ‘Did you see something you thought was a ghost? It was probably just one of the company playing a trick on you.’
‘Was it a ghost, Granny?’ shouted Penny.
‘A ghost?’ said Ottoline. ‘Fiddlesticks to ghosts. I’m talking about a burglar. Penny, go and tell Pugh to shut the gatehouse door. Someone was in my room and has stolen away my reticule. My little evening bag. It’s gone.’
‘I’ll go with you,’ said Mr McEwan. ‘You shouldn’t be racing about this place on your own, Penny, if there’s someone on the prowl.’
‘And I’ll come too, I think,’ said Tansy, who I am sure wanted only to escape me and any further scolding.
‘Oh stuff!’ said Penny. ‘I think Mrs Gilver’s probably right and it was Roger having fun in his wraith’s wrappings. Granny, the actors have been larking about a bit.’
‘It was a burglar!’ said Ottoline again. ‘Tell Pugh to shut the gatehouse door and tell your parents to telephone the police.’
‘Raise the drawbridge!’ McEwan cried.
Otto started speaking then coughed and coughed and finally said, in a ragged voice: ‘The bridge doesn’t draw. Hasn’t for years. Penny, why are you still standing there like a lump? Go!’
Penny gave me a panicked look and I tried, although my lack of theatrical training was a handicap, to gesture to her that her grandmother was upset and must be soothed, but that the police could wait awhile until we were sure what had happened. I am not certain how much of my mugging and grimacing Penny could decipher but she left, taking Tansy and Miles with her.
‘What exactly did you see, Ottoline?’ I asked once the three of us were alone.
‘A strange man in my bedroom,’ Otto snapped. ‘Aren’t you listening?’
‘Did he climb in the window?’ Alec said, going over to the casement which stood wide open with the curtains pushed back.
‘What? No. How? What?’ said Ottoline, irritable now that the danger was gone. I guessed that she was embarrassed to have cried out in such a dramatic way, for she was brought up on the same repressive principles as me, even more so because a generation earlier.
‘Why isn’t it fastened?’ Alec said. I joined him and looked out. A sheer wall stretched down to the moat below, without a single ledge or anywhere that could serve as a foothold.
‘Ha,’ Ottoline said. ‘It’s standing wide open because that stupid girl made a mess of my fire and I had to stop myself choking on the smoke.’ She gave another little cough in emphasis to her words. ‘And a very good thing, as it turned out, because if I had been more comfortable I would have been fast asleep and I’d never have known he was here.’
‘And you say he took your evening bag?’ I said. ‘That’s all?’
‘Isn’t that enough?’ Ottoline demanded.
‘Where was it?’ I asked her. Alec was busy lighting lamps and when he turned up the gas I saw that Ottoline was quite right to deplore the fire Gilly had laid, for wisps of smoke were drifting lazily across the room on the shifting air and even I coughed a little, from sheer suggestibility.
‘It was on my dressing table there,’ Ottoline said, pointing. ‘I had set it there to take down before I decided to dine in my room.’
I checked down each side of the table and then in the small space between its glass top and the bottom of the mirror, but there was nothing.
‘Are you sure Gilly didn’t take it away to sponge or mend?’ I said.
‘It was on my dressing table when I closed my eyes to sleep,’ Ottoline said stoutly. ‘I could see its sequins and spangles winking in the firelight but only very faintly because of all the smoke because of that stupid girl.’
‘Perhaps he thought it was jewellery,’ Alec said. ‘If he saw something glittering on a dressing table, that wouldn’t be an unlikely conclusion to jump to.’
I considered it for a minute and it appeared sensible enough. In fact, after Minnie and Bluey’s invitation to a houseful of strangers to search for trinkets and keep what they found, it seemed quite likely.
‘Much better than actually having your jewels stolen,’ I said. I cleared my throat but it only made me cough even harder. ‘Ugh, I think the breeze is whipping the smoke up instead of clearing it.’ I turned to the hearth and tutted. Gilly had laid the fire far too far forward into the hearth. It is an irritating habit the maids at Gilverton have caught too. They do not want to lean in far enough to make sure the chimney draws properly, for that way they might soil the sleeves of their frocks with soot. And heaven forbid they should roll them and don canvas
cuffs the way the maids did in my youth. ‘I have exactly the same problem with the girls at home, Otto,’ I said.
She did not answer.
I glanced at her and then rushed back to her bedside, for she was trembling.
‘Ottoline?’ I said. ‘What is it?’
‘I’ve only just remembered,’ she said. She put a hand over her eyes and pressed it down hard. When she took it away again there were tears on her lashes. ‘My bag. I did as you asked.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Alec.
‘Richard’s letters!’ she said and passed her hand over her eyes again. ‘I looked them out and put them in my evening bag to give to you at dinner but then I was so upset by that silliness about the treasure hunt I stayed up here and forgot all about them. They’ve gone. Oh! The last thing he ever gave me! His last words to me all those years ago and I’ve lost them.’
Alec gave me a sickly grin and then melted away, as unwilling as any man would be to mop the tears of a ninety-year-old wife mourning the scoundrel husband who had deserted her decades ago. I am not a romantic sort, but I am a woman, and I understood that her brave words from earlier had been taken over by sentiment now that – as she said – the last wisp of him was gone. And so I took her hand and made soothing murmurs.
When I left her a few minutes later I had the sudden urge to write to Hugh, if I should ever find my way back to my own room at the end of this interminable night. In the meantime, I trailed downstairs, wondering where the Bewers would be gathered to take stock of events so far. I eventually tracked them to the little sitting room where they had greeted us on our first afternoon. It was, granted, a long way from Otto’s bedroom and explained why they had not heard her crying out. It did not explain why they had not rushed to her side once they heard about the upset either from Penny or from Alec, who were both now with them. I gave Bluey a sharp look as I made my report.
‘Your mother is settled and calm,’ I said. ‘And Mrs Rynsburger has the surprisingly belligerent Mrs Westhousen tucked up in bed with her, wielding a poker. The three players who’ve been scampering about dressed as ghosts are dispatched – I hope – and I assume Pugh has locked us up. Are the police coming?’
Dandy Gilver and a Spot of Toil and Trouble Page 15
