“Was it the only Emerald Eye in the world?” Lucy asked.
“An interesting question and a matter of some debate. It is rumoured that the Eye once had a twin, but it was stolen a very long time ago and no one has seen it since.”
While Lucy and Lord Grave were talking to Mole, Bertie had been examining the display case. “There’s no sign that it’s been forced open,” he said.
“Well, I know that. Don’t you think that’s the first thing I checked?”
“Father, don’t snap. The boy’s just trying to help,” Annette said.
Mole looked very slightly chastened. “I just can’t understand how it happened.”
“Were there any witnesses?” Lucy asked.
“No. Although Mrs Crumb who runs the chocolate shop opposite thinks she saw someone in here. Early hours of the morning. A woman. But she can’t be certain. She was taking in a delivery of cocoa beans and was still half asleep.”
“Look, Father,” Bertie said. “This was trapped in the hinge of the cabinet.” He held his discovery up to the light. It was a very long blond hair.
“Well, that doesn’t belong to me,” Mole said, stroking his head, which was as bald and brown as an egg. “And it doesn’t belong to my Annette ether.”
“Anyone else it could belong to that you know of?” Lord Grave asked.
“There haven’t been any blonde-haired women here in recent days have there, my lovely?” Mole asked his daughter, his voice soft and much less cross.
“Not that I remember.”
“When was this cabinet last cleaned?” Bertie asked.
“We clean everything every day, although I haven’t cleaned today. We didn’t want to mess up any evidence,” Annette said.
While the others were talking, Lucy spotted something that looked like a piece of silvery spider’s web clinging to the bottom of the display cabinet. She crouched down and stared hard at it, excitement growing inside her. The shiny skeins and the rainbow-like droplets attached to them were the same as the magical trace she had found on the night of the break-in at Grave Hall.
CHAPTER TEN
A VERY PRECISE DEATH
“Look, Lord Grave, there’s another of those traces.” Lucy pointed at the trace, being careful to not touch it.
Lord Grave followed Lucy’s pointing finger, but it was clear he couldn’t see anything. “What does it look like?”
“The same as the one I saw at the break-in.”
“Yes, I suppose they must all be a little alike—”
“No, you don’t understand,” Lucy interrupted. “It looks exactly like the one at Grave Hall; I’m sure of it.”
“I wish I could see it. Is it round about here, Lucy?” Bertie said, hunkering down next to her. He jabbed his finger in the general direction of the silvery skein.
“Careful,” Lucy said. “You’re really close to it. Don’t—”
But it was too late. The instant Bertie unwittingly touched the trace, it exploded into a flurry of tiny sparks and vanished. Lucy groaned in frustration.
“What happened?” Lord Grave asked.
“It’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry!” said Bertie.
“Can we stop all this shilly-shallying and get on, Grave?” Mole said snappishly. “I’ve a business to run, you know!”
“Just wait a moment, Mole. This is important. If the two traces match, there could be a link between the robbery here and a break-in at Grave Hall. Lucy, Bertie, we need to have a very thorough exploration of this shop. See if we can find any other evidence.”
They spent the next hour searching the shop, but found no more clues. Lord Grave asked Roland Mole to take a look at the mysterious notebook, but the jeweller was impatiently dismissive. He said the jewels that decorated the cover were “common-or-garden diamonds, rubies and sapphires” with no magical qualities whatsoever.
At just after eight o’clock that evening, Lucy and the rest of MAAM gathered in the meeting room, anxiously awaiting the arrival of Angus Reedy, the bookbinder.
Lord Grave took out his pocket watch. “Reedy said he would be here at twenty-one minutes past eight, so we have some time. I suggest I report back on our visit to Roland Mole and the theft of the Emerald Eye. We have three main clues.” Lord Grave went on to explain about the sighting of a woman at the scene of the crime, the blond hair Bertie had found and the trace Lucy had seen.
“Did anyone think to try to preserve the trace somehow?” asked Beguildy.
Lord Grave smoothed the end of his moustache. “I’m afraid the trace was accidentally destroyed.”
Beguildy drummed his fingers on the table and smirked. “Oh, Lucy, were you a bit clumsy?”
Bertie went very red. “No. Actually it was my fault. Lucy didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I had enough time to look at it anyway,” Lucy said, feeling sorry for Bertie, who looked rather woebegone. “I’m certain it was the same as the trace I found the night of the break-in.”
“So the two crimes could be linked?” Prudence said. “But how would that explain the fact that the burglar was a man and the suspect in this case was a woman?”
Lucy had been pondering this very question herself ever since the visit to Roland Mole and had come up with an answer she thought might be plausible.
“Maybe there’s a team? A man and a woman?”
“A team?” Beguildy said sharply. “That’s a ridiculous idea.”
“I think she could be right, B,” Prudence said.
“It’s an excellent theory,” Lord Grave agreed.
The rest of MAAM went along with Lucy’s premise too. This didn’t please Beguildy one bit, judging by his expression, which suggested he had just drunk a pint of sour milk. But before he could say anything further Rivers knocked on the meeting-room door.
“Angus Reedy,” he announced, ushering in a short thin man dressed in garments that were varying shades of faded black. He wore a pair of silver pince-nez on his rather large nose and carried a small leather case.
Lord Grave left his seat, went over to Reedy and shook his hand vigorously. “Thank you for coming straight here. You must be exhausted after your journey. Rivers, pour Angus a glass of wine, please.”
Reedy took the glass of wine Rivers proffered and gulped it down in one before handing the empty glass back to him.
“You can go now, Rivers. I’ll ring if we need anything,” Lord Grave said.
“Yes, sir,” said Rivers and left the room.
“So, Grave. Is that the object? Let me see it,” Reedy said, making a beeline for the table where the notebook lay. He took a pair of white gloves from his case and donned them before picking up the notebook, which he held up to his sizable nose.
Sniff.
Sniff.
Sniiiiiiiiff.
Lucy and Bertie, who were sitting next to each other at the table exchanged glances. Bertie stifled a giggle.
Sniiiiiiiiiiiff.
Lucy let out a little snort of her own; she couldn’t help it. Lord Grave gave her a stern look.
“More light!” Reedy demanded.
Lord Grave tugged the bell pull to summon Rivers back to the meeting room; he instructed him to bring more oil lamps and candles in, until the room was so brightly illuminated Lady Sibyl declared it was giving her a headache, but Reedy ignored her complaints.
“More space!” he snapped.
Lord Grave made everyone leave the table and squeeze on to the sofas grouped around the fireplace. Meanwhile, Reedy took a magnifying glass from his leather case and spent the next few minutes staring at the notebook through it. Then he closed the notebook, put his equipment back in its case and sat back in his chair.
“More wine!”
Lord Grave rang the bell for Rivers again, who brought in a fresh bottle of wine and poured Reedy a glass.
“I’ll wait just outside the door, shall I sir? No doubt you’ll be needing me again in a few minutes?” Rivers said to Lord Grave.
“Good idea.�
�� Lord Grave replied, sounding slightly strained.
When Reedy had finished quaffing his wine, he looked around, seemingly surprised. “Why are you all sitting there? Gather round, gather round!”
Lucy trooped back to the table with the others. They looked as disgruntled as she felt at being bossed around by this irritating man.
“So,” said Lord Grave cautiously when everyone had settled back down at the table. “Any thoughts, Angus?”
Reedy nodded. “Foreign. Far East. Perhaps two hundred and fifty years old. Purpose: unsure. Need more time. Access to your library.”
“Of course. Whatever you need.” Only the twitch of Lord Grave’s moustache gave any hint of impatience.
“Peace. Quiet. No people. No distractions.”
“I know your requirements and it’s all taken care of. I’ve had rooms prepared in the east wing,” Lord Grave said. His moustache twitched again as he opened the meeting-room door. “Rivers, would you show Mr Reedy to his rooms?”
“Of course. Come with me, sir,” Rivers said.
Reedy began following him out of the meeting room, but paused on the threshold. He turned and stared at Lucy. “That girl. Intensely magical. Astounding.”
“I say,” Beguildy said when Reedy had gone. “The seal of approval from a complete and utter madman. Congratulations, Lucy!”
Lord Grave shook his head. “Don’t be fooled. If anyone can find out the true nature of that book, Angus is the man for the job, mad or otherwise. Why don’t you all stay here tonight? If I know Angus, he’ll have answers for us very early tomorrow morning.”
Lucy woke before dawn the next day. Excited at the prospect of finding more out about the notebook, she threw on her clothes and dashed down to the kitchen before Becky had woken up. Mrs Crawley was already there, preparing a sausage, a rasher of bacon and a single egg for the guests’ breakfast.
“Lucy, Mr Reedy asked that we serve him breakfast in his room at five thirty-five precisely. Would you mind taking it up to him? One cup of coffee, three-quarters full, and one and a half slices of dry toast with a thimbleful of butter. He’s a very precise man. There’s a clock on the wall outside his room, so you can be sure that you knock at the right time.”
Lucy eagerly agreed as this might give her the chance to get ahead on news about the notebook. Anticipation coursed through her as she carried the tray along the east-wing corridor. When she reached Reedy’s room, she watched the clock impatiently, counting down the final seconds in her head. As soon as the time was right, she knocked on the door and waited.
No answer.
She knocked again harder. Waited.
Still no answer.
Lucy checked the clock. It was now five thirty-six. Perhaps Reedy wasn’t such a precise man after all. Or perhaps he was so deeply engrossed in his work that he hadn’t heard her knocking? Lucy put the tray down on the floor before opening the door a little and peering through. The curtains were shut and the lamps had burned low. Reedy, who had his back to Lucy, was sitting at a desk facing the window. Although when Lucy looked closer, he was more slumped than sitting. He must have fallen asleep on the job! Lucy picked up the tray and went inside.
“Good morning, Mr Reedy! Here’s your coffee and toast! All very precise, just as you like it!” Lucy placed the tray on the desk. “Shall I open the curtains?”
But Reedy didn’t reply.
A bad feeling began to grow in the pit of Lucy’s stomach. She drew back one of the curtains. The window had been smashed and glass was scattered over the desk. The curtains billowed into the room, catching the three-quarters-full coffee cup and knocking it to the floor. Lucy noticed a suspiciously dark and sticky patch on the carpet.
“Mr Reedy?” Lucy tapped him on the shoulder. Then she touched his hand. Ice-cold. His arm suddenly slid off the chair making Lucy gasp. When she caught a glimpse of silver, she finally understood why Reedy wasn’t moving. Someone had plunged a dagger very precisely into his heart.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A MOUTHFUL OF DUST
“Well, we can safely say that poor Angus is definitely dead. And of course, the notebook is gone,” Lord Grave said, bending over the bookbinder’s slumped form.
Lucy was sitting dazedly on the edge of Reedy’s bed. She couldn’t stop shivering. Bertie was perched on one side of her, awkwardly patting her shoulder. Prudence sat on Lucy’s other side and was absent-mindedly holding her hand while staring wide-eyed and horrified at the dead man. Lady Sibyl had gone to her own room to lie down, overcome with shock.
“Are you going to call the police?” Lucy asked.
“No. This is a magical matter and we want to keep it that way if we can.” Lord Grave’s face was pale and Lucy saw that his hands were trembling as much as her own. “Percy, Beguildy, can you take the poor chap out of here and put him in one of the other bedrooms?”
“I’ve never seen a dead person before,” Bertie said as Reedy’s body was carted off by the two men.
“Me neither, and I hope I never do again,” Lucy replied and shuddered.
“I have,” Prudence said. “My own dear parents. They died when I was only five years old.”
“Prudence, my dear,” Lord Grave said gently, “why don’t you follow Sibyl’s example and have a little lie-down?”
Prudence lifted her chin. “No. I’m not a little girl to be sent off to her room at the first sign of unpleasantness. If Lucy can bear to be here, so can I!”
When Beguildy and Percy had returned, they huddled together with Lord Grave to discuss the best magical method of uncovering clues. Lucy sat half listening, while what she had seen went around and around in her head. She suddenly realised Lord Grave was talking to her.
“Lucy, I’m sorry to ask, but I need you to have a good look about the room. See if you can find a trace like the two you saw before. Can you do that?”
“I think so.”
“We’ll do it together, Lucy,” Prudence said. “You search and I’ll be right here with you.”
Lucy wasn’t usually a holding hands sort of person, but she found it very comforting to feel Prudence’s warm fingers entwined with her own as she carefully examined the room for the mysterious strands she had found the night of the break-in and at Roland Mole’s. But this time there was nothing. When she’d finished searching, she rejoined Bertie and watched as Lord Grave and the others bustled about. Sparks flew as they tried various magical clue-revealing spells, but nothing seemed to be working and they kept disagreeing about what to try next.
After a while, Bertie sighed and shook his head. “Look at them. Do you think they know what they’re doing? What do you say to doing some proper detecting?”
Lucy was feeling a little better now so she agreed, although she felt that detecting the non-magical way would probably be a waste of time.
“So what do we do?” she asked Bertie.
“Let’s divide the room. I’ll take the half with the wardrobe in it and you take the half with the bed in it and we’ll meet at the desk; it’s roughly in the middle. We can search that together.”
Lucy began rummaging around her allotted half of the room, examining everything carefully. She checked the velvet curtains that hung on the four-poster, but couldn’t quite bring herself to search the bed itself. Instead she had a good look at the bedside table and the washstand and inspected the water jug.
After a while, Beguildy spotted what she was doing and took the opportunity to mock her. “What do you think you’re going to find, Lucy? The murderer’s calling card?”
Lucy took absolutely no notice and carried on searching.
“Oh, she’s crawling under the bed now! How ludicrous, all she’s going to gain is a mouthful of dust!”
It was dusty under the bed. Cleaning the guest bedrooms was Becky’s job and she had clearly been slacking off. Lucy was about to crawl back out when she noticed a sheet of paper. It was probably just a bit of rubbish that Becky hadn’t bothered to throw away, but Lucy grabbed it anyway. Jus
t as she did so, she heard Bertie exclaim excitedly.
“Look at this!”
Lucy scrambled out from under the bed to see Bertie standing by the window holding one of the curtains. Everyone hastily gathered around him along with Lucy.
“I just need to get it free,” Bertie murmured, fiddling with something caught in the curtain’s tassels. He finally worked it loose and held it up. It was a gold earring in the shape of a starfish, with what looked like a diamond in the middle. Bertie handed it to Lord Grave.
“Could it have belonged to your wife, George?” asked Lady Sibyl.
Lord Grave shook his head. “No. She didn’t like earrings as a rule. Said they hurt her ears.”
“One of the servants?”
“Only Becky, my housemaid, comes in this room. This can’t be hers; where would she get a gold and diamond earring from?”
“It could belong to the murderer,” Bertie said. “It could have caught in the curtains while she was climbing out of the window.”
“So it was a woman again?” Prudence said.
“It certainly looks that way,” Lord Grave said. “Which rather backs up Lucy’s theory that there could be a male and a female magician working as a team.”
“It’s all a bit tenuous. That earring could have been there for years,” Beguildy said.
Lord Grave sighed. “I think that’s all we can do for now. I must go and let the relevant magical authorities know what’s happened here. In the meantime, if anyone comes up with any more theories about anything that’s been happening, do pipe up, as quite frankly I haven’t the foggiest. Lucy, if you’re up to it, meet me in the drawing room once you’ve had breakfast.”
The rest of the day passed in a rush for Lucy. She spent a lot of time closeted with Lord Grave in the drawing room, going over and over what she had seen when she’d found Reedy dead, in case there was some clue that they had missed. He finally let her escape an hour before the servants’ usual suppertime, so she took herself off to the kitchen and sat at the table limp with exhaustion. Violet was off home having just finished peeling some sprouts. Lucy dearly hoped Mrs Crawley wasn’t planning on making her infamous sprout surprise for supper (the surprise being the snails attached to the sprouts). Rivers was there too, reading the evening edition of the Penny Dreadful. It had somehow got hold of the news of Reedy’s murder and was babbling on about zombie giraffes.
Goodly and Grave in a Deadly Case of Murder Page 5
