‘The cement’s solid,’ Tayte said, shaking his head. ‘Maybe there’s another recess behind this fireback.’
They grabbed a corner each and slowly tilted the top edge away. It was so heavy that it didn’t have to be secured to the wall at all, which gave Tayte hope. It was quickly apparent, however, that there was nothing behind it but a solid stone wall. Tayte wasn’t really surprised. If there had been a recess behind it, he imagined it would have been too easy for someone other than Angus Fraser to find it. They moved on to the visible recesses, looking and feeling to see if there might be a loose section of stone that could be drawn out, but everything was fixed in place. The same was true of the stone seats at either end of the inglenook, and the walls they were set against.
Tayte followed Sinclair back out on to the hearth. He was glad to be able to straighten his back again. ‘I guess that just leaves the chimney,’ he said, switching on the torch Sinclair had loaned him. He bent down again and peered up inside. ‘It looks big enough for me to stand up in,’ he added. ‘Can you see if you can find something for me to stand on?’
‘There doesn’t seem to be anything suitable in here,’ Sinclair said, looking around. ‘I’ll try one of the other rooms.’
As Sinclair left him, Tayte took off his jacket and laid it over the frame of the four-poster bed. As soon as Sinclair was out of the room he rushed back to the fireplace. In the brief time he’d just spent looking up inside the chimney, he’d seen that it soon widened out, creating shelves to either side where he thought someone could have placed something they wanted to hide. He felt sure that the clues he’d seen, the painting and the inscription in the book, meant that he was looking in the right place, and there were few if any other parts of the inglenook left to explore. If the Blood of Rajputana was here then he wanted Sinclair out of the room, if only to give him time to find it and come up with some kind of plan to keep himself alive.
He ducked under the blackened beam again and shone his torch up into the darkness. The smell of old soot was strong, and the draw of air being pulled up into the chimney began to ruffle his shirt as he rolled up his sleeves and reached for one of the shelves. Standing on his toes he could reach it easily enough. He couldn’t see on to the shelf so he began to pat his hand around, feeling for whatever might be up there. He felt several lumps of what he imagined were pieces of debris from the chimney. Nothing was large enough to be the ruby he’d heard was the size of a man’s fist.
He put his torch down to free up both of his hands, shining the beam up into the void. He tried the other side, and as soon as he did, his hand met with something flat and hard. He pulled himself up and stretched further, reaching higher until he was able to feel the outline of what seemed to be some kind of box. It was cold to the touch and he imagined it was made of metal, something that could easily withstand the heat from the fire below.
Tayte’s heart was in his mouth as he steadily drew the box closer to the edge of the shelf. Very soon a corner began to slide into view. He could see it clearly now in the glow of the torchlight. He flicked at it again and again until it began to topple over. Then he grabbed it with both hands and heard the contents rattle inside it. He held the box still, listening in case Sinclair had returned. When he was sure he hadn’t, he brushed the soot away and examined the box further.
There was a clasp, but no lock. What need would there be for one given where the box had been hidden? He held his breath as he opened it, and there inside was a dull, yet undeniably red stone. It had been placed there by Sir Robert Christie for his son to find, and yet Angus clearly had not found it. In wishing to ensure no one else found it, Robert had been too cryptic with his clues for Angus to work them out—clues that were so much easier to understand when you knew what you were looking for. Gazing at the dull red stone, Tayte thought it was not quite the size of a man’s fist, not his fist at least, but it was nonetheless impressive enough for him to know he was looking at the ruby known as the Blood of Rajputana.
‘Here we are,’ Sinclair called from inside the room.
His voice startled Tayte, snapping him from his thoughts. Without thinking, he grabbed the ruby and dropped it down the neck of his shirt where it caught amidst the material tucked in at his waist. He closed the box again and bent down to see Sinclair approaching.
‘I’ve found something,’ Tayte told him, keeping the box out of view for now. He wanted to gauge Sinclair’s reaction before he showed him exactly what he’d found.
‘Is it the ruby?’ Sinclair said. There was excitement in his voice, but that much was to be expected. ‘Here, I found this footstool. It should be strong enough to take your weight.’
‘It’s okay,’ Tayte said. ‘I think I can reach it.’ He put his head back up the chimney. ‘There’s a box,’ he called, hurriedly trying to think.
If Sinclair was to show his true colours then he had to believe Tayte had found the Blood of Rajputana, in which case he couldn’t very well show him an empty box. If he did, Sinclair might also wonder why anyone would go to the bother of putting an empty box back once they had taken the ruby from inside it. Tayte felt around the shelf again until he found a piece of rubble large enough to fool Sinclair into thinking the ruby was there. He put it inside the box and began to rattle it.
‘I’ve got it!’ he called. ‘There’s something inside. It has to be the ruby. We’ve found the Blood of Rajputana!’
With that, still shaking the box, Tayte bent down again to come out from the fireplace, but as he did he knew at once that Sinclair was not behind this. He saw another figure in the room, standing right behind Sinclair, dressed in what he imagined was the same hooded cloak DI Ross had described from the CCTV images. He had a shotgun in one hand, and a heavy-looking marble sculpture in the other, which he began to raise.
‘Look out!’ Tayte called to Sinclair, who was full of smiles at the discovery Tayte had made, oblivious to the figure standing behind him.
Tayte’s call was too late. As he fully came out from the inglenook, covered in soot, he could only watch as Sinclair began to turn around, just as the marble sculpture was driven hard into the side of his head. Before Sinclair’s body hit the ground, the shotgun in the hooded figure’s other hand began to turn on Tayte.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
So many questions began to spin through Tayte’s mind that he started to feel dizzy. Who was beneath that hood? As far as he knew, besides himself and Sinclair, the only other person in the house was Murray. Was this why Sinclair’s trusted family retainer had distanced himself from them and had failed to answer his calls—so he could follow them around the house until they found the ruby? Or was someone else there at Drumarthen with them? Given the hooded cloak the figure standing before him was wearing, Tayte couldn’t help but think of the Rajputs Sinclair had told him about, whom he’d also read about in Jane Hardwick’s letters. Had they really come to restore the Blood of Rajputana to its rightful place after all these years?
As the shotgun turned on him, Tayte tried to glimpse the figure’s face, but it was in shadow beneath his hood. He had no idea who it was. All he did know was that Sinclair was down, dead for all he knew, and unless he did something fast, he was going to be next. There was blood around Sinclair’s head where it had been struck, staining the floorboards black in the fading light. As much as Tayte wanted to go to him, to try to help him if he could, he knew he would not be allowed to. He had to get out of there.
As the shotgun began to draw level with Tayte’s chest, all he could think to do was to throw the heavy metal box at it. He hurled it hard, right at the muzzle. At the same time he started to run for the door, hoping he would make it. He saw the box hit its target. There was an explosion as the shotgun went off, loosing one of its cartridges at the floor ahead of him.
Tayte knew it wouldn’t take the hooded figure long to fire off the other cartridge, but he was almost at the door. Beneath him as he ran, he could feel the old floorboards, now splintered and further weakened from
the first shotgun blast, crack and give way, but they held. Then he was at the doorway, passing through it just as the second shot blew a hole clean through the door.
The corridor beyond the room was almost in darkness now, but having been there twice with Sinclair, Tayte knew his way back to the stairs they had used. He wanted to get off this floor. If he could make it to the ground level, maybe he could reach the front door. He ran hard, hoping his luck with the floorboards would hold out. A voice in his head told him he needed to call Ross, but he was starkly aware that he no longer had his phone with him. It was in his suit jacket, which he’d hung over the bed frame in the room he was running from. He had to get to the front door. If not there, then he had to find somewhere to hide.
Tayte figured the box would buy him a little time. The man in the hooded cloak would have to pick it up and take a look inside. He would expect the ruby to be there, but he’d quickly discover that he’d been duped. Then he’d know Tayte had it. Why else would there be a piece of rubble in the ruby’s place? For that reason alone, Tayte understood all too well that the man would not give up the chase. As he reached the end of the corridor he also knew his head start had run out. Behind him in the near-darkness, he could already hear the floorboards thumping and creaking as his pursuer came after him. Tayte ducked into the corridor on his left and the light fell further. He wished he had a torch, but that was also back in the room where he’d had no choice but to leave it.
Further along, the pale grey glow from a window revealed the top of the stairway he was heading for. He was running almost blind towards it now. He knew he had to slow down or risk a fall. He could still hear his pursuer coming after him, and he figured it wouldn’t be long before he caught up with him. If he could only reach the stairs. There were several ways he could go from the landing below, most of which were unfamiliar to him, but in the low light he imagined he could find somewhere to hide.
He reached the top of the stairway, where several steps were missing. It meant he had to descend via the railing support and it was painfully slow going. He slid one foot carefully between the rails and then another until he could use the steps again, then he jumped the last few, cracking on to the boards beneath him as he landed, taking one of the corridors at random. Part way along it, he opened a door to his right and went inside. His heart was pounding hard, and now that he’d stopped running, he could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, making his hands shake as he quietly closed the door and pressed an ear to it, listening, not daring to move or make a sound.
All Tayte could hear was his own heavy breathing. He tried to calm himself, taking slow, controlled breaths until he felt his pulse begin to slow down again. He could feel the ruby beneath his shirt, pressing into his waistline, and he was glad to know it was still there. He took it out and put it into his trouser pocket where he thought it would be safer. Out in the corridor all appeared to be quiet. That was good. He thought maybe the man had taken one of the other corridors. A second later, he heard a creak and knew he hadn’t. It was followed by the sound of a door opening further back towards the stairway he’d just left. His pursuer clearly knew which way he’d gone, and now he was trying all the doors to find out which room he was in.
Tayte turned away from the door and looked around, squinting in the dusky light from the bare windows. As with most of the rooms in the east wing, there was little to see. There was no furniture and no furnishings, just more cracked plaster and bare floorboards, many of which were missing. He was glad to see that there were double doors at both ends of the room, giving him an alternative way out should he need it.
Another sound drew his attention then, as the next door along the corridor was opened and closed. He had to move. He didn’t want to, but he figured his best chance was to double back, taking the doors to his right, but just as he took a step towards them he saw one of them begin to open. His heart was suddenly in his mouth. He turned back, grabbed the door knob and flung the door open, just as his pursuer entered the room. Another blast from his shotgun echoed out, but Tayte was already running again, deeper into the house towards what he hoped was the main staircase and the front door.
There was light up ahead, which he imagined was the atrium he’d come across the night this hooded man had slipped one of Jane’s letters under his bedroom door. Tayte was desperate to reach it, where he knew other passages would be open to him, but he didn’t think he’d make it. The man chasing him was already out in the corridor, and Tayte was all too aware that he was probably lining up another shot at him right now. He tried to hold out and keep running, but his nerves soon got the better of him. He burst through the next door on his left, quickly closed it behind him and continued running through what was now total darkness. Moments later he heard a splintering crack beneath him and he was suddenly weightless, falling through the floorboards momentarily before catching himself by his elbows.
Tayte did well to stifle the cry that rose within him as the shock of what had just happened registered. The ground floor below him had a very high ceiling. Had he fallen all the way through he figured he’d have been lucky to survive, not that he was out of danger yet. His elbows were supporting him, but he didn’t know how long he could hold out for. He tried to lift himself up, but the added pressure on the floorboards around him caused them to crack further under his weight. He heard another sound then and he stopped struggling. The man chasing him was at the door. He was opening it.
Tayte sank lower, putting more strain on his already aching arms. He had his back to the door now, but he sensed the man was standing somewhere behind him. He hoped the darkness would save him. Perhaps he wouldn’t be able to see him. Then a torch clicked on and its beam began to scan the room like a searchlight, shattering Tayte’s hopes. Instinctively, he dipped his head as low to the floor as he could. Behind him, floorboards began to creak as the man came further into the room, his torch beam highlighting heavy red curtains that were drawn, shutting out what little light the day still had to offer.
The torchlight flicked across the room and fell on another door to Tayte’s right, which was open, and the sight of it seemed to excite the man because he was suddenly running again. Out of the corner of Tayte’s eye, he watched him go to the door and pass through it, clearly believing Tayte had gone that way. When the man was out of sight, Tayte gave a long if quiet sigh, thankful that the torch beam had passed above him.
He waited several long seconds before he moved again. When he was sure his pursuer was far enough away, he raised himself up on to his elbows again and began to push himself higher, but by now his arms felt so weak that he knew he wasn’t going to be able to climb out unassisted. He began to kick his legs, trying to get some momentum going as he pushed, but that only made the rest of the floorboards around him creak and crack all the more. He wanted to shout for help, but that would only get him killed.
Better to chance the fall, he thought as he tried to peer down through the gaps around him to see what was below.
He couldn’t see much. It would be a gamble, and while it wasn’t a decision he wanted to make, he knew if he didn’t do something soon his arms were going to give out anyway. Several more seconds passed. His arms began to shake. Very soon he was going to fall whether he liked it or not. He began to brace himself, using the last of the strength in his arms to draw them closer to his body. Then he heard a floorboard creak out in the corridor he’d entered the room by. His pursuer had returned.
Tayte cursed himself for making so much noise trying to get out of that hole. He was all the more determined now to drop through the floor, whatever the outcome, but when the door opened he craned his neck around and saw Murray standing in the frame, his face lit by an electric camping lantern. He wasn’t wearing a hooded cloak. He had on the same old blue corduroy trousers and jumper he always seemed to wear.
‘Mr Tayte?’ he called. ‘Are you in here?’
‘Murray! I’m over here!’
The light drew closer until it was right
in Tayte’s face. ‘Mr Tayte! Are you okay?’
‘I will be if you can help me out of this hole. I don’t think I can hold on much longer.’
‘I’ll be back in a minute.’
‘Wait! Where are you going?’
Tayte got no answer. Instead he heard the sound of creaking wood coming from somewhere behind him. A moment later Murray returned with a floorboard which he’d clearly just pulled up. He put his lamp down and tested the boards in front of Tayte. Then he laid the loose floorboard down in front of him to help support his weight.
Murray grabbed Tayte’s upper arms. ‘You push, I’ll pull,’ he said. ‘Ready?’
Tayte gave a nod, and with all the strength he could muster, he pressed his elbows down hard, raising his body as Murray helped to lift him up high enough for him to fall forward over the plank he’d just laid in front of him. Tayte was then able to use his arms more freely to wriggle and kick his way out of the hole while Murray continued to assist him. When he was clear, he stood against the wall with his hands on his knees, panting.
‘Thanks, Murray,’ he said. ‘Now we have to get help. And we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.’
‘Where’s Mr Sinclair?’
Tayte shook his head. ‘I don’t think he made it. We were upstairs looking for the ruby. The person in the hooded cloak from the CCTV images showed up and hit him hard in the head. There was a lot of blood.’
‘I need to go and see if he’s okay.’
‘Right now we need to get help, or we’ll both be next. Whoever hit him is running around Drumarthen with a shotgun, bent on killing me for that ruby.’
‘You found it?’
Tayte was about to answer when it dawned on him that, despite Murray’s help, he could still be the one who was behind all this—the same man who had been chasing after him with that shotgun. He was of similar height and build to the hooded figure, and it would have been a simple matter to take his cloak off and leave it outside the room along with that shotgun. The lamp Murray had with him was different, but that didn’t mean much. His pursuer had been gone a while. He could easily have fetched another, and then been drawn back to the room by the noise Tayte had been making as he’d tried to get out of that hole. Was Murray trying to gain his trust in order to put him off his guard?
Letters from the Dead (Jefferson Tayte Genealogical Mystery Book 7) Page 31
