Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4)

by Victoria Benchley

  Donald said, "Why don't we move on to the kitchen fir some scran and continue our conversation there?"

  "Quite right. My housekeeper left me some very excellent stew," Reginald agreed and headed out of the construction area.

  Duncan was relieved to get some fresher air. He followed his host back through the rabbit warren until they reached the kitchen.

  "Please have a seat while I heat up lunch," Reginald directed, then added as an afterthought, "don't let Julien's quiet, reserved nature bother you. He's shy, just as I was as a boy."

  "I feel a bit overwhelmed by all this information," Duncan confided to Donald in a low tone.

  He didn't want Reginald to overhear and deliver any more facts or theories to his already crowded brain. He glanced towards his host, who hovered over an iron pot on a large stove, having donned an apron. Duncan looked around the kitchen. It had seen better days and could use an update.

  "Dinnae fash yersel, Duncan. The important thing is that ye are here and will help Reginald find his treasure."

  "Let's hope that's what happens," he said, grinning.

  He'd found himself in a remarkable situation and began to wonder if the government should not be informed regarding Reggie's mosaic.

  "Say, Reggie, is your house listed?" Duncan called to his host.

  "I've been lucky there, Duncan. Anything built prior to 1700 in close to its original condition is listed. Because of all the build-ons and alterations, I just escaped a grade II. So, I can make changes to the interior without attracting attention."

  Reginald carried a tray to the table with three bowls of stew and three bottles of ale. The trio tucked into their lunch, as Reginald explained, between spoonfuls of broth, how he discovered the labyrinth.

  "I moved in full-time after my wife passed away. I wanted to devote more of my life to observing the rare birds that visit the island. I also hoped to pursue the mystery of the lost treasure. Everyone assumed that if a labyrinth existed, it would be somewhere in the chapel ruins. My grandfather dug there without ceasing, to no avail. As I began to trudge through our archives, I decided I might renovate to include a lecture hall. The best lighting in the entire house is provided by that large west facing circular window, but the room was a complete disaster. It was damp and the floor uneven. However, the area was large enough to accommodate a crowd. I thought if we pried up the old stone, leveled things off, and added a vapor barrier, we could improve the place enough to hold talks for the birders in the fall. They flock here in September and October, pardon the pun," Reginald added, pausing to finish his meal.

  Donald had already devoured his stew and was now enjoying the rest of his ale.

  "In case ye didn't know, Laddie, birders are the folks who visit the island to see the fowl that migrate here," he volunteered.

  Duncan waited a moment, then asked, "When did you begin the refurbishment?"

  "Only about a month ago. As soon as Julien discovered multiple layers of flooring, I hoped we'd found the original chapel and were on our way to finding the monks' hoard."

  "Are you concerned about others joining in the treasure hunt? How well do you know Julien?" the investigator asked.

  "Only the people in this room and Julien know about the find. Even Anna hasn't been in there. Julien's family has worked for the Norcrofts for generations. Back when my ancestors came on holiday, his great-great grandfather ran the household during the summer months and closed everything down for winter. I've known Julien almost his entire life. He's trustworthy."

  "What about your housekeeper? How do you know she isn't aware of what's been going on?"

  Duncan was concerned about crowds gathering.

  "Anna? She sticks to the kitchen and living areas. She's here every other day, except Sundays. She knows we're refurbishing and that's all. Her mother before her worked for my family as well. Completely trustworthy," Reginald proclaimed before explaining he had to fetch something to show Duncan.

  "Excuse me, but do you have any other staff?" he inquired, as Reggie rose to leave.

  "Yes, the Peckhams, Dottie and Davey. Davey, er rather, David Peckham, is my accountant. He comes by weekly to keep the estate's books, write checks, and so on. Dorothy Peckham, or Dottie, we have nicknames for everyone here on the island, helps out with the major cleaning each week and pops in now and then on Anna's days off. She's younger than Anna, and the upper floors are her primary domain. But, their families have also been in service on and off over the years to the Norcrofts. We've nothing to fear there."

  Duncan worried Reggie might be naïve. Villagers tended to know each other's business even when not confined to an island. He hoped for the best as his client returned with a small wooden box which he placed on the table.

  "Please take a look at the newspaper clippings inside, Duncan," Reggie instructed.

  He opened the casket to find copies of yellowed articles regarding the disappearance of David Norcroft, Reginald's grandfather. He took a few moments to read the contemporary accounts of the man's apparent demise and returned them to their box. The investigator was at a loss for words.

  "Reginald, what do you say to giving the lad a tour of the place. Then, we'll turn him loose to come up with his game plan," Donald said, smiling.

  Duncan shot a thankful look towards his friend.

  "Splendid idea. Will you tag along?"

  "Nae, I think I'm going to enjoy a nap. If I don't see ye before ye head back to yer lodgings, call me before dinner, dae ye ken, Lad?"

  "Sounds like a game plan," Duncan said, lifting an eyebrow at the innkeeper.

  Apparently, Donald thought he was a miracle worker. He had no idea how to proceed with interpreting the labyrinth and finding a, most likely, non-existent treasure. Still, the case fascinated him, and Reginald seemed an encyclopedia of knowledge. He could learn a lot from his host.

  -6-

  The Manor House

  Reginald had correctly labeled Norcroft Manor a rabbit warren. The ornithologist began Duncan's tour on the top floor of the Tudor wing. Ancient hand-hewn timbers supported the ceiling like trees in the rain forest support a canopy of leaves. A prior owner must have torn some of the walls out, because the room would have been an open area if not for the uprights and countless cast-offs. Old furniture, desks, boxes of paperwork, garden implements, and who knows what created a maze at least waist high throughout the space.

  He followed Reggie on a narrow path through the junk, or valuables, depending on how one looked upon it. Sometimes they passed between large cupboards and it seemed as though they were in a canyon. Other times, the stacks were shorter and Duncan could see where their next turn would lead. Whatever windows existed were covered by thin shades, and only muted light entered the area. The investigator's nostrils filled with wood dust as if he were in a lumber yard. At last, they arrived at a rickety staircase which Reginald climbed.

  "Come on, Duncan," he said, removing a great key ring from his pocket.

  Numerous bulky old keys dangled and scraped together as Reginald located the correct one. Duncan didn't want the weight of two men and all those iron keys on the steps at once, so he waited until his host disappeared through the door at the top before ascending the stairs himself. A shaft of light from the opening revealed an atmosphere filled with dust and other particles.

  The investigator poked his head out on what was the roof of the Tudor building. A stiff breeze hit him, and he noticed dark clouds rolling towards the mainland. It felt good to be out of the dim, musty storage area. He drew in a breath of clean sea air and followed Reginald around the battlement to the south, where below they had a good view of the old chapel ruins. The Elizabethan builders left little room between the place of worship and the house. Duncan could see the grooves and dimples where Reginald's grandfather had excavated. Next, they moved west. In the distance stood Lindisfarne Castle, and he guessed they now stood above the home's labyrinth.

  As they traveled the perimeter, Duncan asked Reginald about the gap in the ce
nter of the roof.

  "Reggie, is that for a courtyard?" he said, pointing to the open area.

  "Quite right, Duncan. The original Tudor home was built on an E plan," he said, walking to their right and pointing north. "Another wing once existed here. Essentially, we are standing at the top of the E's upright portion. See there, that area burned in the fire of 1732. That wing once formed the top of the E."

  The investigator glanced over the edge. Below, dark rubble formed a rectangle around what he guessed was part of the old foundation.

  Reginald continued, "The upright, middle, and bottom of the classic E remain intact. Look down, to the right. See the arch that leads into what you thought was a courtyard? There would have been openings through all three wings in the Tudor period. The Victorian addition created the court. It would have been open before the 1800s."

  "I see."

  "Let's go back down and I'll show you the rest of the place."

  The men strolled to the door and Duncan descended first, allowing his host to lock up before climbing down himself. They trudged back through the piles of previous generations' belongings until reaching another staircase to the first floor. Reggie led his guest through the three wings on this level. The halls were narrow and dark, heading off in all directions, but the rooms had almost all been refurbished and were tastefully appointed. His host explained that the Victorians had removed some interior walls to provide larger rooms for the owners to occupy.

  "This is very impressive," Duncan commented.

  "Yes, quite. It's all Emma's doing. My Emmaline was a real artist. She added beauty to all she touched," he remarked, pushing a peaked door aside.

  Ducking inside, the Scotsman marveled at the enormous, light-filled room. The wood beams and supports were all bleached an off-white, the floors and walls painted cream, and the furnishings upholstered in a powder blue.

  "This was her favorite," Reggie added, pride in his voice.

  Duncan could tell the man loved his wife dearly. That was the kind of marriage he hoped to have, one day. They headed back to the ground floor, bypassing Donald's room from which they could hear loud snoring.

  "I imagine you know who's in there," Reginald had whispered with a grin, gesturing towards the door with his thumb.

  Duncan nodded and smiled at his host.

  The investigator guessed the grand hall consumed about a sixth of the ground floor. Reginald bypassed the room with the labyrinth, but Duncan could hear Julien still at work there. His client also avoided the kitchen, which he'd already seen. The rest of the floor was indeed a rabbit's warren, and Reggie led him through tiny passages to a library and various other nondescript rooms. The library was in decent shape, but everything else was in sore need of repair.

  One point of interest was a petite room in what Reginald described as the center of his home. There was no decoration or furniture save for a portion of a large pillar in the center. The column came to the Scotsman's hips, was a smidgen larger at its base than its top, and had a diameter, he estimated, of about a meter. It was painted white, as was the paneling in the octagonal space. A minuscule window near the ceiling provided a lone shaft of light. He imagined the light was indirect, coming from another room, since they were now at the core of Norcroft Manor.

  "Have any idea what this is, Duncan?"

  He studied the room and pillar. Then he approached the column and ran his hand over its sides and onto the flat surface on top. It was made of hewn, stacked rock with perhaps a capstone.

  "No," he replied.

  "It's the original well! Went dry at some point, and someone added the table stone to keep people from falling in. Now, I'll show you what my Victorian ancestors were up to. Come along," Reggie said as he exited the room.

  If possible, the baronial revival addition was in far worse shape than the neglected bits of the Tudor house. The roof must have leaked for at least fifty years because small plants sprouted here and there within most of the rooms, and the moisture produced a miasma Duncan feared might cause lung disease; the heavy foul odor choked the oxygen from the area. The Scotsman thrust his hands in his pockets and tried not to wince. The rank aroma had no effect on Reginald, who sputtered details of the Victorian wing's history like an old engine firing on all pistons.

  As they progressed through the ground floor, Duncan noticed the walls shed layers of paint in long strips like the bark of Australian trees he'd seen in picture books. The remnants of furnishings and wall coverings that remained appeared stained, tattered, broken, or mildewed. The Scotsman wondered how many small animals made their home there and Reggie's next comment answered that question.

  "I'm afraid it's only good as a hunting ground for Viking now," he stated, exhausting the list of famous characters who had visited these rooms in the 1800s.

  "Pardon? A hunting ground for Vikings?" Duncan asked, confused.

  He thought the wretched stench of the place had affected his hearing.

  "No, for Viking, my cat. You may have seen him around, Duncan. Black, big green eyes. No? Well, he'll make himself known when he's ready."

  The Scotsman drew upon his tact to avoid a tour of the upstairs, encouraging Reginald to expound on the ground floor in more detail while a cold draft made the investigator shiver. He prayed the ceiling would not collapse while they were inside. Relieved when at last Reggie suggested they take tea, he followed his host back into the older part of the home, catching a glimpse of Julien pedaling down the drive from one of the windows. The workman must live in the village and bicycle to work each day.

  Reginald sat a tea tray down on the kitchen table, explaining, "I just rang Donny."

  He pointed to an old set of levers on the far wall as a loud brrrring went off.

  "That's him signaling he got the message. Emma had the bells rigged to work in both directions, clever girl," Reggie added, pouring a dark brew into Duncan's cup.

  "What's the plan, Lad?" Donald bellowed, entering the room a few minutes later.

  Duncan noticed the innkeeper hardly limped at all. In fact, he seemed years younger here on Holy Island. Spending time away from the inn with his chum benefited Donald.

  He had no plan.

  "I guess I'll start tomorrow by trying to get a look at that copy of the Lindisfarne Gospel pages. Then, I'll come back out to the house and go through your grandfather's notebook and old household accounts, if you've no objections, Reginald."

  "None, that would be wonderful. I can't let the book go out of the house, you understand."

  "Of course not. I assumed as much. After I take a look at the notebook, I'll help Julien with his work, if there's time," Duncan added.

  "Would you be willing to do that?" Reginald asked.

  "Yes. The sooner we get the labyrinth uncovered, the sooner we can sort out if it is a treasure map and if so, where it leads."

  Donald shot his old friend a look that said, See, didn't I tell ye he was a good lad?

  The investigator continued, "After tea, I'd like to take a gander about the grounds. Then, I'll head to my lodgings for the night."

  "Aye, sounds like a good plan, Duncan. Reggie, did ye firget something with this tea? A bit of scran, maybe?" the innkeeper asked.

  "Oh, quite right," Reginald said, looking about the tray and counter.

  He appeared perplexed, pushed his chair back and even bent to take a brief see under the table. Donald chuckled as Reggie rose and walked through a doorway at the other end of the kitchen.

  "The laird's a wee bit firgetful, always has been," Donald whispered, leaning towards Duncan.

  "He's sharp in other ways, though."

  "Aye, that's the truth. He's not missing a thing up here," Donald said in a low tone, tapping his temple.

  The investigator was glad to hear it. Reggie returned from his larder a minute later with a plate of nibbles. The victuals hit the spot, and Duncan assumed they were Anna's work. The three took a leisurely tea and discussed everything from his lodgings to local gossip. It seemed Julien
had recently been dumped by an island girl he'd planned on marrying.

  "You see, many of our young people leave Lindisfarne. There's not too many opportunities here. Now, some that left twenty or thirty odd years ago are returning. Everyone hopes that trend continues. The local dialect has all but disappeared as well. Only a few of the older generation still use it and then only when speaking to each other. It was far more prevalent in my father's time," Reginald explained. "If I can get my lectures off the ground, the venture could end up supplying a few jobs for the younger set."

  He glanced at Duncan and then turned to Donald.

  "And I'm not forgetful, I was looking for the cat under the table, not your biscuits!" he added.

  "Ach! Ye see he's got good ears as well as a good mind," the innkeeper exclaimed before bursting into laughter. Between guffaws he said, "The lad here thought ye were looking under the table fir yer scran."

  Duncan wanted to protest, but there was no need.

  "I know what it looked like and who thought what," Reginald said with good humor.

  All three enjoyed a laugh.

  Outside, the investigator retrieved his wellies from the Vauxhall. The rain had left everything in a bit of a mush and the skies looked like another downpour could be released at any minute. Pulling the rubber boots on, he walked the perimeter of the grounds, following the hedgerows that marked the property line. The wind swept over the island in large, continual gusts and Duncan could not keep his hair out of his face. It seemed his thick, dark locks were always in need of a trim.

  He explored the chapel ruins. At one time, the small church must have connected to the original building where the Elizabethans later built the Tudor wing. He leapt over the trenches dug by Reginald's grandfather, now holding pools of water from that morning's storm. Duncan examined the lone tree, growing from where the elder Norcroft probably dug a hole. He strolled to the west side of the house and glanced at the large round window on the wall of the labyrinth room. He imagined it was preserved from medieval times. I'd like to cut into that wall and see if the old stone construction is present. He could be looking at a wall built before the 1200s.