"Yes. In fact Reggie, I was wondering if I could pop by tomorrow, in the morning, and finish up this last bit of excavation. I know it's Sunday, but it's a one man job and I'd like to be finished before everyone heads off," the investigator said.
"Don't you want to come to church? The vicar gives an excellent sermon."
"Penny and I will be there," Harold interjected.
"Thank you, but I'd rather work on the labyrinth this time," Duncan stated.
"Well, if that's what you prefer, come by and let yourself in the kitchen door. I leave it unlocked during the day."
Duncan didn't let Reggie know there was no way to document the day's progress, as they usually did. The older men had worked pell-mell, without recording any results.
-15-
Walking the Labyrinth
Norcroft Manner was empty and silent Sunday morning. Duncan paused in the kitchen then stopped to glance at the great hall before continuing to the chapel. He'd never been alone in the house before, and it was a bit eerie. Even Viking deserted the premises, a positive development in the Scotsman's mind. Without the buzz created by Anna hustling about, the laird's friendly companionship, and Donald's repartee, a strange tranquility settled on the place. He couldn't call it a peaceful atmosphere, but it was quiet and calm.
He pushed hard on the small thick door that led to the chapel. The hinges groaned as they gave way, and Duncan shoved the ancient wood with both hands. He stood back as the entry eased open. The room appeared filled with mist as indirect morning light filtered through the large opaque round window and the narrow south facing panes. The investigator guessed the previous day's activities had stirred up dust, which saturated the air in the closed off room. He'd leave the door open while he worked.
Duncan's goal was to uncover the last section of the mosaic by the time Reggie returned from town, and he wasted no time getting started. As he pried, dug, shifted, and brushed, he went over last night's and this morning's telephone calls with Angela. He'd had the room to himself since Harold took off with Penny on both occasions, and enjoyed long conversations with his former assistant. His story of the disaster caused by Peckham and Dodd made her laugh and his descriptions of the two helpers out in the downpour, drookit, brought on near hysterics. He left out the more sinister aspects of Davey Peckham's behavior and focused on Henry Dodd bobbing up and down with his ax, like a hen pecking at worms in a barnyard. He added a bit of embellishment when he recounted how they got caught in a downpour with their trolley, but it entertained Angela.
Early this morning, he'd wished her a happy Sunday and warned her not to sit in the front pew at church. The vicar might get the wrong idea. She had laughed at that, too. He ventured to call at the ungodly hour of six, not sure if she attended an early service. He didn't want to call while she was out, so he woke her instead. Her sweet voice tinged with sleep sent a thrill through Duncan as he imagined her glossy hair sprawled across the pillow and heavily-lidded violet eyes staring at him. His heart had pounded like a bass drum in his chest while his muscles tightened and jaw clenched. He steadied his breathing and told Angela he missed her. She'd confessed, in an almost inaudible tone, to missing him as well. He longed to see her, to hold her in an embrace that was not limited by time. The morning's physical labor kept his yearning in check, like a cold shower.
Rain lashing against the windows interrupted his thoughts. He glanced up to see water pouring down the glass in such volume that everything outside looked like a gray impressionist painting. The investigator stood and ran his fingers through his hair. His temples throbbed with a familiar headache. Must be the dust.
Gazing at the floor, he saw he'd reached his goal. The labyrinth stretched before him, beckoning him to enter its passages. It still needed some spit and polish. Duncan felt compelled to return the mosaic to its original condition as if that would unlock some mystic secret, hidden for centuries by the monks, and allow him to experience the Other, discussed by pilgrims, authors, and Reggie.
He withdrew to the kitchen in search of linens and a bucket to fill with warm water. When he returned with his supplies to the chapel, Viking had arrived. Somehow it didn't surprise him. The cat seemed present for anything of import regarding the labyrinth. The Scotsman first swept the mosaic, attempting to remove all loose dirt from its surface. Then, on hands and knees, he began cleaning. Duncan dabbed a kitchen towel with water from Anna's bucket and employed a circular motion over each tile. Reggie's feline approved, rubbing up against the investigator's legs and purring. He tried to ignore Viking and the worries that flitted through his mind about the cat turning on him with a nasty bite. His companion had proved fickle.
He paused now and then to take in the maze. The upper section, hidden in part until this morning, contained a spiral path which doubled back on itself like the Greek keys in the base of the cross. Tan, brown, and gold tiles formed the passage and a griffin-like beast, in profile, hovered at the top. Duncan now took note of the four smaller squares at each corner of the upright, or east west, portion of the labyrinth. If he ignored its arms and thought of the rest of the pattern as a carpet, these diminutive quadrilaterals could represent tassels. They each contained their own mini-labyrinth which the walker could traverse in a few steps and then continue on with the pattern in the main body.
As Duncan massaged centuries of grime from the mosaics, he recalled last night's conversation with Angus. He'd called his brother after speaking with Angela. When he'd relayed his concerns regarding Penny to Angus, his brother scoffed.
"Ach! What are ye going on aboot? Is the lass pretty?"
"Yes, but that's not… "
"Is she addled?" Angus interrupted, his burr flaring, a sure sign he was annoyed.
"Not that I know of, but… "
"Then I say it's aboot time! Mind yer own business!" Angus exclaimed and hung up.
Wha stole his scone? Duncan thought, shaking his head.
By the time Duncan heard Reginald approaching through the hallway, the labyrinth glistened. It seemed the monks utilized some mother-of-pearl here and there in addition to the glint of gold in the tiles. He wondered if the shimmering gold mosaics were the real thing, or just an odd-colored vein from an excavated stone. His joints ached and he could barely straighten himself from his hands and knees to greet the laird upright.
"Ahoy!" Reginald called into the chapel, casting his eyes at Duncan's work.
He watched as his client's blue eyes brightened and then grew to large azure orbs. Wrinkles formed below his temples as his smile widened. Reggie looked dapper, as always, and said nothing as he dropped into the pit with the vigor of a man half his age. He scanned the exquisite mosaic with an intensive gaze, swaying left and right as each new aspect of the design enchanted him.
"I'm tingling all over," Reggie said without looking at Duncan. "I wish Emma could have seen this," he added, marveling at the details of the labyrinth.
Duncan stood aside as Reggie examined each area. He fought the urge to walk the labyrinth, then remembered the postcard he'd tucked in his pocket that morning. The investigator withdrew the card and examined Saint John's carpet from the Lindisfarne Gospel. The mosaic had some colors in common with the famous page, but the design was different. The two did share additional shapes at the corners, but the leaf for the Gospel of John had a stair step design filled with a checkerboard on each corner, not the squares of Reggie's labyrinth.
"Aye. 'Tis a thing of beauty, Laird!" Donald exclaimed.
He'd poked his head through the doorway without the others taking notice.
"It's more than I imagined. I'm wondering what I should do with it. I feel I should call the British Museum or some such place and inform them of our find."
"Not yet!" Duncan snapped, garnering the older men's attention. "I mean, I need some time with the labyrinth to look for clues before it's covered in swarming archaeologists and historians. Isn't that why I'm here?"
The innkeeper shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and nodd
ed at Reginald.
"Lad's got a point," he said.
All was silent as Reggie pondered what action he should take. Duncan felt sweat beads forming on his forehead, although the room was cool. He wondered where Viking had disappeared to.
"Quite right!" Reggie said at last. He continued, "I'm going to think over what our next step should be while I'm away lecturing. In the meanwhile, Duncan, take all the time you need here."
Reginald paused and furrowed his brows together while the left corner of his mouth twisted down towards his chin. Duncan grew uncomfortable as his client looked him up and down.
"You're a sight! Look at him, Donny. He's worked up a sweat. I bet you've not taken a moment for luncheon or rest. He's going to fall ill at this rate."
"Ach! The Laird's right. Ye're a mess, Lad. Go have a pint or two and relax. Come see us off in the morn."
Duncan tried to protest, to no avail. They insisted he take the rest of the day off. The last thing the investigator wanted to do was leave the labyrinth. As the older men shuffled him out of the chapel, he took one last look over his shoulder at the enchanting, gleaming tiles that captivated his imagination, hurt his knees and wrists, stiffened his elbows, and blistered his hands. He limped to the Vauxhall, annoyed but looking forward to tomorrow.
-16-
Full Disclosure
"I'm in love with her," Harold stated after climbing in the Vauxhall, a divine happiness illuminating his features.
The investigator was not sure a halo of light did not encompass his brother's cranium. Joy oozed from every hardworking muscle in the boy's face, lifting his mouth into a smile that reached from ear to ear, requiring a parting of the lips in order for the grin to stretch to its maximum length, and revealing the gap between his two front teeth. Harold had insisted Duncan stop by Penny's house on the way to the Manor, even though Lewis Lane was in the wrong direction. Once there, his brother's actions interrupted Duncan's musings on the labyrinth. Harold had ventured a good-bye kiss and was rewarded for his courage in front of the Bowes' cottage.
Fortune befriends the bold, Boldness be my friend, Freedom lies in being bold, and other quotations regarding the benefits of bravado ran through Duncan's head.
Instead, he said, "Fools rush in where wise men fear to tread, Harold," and almost immediately regretted it.
His brother turned his head towards the passenger window, but not before Duncan saw his expression collapse and the glow drain from his face. They rode in silence up Fenkle Street and past the Puffin at the edge of town.
"What have you got against Penny?"
Duncan turned left on Sandham Lane, searching for the right words of appeasement. He'd made it on to Crooked Loaning before venturing a response.
"I've nothing against your lass, Harold. It's just that you are young and I'd hate to see you run headlong into something before you're ready. I made my own mistakes at about your age, you know, and I'll regret those the rest of my life."
"Penny is not a mistake. She's not some tartlet like Cassandra Baines."
The investigator sighed as he pulled the Vauxhall into the manor's drive.
"I think you mean starlet, Harold, and I didn't know you were old enough to take note of any of that."
"Ach! My brother dates a supermodel and I'm not to notice? I may be the quiet sort, but I've never been a monk, nor am I the simpleton everyone supposes!"
"She wasn't really a supermodel, Harold, but that's beside the point. I'm sorry I made that glib remark about fools rushing. Just take your time and make sure the two of you are compatible. I mean, a handsome lad like you shows up on this island with a limited supply of eligible males. Of course the local girls will be after you."
Harold smiled. Duncan knew he hit the jackpot with his last remark. It would do him good to think of himself as a valuable commodity. As his brother pulled his suitcase from the boot and headed for the front door of Norcroft Manor, he hummed a cheerful tune.
Reginald met Harold at the door with a welcoming smile. He rushed Duncan's brother back out to the Jaguar and opened its boot, giving the investigator a wave that urged him to go on into the house. The Scotsman waved and nodded at his client before heading through the front door. Upon entering, he at once felt a pull towards the chapel. He couldn't wait to lay eyes on the labyrinth again. Marching across the hall, a voice startled him.
"Ah, Duncan. Come join me by the fire a moment."
At first aggravated by the detour, the investigator drew in a breath and tried to hide his irritation. He hadn't spent much time with Donald the past few days. He could spare a few minutes with his old friend now. He took an armchair across from the innkeeper and settled in.
"Hallo, Donald. Are you ready for the trip back to Taye?"
"Aye. Reggie is unloading me at Berwick-On-Tweed, where I'll catch a train."
"Is everything all right at the Blue Bell? How is Skye doing on her own?" he asked, feigning interest.
It was all he could do to stay seated and not run to the chapel.
"That's what I've been meaning to discuss with ye, Lad. I figure now's as good a time as any, and ye can contemplate what ye'd like to do while I'm away."
Duncan visualized the mother-of-pearl mosaics glistening in the chapel, advancing him further into the labyrinth like a trail of bread crumbs. He was vaguely aware that the innkeeper directed a remark at him and awaited some kind of response.
"I'm sorry, Donald. What did you say?"
"I was saying I've something to discuss with ye. Do I have yer full attention, Lad?"
"Yes, yes, please go on," he replied, attempting to focus his thoughts on his friend.
Donald drew in a deep breath and took his time exhaling.
"What I wanted ye to ponder is this: ye know the inn has become too much fir me and it's too much fir me girl, on her own," the innkeeper said with deep feeling, lifting his hand to his heart.
Duncan nodded, but had no idea what Donald was getting around to saying. His friend appeared in the best shape since they'd met, although still rotund.
"You seem like you're doing just fine, Donald. Is there some issue with your health?" the investigator interjected.
"Aye. Me age, and me legs, and me lungs, and me knees. I'm too old to continue at this pace. I've discussed it all with Skye and she's in agreement."
The innkeeper leaned over the edge of his chair and reached down, with much effort, retrieving a large envelope from the floor next to his wingback. This was the first the investigator had noticed the mustard yellow paper square, distracted as he was with thoughts of the labyrinth.
In agreement with what?
Donald held the oversized envelope with both hands, as if it were an award or something of great value. The innkeeper sat up, ramrod straight and expanded his chest, like a bird trying to impress its mate or scare a rival away.
"We'd like ye to take over me share of the inn and partner with Skye in its running. Here's our accountant's reports from the last three years."
Duncan's jaw dropped and he tried to say something, but Donald interrupted.
"Haud yer wheesht. Take a look and ye'll see we're profitable. It would be a downright lucrative deal fir ye. Ye know how fond I am of ye. Skye is too, fir that matter. Ye'd make a great team and I'd be around to help as needed."
Donald held the envelope out to the investigator, who found himself receiving the missive without wanting to. This was a fine fix. Running an inn didn't appeal to Duncan in the least.
At a loss for words, he finally said, "I have no experience in the hotel business, Donald. I'm not fit for this kind of thing."
"Ach! I see by yer face ye weren't expecting me offer in spite of all me recent hints. Dinnae fash yersel. Just ponder it the next few days. No need to look so dowie. We'll be mates no matter what ye decide. But think on this, Duncan. The Blue Bell could be an excellent asset to fall back on. If ye can't give up yer investigating, ye could operate from Taye while ye manage the inn. I wouldn't make this offer to just
anyone, Lad. Ye've been approved by Bluie and that's important. Now, I must get on. Reggie and Harold are waiting fir me."
It was a set up. Duncan realized the reason for Reggie meeting his brother out front. It gave Donald time to pitch his offer. He sunk back in his chair as the innkeeper hobbled to the door, a cold blast entering as the older man made his way out.
He called over his shoulder, "Storm's coming in tomorrow. They say it's going to be Baltic, so take care, Lad," then left the house.
Is this the reason I was given this case? Was it just an opportunity for Donald to get me alone on an isolated island and plight his troth, so to speak? How is Skye involved in all this? He remembered her asking him to drop by and visit Mr. Lincoln and her attempts to have him bond with the mutt. What a mess. The machinations of two old men and a bonny lass had brought him to this.
Duncan, immersed in negative thoughts, jumped from his chair and ran to the front door, throwing it open. He hadn't said good-bye to his brother or the other men. The Jaguar was nowhere in sight. He surmised they must have had a tide to beat in order to get off the island, or Donald knew his offer hadn't gone well and urged them away with haste.
The Scotsman stared across the moor-like topography of the island. With the exception of hedgerows, stacked stone fencing, and a stray tree, the land was flat as an oat cake to the east, until it dropped into the North Sea. A kilometer or two to the south, the rock formations and crags Harold had explored with Penny jutted above the fields. Beyond those stones, revealed by wind and weather over the centuries, Duncan knew a bay fit for swimming and anchoring boats lay.
A stiff gale picked up and blew a few leaves and a stray feather towards the house. He retreated inside, pulling that great slab of old carved oak shut. Connecting to its jamb, the door made a noise like a vault sealing. He felt a change in the air of the house, like placing one's hand over a vacuum hose. It was then he remembered the labyrinth.
He held his breath as he entered the chapel, the hinges on its door groaning more than usual. He half expected to see Viking waiting for him, but the cat was MIA, operating on his own time scheme. Unlike the day before, the air in the room was crystal clear and light streamed through the windows, dancing off the gold, pearl, and cream mosaics. Even the pinks twinkled. It was almost as if the labyrinth had come to life, blinking and winking at the Scotsman.
Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4) Page 13
