06 - Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil

by Nancy Atherton - (ebook by Undead)

  We’d just finished piling Adam’s overnight gear, Reginald, and the blue journal on the oak settle in the entrance hall when Mrs. Hatch emerged from the kitchen to inform us that Nicole was in the library.

  “By herself?” I said, surprised.

  “She insisted,” Mrs. Hatch replied. “She’s in a rare mood, that one. She said you were to go through when you get back. Would you please remind Mrs. Hollander that dinner will be on the table in forty minutes?”

  I told her I would and hastened to the library, with Adam close on my heels.

  Nicole was awake, fully dressed, and sitting on the sofa when we entered the room. She looked pale, but determined. When she saw us, she lifted her chin.

  “I’ve been the most complete ninny,” she announced. “I know very well that I didn’t see a ghost last night.”

  Adam crossed to stand before the hearth, while I sat with Nicole on the sofa.

  “What changed your mind?” I asked.

  “As Dr. MacEwan quite rightly pointed out, ghosts don’t exist.” Nicole bit off each word cleanly before spitting it out. “Therefore, the thing I saw flying past the window must have been a human being.” Her nostrils flared in anger. “Someone’s trying to frighten me, Lori. On purpose. It’s made me extremely cross.”

  The contrast between Nicole’s little-girl vocabulary and her inflamed, adult emotion was so extreme that I couldn’t restrain a short burst of involuntary laughter.

  “Lori!” Nicole exclaimed, in high dudgeon.

  I was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s great to see you up and punching. I’d rather you were angry than hysterical.”

  Nicole sniffed haughtily. “You won’t see me hysterical again. I intend to go to Blackhope after dinner and tell those women exactly what I think of them.”

  Adam and I exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Women?” I said.

  “The chars,” Nicole replied. “The women Jared dismissed. They’ve evidently decided to take their revenge on him by harassing me. It’s unkind, unjust, and utterly uncalled-for.”

  “Are you sure about this?” I inquired.

  “Am I sure that a flock of vindictive biddies has been pecking at me?” Nicole thought for a moment before admitting, “Not entirely. But who else could it be? Who else would play such cruel tricks on me?”

  The opening was there, but I didn’t take it. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Nicole why her husband might be tempted to play cruel tricks on his wealthy, wide-eyed bride. But I could keep her from interfering with Guy’s investigation.

  “There’s no need for you to go anywhere,” I assured her. “Guy told me that he’s aware of the situation, and that he’s looking into it.”

  Nicole’s nostrils flared alarmingly. “He told you and he didn’t tell me?”

  I quailed before her righteous indignation and decided, for Guy’s sake, to mix a pinch of fiction in with the facts. “He called this morning, while you were, um, indisposed, and he’s been really busy ever since. I’m sure he’ll ring you the first chance he gets. He’s worried sick about you, Nicole.”

  Nicole’s blush, a tea-rose tint that gently bathed her fair complexion, filled me with envy. “I’d best leave it in his hands, then. Captain Manning’s extremely competent.”

  A second lie popped into my head, a lie so wickedly untrue that I paused to examine it, to be sure it hadn’t come from Claire. Once sure, I spoke.

  “In fact,” I said, darting a meaningful glance in Adam’s direction, “Guy suggested that Adam stay with us, here at Wyrdhurst, until the culprits are caught. He told me he’d rest easier, knowing there’s a man around to keep an eye on us.”

  Nicole lowered her eyelashes and leaned close to me. “Captain Manning doesn’t suspect… ?”

  I shook my head. “He never did.”

  “I’m glad.” Nicole gave my arm a gentle squeeze before addressing Adam. “Thank you so much for watching over us, Mr. Chase. I’ll have Mrs. Hatch prepare the blue room for you. You’ll dine with us, I hope?”

  “I’d be honored,” he said. “I’d be even more honored if you’d call me Adam. And, by the way, Mrs. Hatch asked us to remind you that dinner will be served in”—he consulted the ebony clock—“thirty minutes.”

  “Thank you… Adam. And you must call me Nicole. I’m sure my husband won’t mind.” Nicole ducked her head and went on, with a slightly sheepish grin. “It seems that I shan’t be visiting my wrath upon Blackhope after dinner. How shall we spend the evening? Charades? Cards?”

  A cool breeze chilled the back of my neck and I turned in its direction. My gaze met Josiah’s briefly before flitting to the notes on the oak table.

  “Nicole,” I said, “with your permission, I’d like to find out where the secret staircase goes.”

  Nicole was up for a bit of exploration, especially after I suggested that the staircase might lead us to Edith Ann Malson’s books, and Edward’s letters. After dining on delectable roast pheasant and sugary damson pie, we went our separate ways to prepare for the evening’s expedition.

  I took the advice I’d given my companions and bundled up against the staircase’s bitter chill. I changed into tweed trousers and pulled a wool sweater over a turtleneck for added warmth. It wasn’t until I reached for my flashlight that I felt a strange quiver of foreboding and realized that it wasn’t my own.

  I went to the bedside table, kissed the three beloved faces in the framed photograph, fondled Reginald’s pink flannel ears, and laid my hand on the blue journal.

  “I’m here to help you, Claire,” I said to the empty air. “I won’t let anything—or anyone—hurt you.”

  Something touched my mind, gentle as a butterfly’s wing, and I knew that Claire was with me once again. It was an unnerving sensation but less frightening than I’d expected it to be, as if Claire had decided that she’d accomplish more through teamwork than through stealth. Even so, I was relieved when Adam called through my door, to find out if I was ready.

  “She’s back,” I said, joining him in the corridor.

  “I thought she might be. I heard an odd note in your voice when you asked Nicole about the secret staircase.”

  “You think Claire planted the idea?” I touched a finger to my temple. “Why not? She led me to Edward’s notes. Now she wants to guide me to his letters.”

  “How are you feeling?” Adam asked.

  “A little strange, but basically okay. It helps to know what’s happening.” I looked up at him. “Stay close, will you? You have my husband’s blessing.”

  Adam shook his head. “Your husband is a most unusual man.”

  “I know,” I said, with a wry smile. “Aunt Dimity had a hand in his upbringing.”

  * * *

  Nicole was waiting for us in the library, sensibly but beautifully clad in black wool trousers and a lush bronze velvet tunic. As we came through the study doors, she held up two flashlights and a camping lantern.

  “There’s no electricity laid on above the second story,” she explained, “so I thought a bright light might be useful. Here’s a torch for you, Adam.” She waved her own flashlight in the air. “It’s rather exciting, isn’t it? Like exploring King Tut’s tomb. I haven’t been able to open the bookcase, though. Do you remember how it happened, Lori?”

  I closed my eyes and let my mind grow quiet. Suddenly, without conscious effort, I saw myself from above, going through the same motions I’d gone through the first time the hidden door had opened. It was like watching a little film shown on my eyelids. By the time the credits rolled, I knew what to do. If I hadn’t been so rattled by my frightening experience on the staircase, I would have remembered it much sooner.

  I took Shuttleworth’s Birds from the oak table, put it back on the shelf where I’d found it, and pulled it out again. A moment later, the bookshelf swung smoothly and silently into the room.

  “How strange.” Nicole approached the door, bent low, then straightened, rubbing her thumb
against her index finger. “The hinges have been oiled recently. Someone’s been using this staircase.” Her mouth compressed into a thin line. “Jared’s probably known about it all along. It would be just like him to keep it from me. He’s always going on at me about his need for privacy.”

  “Maybe he meant to surprise you,” Adam suggested.

  “He’s going to receive a few surprises when he comes home,” Nicole said grimly. “I’ll lead the way,” she added. “Adam, you take up the rear. If Lori stumbles, you’re to catch her.”

  “I’m not going to stumble,” I grumbled.

  “Nevertheless…” said Nicole, and we entered the staircase in the order she’d dictated.

  My companions seemed oblivious to the chill, but I felt as if I’d stepped into a Deepfreeze. I’d just pulled my icy hands up into the sleeves of my wool sweater when Nicole came to an abrupt halt.

  “Look.” She pointed to two narrow beams of light that pierced the darkness from left to right. “Someone’s drilled two tiny little holes in the wall.”

  “The glowing eyes,” I whispered. A cold hand seemed to trail down my spine. “Josiah’s portrait. Adam, check his eyes.”

  Adam retreated to the library. A moment later the twin beams vanished briefly, then reappeared.

  “You’re right, Lori,” Adam said as he rejoined us. “There’s a pinhole in each of the portrait’s eyes. They’re small, but large enough, I’ll wager, to give someone inside the staircase a good view of the library.”

  As Nicole leaned forward to peer through the peepholes, a low-pitched, malevolent chuckle floated through the darkness, echoing eerily from the cold stone walls. I stiffened and Nicole leapt back with a shriek. As soon as she stepped away from the peepholes, the laughter faded.

  “What was that?” she gasped.

  Adam stepped past me, shining his light on the ceiling, the steps, and the walls, until its beam came to rest on a small black box directly opposite the peepholes, affixed to the wall with duct tape. He waved his hand in front of the box and the laughter sounded again.

  “I’m no expert,” he said, “but I think we’ve found a tape recorder wired to a motion detector. When you stepped in front of it, Nicole, you set off the recording.” He drew his flashlight through the air, and the maniacal chuckle resumed.

  Nicole’s sharp intake of breath cut through the menacing laughter.

  “I’ll have Jared’s head,” she proclaimed. “How dare he? Hiding his private staircase from me is bad enough, but trying to keep people from using it by scaring them out of their wits is… is… unconscionable.”

  With an angry snarl, she wrenched the black box from the wall and flung it down the staircase, narrowly missing my head.

  “We don’t know that Jared rigged the box,” Adam pointed out. “We don’t even know if he uses the staircase.”

  “Don’t we?” Nicole snapped. “Unless I’m very much mistaken, these stairs lead directly to his bedroom. It used to be Josiah’s room, you know. I thought that’s why Jared wanted it—so he could play at being lord of the manor—but perhaps he had other reasons.”

  She charged ahead, so furious that I could almost see steam shooting from her ears. I smiled inwardly, noting for the first time the strong resemblance between my young friend and her hard-nosed uncle Dickie.

  I was more relieved than angered by the discovery of the black box, glad to know that the mysterious, menacing laughter had a terrestrial source. Still, I felt uneasy on the staircase.

  “You’re awfully quiet.” As Adam came closer, his hand brushed mine. “Good Lord,” he muttered, “you’re freezing.”

  “Aren’t you?” I asked.

  “No,” he replied. “I’ve been wondering why you told us to dress warmly.”

  “It must be Claire.” I turned to look at the peepholes and felt the shadow of a shudder of revulsion, as if Claire were looking through my eyes at something that repulsed her.

  Adam chafed my hand. “What is it, Lori? Talk to me.”

  “I don’t know who planted the black box,” I said, “but I’m pretty sure that Josiah Byrd drilled those holes. I think he used them to spy on his daughter.”

  “He must have been mad,” said Adam.

  “Maybe he was. Maybe that’s why Claire hates this place.” I turned to him. “She truly hates it. That’s why I’m so cold, why I passed out the last time I was here. She couldn’t stand the thought of going up these stairs. But she’s stronger now, more resolute. I think she—”

  I broke off, startled, and our heads swung upward as we heard a thud, a crash, and Nicole’s voice ringing triumphant from above:

  “I knew it!”

  CHAPTER

  18

  Jared’s bedroom reminded me of a Victorian bordello, replete with ostrich feathers, red-shaded lamps, and highly detailed oil paintings of flimsily clad youths and maidens reposing languorously amid Roman ruins.

  A white marble statue of two wrestlers lay in pieces at Nicole’s feet. She’d knocked it from its plinth when she’d burst into the room, but she showed no sign whatsoever of remorse. She stood, tight-lipped and silently seething, while Adam and I took in the room’s unusual decor.

  “Come along.” She spun on her heel and shooed us back onto the secret-staircase landing just outside the room. “We’ll find no children’s books here.”

  I was forced to agree. I suspected that the kind of books we’d find in Jared’s bedroom weren’t the kind of books most people kept in nurseries.

  “Jared camouflaged the entrance to the staircase with wallpaper,” she continued, slamming the door shut behind her. “I don’t know why he bothered. I’ve scarcely set foot in his bedroom since we took possession of Wyrdhurst.”

  “It must be that privacy thing of his,” I put in lamely.

  “Oh, he’ll have all the privacy he wants from now on.” Nicole’s eyes glittered so dangerously that I almost felt sorry for her husband.

  Beyond the landing, the staircase twisted upward in a narrow corkscrew spiral. The steps were so steep and shallow that I felt as if I were climbing a ladder. Nicole and I were soon huffing, but Adam seemed untroubled by the climb. I called to mind his athlete’s build and the ease with which he’d rescued Reginald from the crash site, and concluded that he must be part mountain goat.

  “I think we’re in the west tower,” Nicole informed us between gasps. “It’s used for storage. I wonder if Miss Malson’s books—Wait… I think we’ve reached the top.”

  Adam and I crowded together as the beam from Nicole’s flashlight illuminated a second landing and a Gothic-arched, heavy wooden door.

  “If it’s locked,” Nicole declared, “I shall scream.”

  “It’s not locked,” I said, under my breath. “Not anymore.” With those words came an awareness that I was no longer shivering. The deep chill had left my body. The queer flutter of butterfly wings had vanished, too.

  Claire was gone. It was as if she’d brought me to a threshold she couldn’t bring herself to cross. She’d unlocked the door, but she needed me to take the final step.

  I squeezed past Nicole, put my shoulder to the door, and shoved, to no effect. Adam joined me and together we got the stingy hinges to give, under protest, splintering the silence with a shrill, nerve-pinching squeal. Flashlights thrust before us, we edged cautiously into the room beyond the Gothic doorway.

  The room was round, with white-plastered walls and a floor laid with wide, rough-hewn planks. The ceiling was low and divided by beams in a pattern like spokes in a wheel. Six wavy-paned windows pierced the walls, each little more than an arrow slit, and the only door was the one we’d used, coming in from the hidden staircase.

  We stood apart as Nicole joined us, but no one said a word. Our bright beams striped the darkness, crossing and parting like klieg lights as we picked out the room’s simple furnishings: a thin gray mattress on a bed as narrow as Adam’s; an iron washstand with a plain white ewer and basin; a blanket chest; an unpainted deal table; a
chest-high cupboard; a simple grate set in a white-plastered chimney breast. A wooden chair sat near the grate. Beside the chair stood an embroidery frame on a three-legged wooden stand.

  “It’s not a nursery,” Nicole observed sagely. “I don’t know what it is.” She walked past us, placed her lantern on the table, and peered out of the nearest window. “We’re in the west tower,” she confirmed, “but this room isn’t marked in the floor plans. What made you think that Edward’s letters might be in this peculiar little room?”

  I looked from the embroidery frame to the thin gray mattress and felt a sick sensation in the pit of my stomach. “Just a hunch,” I said. “I think Claire may have… spent time up here.”

  Nicole turned away from the window. “She probably came up here for the view. Imagine Jared keeping this to himself.” She laughed, a small, bitter laugh. “Who was it who said that a wife’s always the last to know?”

  “An unmarried idiot,” I stated firmly. “Nicole, Jared may or may not know about the staircase, but he’s never been up here. Look at the floor. It’s furred with dust, and the only footprints are ours. No one’s been up here in a long, long time.”

  Nicole lit the camping lantern and the room was flooded with light.

  “I suppose you’re right.” She looked askance at our footprints before adding snidely, “I doubt Jared’s strong enough to open the door on his own.”

  I was about to comment on the imprudence of hanging a man before he was tried and convicted when Adam spoke.

  “Ladies,” he said, kneeling before the wooden cupboard, “I think I’ve found what you’ve been looking for.”

  He swung the cupboard’s doors wide to reveal row after row of brightly colored books. The rainbow bindings stood out in the dust-gray room as vividly as a cardinal on a snowy bough.

  I recognized some of them on sight: Elizabeth Baumgartner’s fairy books, Hannah Manderley’s collection of fables, and, filling the bottom shelf from side to side, a complete set of Edith Ann Malson.