Aunt Dimity and the Deep Blue Sea

by Nancy Atherton

  I shivered involuntarily and fortified myself with a swig of cocoa.

  “I knew there had to be a rational explanation for the howls,” Peter went on, “so I went over the tablet inch by inch, and what do you think I found?”

  “Latches,” Damian replied laconically. “Elliot told us. How many did you find?”

  “Two,” Peter replied. “They were designed to blend in with the deep carving around the edge of the tablet. They were so cleverly concealed, in fact, that I passed over them three times before I realized what they were. Once I’d found them, what else could I do but try them?”

  “Of course you had to try them,” roared Sir Percy. “Only possible thing to do.Tell ’em what happened next.”

  “The tablet popped open,” Peter said. “I couldn’t believe my eyes. I released the latches, and one side of the tablet rose an inch or two from the ground. I examined the opposite edge and discovered that it was hinged. But the most remarkable thing about the tablet was its weight. The stone slab should have weighed a ton, but it was no heavier than a packed suitcase. As soon as it was open, the howling stopped. The wind, you see, was streaming up the staircase and leaking out around the tablet, making a—”

  “Yes,” Sir Percy intervened, “I think we can work the trick out for ourselves, dear boy. Skip ahead to the staircase.”

  “Well,” said Peter, “when I saw the staircase, I had to find out where it went.”

  “Naturally,” said Damian, a bit sourly.

  Peter’s face reddened and he ducked his head, but he carried on despite his embarrassment. “You know what I found down in the cave, so I needn’t describe it. Did you explore the three tunnels?”

  “We did,” Damian answered.

  “Then you know about the two dead ends,” said Peter. “What you don’t know is that I followed the tunnel to the sea and . . . well . . . I decided to have a go at climbing the cliffs.”

  Cassie calmly reached across the space between their chairs and punched him, hard, on the shoulder. Peter flinched and grimaced but uttered no word of complaint. He must have agreed with me that he was getting off lightly. If Bill had ever tried such a harebrained stunt, I would have rewarded him with more than a punch on the shoulder.

  “It was an imbecilic thing to do,” Peter acknowledged, glancing timidly at Cassie. “But the tide wasn’t high enough yet to reach the ledge and it wasn’t completely dark out, so it didn’t seem all that risky at the time. Once I reached the mouth of the cavern, I found that a staircase had been carved into the cliff.The steps were badly eroded, but there were enough of them to get me up to the coastal path.”

  A rumbling chuckle sounded from Sir Percy.

  “You’ll love the next part,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at me and Damian. “Go on, Peter, tell them what you did next.”

  Peter looked as though he would have given anything to avoid telling us what he did next, but he drank another drop of brandy and soldiered on.

  “I didn’t want anyone to fall down the staircase by accident,” he said, carefully avoiding our eyes, “so I went back to the ruins and closed the tablet.”

  The moment of stunned silence that followed was shattered by Sir Percy’s robust guffaws.

  “Told you it was a wonderful story, didn’t I?” he said happily. “You run off to rescue the lad, and he seals you up all right and tight in a cave filled with skeletons! Simply marvelous! Haven’t enjoyed anything so much since Tufty Wiggins dropped a water balloon on the bishop.”

  I waited stoically while Sir Percy quaked with mirth. Damian ate another sandwich and refilled our cups with cocoa. Cassie smiled vaguely, as though her mind was on other things. Peter studied the floor.

  “Ah,” Sir Percy sighed, mopping his streaming eyes. “Forgive me. I promised that there would be no interruptions, but I couldn’t help myself. Pray continue, young Peter.”

  “The fog was beginning to shift when I reached the coastal path,” said Peter, still staring at the floor, “so I climbed a hill and watched it for a while before walking back to the pub. When I got there, Mrs. Muggoch collared me to warn me about the journalist. She seemed to know all about our troubles with the press.”

  “I imagine everyone does,” said Sir Percy, with a complacent nod. “Newspapers do reach Erinskil, and your disguises weren’t impenetrable.”

  “She was very sympathetic,” Peter said.

  “Of course she was,” said Sir Percy. “She’s a good-hearted woman. She wouldn’t want to see you and Cassie persecuted.”

  “That’s exactly what she told me,” said Peter, “at great length. I was so grateful to her for getting rid of the journalist that I just let her go on and on.”

  “We understand,” said Sir Percy. “We’re familiar with Mrs. Muggoch’s wagging tongue.”

  Peter smiled wanly. “I eventually managed to extricate myself and go upstairs, where I found Cassie, Kate, and Elliot. Cassie became hyster—” He glanced cautiously at her and promptly rephrased his statement. “Cassie was justifiably upset with me, and it wasn’t until we’d calmed her down that Kate was able to explain that you two had gone looking for me.”

  “I tried to ring you, Damian,” said Cassie, “until I found your mobile in the pocket of your blazer.”

  Damian accepted the cell phone from Cassie’s outstretched hand and gallantly refrained from mentioning his handkerchief.

  “I wouldn’t have been able to reach you even if you’d had your mobile with you,” said Cassie. “My earlier calls didn’t go through to Peter because his mobile didn’t work down in the cavern.”

  “Too much solid rock,” said Damian.

  “Blocked the signal,” Peter confirmed. “We rang Sir Percy, though, to find out if you’d returned. When he told us you hadn’t, I admitted to him that if you’d followed me into the cavern, I might have closed the memorial tablet on top of you. When he finished laughing, he ordered Elliot to go and get you.”

  “I also convinced our young celebrities to move into Dundrillin,” Sir Percy interposed. “Though it would be more accurate to say that Mr. Nunen’s unwelcome arrival convinced them. Mrs. Gammidge put them in the Daffodil Suite, in the northeast tower, where they’ll be safe from prying eyes and lenses.”

  “Mrs. Gammidge also decided that my entire wardrobe required laundering.” Peter smoothed the lapel of his paisley dressing gown. “Sir Percy very kindly allowed me to borrow some of his son’s night attire.”

  Cassie uttered a stifled croak of laughter, which she disguised—unconvincingly—as a cough. Peter’s blush outshone his red pajamas.

  Damian stirred. “About the memorial tablet . . .”

  “Sir Percy told us about it,” Peter said eagerly. “It’s absolutely fascinating.”

  “Feel free to share your knowledge with us,” I coaxed, looking from him to Sir Percy.

  “The original tablet was damaged by shrapnel,” said Sir Percy, “when the Royal Navy was using Erinskil for target practice. When the islanders returned after the war, they replaced the original with a convincing fake.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “They intended to use the caverns as a bomb shelter, if the occasion ever arose,” Sir Percy explained. “We’d entered the atomic age, remember. Bomb shelters were all the rage.”

  “But why replace the original tablet with a fake?” I persisted. “The original would have given them access to the caves.The monks were able to lift it.”

  “It took six strong men to lift it,” Sir Percy informed me. “The replacement is made of a composite material that a healthy child can shift. The islanders wanted everyone on Erinskil to be able to seek shelter there.”

  “I believe we’re the first outsiders to enter the caverns,” Peter said with a touch of pride.

  “Apart from the Vikings,” Damian murmured.

  “Here endeth the lesson,” droned Sir Percy. He studied Peter and Cassie for a moment, then clapped his hands commandingly. “Off to your suite, my children. It’s well past yo
ur bedtime. Don’t lose any sleep over the journalist. Mrs. Gammidge will sort him out.”

  Peter drained his glass, placed it on a table at his elbow, and flapped over to stand before me and Damian.

  “I’m more sorry than I can possibly say,” he said. “If I’d known the amount of bother I’d cause, I wouldn’t have gone to the ruins.”

  “It’s okay.” I pushed the blanket aside and stood to give him a hug. “You can’t help being curious.You were raised in Finch.”

  “Damian?” said Peter anxiously, when I’d released him.

  “No harm done,” said Damian. “But if Mrs. Gammidge suggests barricading you in the northeast tower, I won’t argue with her.”

  Peter smiled gratefully and turned a tentative eye toward Cassie. After a brief hesitation, he held his hand out to her. She gripped it as if she’d never let it go and graciously permitted her contrite young swain to escort her from the library. I resumed my seat on the couch and pulled the blanket over my lap, hoping they’d take Will’s advice and hold the wedding at Dundrillin.

  “Well, that’s settled,” said Sir Percy, after they’d gone. “She’s been glowering at him all evening. I was afraid I’d have to put them in separate towers. But all’s well that ends well.” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Half past eleven. I expect you’re both ready for bed.”

  “Not quite, Sir Percy,” Damian said quietly. “There are a few points we’d like to discuss with you before we retire.”

  “No time like the present.” Sir Percy sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his waistcoat. “Fire away, old man.”

  Damian regarded him steadily. “The security dossier you prepared for me and Andrew fails to mention the false memorial tablet, the staircase, and the caves below the monastery ruins. Why were those items left out of the report?”

  “They’re not relevant,” Sir Percy replied. “The caves wouldn’t help your quarry to sneak into Dundrillin even if he did manage to discover them, which is hardly likely. Besides, the islanders hold the caverns to be something of a sacred site. They don’t like outsiders knowing about them, and I didn’t care to betray their confidence.”

  “I’m afraid that the people of Erinskil have other reasons for concealing the caverns,” said Damian. “Peter failed to explore the tunnels thoroughly, Sir Percy, but Lori and I did not. I believe that what we found there will be of interest to you.”

  “Do tell,” said Sir Percy.

  “We discovered twelve airtight chests,” said Damian, in a calm, dispassionate voice. “Eleven were filled with currency adding up to millions of pounds. The twelfth held valuable antiquities.”

  “Millions of pounds, do you say?” Sir Percy’s eyebrows shot up. “My goodness, but the islanders are thrifty. Can’t blame them for avoiding banks. The fees are outrageous. And who’s to say that the caverns aren’t just the place to store Granny’s gewgaws?”

  “Sir Percy,” Damian said patiently, “the objects we found can’t possibly be described as gewgaws. They should be in the British Museum. As for the cash . . .” He pursed his lips. “It grieves me to tell you this, but I strongly doubt that the money Lori and I found was earned through any legitimate enterprise. If you’ll permit me to explain . . .”

  “I’m all ears, old man,” said Sir Percy, leaning forward in his chair.

  For the next half hour, Damian walked Sir Percy through the long list of clues we’d accumulated, from the light on Cieran’s Chapel to the well-maintained ringbolt and the old laird’s overlarge grave; from the antitourist campaign’s myriad manifestations to the man-made rockfall that blocked the third tunnel.

  “The islanders have invested heavily in their own comfort,” said Damian, “but they’ve virtually ignored tourist accommodations. In fact, they’ve made it quite difficult for tourists to visit Erinskil. Why?”

  “I’m sure you’ll tell me,” said Sir Percy encouragingly.

  “I believe that they don’t want anyone to visit Erinskil,” said Damian. “I believe that Elspeth MacAllen diverted your post, sir, in order to prevent the Seal Conservation Trust from building a research facility on the island, because a research facility would bring strangers to the island—something the islanders have gone to great lengths to avoid.”

  “You make my people sound positively antisocial,” Sir Percy protested.

  “When it comes to outsiders, sir,” Damian stated, “your people are antisocial. The lack of a tourist trade hasn’t hurt them, however. On the contrary, they live lives of relative splendor.”

  “The tweed business has been very kind to them,” said Sir Percy.

  “It must be clear to you, as a businessman, that the tweed mill can’t produce enough income to pay for the luxuries the islanders enjoy.” Damian tented his fingers. “It is my belief, Sir Percy, that the islanders are supplementing their incomes by trafficking in drugs. Drug shipments are deposited by major dealers on Cieran’s Chapel, transferred from there to Alasdair Murdoch’s fishing boats, and taken by boat to the mainland. The islanders store their cash profits in the cavern temporarily, until they can launder them by means of the tweed mill. As a side business, they sell or fence stolen antiquities on the black market. Such enterprises function best away from the public eye. It is, therefore, in the islanders’ best interest to discourage tourism.”

  “Fascinating,” marveled Sir Percy, leaning his chin on his hand. “I hope you haven’t troubled our young friends with your disturbing revelations. I wouldn’t want their stay on Erinskil to be spoiled.”

  “Cassie started the ball rolling,” I told him. “She’s convinced that everyone on Erinskil is involved in a criminal conspiracy. That’s why she didn’t want Mrs. Gammidge to call for Dr. Tighe. That’s why she was so frightened when Peter went missing. She thought Peter had been abducted, possibly murdered, because he’d gotten too close to the truth.”

  Sir Percy drew such a sorrowful breath that I almost wished we hadn’t ventured beyond the man-made rockfall. He rose from his chair, shook his head, and walked slowly to stand before the fire. His shoulders drooped as he contemplated the flames, as if a heavy weight had fallen on them, but his expression was oddly quizzical when he turned to face us.

  “I never realized you had such a vivid imagination, Damian,” he said. “I thought you were all business, all the time, but clearly I was mistaken. I am, I confess, somewhat taken aback by your portrait of my people. Thieves? Kidnappers? Murderers? What else, I wonder?” His eyes sought mine. “I knew you were inquisitive, Lori, but I’d rather hoped that concern for your own safety, and that of your sons, would override any desire you might have to nose about Erinskil. I should have known better.”

  Damian uncrossed his legs. “You’re not as shocked as I expected you to be, Sir Percy.”

  “Why should I be shocked?” Sir Percy hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat and threw out his chest. “My dear fellow, I’m the laird. Do you seriously imagine that anything takes place on this island without my knowledge?”

  Grinning like a mad magician, he unhooked a thumb, flung a hand out with a flourish, and pressed a button on the Portland-stone mantelpiece. An oak panel to the left of the fireplace slid back soundlessly, and six grim-faced, tweed-jacketed men marched forth to stand like a wall in front of Damian and me. I recognized the hostile eyes of Mick Ferguson glaring down at us and gripped the blanket, confused and a little shaken.

  Damian reached for his gun.

  Twenty

  Damian’s hand hovered perilously near his concealed holster but retreated when Sir Percy stepped forward, his blue eyes twinkling with mirth.

  “Lori, Damian,” he said, flinging his arms around the shoulders of the men nearest to him, “please allow me the great pleasure of presenting to you the elders of Erinskil.You know Mick Ferguson, of course—he took you to Cieran’s Chapel. Mick, would you be so kind as to see to the drinks? I’m sure no one will refuse a wee dram on such a devil of a night.”

  “Yes, sir, your lairdsh
ip,” said Mick, and he moved with alacrity toward the liquor cabinet.

  “The elders are charged with the awesome responsibility of governing Erinskil,” Sir Percy explained, beaming down at me and Damian. “I hope you won’t be too put out with me when I confess that I invited them here to listen in on our riveting conversation. I thought it might contain information of interest to them.”

  “They’ve been eavesdropping?” I said, scandalized.

  “Such a time-saver,” said Sir Percy with unimpaired good humor. “Completely eliminates the need to rehash your side of the story.”

  “What made you think that our side of the story would be of interest to these gentlemen?” asked Damian.

  “With you and Peter wandering through the caverns, there was no telling what you might have discovered,” Sir Percy replied. “I summoned the elders because they have a right—indeed, a duty—to know if you stumbled upon the airtight chests.”

  “I’d like to question them about those chests,” said Damian.

  “No doubt you would.” Sir Percy rubbed his palms together energetically. “The first order of business, however, must be introductions. Damian has met the elders already, though he was unaware of their governmental roles at the time. I will, therefore, direct the introductions to you, Lori. From left to right, we have Cal Maconinch, harbormaster; Alasdair Murdoch, fisherman; Neil MacAllen, crofter and mill manager; George Muggoch, publican and baker; and Lachlan Ferguson, pastor.”

  The men appeared to be in their sixties and seventies, though Pastor Ferguson’s flowing white hair and deeply creased face made me suspect that he was the eldest elder. George Muggoch was as round as his wife—unsurprising in a man who ran both a pub and a bakery—but the others were fit and trim. Alasdair Murdoch was broad-shouldered and burly, as befitted a man who spent his days hauling fishing nets, and Neil MacAllen had the long, lean build of a shepherd. Cal Maconinch’s auburn hair was scarcely touched by gray, which led me to believe that he was the youngest of the six. All of the men wore shirts and ties beneath exquisite tweed jackets—examples, no doubt, of the mill’s fine wares.