by Ali McNamara
‘But which key is it?’ I ask her, looking at the huge array she has in her hand. ‘Do you know?’
Tiffany shakes her head. ‘Nope, I just know it’s one of these. Arthur says there are keys to open anything in the castle on here.’
Tom examines the lock on the door. ‘Can I see them?’ he asks, holding out his hand.
I nod at Tiffany and she passes Tom the keys. He looks through each key until he finds a suitable one, then tries it in the lock. On only his third attempt he’s successful.
He unlocks the door, opens it, and we peer inside. There’s a staircase leading immediately down from the doorway, and luckily a corresponding light switch, that when flicked floods the staircase with light, allowing us an easy descent into the basement.
‘Ladies first,’ Tom says, holding out his hand.
‘Thanks,’ I reply, wondering what we’re going to find down there.
I walk cautiously down the stairs, followed by Tiffany and then Tom. When we get to the bottom we find a spacious room filled with various large trunks: the kind you see people using when they are going on long voyages on ships. The trunks are all different sizes and colours, but the one thing they have in common is that they are all locked with sizeable and strong padlocks.
‘Any idea which one the picture might be in?’ I ask Tiffany.
‘Sorry,’ Tiffany says, shrugging. ‘Like I said, Arthur is the only one who comes down here.’
‘Looks like we’re going to have to try them all, then,’ Tom says, shaking the keys. ‘Who wants to start?’
After we’ve narrowed down our search by eliminating all the keys that are going to be too big to fit in the padlocks, we try each key one by one.
It takes us until our fourth key to find one that fits.
‘Yes!’ I shout as my key turns satisfactorily in the lock. ‘We’re in.’
But inside the first trunk we only discover some clothes. They are antique clothes, probably belonging to a past Countess and Earl, interesting, but sadly not what we are looking for.
Our next success opens a trunk containing some silverware and china. Tom examines the contents with much excitement.
‘There’s some valuable stuff in here,’ he reports, carefully returning it all to the case, ‘but sadly nothing we’re looking for.’
We try again, and this time unlock a trunk that according to Tom contains some very old artefacts – including a bronze chalice, some unusual pewter plates and a large rusty iron key.
‘This must be the ceremonial key that Arthur was talking about,’ I tell the others while they examine the chalice and the plates. ‘Apparently it’s presented to each new owner of Chesterford – Arthur is going to present it to me the day the new tea room opens.’
We put the items carefully back in the chest – wrapping them in their worn protective fabrics – and it’s on our next successful key-turn that we finally find it.
‘This must be the one!’ Tiffany calls, as Tom lifts a few framed photos from the trunk first. ‘These are the last Earl’s bits and pieces. I recognise some of his things.’
Tiffany pores over the chest, moving things around until she finds it. ‘Here,’ she cries triumphantly, lifting up a small painting. ‘This is the picture I was talking about.’
Tom and I examine the painting with Tiffany. It is indeed a very good likeness of the little dog, looking a lot healthier and robust than its stuffed version had.
But after we’ve studied it for a few minutes, we realise that it is just that – a painting. It gives us no further clues; we still don’t know where the missing diary is, why the dog’s collar has a key attached to it, or even why we are actually here.
‘It was worth a try, I suppose,’ I say with a sigh. ‘The painting might have had something on it that could have helped us.’ I look around at the trunks we have yet to unlock. ‘What else is down here, do you think?’ I ask. ‘I’m intrigued to see what else is hidden in this cellar.’
‘Do you think we should?’ Tiffany asks anxiously. ‘I mean, it’s stuff Arthur locks away.’
‘If it was anything personal to Arthur surely he’d hide it in his own cottage,’ I say, taking the keys over to a small but battered-looking trunk. ‘Everything we’ve come across so far has been to do with the history of the castle. And if it’s to do with the castle then I’d like to see it. I’ve been wondering whether to put on an exhibition of sorts,’ I explain to them as I try a couple of keys before finding the correct one to unlock the padlock. ‘You know, the sort of stuff you see displayed in glass cabinets because it’s delicate or valuable. We don’t have anything like that here, and it seems a shame to keep some of these things we’ve found today locked away where people can’t see them.’
I open up the lid of the trunk and I’m surprised to see tissue paper. Then I realise the tissue paper contains fabric. Carefully, I fold back the paper to find a beautiful powder-blue silk organza dress. ‘This looks like it might have belonged to Clara, don’t you think?’ I say, holding up the dress for the others to see. ‘It’s the right era.’
We carefully lift another six tissue-wrapped packages from the chest, all containing similar beautiful dresses.
‘Someone knew what they were doing when they put these away for storage,’ Tom says, wrapping another dress back in its protective paper. ‘I’d say this is acid-free tissue paper; that’s fairly modern stuff, so these could only have been wrapped fairly recently.’
‘My sister wrapped her wedding dress in something similar to this before she put it away in her loft,’ Tiffany says, feeling the paper. ‘It protects it from damp and stuff.’
‘I wonder why it’s only recently been wrapped up? You’d have thought it would have been done years ago.’
‘Perhaps it was,’ Tom says knowingly. ‘It might have just been re-wrapped recently.’
‘Oh, look at this one,’ I say, opening up a new package. I’d expected to see another beautiful ball gown, but instead my hands are now touching a much heavier material. It’s black and scratchy and not at all like the luxurious fabrics the previous colourful outfits have been made out of. ‘It’s a maid’s dress,’ I exclaim, holding it up, ‘and look, there’s an apron too.’
The next few packets from the large truck contain items that must have belonged to ‘downstairs staff’ – some dowdy but practical shoes, a very basic brush, some hairpins, and some stout-looking stockings. There’s even a little white hat, which I could just imagine one of the maids at Chesterford wearing to tend to one of the previous Countesses.
‘These would look great on display in the castle,’ I say as I lift another smaller package up from the trunk. ‘We could get some mannequins or something similar – we could even display Clara’s outfits in the Ladies’ Chamber with her portrait, and maybe the maid’s things in one of the bedrooms.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ Tiffany says. ‘I love to see stuff like that when I visit old houses. There’s something about clothes that make history come to life that little bit more. Ooh, what’s that?’ she asks as I open up the tissue paper and begin unfolding what I assume is another dress.
‘It’s a shawl,’ I say, beginning to unwrap a large, silk, embroidered shawl. ‘It feels like there’s something hard wrapped inside it, though – like a box.’
‘It is a box!’ Tiffany exclaims as the fabric reveals a small colourful box hidden within it.
‘It’s locked again,’ I say, examining the object in my lap. ‘Look, there’s another small padlock on it.’
‘That box is old,’ Tom says, looking over my shoulder. ‘It looks like enamel to me. Probably eighteenth century, by the look of the design.’
I look at the box in my hand; it looks familiar. Where had I seen it before?
‘This must have been Clara’s too!’ I say as it dawns on me where I’ve seen this box before. ‘It’s in her portrait in the Ladies’ Chamber; it’s on the desk next to where her hand rests on the diary. You don’t think . . . ’
‘We don’t think what?’ Tom asks impatiently as I stand up and reach into my pocket.
‘You don’t think that this,’ I say, holding up the silver key still attached to the dog’s collar, ‘opens up this.’ I hold up the box in my other hand. ‘It looks like a perfect fit to me.’
‘Try it. Try it!’ Tiffany squeals excitedly.
I reach the key across to the lock, and to my delight it fits. I’m about to turn it when we hear a deep voice bellowing down the stairs.
‘No! Don’t you dare try it. I insist you put that box down immediately.’
Thirty-three
‘Arthur!’ I cry, jumping at both the loudness and the tone of his voice. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’
Arthur comes thundering down the stairs, faster than I’ve ever seen him move before.
‘Put that down,’ he says, his voice calmer but just as forceful.
‘Why?’ I ask, still gripping tightly to the box. ‘What’s inside? Why don’t you want us to open it?’
Arthur swallows, obviously trying to calm himself. ‘This is a private area,’ he says, looking around at all the open trunks. ‘You have no right to come down here . . . disturbing everything.’ He glances at the box in my hand again, and something inside me makes me grip it all the tighter. ‘And you,’ he says, pointing at Tiffany, ‘had no right bringing them down here. How many times have I told you this area is out of bounds?’
Tiffany looks like she might burst into tears.
‘Arthur, that’s enough. It’s not Tiffany’s fault we’re here. If you want to blame someone then blame me; I asked her to show us where you kept a picture, that’s all, and she told us it was down here with the last Earl’s things. It was only because we didn’t know which key opened which trunk that we ended up opening so many.’
‘Well, you’ve obviously found that particular trunk now,’ Arthur says, looking at the painting of the dog propped up in front of one of the trunks. ‘So perhaps it’s time—’ He suddenly notices the dog’s collar in my hand, and more specifically the key I’m about to open the box with.
‘Where did you get that?’ he asks, his voice suddenly a bit too calm.
‘This?’ I ask suspiciously, holding up the collar. ‘Why?’
‘I thought the key for that box had been lost years ago . . . and all this time it was on a dog’s collar?’ Arthur seems almost mesmerised by the key.
I look questioningly at him – just what is going on here? Arthur clearly knows about all the stuff down here. Tiffany said he’s been back and forth a lot just lately. Why was he so against us opening this box now we have the key?
‘I think you should all leave now,’ Arthur orders, his voice calm, but his face reddening, as though his anger is just beginning to boil under his cool exterior again. ‘Before you do any more damage. The things down here are private – private to the family.’
I’m really not sure what the feeling is building up inside me right now. It’s one that I’ve never felt before. But all I know is it’s time to pull rank.
‘If,’ I say in a steely voice that surprises even me, ‘these had been your private items, Arthur, then of course I wouldn’t dream of riffling through them. But we’ve opened nearly every trunk down here now and all we’ve found are items that belonged to past owners of this castle, private items that as you have correctly pointed out belonged to past members of the Chesterford family – my family, Arthur. So I think that gives me some right to look at them too.’
Arthur is silent.
‘There are things down here we could display for the public to see; things I think they’d find very interesting. We make no mention throughout the castle of what went on below stairs, and I think some of the bits and pieces in this trunk in particular could be used as the basis for an exhibition about the staff of Chesterford.’
I can see Arthur’s mind ticking over fast. ‘That might be a good idea . . . I suppose,’ he says carefully. ‘I would have no objection to you opening the rest of the trunks and seeing what you find. But, miss, I really must ask that you stop at opening the box in your hand. In fact, I beg of you that you don’t.’
I notice this is the first time he’s used a title to address me since he came thundering down the stairs. Normally this would please me, but all it does is make me wonder all the more why Arthur is so upset about all this.
‘Why?’ I ask again. ‘What’s in here that’s so important?’
Arthur sighs and shakes his head. ‘I knew you meddling would come to this. Why can’t things just remain the same around here? You youngsters are obsessed with change. Change isn’t always good. Sometimes change is bad.’
‘Why is it bad, Arthur?’ I ask, still desperate to know what he was so keen to prevent me from seeing. What on earth could be in this box that’s so awful?
‘Fine!’ Arthur says, throwing up his hands in despair. ‘Go ahead and open it, then. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
With that, Arthur turns and stomps back up the stairs without another word.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ Tom asks, looking mystified as we watch Arthur disappear.
‘I have absolutely no idea,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘But what I do know is that now I really must open this box and find out what’s inside.’
‘Wait!’ Tiffany holds up her hand just as I’m about to place the tiny key, still attached to the dog collar, into the padlock. ‘What if the box is cursed?’
‘Excuse me?’
‘What if it’s cursed, and when you open it, it unleashes a whole host of misery and woe on to the castle and its inhabitants?’
‘You watch too many movies, Tiffany,’ I say, looking at the box. ‘That is not going to happen.’
‘She might be right, you know,’ Tom says to my surprise. ‘Arthur is pretty keen for you not to open that box. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it’s cursed – sorry, Tiffany – but there must be something inside he doesn’t want you to see.’
I stare down at the box in my hand, then I glance at the painting of the dog again, and across at the trunk full of Clara’s dresses.
‘No, we’ve come too far. Arthur may not want me to see what’s inside here, but I’m pretty sure Clara does.’
I take a deep breath and turn the key, and as smooth as anything it immediately pops the mechanism so the padlock springs open. I remove the padlock and finally, I open up the lid.
‘I knew it!’ I exclaim triumphantly, lifting the contents from the box. ‘It’s the missing diary!’
I put the box down on the ground and begin to thumb through the pages of the book.
‘What’s this, though?’ Tom asks, lifting up the box again and looking inside. ‘There’s something else in here.’
I look at what he’s removing from the box. It’s a small velvet pouch. Tom eases it open and pours the contents into the palm of his hand.
‘It’s a brooch,’ Tiffany says, gazing in awe at it. ‘A really pretty one, too.’
‘It’s more than a brooch,’ Tom says. ‘It’s a cameo brooch.’ He holds it up to the light and then to my surprise he pulls from his pocket one of those tiny magnifying eye glasses you see jewellers and antiques experts wear, and slots it into his eye.
‘I’d say late nineteenth century, possibly even earlier,’ he says, examining the brooch. ‘These little cameos had a resurgence in popularity when Queen Victoria took to wearing them. They’re usually carved from shell. This one is made from a carnelian or maybe a conch shell, I’d say by the look of its colour.’
‘Can I see?’ I ask.
Tom passes me the brooch. It’s an exquisite white carving of a woman’s head against a pale orange background. It’s surrounded with gold, tiny pearls and what I think are diamonds.
‘Are these real diamonds?’ I ask Tom, still looking at the brooch.
‘Yes, I think they are,’ he says. ‘I’d have to do some research, but I’d say what you’re holding in your hand is pretty valuable, and possibly quite rare.’
<
br /> ‘I wonder why it’s down here with the diary?’ I pick up the diary again, and put the two together. ‘They must be linked. This brooch must have been Clara’s too.’
‘Are there any more paintings of Clara at the castle?’ I ask Tiffany. ‘I’ve only seen the one of her in evening dress. She’s definitely not wearing this brooch in that one.’
‘I don’t think there are,’ Tiffany says, thinking. ‘Not that I can remember.’
‘Not to worry. So, we have a diary and a brooch,’ I say, looking at the two items in my hands, ‘let’s put them together with the other diaries and see if we can find out what this big mystery is. And the first person we need to speak to about all that when we get back upstairs, is our friend Benji.’
Thirty-four
‘Leave it with me,’ is all Benji says when we find him in the library and excitedly hand him the diary.
‘Is that it?’ I ask, feeling a little hurt that he isn’t more enthusiastic about the discovery of the missing diary. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am pleased,’ Benji insists. ‘Really pleased. Now I might be able to finally piece together this mystery. But it’s going to take more than a quick read of this diary to do it.’
‘Why? What’s going on here? You’ve never really said, and now we’ve got Arthur acting strangely too. What is in that diary that’s so important?’
I’m now beginning to wish that I’d read the diary before giving it to Benji. Perhaps I’d be able to figure it out for myself then.
‘The fact you say Arthur wasn’t keen for you to find this tells me that my suspicions might be correct after all. But,’ Benji holds his hand up to stop me asking any more questions, ‘let me do my own investigation and I’ll get back to you, okay?’
‘Okay . . . ’ I agree hesitantly.
‘Amelia,’ he asks, ‘do you trust me?’
‘Yes, of course, but—’
‘Then let me do my job. I’m very good at it,’ he says, smiling now, ‘as you very well know . . . ’
I nod. ‘Sure. But you’ll come and find me the minute you know anything?’
