The Golden Butterfly

by Sharon Gosling

  “I’m just going to take a look,” said Charley. “Since we’re here.”

  “But hundreds of different people will have used it since she left. And if there was nothing helpful in my grandfather’s room, how can there be anything in hers?”

  “Just a quick look,” Charley insisted.

  Charley set off without waiting to hear her reply. Luciana hesitated for another moment and then followed. There would be nothing to see, she was sure of it, certainly nothing to help them decipher the meaning of the device.

  Yet when she followed Charley through the unlocked door, Luciana was assaulted by a memory so powerful that she almost staggered under its weight.

  She was small, wrapped up in a coat too big for her. She knew this place as well as she knew anything in her little life. She walked as though walking was new, tottering, uncertain, zigzagging side-to-side, as if ready to fall over at any moment.

  Luciana gasped.

  “Ana?” Charley grabbed her arm to help her keep upright. “What is it?”

  “I know this place,” she said, her tone hushed, rasping in the stale air of the room.

  “You mean from the times you used to visit your grandfather?” Charley said. “That makes sense, I suppose.”

  Luciana shook her head, confused. “No. That’s not it.” She took another step into the room. It was smaller and more sparsely furnished than her grandfather’s. There was a double-length dressing table with an equally long mirror. Set between the thin legs were three plain wooden chairs with uncomfortable, upright backs. At the far end, large enough to take up the space from wall to wall, was a fitted wardrobe and in front of that a metal pole from which was hanging a heavy green velvet curtain.

  Charley walked to the wardrobe and pulled open the double doors. Inside there was only a thin metal rail.

  “Well, you were right,” Charley said. “There’s nothing here.”

  Luciana found herself frozen to the spot as another recollection pulled her along in its fierce undertow. She stared past him, into the empty wardrobe.

  “Ana?” Charley’s voice sounded far away. “Shall we go? If we hurry, we can still make the train…”

  It was dark where she was, lit only by a narrow sliver of light. It was small, this space, but she wasn’t afraid. It was warm and cosy. She had somewhere to sleep and even better, she had her favourite toy. All she had to do was keep quiet…

  She walked past Charley, stepping right inside the empty wardrobe. Then she dropped to her knees. Luciana pressed her fingers to the bottom right-hand corner, where the rear of the wardrobe met its base. She dragged her fingers up, feeling for something she knew would be there. Her fingers found a smooth dip in the wood and she fitted the palm of her hand to it, pushing against it.

  A panel clicked open, nothing more than four thin dark lines in the shape of a rectangle appearing in the white paint. It slid sideways to reveal a small compartment.

  Charley was by her side in a second. “How did you know that was there? How did you know how to open it?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  They both peered into the little chamber. It was too small for either of them to get inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, Luciana made out a soft shape. She knew without reaching for it that it was a pile of blankets. She pulled them towards her and as she did so, something concealed within them clunked along the floor. Lifting the blankets, Luciana picked up the object beneath, drawing it into the light as she sat back.

  “What the blazes is that?” Charley asked.

  Luciana held a rectangular box made of different-coloured panels of wood. Each panel was inlaid with radiating circles in a pattern that was no pattern, and at the centre of each of these circles was a small spur of wood.

  “Wait a minute,” said Charley. “We’ve seen this kind of thing before, haven’t we?”

  Luciana sat mutely, staring down at the strange box cradled in her lap. She felt as if she were falling into a very deep, dark hole. From a distance came the sound of footsteps echoing closer.

  “Quick,” Charley said. “I don’t think we should show this to Mr Hibberd, do you?”

  She pushed the box into her bag while Charley hurriedly slid the secret panel back into place. They stumbled out of the dressing room just as Mr Hibberd appeared at the end of the corridor.

  “I thought we’d have a quick peek in Adeline Morrell’s dressing room,” Charley said cheerfully, as he neared. “Just in case. Nothing in there though.”

  “Oh no, you’d find nothing in there,” agreed Mr Hibberd. “Too many pairs of feet in and out since she used the room, I’m afraid!”

  “Did she ever come back?” Charley asked. “After the … incident, I mean?”

  Mr Hibberd frowned thoughtfully. “Just once,” he said. “About a month after the whole debacle. She said she thought she’d left a wrap in the dressing room and wanted to look for it. I told her there was nothing there, but she insisted on coming down here just the same. I think that perhaps she just wanted one last look at the place, for sentimental reasons. And that was it, I never saw her again.”

  “Well,” said Luciana, regaining her voice. “Thank you for your time, Mr Hibberd, and for allowing us to wander around your theatre. We should be going now.”

  “Oh, are you sure?” the man asked, disappointed. “I was going to say that you should stay for tonight’s performance. We’ve got a rather funny farce on at the moment. Doors slamming and what-not.”

  “Thank you, but we really must catch our train,” said Charley, as he and Luciana began to make for the stage door, with Mr Hibberd following behind. “If we hurry, we can still make it.”

  The three of them bid a swift goodbye at the door, with Mr Hibberd procuring from them the promise of a return in the future. He waved from the artiste’s entrance until they got to the end of the passageway and had turned into the late afternoon bustle of Aldwych.

  “We can’t go straight home,” Luciana said, once they were away from the theatre. “This is another puzzle – I’ve got to try to solve it.”

  “All right,” said Charley, looking around. Across the wide road he saw a sign for a ‘Mudie’s Select Library’. “Let’s go in there.”

  They dodged their way across the busy thoroughfare and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside the entrance there was a large plain oak desk, behind which sat a white-haired librarian in a stern black suit. Beyond was a large room that smelled of books. Crowded bookshelves lined the walls and reached up into the vaulted ceiling, accessed by moving ladders that slid to and fro on runners. The centre of the space held more bookshelves that formed narrow corridors. High above, the roof was made of small panels of thick glass that let in the dull February light. The place was very quiet, though a few people were wandering about, choosing books.

  Luciana and Charley smiled at the librarian, who looked at them suspiciously but didn’t stop them from coming in. Together they slipped right to the back of the library, where a table stood surrounded by hard-backed chairs. They sat down and Luciana pulled out the box.

  They both looked at it. Four of the sides had the same kind of nonsensical mess of circles, dots and panels. Luciana picked it up with both hands and some deep memory bubbled to the surface of her mind. She knew how this worked. She had played with this box before, even though she had forgotten it entirely until she’d picked it up again. She turned both ends of the box in opposite directions, and the panels moved. Some of them rotated clockwise, the other anticlockwise, and as they did so the ‘pattern’ altered. Each layer could also move individually.

  “Do you think there’s a butterfly’s wing hidden in there, like on your grandfather’s desk?” Charley asked quietly, watching carefully as Luciana turned the box again, rotating another row of panels.

  “There’s not just one,” she whispered. “There are four. One on each moving side of the box.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I remember playing with this wh
en I was very small. I think it’s one of the ways my grandfather tried to teach me to remember the wing patterns. See?” Luciana held it up, indicating its moving panels. “Every one of these can be rotated either left or right, and every time they are moved, the pattern on each side changes. There’s a way to make all the wooden dots align in the right formations. I was never trying to do anything with the box when I was little – or at least, not at first. I just used to turn the tumblers. It was only later that Grandfather told me there were wing patterns hidden in there if I really looked closely. But I think this is a puzzle box too. If I can make all four wing decorations correctly at the same time, it will open – like the drawer in Grandfather’s desk.”

  “But how on earth do you do that?” Charley asked, aghast. “Every time you move one side and get it right, the others will move too. How do you even know what wing you’re trying to make?”

  “That’s why you have to know them all, I suppose,” Luciana muttered, already absorbed by the box. “These were all butterflies that can be found in Great Britain, if I remember correctly. And I know them better than I did when I was little, so maybe…”

  The light filtering down from the great glass roof began to fade as she kept turning the panels on the box, over and over, trying to get them to make patterns she recognized. Once she thought she had made a Red Admiral, but the last four tumblers would not connect properly and besides, there were no recognizable wings at all on the other three sides.

  “Why do you think it was hidden in that place?” Charley asked at one point. “Do you think Adeline put it there when she went back?”

  “Maybe,” Luciana muttered. “Perhaps it was something my grandfather asked her to do.”

  “But why use one of your toys?”

  Luciana shrugged and gave a quick grin. “Perhaps, like the puzzle on the desk, he wanted to know that only one person would know how it worked.”

  Luciana kept working on the box as the day dimmed even further. The library began to empty, and twice the librarian walked past their table, clearing his throat. Eventually Charley reached over the table and touched her arm.

  “We must go back, Ana,” he said softly. “If we don’t get the next train we will be hopelessly late and there will be hell to pay as it is.”

  “Just another minute,” she muttered. “Please. I’m almost there, if I can just…”

  As she spoke Luciana turned a panel, but it still wasn’t quite right – she had two wing patterns complete, but the other two were still missing part of their markings. She went back two steps, reversing what she had moved previously, and then moved two of the blocks in different directions before repeating the movement. There was a click. They stared at each other.

  “Does … does that mean you did it?” Charley asked.

  “I think so…” Luciana set the box down on the table. As soon as she let it go, the sliding panels all flipped outwards. A piece of paper popped out from within, fluttering down to land on the table between them.

  Luciana reached out and picked it up.

  “It’s a name and address,” she said. “For a Mr Philpot Danvers, of Richmond.”

  “That’s all?” Charley asked.

  “That’s all.”

  Charley nodded. “Then I suppose we’re not going home yet after all, are we?”

  The house stood beside the icy waters of the Thames. Luciana and Charley stood at its iron gate and stared along the darkened path. There were lights on behind drawn drapes, but the building lacked any aura of welcome. The renewed determination Luciana had felt after finding Danvers’ name and address had begun to evaporate. Her feet were cold, the sleeves and shoulders of her wool coat were wet, and for the first time it had really occurred to her that they were stuck far from home in the middle of winter with nowhere to stay for the night. Luciana took a deep breath and gripped at the gate’s handle before her resolve failed completely.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve come this far, haven’t we? We must at least knock.”

  “All right,” Charley muttered, sounding no more sure than Luciana felt. “Let’s give it a go then.”

  She pushed open the gate. They both winced as its hinges gave an abrupt squeal.

  Halfway up the chequered path, Charley grabbed her arm. “I think we’re being watched,” he whispered, pointing to a large bay window to the right of the entranceway. The drapes were moving, as if someone had just dropped them back into place after looking out.

  A moment later, the front door opened, emitting a glare of electric light. “Who’s there?” demanded a strident male voice loudly. “I can see you lurking. Come into the light.”

  Luciana moved a step forward, Charley’s hand still clamped firmly round her arm. Her eyes adjusted to the glare and she saw that the man at the door wore the crisp uniform of a butler. He looked them up and down.

  “Who are you?” he said. “What do two ragamuffins want at this domicile? Be off with you!”

  “We are looking for Mr Philpot Danvers,” Luciana said, proud that her voice did not shake.

  The butler’s face remained impassive. “And why would you be looking for Mr Danvers?”

  Luciana tried to work out what to say. It was too complicated to explain the whole truth.

  “My grandfather sent me,” she said.

  The butler frowned. “And who, pray, is your grandfather?”

  “His name was Marko Cattaneo. You might also have heard of him as the Magnificent Marko.”

  She saw the look on the butler’s face change. Something flickered across it, disturbing his prim features.

  “Come in,” he said abruptly, opening the door wider.

  Luciana and Charley looked at each other.

  “Don’t just stand there,” said the servant. “I’m letting the night air in.”

  The two of them crossed the threshold into a hallway lined in dark, polished walnut. The butler led them into the room with the bay window, where a fire burned in an ornate iron grate.

  “Wait,” he ordered.

  He disappeared again. Luciana looked around. The room was warm, thanks to the large fire. Instinctively she edged away from it, trying to pretend it wasn’t there and turning to look at the two sofas upholstered in rich rose-pink silk instead. There was also a chaise longue set into the window bay along with a baby grand piano. A thick rug was on the floor, and the walls were crowded with paintings. The mantel over the fire held photographs and an elaborate brass clock.

  “Not sure I like this,” Charley muttered, eyeing the poker. “Be ready to make a run for it if we need to, all right?”

  The door opened again, creaking on its hinges. Another man entered the room. He was thin and angular, with a thick shock of blond hair that dangled in unruly waves over his forehead. He swept it back as he entered to reveal eyes that were startlingly green and already crinkled by a smile. He pushed the door shut behind him and his shadow stretched up on to the ceiling. Everything about him seemed animated, as if he’d just been laughing at a joke. He was dressed in a fine suit of pale grey with a folded lilac kerchief in his top pocket.

  “Well,” he said in a loud, jovial voice. “What have we here then?”

  “Are you … Mr Philpot Danvers?” Luciana asked hesitantly.

  “I am indeed.” Danvers strode towards her and bent a little at the waist to inspect her face. “And you’re the Cattaneo, are you? Well, well. How on earth is the man himself? It’s years since I’ve seen him. And what the blazes is he sending you to me for at this time of night?”

  Luciana felt her optimism fading.

  “My grandfather is dead,” she said. “He died ten days ago.”

  At this news Danvers’ jaw slackened and his skin seemed to take on a grey cast. He went to one of the sofas, sinking into it and gripping the arm with one hand. He stared at nothing for a moment, as if he’d forgotten that Luciana and Charley were even there.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a voice as grey as his face. “I did not know. He
… was ill?”

  Luciana nodded, the sudden hot prick of tears taking her by surprise as she looked down at the carpet.

  Danvers passed a hand over his face and then seemed to come to his senses a little. He looked up at them both and, realizing they were still standing, waved at them to sit before taking up a small bell on the table beside him and ringing it.

  “Hot tea for us all, Turner, please,” he said, when the man who had let them in appeared. “And find these two children something to eat, if you can.”

  Once the butler had vanished again, Danvers leaned forward, giving Luciana a serious look. “Your grandfather was a great man,” he said. “I would have been at the funeral had I known. I’ve been abroad, you see. In America, as it happens. Only returned yesterday.”

  “How did you know my grandfather?” Luciana asked. “You were friends?”

  Danvers nodded. “Yes, indeed. I love to travel, and as a younger man your grandfather went all over the world. We had much in common, both in interests and the places we had both visited.”

  Luciana’s heart sank further. She was becoming more and more convinced that Danvers would not be able to help them. He obviously saw her disappointment in her face.

  “Why are you here, Luciana?” he asked. “What made you come to me?”

  Luciana looked over at Charley, wondering how much to say. “We thought … we thought you’d be able to help us.”

  “With what, exactly?”

  Luciana took a breath, looking at Charley again. Then she reached into the bag and drew out the velvet pouch, slipping the golden device from its innards. She laid it flat in her palm and held it out.

  “We want to know what it is,” Luciana said.

  Danvers stared at it with no hint of recognition. “I have no earthly idea,” he said, dashing the children’s hopes once and for all. “I’ve never seen anything like it before, I’m afraid. What makes you think it’s important?”

  “It was hidden in my grandfather’s study,” Luciana explained.