Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil (Aunt Dimity Mystery) (21 page)

“Jewelry,” Nicole answered promptly. “That’s what I’d bury if the Scots threatened to invade Northumberland.” She giggled girlishly, glimpsed Adam’s solemn face, and straightened her own. “Uncle Dickie wondered if Claire actually received the treasure.”

“I don’t see why not,” I said. “Clive Aynsworth was a faithful courier. He wouldn’t have kept back a package meant for Claire, particularly since she already knew it was coming.” I put my teacup down abruptly as a jarring thought struck home. “It must have been the last package he delivered.”

“Why is that?” Nicole asked.

Adam spoke for the first time. “If you’ll examine the memorial tablet in the church, you’ll see that Clive Aynsworth died less than a month after Edward. Lori’s probably right. The treasure was the last thing Mr. Aynsworth brought to Claire.”

“How sad.” Nicole allowed a decent interval to pass before returning to a subject that had evidently seized her
imagination. “Claire must have hidden the treasure, just as she did the letters, to keep Josiah from confiscating it.”

“She didn’t hide it in the tower room,” I stated flatly. “If she had, we’d’ve found it last night.”

“Where else could it be?” Nicole paused to contemplate a marmalade-slathered triangle of toast. “Claire last saw Edward at the Devil’s Ring. Do you suppose she might have buried the treasure there?” She turned to Adam. “What do you say, Adam? Shall we mount an expedition?”

Adam blinked slowly, as if Nicole had awakened him from a deep sleep. “Not today,” he said softly. “It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”

Nicole grimaced. “I don’t fancy visiting the Devil’s Ring at night. We’ll go tomorrow, if the weather’s fine.” She nodded, satisfied, and continued eating.

“I think we should search the rooms on the third floor,” I proposed, “the ones you haven’t renovated yet.”

“Really?” Nicole’s good cheer vanished abruptly. “You know, I haven’t been up to the third floor since we took possession of Wyrdhurst. The…the noises I’ve heard, the footsteps, the creaks—they always seem to come from up there.”

“Then it’s high time someone had a look around,” I told her. “You said yourself that humans are behind all of this ghost nonsense. Let’s see if we can find proof—and the treasure.”

“Are you acting on another hunch?” Nicole inquired.

“No,” I admitted. Claire hadn’t made herself known to me since she’d left me at the tower room. I suspected that she, like Adam, needed time to recover from our difficult journey into the past. “I just think we ought to cover all of
the bases. We can search the third-floor rooms today and the Devil’s Ring tomorrow.”

“Well…” Nicole took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “If you’re up to it, I’m game. What about you, Adam?”

“Adam needs a few more hours of sleep,” I said.

He looked at me gratefully. “You may be right, Lori, but it’s not a wise idea.” He lowered his long lashes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Captain Manning would accuse me of dereliction of duty.”

I gave him a covert glare. I’d nursed a faint hope that Nicole would forget the whopper I’d told to explain Adam’s presence at Wyrdhurst, but I should have known better. When it came to Captain Manning, Nicole had a mind like a steel trap.

“I’m glad you take your assignment seriously, Adam, but I’m sure G—Captain Manning won’t mind us being on our own during the day. It’s only at night that strange things happen.” She patted Adam’s hand. “You go back to your room and have a nice lie-down. If Lori and I find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

As I swallowed a last bite of smoked salmon, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from Guy since he’d reached me by telephone at the fishing hut. I wondered briefly if he’d managed to locate Nicole’s missing husband or identify the culprit who’d opened the gate to the military track. On the whole, however, I welcomed his silence. I wasn’t looking forward to his reaction when Nicole thanked him for sending Adam to watch over us.

“It’s rather spooky, isn’t it?” Nicole whispered.

The east-wing corridor lay before us, as surreal as the deck of a drowned ocean liner. Wyrdhurst’s elaborate Victorian decor ended abruptly at the third floor. Gone were the polished tables, the velvet hangings, the gilt-framed oils. Instead, ragged ribbons of faded wallpaper drooped from the walls, tarnished sconces hung askew, and a fine layer of dust covered everything in a ghostly gray shroud.

The silence was so profound that we crept along like truant children fearing discovery. I wore my cat-burglar outfit, Nicole a russet sweater and tweed trousers, and we both carried flashlights.

“I’m sorry it’s so filthy,” Nicole went on. “The cleaners come up here only once a month.”

“I don’t mind,” I whispered back. “It gives the place a certain
je ne sais quoi.
”

Nicole’s giggle echoed eerily from the peeling walls.

“Lori,” she said suddenly. Her normal tone of voice rang out like a shout. “Someone’s been here before us.”

“I know,” I said. “Hatch and those two men you sent up to the east tower have been here before us.”

“But…why would they stop at every room?”

She directed her flashlight along the floor and I saw on the threadbare runner row after row of blurred footprints leading to and from every door along the corridor.

“Mrs. Hatch?” I suggested.

“She never comes up here, and the cleaners haven’t been for three weeks.” Nicole took her lower lip between her teeth. “We should fetch Adam. Better yet, we should ring Guy. Guy will know what to do.”

“You’re being a ninny again.” I had no intention of disturbing
Adam or bringing Guy’s wrath down upon me until it was absolutely necessary. “You should be happy to see that someone’s been up here.”

“Why?” Nicole asked.

“Because,” I said impatiently, “
ghosts don’t leave footprints.
Come on. Let’s take a look for ourselves before we go running to the menfolk.” I brushed past her, reached for the handle of the nearest door, and flung it open.

Daylight filtered softly through the faded drapes of a long-disused bedroom. Dust sheets covered the furniture, but the rugs were rumpled and the dust on the floor was disturbed. The same held true for the next room and the next.

“Do you suppose someone else knows about the treasure?” Nicole asked.

“If your uncle didn’t know about it, how could anyone else?” I looked up and down the corridor suspiciously. The Wyrdhurst ghost was becoming more corporeal by the minute. “Were there a lot of little things up here, Nicole? Candlesticks, snuff boxes—things small enough to carry?”

“Yes, indeed,” Nicole replied. “Uncle Dickie brought some bits downstairs when he refurbished our rooms, but left the rest for us to sort through. Why?”

“Let me think for a minute.” My mind flashed back to the strange behavior I’d encountered at Her Majesty’s pub, the averted eyes, young James’s embarrassment, Bart Little’s overwarm welcome. At the time I’d suspected the men of impersonating the Wyrdhurst ghost, but now another explanation seemed possible.

“If you ask me,” I said, “we’re dealing with a simple, straightforward case of burglary.”

Nicole bristled. “Do you mean to say that someone’s been looting my house under my very nose?”

I nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time thieves robbed a mansion while it was occupied.”

“But how could anyone get in? We have a security system that…” She wilted slightly. “That I sometimes forget to use.”

I pursed my lips. The Little family was looking guiltier by the minute. Who would know the Hollanders’ habits better than the villagers? Guy had already proved that the locals knew all about Jared’s comings and goings, and I had little doubt that Nicole’s negligence was also common knowledge. News traveled fast in places like Blackhope.

Nicole stepped past me, murmuring, “Jared will be livid when he finds out what I’ve done.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t go away quite so often,” I muttered, but Nicole didn’t seem to hear me. She’d moved on to the last room in the east wing and was standing in the doorway, one hand raised to her mouth.

“Lori,” she said. “We’ve found the nursery.”

D
usk had fallen, but a last vestige of sunlight cast striped shadows from the nursery’s barred windows onto the serviceable linoleum floor.

The room was simply furnished and the walls were wainscoted in oak. Above the oak panels a painted parade of gallant steeds pranced around the room. A circle of fair damsels decorated the hearth rug.

Apart from the horses and the damsels, the room was strangely devoid of personality. The cupboards were empty, the tables bare, as if the room had been stripped of anything that might suggest the presence of children—or anything that might fetch a good price on the open market.

“Where are the dustcovers?” Nicole asked.

“Tossed in the corner,” I said, pointing. “The thieves must have left in a hurry. They didn’t have time to tidy up after themselves.”

“I believe the night nursery is through here,” Nicole said, opening a connecting door.

The night nursery was equally anonymous. The nanny’s corner held a full-sized bed, a dressing table, a washstand, and a sizable clothes cupboard. A child’s bed sat opposite the nanny’s, its carved headboard touching the wall. The night nursery’s dust sheets lay in a heap between the child’s bed and the windows.

My heart ached when I caught sight of the small bed. I could almost see Claire curled beneath a quilted counterpane, watching moonlight silver passing clouds and dreaming of the knight in shining armor who would one day carry her away.

I wandered to the windows, to look out over the darkening
moors. The rising moon was nearly full, but clouds were moving in swiftly from the east. With a sigh, I turned to examine the carved headboard, caught my toe in a tangled dustcover, threw my hands out to save myself, and fell headlong through the paneled wall.

“Lori?
Lori!
” Nicole exclaimed. “Where are you?”

“I…I’m not sure.” I pushed myself up on my hands and knees, then got to my feet. A sheet of wood the size of a small door lay beneath me, snapped cleanly from its adjoining panels. “I dropped my light.”

Nicole ducked through the opening, held her flashlight high, and gasped.

I gasped with her.

“Aladdin’s cave,” she breathed.

“No,” I said. “Claire’s.”

The windowless storeroom had the wan, neglected air of an abandoned toy shop. It was filled with cupboards and shelves, and every inch of space appeared to be crammed with children’s things.

There were music boxes, marionettes, puzzles, and hoops; tea sets, clockwork toys, and china figurines. There were prams and cradles and dolls of all descriptions, from the humblest yarn-haired rag doll to the haughtiest porcelain-faced queen. A proscenium-arched puppet theater sat on the stone floor between a spotted rocking horse and a dollhouse furnished from scullery to attics with exquisite miniatures.

My flashlight lay between the wheels of an elegant wicker pram. I bent to retrieve it, leaving Nicole to clear a trail to the nearest cupboard.

“Lori,” she said. “Look!”

She’d found a wardrobe fit for a princess: fur-trimmed dresses, lace dresses, and beaded velvet ones; hats billowing with ostrich feathers; ermine cloaks, frilled petticoats, and boxes spilling over with kid gloves, embroidered handkerchiefs, and silk stockings.

“Valenciennes lace,” Nicole crooned, lifting a petticoat from a shelf.

I shone my flashlight slowly over the gorgeous fabrics, marveling at the love Josiah had showered on his only daughter, the child of his old age. It was difficult to believe that a man who’d bestowed such riches upon a child had also held her captive in a barren cell.

Cold fingers seemed to brush my neck. I trembled, turned, and swept the storeroom with my flashlight. Its beam came to rest, almost of its own accord, on a large, dustcover-draped painting half hidden by a cupboard on the far side of the chamber. While Nicole inspected the petticoat’s fine needlework, I allowed myself to be drawn, as if by an unseen hand, across the room.

I pulled the painting from behind the cupboard, leaned it against the dollhouse, twitched the dust sheet from its gilded frame, and saw a face I’d seen before.