Serafina and the Twisted Staff (The Serafina Series) (12 page)

The detective turned his head slowly back to Serafina. ‘And when was the last time you saw Mr Thorne?’

The last time she’d seen him, he’d been lying dead on the ground in the graveyard, his blood leaking out of him, and then his body decomposed before her eyes, his worldly carcass
becoming nothing but blood-soaked earth.

‘I believe it was the last day we all saw him,’ she said. ‘The day he disappeared.’

‘At what
time
did you last see him?’

‘As I recall, it was after dark,’ she said, but
midnight
would have been more accurate.

‘So you were one of the last people to see him here at Biltmore.’

‘I believe I must have been.’

‘And what was he doing when you saw him last?’

‘The last time I saw him here at Biltmore, he was putting on his cloak and going out the door.’

‘You saw him leave Biltmore?’

‘Yes, very clearly. He was running out the door.’

‘Running?’ the detective asked in surprise.

‘Yes. Running.’
He was chasing me
, she thought,
and I led him to his death
.

The detective’s head pivoted to Braeden.

‘And did you see this as well?’

‘No,’ Braeden said. ‘I went to bed after the party.’

The detective’s eyes held steady on Braeden for several seconds as if he did not believe his answer. Then he said, ‘The black dog is yours.’ Serafina had no idea how he knew
this, because Gidean wasn’t even in the room.

‘Yes,’ Braeden replied uncertainly.

‘The dog is almost always with you, but you say you went to bed early that night. How and when did the dog suffer a wound to its right shoulder?’

‘I . . .’ Braeden said, confused and disturbed by the question.

‘How was the dog wounded?’ the detective pressed.

‘I did not see him get hurt,’ Braeden said truthfully.

‘But when did it happen?’

‘It was the morning we discovered that another child had gone missing. I sent Gidean out into the woods to track the child,’ Braeden said.

Serafina thought it was clever the way Braeden said
another child had gone missing
, disguising the fact that it had actually been
she
who had gone missing. She had gone out to trap
Mr Thorne. And she liked the way Braeden described it as
the morning
, which was technically correct because it had been after midnight, but gave the impression that it was the next day.

‘And did the dog find the missing child?’ the detective asked.

‘Yes, he did,’ Braeden said. Then he looked at Mr Vanderbilt. ‘Uncle, why is he asking me all these questions about Gidean? Does he think Gidean and I did something
wrong?’

Serafina couldn’t tell if Braeden was faking his expression of fear and bewilderment or whether it was genuine, but either way it was convincing.

‘No, of course not, Braeden,’ Mr Vanderbilt said, looking firmly at the detective when he said these words. ‘He’s just doing his job.’ It was clear that Mr
Vanderbilt would brook little more of this imposition. ‘Just answer his questions truthfully,’ he said again, and this time Serafina was sure of it – he was helping them. He was
on their side.
Choose your words carefully
, he was telling them. She knew that the key was to avoid and deflect the difficult questions.

The detective turned his head with a sharp scrape of his neck and looked at Serafina. ‘Do you know what happened to Mr Thorne on the night about which we speak?’

How in the world was she going to avoid that question without lying through her teeth? She could already see them erecting the gallows and tying the noose for her neck.

‘God rest his soul,’ she said abruptly.

‘Then you think that he’s not just missing but actually dead?’ the man said, leaning forward and peering at her.

‘Yes.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Because he has not returned.’

‘But do you know
how
he died? Did you see a body? Was there some sort of unnatural force involved?’

In those last few words, the rat betrayed himself. What was he truly looking for? When he said
unnatural force
, did he mean black magic? The man in the forest had instructed his dogs to
hunt down what he had called the Black One. This man wasn’t just looking for Mr Thorne’s murderer. He was looking for the Black Cloak!

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he pressed her.

‘I believe a powerful force must have surprised him and killed him,’ she said. ‘Everyone in the mountains knows that the forest is filled with many dangers.’ And then she
remembered the expression that Essie had said always spooked her. ‘Maybe the old man of the forest is up to his old tricks again.’

The detective’s expression widened when she said these words. ‘What kind of powerful force are you talking about?’

‘I think there are forces both good and evil in the forest.’

‘And you believe it was these forces that killed Mr Thorne?’ the detective asked.

‘It could be,’ she said. What she wasn’t saying was that it had been the
good
forces rather than the evil ones that had killed Mr Thorne.

Mr Vanderbilt leaned forward. ‘I don’t know where your questions are going, Mr Grathan. I suggest we proceed with the other people on your list.’

‘I have more questions for these two,’ the detective said sharply, not looking at Mr Vanderbilt. Serafina could feel the barely controlled intensity rising within the detective. It
was as if he had come in the
disguise
of a civilised person, a police investigator, but now his true character was beginning to show itself.

He thrust his hand into his pocket and brought out a silver clasp engraved with an intricate design: a tight bundle of twisting vines and thorns.

Serafina’s heart began to pound in her chest. Now there was no doubt. The detective had found the remnants of the Black Cloak. That meant he had indeed been out to the area of her
mother’s den. A flash of new fears flooded her mind. She could feel the heat rising in her body.

‘Do you recognise this?’ the detective asked her.

The pulse of her blood thumped in her temples. She could barely hear his words.

‘Do you recognise this?’ he asked again.

‘It appears to be a clasp from an article of clothing,’ she said, trying to keep her voice as flat and undisturbed as possible.

‘But you’re not answering the question!’ he pressed her.

‘Mr Grathan, calm yourself,’ Mr Vanderbilt warned him.

‘Do you recognise it?’ Mr Grathan asked her, ignoring him.

‘It looks as if whatever it once held is now set free,’ she said.

‘But have you seen it before?’ he asked again, gripping the handle of his cane like he was going to swing it around and wield it like a weapon at any moment.

She felt a great weight pressing in on her. But as she pretended to examine the clasp, she noticed that something was different: the tiny faces that had been behind the thorns were gone now.

‘I have never seen a silver clasp with this design,’ she said, at last finding a way to hew to the truth.

The detective stared at her for a long time as if he knew she was deceiving him but could not quite frame the words to trap her.

‘Detective, we need to move on,’ Mr Vanderbilt pushed him.

‘I have more questions!’ the detective insisted, his voice filled with aggravation, his eyes locked on Serafina. ‘Do you know which room Mr Thorne slept in during his stay at
Biltmore?’

‘It was on the third floor,’ she said.

‘Do you live here at Biltmore?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘With the female servants on the fourth floor?’

‘No.’

‘Then where do you sleep at night?’

‘I do not.’

The detective stopped and looked at her in surprise. ‘You do not sleep?’

‘I do not sleep at night.’

The man frowned. ‘Are you a night maid?’

‘No.’

‘Then what are you?’

She looked him straight in the eyes and said, ‘I’m the Chief Rat Catcher. I track down vermin.’

He stared right back at her and said, ‘Then we have that much in common.’

S
erafina glanced at Braeden as the two of them quickly left Mr Vanderbilt’s den and crossed through the library.

‘We have to stay away from that man,’ Braeden whispered to her.

‘No, we need to get rid of him!’ Serafina said fiercely. She was still breathing heavily from her exchange with him.

‘If my uncle hadn’t stopped everything and dismissed us, were you going to fight the detective right there?’

Serafina just shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. As they walked towards the Entrance Hall, Gidean followed at their side.

‘Did you see his face? All those scars?’ Braeden said. ‘That man’s scary! What’s he been fighting?’

‘His neck creaked every time he turned his head,’ Serafina said.

‘He was horrible. And he just kept asking question after question. I thought it would never end! What’s going to happen if he finds out we were involved in Mr Thorne’s death?
Is he going to arrest us?’

‘Worse than that, I think,’ Serafina said. ‘I’m not sure he is who he says he is.’

‘What do you mean?’ Braeden asked in alarm. Looking at her wounds, he said, ‘What happened to you last night?’

She desperately wanted to talk to him, but as they reached the Entrance Hall she heard Mrs Vanderbilt and Lady Rowena coming in through the vestibule.

‘One of the servants must have notified them that we were done,’ Braeden muttered. She couldn’t be sure, but it almost sounded like there was sadness in his voice.

‘Do you have to go?’ Serafina asked quietly, glancing at him. She knew he probably did.

‘Come on!’ he said suddenly, and pulled her in the opposite direction.

Laughing, Serafina ran with Braeden up the Grand Staircase, the wide, magnificent circular stairway that led to the upper floors. She wasn’t sure where Braeden was taking her, other than
just to escape, but when they reached the third floor she had an idea where they could go and talk in secret. There was much she had to tell him.

‘This way!’ she said as they ran through the living hall past several smartly dressed ladies and gentlemen enjoying tea.

‘Hello, everybody!’ Braeden called cheerfully as they blazed through.

‘Oh, good evening, Master Braeden,’ one of the gentlemen said, as if it weren’t unusual at all for two children and a dog to be dashing through the living hall.

‘Where are we going?’ Braeden asked breathlessly as they darted down a back corridor.

‘You’ll see,’ she said.

At the end of the hallway, she stopped just where the path doglegged up towards the north tower room. Two small bronze sculptures and a gathering of books sat atop a built-in oak cabinet. The
first bronze sculpture depicted a horse being spooked by a rattlesnake. The second was a lean and muscular leopardess, her ears pinned back and her fangs bared as she sank her teeth and claws into
some sort of wild beast.

Serafina had noticed over the years that there were sculptures and paintings of great cats everywhere at Biltmore: two bronze lionesses prowled on the mantel above the billiard table, and two
rampant lions raised their claws above the fireplace where guests enjoyed their breakfast. When she was younger she had always imagined that these were her aunts and uncles, her grandmothers and
grandfathers, like family portraits on the wall. An old woodcut print of a proud, great-grandfatherly lion was displayed in the library, and there were cousin-like lion faces carved into the
decorative corbels in the Banquet Hall. The statues on the house gates depicted the head and upper body of a woman, but if you looked very carefully, which she always did, you could see the lower
body of a lion. The one that had always perplexed her the most was the white marble statue leading into the Italian Garden: a woman with a lion draped over her back and a little girl at her side.
Even the doorbell at Biltmore’s front door depicted a great cat. She had often wondered why Mr Vanderbilt had collected so many tributes to the feline race. But of all the cats at Biltmore,
this small bronze sculpture of a leopardess in the throes of a ferocious attack had always been her favourite.

‘What are we doing?’ Braeden asked, staring in confusion at the sculptures.

Serafina bent down and opened the cabinet door. Inside were more of Mr Vanderbilt’s books. Getting down on her hands and knees, she moved the volumes aside and gained access to the back of
the cabinet. She pushed hard on the wooden panel as she remembered doing before, but it didn’t budge.

‘What are you doing that for?’ Braeden asked.

‘Come on, help me,’ Serafina said, and soon she and Braeden were working shoulder to shoulder. The back panel of the cabinet finally pushed through, opening into a dark hole.

‘Follow me,’ Serafina said, her voice echoing a little as she crawled into the darkness. She hadn’t been in here in years, but when she was younger it had been one of her
favourite places.

‘I’m not going in there until you . . .’ Braeden was saying behind her, but she kept going into the darkness.

‘Serafina?’ Braeden asked from out in the corridor. ‘Fine, I’m coming.’ He must have turned and petted Gidean, because in the next moment his voice became softer.
‘You wait here, boy,’ he said. ‘This doesn’t look like a good place for a dog.’