Ten Lords A-Leaping: A Mystery (Father Christmas) (34 page)

Miranda easily passed through the opening, but Jane and Tom were obliged to bend low to enter into the bright corridor. Blinking against the dazzling light, he saw plainly he had stepped into a familiar passage in the old servants’ quarters. There was the old kitchen, now tearoom, to the left, past Jane’s head. There was the sign to the Eggescombe souvenir shop next to Miranda. He turned to see Max pushing shut on well-oiled hinges—so silent was the movement—what appeared to be a section of the wainscoting. He bent to examine the wood. The light in the passage really wasn’t so strong after all, once one’s eyes had adjusted, so Tom ran his hand over the patterning of the oak.

“Remarkable!” he couldn’t help saying. He could detect no seam. “A jib door. But how do you open the door at this end, should you want to go
in
to the tunnel?”

“Thus,” Max said, moving to lift a floorboard cleverly fitted with hidden hinges. As the floorboard rose, the door opened in rhythm.

“Who knows about this?” Tom asked.

Max pushed back his helmet. “Well, I do. And there’s Pater and Mater, of course. Grandmama …”

“Anyone else? Staff?”

Jane, who had put her hands on Max’s shoulders, flicked Tom a frowning glance.

“I do believe I told Gaunt and Mrs. Gaunt.” Max tapped his chin. “I’m not certain who else …”

“Why, Daddy?” Miranda interrupted.

“Oh, simple curiosity.” Tom made his voice light as he gently urged Miranda forwards down the passage towards the door to the yard.

“What was that all about?” Jane murmured as the children scrambled ahead.

“You remember me talking about following a dew path yesterday morning?” Tom dropped his voice to a whisper. “Well, the footprints ended at this part of the wall where the opening is. I thought the wet had simply dried at that point, or that whomever I thought I saw had gone up the stairs and into the Hall.” He watched Miranda and Max to ensure they weren’t listening. “Where does the tunnel end? And do I still need to be surprised?”

Jane made a face. “The stable block.”

“Oh.” The word came as a groan.

“Yes,” Jane said. It was as if they were possessed by the same unhappy thought: proximity of the stable block and the dower house and what that might mean.

“But the stable block was built in the eighteenth century after restrictions on Catholics were eased,” Tom said. “The tunnel is from Elizabeth’s reign or James the First’s.”

“I understand the present stable block was built on the site of whatever building preceded it. They incorporated the entrance to the tunnel into the new building.” Jane frowned. “Where once the tunnel was useful to protect priests and recusants, in late-Victorian and Edwardian times it became the way for the servants to come and go, so their masters wouldn’t have to see or hear them.

“Quel suppose indice as-tu trouvé, Miranda?”
Jane took a seat at one of the outdoor tables.

“Max has it. Max?”

Max had wandered away. “What?”

“In your pocket. Top one, right.”

“Oh, that.” Max pushed his hand past the flap of his jacket pocket. “I say, this could be like a magic trick. What do you think, Mr. Christmas? Perhaps a rabbit will appear. Or a dove!”

“Judging from the size of the bulge, I’d say more likely a sparrow.”
And a dead one at that
.

“If only one had a wand.” Max’s hand continued to brush his pocket tantalisingly. “Hocus, pocus—”

“Mocus, focus, autumn crocus.”

“I say, that
is
good.”

“Doris, doubtless, Douglas, drabness,” Tom improvised. “Fire burn and caldroun’s blackness.”

“Oh, for a drumroll!”

“And a surrey with the fringe on top,” Tom ended quickly, tapping a tattoo on the tabletop.

Max’s hand dove in the pocket. “Ta
-dah
!”

He pulled out a roll of cloth and gave it a flick; Tom and Jane watched it unravel from his fingers with the practised look of expectation wise adults were to show clever children.

“Oh.” Tom tried to keep disappointment from his voice. “It’s a tie.”

“It looks like … a school tie.” Jane took it from Max’s hands and gave it a shake. Tiny particles of stone descended to the yard’s cobbles. “Actually, it looks like a Shrewsbury tie. But …”

She paused, her expression suddenly grave. Tom caught
Miranda’s studied gaze at the strip of cloth before she turned to him, her eyes alert; in that moment he realised his little girl had galloped ahead of his thinking. His eyes darted with a new horror to Jane’s hands, to the commonplace item of haberdashery draping over her fingers.
Is it possible?
He looked to her face and saw his horror reflected in her eyes, then as swiftly suppressed. She rose from her seat and said with studied calm:

“Let’s go have a chat with Jamie. He might still be in the estate office. He was waiting for your father earlier, Max.”

“Is it cousin Jamie’s tie, do you think?” Max asked.

“I don’t know.” Jane led the way back across the cobbles.

Jamie looked up from papers splayed over Hector’s desk when they entered the office. A map of the estate covered one wall, but two of the others were lined with glass-fronted cabinets suggesting this was once the butler’s pantry, files and papers having replaced the silver and crystal of old.

“Hello, darling, what are you doing with my tie?”

“Is it your tie?” Jane asked.

“Isn’t it my tie? It rather looks as though it is.” Faint puzzlement lit Jamie’s features as they crowded into the room. “Although I suppose school ties have a certain similarity.” He smiled upon them as though they were an amusing delegation from a foreign country.

“The kids found it in the tunnel,” Jane said, holding it up.

“Where’s Pater?” Max interjected, squeezing farther into the room between Jane and Tom.

“I’m here!” Lord Fairhaven’s voice snapped behind them, adding with evident breathlessness, “What are you all doing in my office?”

“More to the point: What have you been doing, Hector, chopping wood?” Jamie’s knitted brow alerted them to Hector’s altered appearance, the damp, rubicund face.

“I’ve been out for a run, obviously.” He gestured to his short trousers and damp T-shirt. “I missed doing so before breakfast.”

“Mad dogs and Englishmen,” Jamie remarked as Hector came around the desk. “You’re sweating like a horse, old man.”

Hector dismissed the remark with a wave of his hand. His eyes fell on the tie, still in Jane’s hand. “What—?”

“Max and Miranda found it in the tunnel,” Jane repeated. “Hector, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Max”—Hector recovered his sergeant-major voice—“I’ve asked you
not
to play in the tunnel. It makes your mother worry when you do.”

“But Mater doesn’t know.”

“Nonetheless!”

“Very peculiar,” Jamie interrupted, “I can’t imagine how my tie would get in the tunnel.” He frowned. “I’m certain I saw it rolled in a drawer this morning when I was dressing.” He stepped around the desk, took the strip of fabric in his hand, turned it over, fingered the back label, then unfurled it to full length. He shrugged. “Oh, well, as the old hymn says, it once was lost and now is found. Darling, why don’t you put it …” His smile dropped as his eyes moved between his wife and Tom. “Is it important?”

No one leapt to an answer and in the silence the ominous march of sensible shoes on tiles was a not unwelcome diversion. Ellen Gaunt stepped into the room, a large butler’s tray in both hands. She evinced no surprise at the numbers who
jostled to make room for her, expertly slid the tray onto a stand next to the desk, and turned to make a bland announcement of tea. Before the words fell from her mouth, her eyes landed on the article in Jamie’s fingers. Tom saw her start, then quickly recompose her features. But he wasn’t alone in noting the transformation. Hector’s eyes narrowed. Blandly he enquired, “Mrs. Gaunt, you wouldn’t happen to know how Lord Kirkbride’s tie might have found its way into the tunnel?”

“The tunnel, my lord?”

“Yes, there’s a very old one between the Hall and the stable block. Perhaps I failed to mention—”

“I told you about it, Mrs. Gaunt,” Max insisted.

“Yes, of course you did.” She struggled to smile at the boy. “I am aware of the tunnel, my lord, but I’m sorry to say I know nothing of Lord Kirkbride’s tie.”

“It mightn’t be my tie, I suppose. It does look a bit stretched.” Jamie’s voice conveyed a certain exasperation. “Although who else here attended Shrewsbury? Ampleforth for you two.” He gestured to Hector and Max. “And Dominic was at Winchester, was he not?”

“Oliver went to Shrewsbury,” Jane pointed out.

“But he wouldn’t have any reason to bring an old school tie with him.” Jamie frowned. “Then it must be mine, although I can’t think how it could go walkabout.”

“Ow!” Max interjected, jerking away. “That hurt!”

“Miranda,” Tom gently cautioned his daughter, having witnessed the rib poking.

“Dash it all, I suppose I shall have to make a confession.” Max pushed out his lower lip.

“You put my tie in the tunnel?”

“No. But I did borrow it. Sorry, cousin Jamie, I didn’t tell you—”

“That’s all right. It’s only a tie.”

“Mr. Christmas wanted one for a magic trick Saturday when we were on the terrace—”

“Of course!” Tom exclaimed. “I’d forgotten. But I needed some of my kit to complete the trick, so—”

“Isn’t this rather a lot of fuss over a tie?” Jamie frowned.

“I should say.” Hector gave the thing a wary glance.

“The two of you,” Jane sighed, “are as thick as two planks. Where exactly, Max, did you and Miranda find it?”

“The bally thing was tucked behind a loose brick, wasn’t it, Miranda?”

“When we were looking for treasure. You couldn’t help see it once the brick was removed.”

“Someone”—Jane turned her attention back to her husband and Hector—“tried deliberately to conceal this tie.”

“Bloody hell,” Jamie intoned, looking at the thing in his hand with new eyes. He dropped it on Hector’s desk, while Hector pushed himself on his chair a polite distance. “But …” Jamie paused, as if gathering his thoughts. “How … I mean, what happened to it, Max, after you … borrowed it?”

“I brought it out onto the terrace. Mr. Sica and Grandmama and cousin Dominic—and you, Pater, were there, remember? Cousin Dominic made it into a belt.”

“A
belt
? I think I’d moved away to talk to someone else by then.”

“No, you hadn’t. You said Dominic looked a fool in it.
Dominic said his tutor at Oxford, Fred Astaire, used to wear men’s ties as belts.”

“Preposterous.”

“It’s superb, Pater. Quite stylish.”

“Do you mean”—Jane seemed to be thinking out loud—“Dominic removed the tie and you put it on? Or you tried the effect later, with a different tie?”

“Cousin Dominic only wore it for a moment.” Max removed his pith helmet and smoothed his hair. “I was going to return it to cousin Jamie’s room, but I thought to try it on when I was in the drawing room.”

“And?” Jamie prompted.

“Well, it didn’t really work with evening dress. No belt loops.”

“What did you do with it?”

Max’s features fell into a series of gestures—a moue, an accordion forehead, narrowed eyes as he probed his memory. “No idea. I might have left it on a sofa or one of the tables. I remember Gaunt bringing me a cocktail. Well, orange squash. Perhaps Bonzo took it.”

“Mrs. Gaunt.” Hector turned to his housekeeper. “Do you recall finding a tie next day in the drawing room?”

“I’m sorry, my lord, I did not.”

Tom’s eyes went from Ellen’s peculiarly fixed gaze to the tie, coiled now on the desk. So did everyone else’s. They stared at it as if it were a slumbering snake about to raise its head and strike. Jamie broke the silence after a moment:

“I must say, however, I’m very certain I clapped eyes on my tie this morning. I remember distinctly, as I was looking for pants, and there it was, rolled up to one side of the drawer.”

“Is that where you placed it when you arrived at Eggescombe last week?” Tom asked.

“No. I stuffed it in my pocket when I got out of the car.”

“And where did you find it?” Tom addressed Max.

“From cousin Jamie’s suit pocket. I saw him put it there when he arrived. That’s what I always do with my school ties.”

“Was it in the drawer yesterday morning? Sunday?” Tom asked Jamie.

Jamie frowned. “I’m not sure. We were all in shock yesterday morning, weren’t we? But I
think
I saw it
this
morning. And when I did, I assumed my wife had been tidying. She does that.”

“You might be tidier if you had boarded at Shrewsbury after all.” Jane’s smile was brief. “But in this instance, I’m blameless. I didn’t touch your tie.”

“I say, this is a rummy affair,” Max remarked.

“Quite, old chap,” Jamie added in mild mockery. “However, I think we might have a bit of clarity if I go upstairs and have a recce in my bedroom. Jane?”

Jane exchanged a glance with Tom.

“I think,” she replied, “it might be useful to tour the tunnel to its very end. It’s one way, at any rate, of getting to Marve’s for tea.

“And by the way, ye of little faith.” Jane turned to her husband, “Anna Phillips
is
Ree Corlett.”