The Billionaire’s Curse (15 page)

Gerald was quicker than Sam. He managed to duck out of the path of Ruby’s fist.

“And we still have no idea what the diamond casket is,” Sam said.

“Whatever it is, a lot of people are pretty interested in it,” Gerald grunted.

The privacy screen behind the driver’s seat slid down a fraction.

“We’ll be arriving at Avonleigh in ten minutes,” Fry said in a tone of dry indifference, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Finally!” Gerald said. “We’re starving and—”

Before he could finish the sentence, the screen had risen back to the ceiling.

“What’s he so grumpy about?” Sam asked.

“I guess it’s the will,” Gerald said. “He was with Geraldine for years and all she left him was a set of teaspoons.”

“Teaspoons?”

“Apparently it’s an old lady thing. So he got some silverware and I got, well, you know.”

“You don’t think he was expecting to inherit a huge amount, do you? You know, enough to want to knock her off?” Sam said.

“Sam!” Ruby snapped. “This is Gerald’s great-aunt you’re talking about.”

“Well, it stands to reason,” Sam went on, ignoring his sister. “Servant hopes to inherit a pile of cash, gets tired of waiting for the boss to kick on. Just the two of them in that big empty house. Easy enough for him to sneak up behind the old girl and—”

“Sam!”

“All right, all right. But think about it. Nothing like having an inside man on the job, is there? And who better to snoop around Gerald’s room to find that package? I bet Fry even knew about that loose carpet in the closet.”

Gerald frowned out the window at the passing countryside.

“Terrific. Add another name to the suspect list.”

A few minutes later the Rolls turned off the main road and they found themselves driving along a narrow country lane, bordered by fields dotted with black-and-white cows. Summer was well underway in Somerset. The grass was knee high and the livestock looked well fed. The meadows along either side of the road began to feature the occasional barn, or suddenly played host to a blanket of yellow flowers standing bright against the blue sky.

A stone wall appeared on one side, rocks of various shapes and sizes pieced together in a giant jigsaw. Tall hedges blocked the view as they eased off the road to approach a gatehouse. The building was covered in thick ivy, but Gerald could make out patches of sandstone underneath. The car drew to a halt in front of a pair of enormous black iron gates, topped with gold-painted spikes. Set into the center of the gates was a sculpture of an archer encircled by a blazing sun—the same image that was painted on the tail of the jet that brought Gerald to London a few days ago.

Fry opened the driver’s window and spoke into an intercom set into a mossy stone wall. There was a sharp click and the gates swung inward. Fry eased the Rolls through, the tires biting the gravel at the beginning of a long driveway lined with chestnut trees.

Gerald lowered the window to get a better view but all he could see was tree trunks and leaves.

After a few minutes the drive eased around to the left and then widened to reveal a broad avenue of conifers along an expanse of manicured lawns, leading down a gentle slope toward…

“Far out,” breathed Sam.

“Look at that,” Gerald said.

Ruby’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh my.”

At the bottom of the hill, at the end of the driveway, stood a vast mansion, its stonework the color of honey. The imposing building was like nothing Gerald had ever seen before. It stood four stories tall, but its pitched slate roof gave it the appearance of soaring far higher. Its facade was a masterpiece of stonemasonry and glasswork. Statues and carvings were set into the upper levels and gables. Expansive bay windows rose over two stories, the multipaneled casements a mirror to the blue sky above. Gardens and lawns stretched away either side of the north and south wings, lush in the warmth of summer. The place evoked an atmosphere of ancient wealth and power.

“…nine, ten…eleven, twelve. That’s at least twelve chimneys,” Sam said. “It’s enormous!”

Gerald banged his hand on the screen behind Fry’s head, and the divider slid down.

“Yes?” Fry said icily.

“Is this it?” Gerald asked.

“Not to your liking, sir? Should I have the plans for the roller coaster brought forward?”

Gerald didn’t reply. As the sheer scale of the house sank in, he couldn’t speak. All this was his?

The Rolls crunched to a stop at the end of the drive. Gerald and the Valentine twins piled out and stood in awe, dwarfed by the colossal mansion. Gerald noticed two lines of people, one on either side of the steps leading to the main entrance. They were dressed in uniforms and it looked as if they were going to a fancy-dress party.

Gerald took some tentative steps toward the entry.

A woman stepped forward from the head of one of the lines. She was shorter than Gerald and her white hair was drawn into a tight bun. She wore a neat but plain gray tunic that almost brushed the ground. Her sleeves were buttoned at the wrist and her collar disappeared under one of several chins. She gave the impression of being slightly batty, an impression that was confirmed the moment she opened her mouth.

“Welcome, sir! Welcome to Avonleigh!” she trilled as she took Gerald by the hand and shook it with vigor. “It is an honor to have the new master with us. We are at your service.”

Gerald stared at the woman as she beamed at him. He glanced across to the other people by the front doors. There were about fifteen of them, men and women, all dressed as if it was 1910. They dropped their gaze and bowed their heads to him.

“My name is Mrs. Rutherford, sir, and I am the housekeeper here at Avonleigh. I’ve been in the employ of the Archer family at this here house for forty-five years come Feb’ry and if you need anything at all you just ask me, sir.”

Her face radiated, as if her life had been leading to this moment. Gerald eased his hand free from the woman’s grasp.

“Um, thanks very much. But please, don’t call me sir.”

“Not call you sir, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Well, what shall I call you, sir?”

Mr. Fry walked behind the woman, lugging Sam and Ruby’s bags toward the front door. “I could suggest a couple of things,” he muttered.

“Just call me Gerald,” Gerald said to Mrs. Rutherford, ignoring Fry’s grumblings.

Mrs. Rutherford did not look convinced.

“By your first name, sir? That would not seem appropriate at all. May I at least please call you Master Gerald, sir?”

Gerald sighed. “Yes, that would be fine. And this is Master Sam and Miss Ruby,” he said, redirecting Mrs. Rutherford’s rapt attention to the Valentines. “They’ll be staying here as well.”

Mrs. Rutherford descended on Sam and Ruby and shook their hands. “If there is anything I can do for you…”

“Well,” said Sam as he freed his fingers from her handshake, “we haven’t had any lunch yet.”

Mrs. Rutherford was aghast.

“No lunch! What has Mr. Fry been doing? You haven’t eaten?”

She ushered Gerald, Ruby, and Sam up the steps to the front doors. Each servant bowed as they passed. “Mr. Pimbury, Mr. Partridge, see that the dining room is made ready. The master of Avonleigh is in residence!”

S
am scraped his spoon around the bowl one final time to round up the last of the custard and fresh berry pudding, then let it clatter to the bottom of the plate. He pushed himself back from the table.

“Well, that was pretty decent,” he said.

Gerald and Ruby had already assumed the prone stomach-rubbing position in their chairs. Mr. Pimbury, hands in white gloves, whisked away the dirty plates and left the trio alone in the dining room.

Gerald, Ruby, and Sam sat at one end of an enormous table, large enough for twenty people. Silver candelabras, vases of freshly cut flowers, and gleaming crystal decanters ran the length of the table setting. There was a massive fireplace on one wall and, opposite, the room opened through French doors onto a large paved terrace, which in turn overlooked an expanse of lawn that sloped down to fenced meadows and a house garden.

Ruby inspected a huge painting in a gilded frame above the fireplace. It depicted a bloody battle scene between some African warriors and British soldiers.

“What do we do now?” she asked. “Want to explore this place?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Sam. “Once I can stand up again. I still can’t believe all this is yours, Gerald.”

Gerald sat silent, soaking in his surroundings: the red flocked wallpaper, the line of crystal chandeliers suspended from the oak-paneled ceiling, the intricate carving on the walnut buffet, the swirling pattern of the carpet.

“And what a pleasure it is to have the new master at home, sir.” Mrs. Rutherford had entered the room and was fussing around the buffet, tidying and straightening.

“Please,” Gerald said, “don’t call me that.”

“Begging your pardon, sir…uh, Master Gerald. Hard to give up the habit of a lifetime.”

Gerald wandered across to the French doors and looked out over the rolling lawns bathed in the buttery afternoon sun.

“Mrs. Rutherford, how did my family ever get to own this place? I mean, look at it. It’s good enough for royalty.”

The woman glided over to Gerald, the hem of her gray tunic sweeping the carpet. “This was the country seat of the last Duke of Avonleigh. The original house was built in the early 1600s, but His Grace the Duke made many modern changes to the place.”

“When was that?”

“Oh, about 1862, I’m told. A bit before my time. He made some tremendous improvements. For instance, d’you see a village down by that hillock in the distance?”

Gerald was joined by Ruby at the terrace, but all they could see was a patchwork of fields and the odd sheep.

“Um, no.”

“Exactly. His Grace had the village moved behind that hill. Spoiled his view, you see,” Mrs. Rutherford said.

“He moved the village?” Ruby said in disbelief. “Bit extreme, isn’t it? Just to get a view.”

“Well, that’s the rich for you,” Mrs. Rutherford said. “Beggin’ your pardon, Master Gerald. No offense meant.”

Gerald stifled a grin. “None taken, Mrs. Rutherford.” He was getting to like the strange woman.

“Anyways, it was your great-aunt’s father, the late Mr. Dorian Archer, who bought the place from the duke’s family. It was a far larger estate back then, but when His Grace passed on, his family had to split it into two properties and sell them to pay the death taxes. Mr. Dorian bought Avonleigh, and the Archers have been here ever since.”

“But it must have cost millions. Where did the money come from?” Gerald asked.

“Do you not know about the Archer fortune, Master Gerald?” Mrs. Rutherford said.

“Turns out I don’t know much about my family at all,” Gerald replied.

“Teabags.”

“Pardon me?”

“The Archer fortune was built on teabags. Or rather, on the little staple that attaches the string to the bag.”

“You’ve lost me. How does a staple become a twenty-billion-pound fortune?”

“Your great-grandfather Dorian Archer invented a process that made it safe for staples to be used in hot water. The old staples were made from lead and had a nasty tendency to poison people. So his invention revolutionized the tea business.”

“Even so, it’s only a staple.”

Mrs. Rutherford raised an eyebrow. “Only a staple? Mr. Dorian licensed his invention to the industry. Every time someone uses a teabag, a fraction of a penny comes to you.”

“And?”

“I believe that translates to about one hundred and fifty million pounds a year from England alone.”

Gerald looked around the room and at the view across the terrace.

“A lot of teabags have gone into this place then,” he said.

“Yes, Master Gerald. A lot of teabags indeed.”

There was a sudden clatter of what sounded like a stack of frying pans falling down a flight of stairs, followed by a muffled oath.

Mrs. Rutherford darted from the room. They could hear her chiding one of the servants in the hallway.

“Take care, Mr. Partridge. I want those bags and boxes out of this house as quickly as possible, but without you hurling them down the stairs, if you please.”

Her cheeks were flushed when she returned to the dining room.

“Terribly sorry about the inconvenience, Master Gerald,” she apologized. “The removers’ van is due any moment and I don’t want delays.”

“Removers? Who’s moving out?”

Mrs. Rutherford became flustered for a moment.

“Didn’t Mr. Prisk tell you? Your uncle Sidney and his—ahem—children have moved out of Avonleigh and into more appropriate accommodations in town.”

Gerald looked surprised. “Sidney, Octavia, and Zebedee were living here?”

Mrs. Rutherford nodded, and shuddered. “And pardon me for being so bold, Master Gerald, it was a happy day when we got the call from Mr. Prisk to say you were coming. Mr. Sidney is not a pleasant man, and as for Miss Octavia and Master Zebedee…” Mrs. Rutherford drew her lips in over her teeth as if she’d been sucking on a lemon. “Let’s just say that a little bit of them goes a long way.”

Ruby had been listening with interest.

“Octavia and Zebedee?”

“My cousins,” Gerald said. “I met them for the first time at the funeral. Bit painful, actually.”

Sam piped up from his seat at the dining table, still digesting his lunch. “Well, if I got kicked out of this place, I reckon I’d be pretty painful too.”

Ruby looked thoughtful. “Gerald, what did your great-aunt leave Sidney in her will?”

Gerald frowned as he tried to recall the events from the church hall a few days before. “I remember he was really angry—he only got a million pounds.”

“Only a million quid, eh?” Sam said, shaking his head. “No wonder he was cranky.”

“Do you think your uncle expected to inherit this place?” Ruby asked.

“This place and a good sight more!” Mrs. Rutherford said sharply. “Beggin’ your pardon, Master Gerald, but he is a most unpleasant man.”

From the hallway came the chime of a grandfather clock.

“Goodness me, the time,” Mrs. Rutherford said. “Master Gerald, Mr. Prisk sent some clothes down from London seeing as yours are being cleaned after the fire. Allow me to show you to your room so you can change.”

Twenty minutes later Gerald wandered down the crimson carpet of the main staircase and found Sam and Ruby in one of the enormous drawing rooms, playing a game of chess on an antique table.

Sam took one look at Gerald and burst out laughing.

Ruby covered her mouth with her hands.

“I guess Mr. Prisk picked these himself,” Gerald said. He stood there with his arms outstretched, wearing a gray suit identical to the one worn by the lawyer, right down to the pressed white handkerchief in the jacket pocket, though Gerald did still have his runners on.

Ruby barely snuffed out a snicker. “I think we might take you shopping tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Gerald said. “That would be good. There’s a wardrobe full of these things up there.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the house and its surroundings. The swimming pool was still too cold, but the grass tennis court, set well away from the house and its servants, was the perfect place to while away a few hours.

Sam found some equipment at the back of a pavilion next to the court and soon the sound of tennis balls rebounding off strings echoed across the lawns.

Gerald discarded the jacket and rolled up his sleeves, but he still looked like someone from the 1920s as he dashed across the turf in his long pants, racket in hand. Sam and Ruby were on one side of the net taking great pleasure in running Gerald hard on the other.

“D’you reckon your uncle could be like Fry?” Sam grunted as he whacked a backhand over the net. “Y’know, killing Geraldine to get her money?”

“Maybe,” Gerald said, flicking a high lob over Ruby’s head. “He was really angry when he only got cash. But what about the diamond?”

“Maybe we’ve got it wrong,” Ruby said, hitting the ball into the net. “Maybe the person who stole the diamond had nothing to do with Geraldine’s death. Maybe there were two separate crimes.”

Gerald joined Ruby by the net post.

“Let me get this straight. Even though Geraldine said in her note that she feared for her life because of the diamond, you’re saying whoever killed her may not be connected with the diamond theft at all?”

“It’s possible,” Ruby said. “Think about it—the major has all but admitted that he stole the diamond. Remember what the professor said? It makes no sense for someone to nick the gem, then go and murder Geraldine. Maybe whoever killed Geraldine was only after her money. Her estate is worth two hundred of those diamonds.”

“So where does the thin man fit in?” Sam asked, picking up a tennis ball. “He pretty much admitted killing Geraldine. Doesn’t sound like he’s family, hoping to inherit something.”

“No,” Gerald agreed. “But maybe he was hired by one of the family—or one of the servants.”

Before they could give the problem any more thought a low dong rang out from the house.

Gerald checked his watch.

“Six o’clock. I guess that’s dinner.”

Mrs. Rutherford oversaw the running of the evening meal in the formal dining room. Much to Gerald’s disappointment—and the Valentine twins’ endless amusement—the serving was performed by Mr. Fry.

“Turkey.”

“Excuse me?” Gerald said in surprise.

Fry’s face was blank.

“Would sir like some turkey this evening?”

Gerald grunted a yes and Fry flopped some slabs of ivory-colored meat onto his plate among the roast vegetables.

“Thanks,” Gerald mumbled.

“Moron,” Fry said.

“Excuse me?”

“Would sir like some more on his plate? Or does he have sufficient?”

Gerald eyed Fry closely but the butler’s face gave nothing away. Across the table Sam snuffled in his napkin.

“You’ve made a great friend there,” Ruby giggled after Fry returned to the kitchen.

“Yeah, isn’t he something?” Gerald glanced over his shoulder to make sure Mrs. Rutherford was out of earshot. She was busying herself at the buffet with a number of large crystal bowls containing desserts. “Do you wanna sneak over to Beaconsfield tonight? It’d be good to see what it’s like before the major’s party at the weekend.”

Ruby leaned in. “Mr. Prisk said it was a forty-minute walk away,” she whispered. “How are we supposed to find it in the dark?”

Then, to their horror, Sam called out, “Excuse me, Mrs. Rutherford. Can you tell us where Beaconsfield is, please?”

“Sam,” Ruby whispered, her eyes bulging. “What are you doing, you idiot?”

“When in doubt, ask,” Sam said to his sister before turning back to the housekeeper. “We’re trying to get the lay of the land around here. You know, where town is, some of the other farms in the area. Mr. Prisk mentioned there’s a place called Beaconsfield close by.”

Mrs. Rutherford pushed a trolley laden with desserts across to the table.

“Yes, Master Sam. Beaconsfield is quite close. If you go down past the tennis court, across the lower meadow and over the rise, you’ll find our lower boundary with Beaconsfield. Be quite a pleasant walk on a night like this.”

Mrs. Rutherford doled fruit and custard into bowls, humming to herself.

“Um, Mrs. Rutherford,” Gerald ventured, taken aback by her mention of a nighttime stroll. “Do you know anything about a party there this weekend?”

“Their annual midsummer’s bash,” she said in a matter-of-fact kind of way, placing the bowls on the table. “It’ll be the same as every year, I expect. A lot of flash folk come down from London, get rolling drunk on Major Pilkington’s wine, then go ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the fireworks at midnight. Frightens every cow in the district, it does—and it’s not just the fireworks.”

Gerald dipped his spoon into a large serving of trifle and took a mouthful. Mrs. Rutherford was particularly helpful.

“So what’s the major like?” Gerald asked.

“Major Pilkington? Oh, he and his mother have lived there forever, it seems. Mr. Dorian was always after the major’s mother to sell the place to him, but she wouldn’t budge. A very proud woman is Mrs. Pilkington. Though word in the town is that they could do with the funds, beggin’ your pardon for sayin’ so.”

Ruby looked up from her damson-and-treacle pudding.

“What do you mean, Mrs. Rutherford?”

“Oh, you talk to the butcher and the grocer and you hear about bills being paid very late, if at all—that type of thing. I hear the place has become quite run down. Not what it used to be.”

“Mrs. Rutherford?” Gerald said, not sure if he should press his luck.

“Yes, Master Gerald?”

“Do you know if there’s any place around here called the peak of eternal light?”

Mrs. Rutherford considered the question.

“I know every hill and dale in this district as if they were me own children, Master Gerald, and I don’t believe I have ever heard mention of such a place.”

Gerald didn’t ask any more questions but he had the distinct feeling Ruby was about to burst—she was shoveling food into her mouth in a rush to finish.

As they scoffed the last of the meal, Gerald felt a looming presence at his elbow.

“Nuts.”

Mr. Fry plopped a silver tray in front of Gerald, sending half a dozen walnuts rolling across the linen tablecloth, then sulked off back to the kitchen.