With the demise of Rathbone, dinner that evening was another buffet, and as I helped myself to a delicious-smelling pork casserole I was joined by Eve and the twins. The other members of the family were already seated and tucking into the meal. It was a reserved and muted atmosphere around the large table. I felt an air of suppressed tension too but possibly that was my imagination. By the time we finished eating most of the others had already dispersed. Eve seemed curiously changed from earlier; more relaxed and at peace with herself. She even smiled a couple of times which was a world record that day. She still seemed rather shy of me but at least there was no friction between us. She excused herself and pleaded tiredness when she had finished dining. ‘I’m going to get an early night,’ she told me, ‘I need to catch up on my sleep.’
With that she left the dining hall. Tony had meandered off to play snooker with Russell and Colin, leaving Harriet and the twins with me in the dining hall. ‘I sometimes wonder why Russell bothers,’ Harriet commented, ‘he can hardly see to the other end of the table.’
She saw my puzzled expression and explained, ‘Russell’s eyesight’s very bad and it’s getting worse. He doubts if he’ll be allowed to drive much longer.’
Sammy and Becky said they were going to look in on Charlie but would be back down to escort me to bed. ‘Don’t worry,’ Harriet told them, ‘I’ll make sure Adam gets to his room safely. You two turn in when you’ve said goodnight to your brother. Tell him I’ll pop in to see him in a little while.’
She watched them go with a smile on her face; then turned to me. ‘Adam Bailey,’ she said accusingly, ‘you really have set my daughters’ hearts fluttering, haven’t you?’
‘Not intentionally,’ I assured her. ‘I didn’t realize until Eve told me.’
‘Don’t worry, it won’t do them any harm.’
‘Harry,’ I said, ‘I’m glad I’ve got you on your own. I want to ask you a few questions. I was talking to Charlie earlier about the family. I’d like you to be absolutely honest with me. Forget any notions of loyalty or anything like that. Remember there’s a double murderer loose somewhere in this castle. Someone who has not only killed twice, but made two attempts to kill me and one to kill your son.’
‘Put like that, I can’t refuse,’ Harriet said slowly. ‘The problem is, when you know people that closely you’re reluctant to believe they could be capable of anything so wicked.’
‘That may be so, but you listen to news bulletins, Harry. How many times have you heard neighbours being interviewed after a vicious killer’s been convicted? They all say they can’t believe it, what a nice person he or she seemed to be.’
‘OK, Adam, I’ll do what I can. Where do you want me to start?’
‘Why not begin with Russell?’ I suggested.
‘I didn’t like Russell to begin with. I first met him when I became engaged to Tony. I got the impression he was trying to put Tony off me. At the same time he warned me about Tony and the family madness thing. I didn’t pay any attention to it. I was in love. When Russell saw that I wasn’t going to be deterred he gave up and came round to the idea of my marriage to Tony. I like him well enough now; although I’ve always had that one reservation about him.’
‘What about his wife, do they get on OK?’
Harriet grimaced. ‘She’s just the opposite and doesn’t improve for knowing. She’s a self-righteous snob and a dreadful prude. Tony says it’s a miracle she and Russell have three children. Tony reckons she wears a padlocked chastity belt and has only forgotten to put it on three times. She’s always busy sitting on committees and being awfully important. Don’t get me wrong, she does a lot of charity work and helps out lots of good causes – but she likes everyone to know about it.’
‘What does Russell do for a living?’
‘He inherited quite a bit of money from his father and invested it in property. He picked a good time as well. When property values soared Russell was able to cash in with an enormous profit. He’s been living off that ever since.’
‘What about Colin Drake?’
‘Now there’s a good question,’ Harriet said. ‘Where would you like me to begin? Colin’s got a miserable home life. Some of it’s his own doing I’m afraid; although it’s difficult to work out whether it’s cause or effect.’
‘You mean about his mistress and the pregnancy?’
‘My son has a gift for scandal and gossip,’ Harriet said ruefully. ‘Did he by any chance tell you how he blackmailed poor Frank Marsh into showing him the newspaper article about Colin?’
‘Yes he did, I told him he’d go a long way. Probably to prison.’
‘That’s Charlie for you,’ Harriet agreed. ‘Colin got a girl from his bank into trouble and the scandal got into the papers. But whether that was the cause of his wife’s troubles or whether Colin sought consolation because home life was so difficult I can’t be sure. Did Charlie say anything else?’
‘He mentioned a drink problem and shoplifting, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Yes, her little foibles are too obvious to be hidden from the family, I’m afraid. The result of it all is that they are always at each other’s throats. When she’s here, she’s either sloshed or hungover. That’s when she’s not slipping something into her case that Colin has to return later. Their kids despise her for being a thief and a lush; they despise their father for his affair and for being weak. Not the most pleasant of home lives, not for the adults or for the children. I know both kids have needed counselling after being tormented by other children at school whenever one of their mother’s little problems hits the papers.’
‘Tell me something, Harry, did Beaumont know either Russell or Colin before he came to the castle?’
Harriet thought it over. ‘I’m not really sure. I believe he did have some business dealings with Colin’s bank so possibly he would have known Colin; but I don’t think he knew Russell.’
‘Did Beaumont know any of the other guests?’
‘I doubt it.’ Harriet’s tone was dry. ‘We didn’t socialize with him much. The only reason I agreed to him being invited was because I knew Tony was going to try and persuade Beaumont to sell his share in the business. As for who else he might have met – I did see him in one of Polly’s restaurants once but whether he was ever introduced to Polly, I couldn’t be sure.’
‘Ok, that’ll do for the grilling, Harry.’ I yawned. ‘I think it’s time I went to bed.’
‘I’d better do my escort duty, then.’ Harriet smiled. ‘Otherwise, I’ll have two lovelorn teenagers to contend with for not taking care of you.’
‘Just hope and pray they haven’t inherited their aunt’s temper,’ I joked.
‘Eve wasn’t always like that, and to be fair she’s been much more like her old self these past few days,’ – she shot me a sly sideways glance – ‘which might be your doing. She was so messed up after what happened that I was really frightened she might harm herself, or worse.
‘She came out of it to a degree, but it had warped her so much that until this last week I wouldn’t have thought she’d trust being alone with a man again; let alone spending several nights nursing one in his bedroom as she has with you.’
‘I owe her a lot, Harry. To be honest, I’m not sure I’d have recovered but for the way Eve nursed me. She didn’t spare herself to make sure I pulled through,’ I thought of Eve’s warming me with her body. In view of what Harriet had said that became even more surprising.
Something in my tone must have given my feelings away, because Harriet looked at me suspiciously. ‘Are you in love with her, Adam?’ she asked.
‘I think she’s a lovely person who’s had a raw deal,’ I replied. ‘I like and admire her a lot, Harry.’
‘That’s not answering my question, as you well know.’
‘I know it isn’t, but it’s the best you’re going to get for the time being. Look at it this way: given Eve’s history, if there were to be feelings between us the initiative would have to come from her. The worst thing I could possibly do would be trying to force the issue or declaring myself. I reckon she knows I like her a lot and until I find out how she feels about me that will have to do.’
‘For someone who wasn’t prepared to state their feelings I think you’ve given yourself away totally,’ Harriet said. ‘I’m not sure what to think about it. Maybe Eve would be good for you. I know you’d be good for her.’
‘In that case, you’ll have to keep our conversation to yourself,’ I advised her. ‘The worst thing that could happen would be for Eve to think we’ve been gossiping about her.’
We walked upstairs and said goodnight outside my bedroom door. ‘You can tell the twins you did your duty admirably,’ I smiled.
Harriet nodded. ‘That’s the first question they’ll ask,’ she agreed ruefully.
I locked my door carefully, securing the key so it couldn’t be dislodged. I undressed slowly as I was beginning to feel the effects of several new bruises, and climbed into bed.
It was the first night I had spent alone since Christmas Eve, I reflected as I settled down. The bed was comfortable yet sleep didn’t come easily. For the last few nights I had found Eve’s presence a distraction, and a disturbing one at that. Now, with her absence, I found it even more difficult to settle. I realized how much I missed her presence alongside me although I knew I had no right to expect it. I missed her laughter, her quick temper, and the mercurial mood changes that made her so exciting.
When I did fall asleep it was an uneasy rest. The dreams that had plagued even from before I arrived at Mulgrave Castle returned with even greater force. The frightening realism of the nightmare threatened to overpower me.
In my dream I was searching the castle yet again. This time there was a new, more vital urgency to my quest. It spurred me to greater efforts and it hastened my passage. As I ran from room to room I knew my mission was hopeless. I would not find what I sought.
I was helpless against the forces that I was fighting. They held all the cards. As I searched alone through the castle I knew this and yet I clung to a desperate thread of hope.
Why I should do this when I knew all along the reason for my failure, I did not know. My rational mind, if a dreamer can possess such a thing, told me to give up, to yield to the inevitable. Because of my stupidity, my vain, arrogant failure to spot the obvious, I had caused the death of Eve. If only I hadn’t ignored what was there before me all the time I might have been in time to save her. What a fool I was to overlook it when it was there in front of my eyes waiting for me to discover it all along.
It was all right saying this, I argued with myself, but what was it I’d missed; what was it that had been so blatantly obvious only a fool could ignore it? What had I been looking in all the wrong places for? Even as I was questioning myself I realized the answer. Of course, I had spent fruitless hours with Eve, Sammy, and Becky ransacking the library for the Rowe family journal. If only I’d used my common sense instead of rushing into that wild goose chase. If only I’d paused to ask myself the rational, the obvious questions before starting the hunt. Who had hidden the journal? Answer: the Rowe family ancestors. What motive had they for hiding it? To avoid it being found, that was all so logical. Where is the first place to look for a book? In a library, of course. So why would they put something they wanted to conceal in the most obvious place for someone to search. The library would have been the last place they would have chosen. But in my blind, arrogant, stupid ignorance I’d totally overlooked that fact and now Eve had been left to suffer the consequences of my folly.
The castle was all in darkness as I dashed from room to room; from corridor to corridor; up and down stairway after stairway. All the time as I progressed in this Stygian black and ancient building I could hear the mocking sardonic laughter of my enemies. They had won and I had lost; the laughter told me so. They had won and they had claimed their prize. Their grim reward was the life of Eve. It was my price for failure.
All the time as I chased through the castle I retained the slim hope that perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps the laughter was challenging me. Perhaps after all I wasn’t too late. Perhaps I would be in time to save her. There was still one enormous obstacle to overcome. I may have realized that the book would never have been concealed in the library but I still hadn’t found its hiding place.
Again I knew that this was my fault. Something I’d overlooked held the key to the mystery, but what was it? Could it have been something I’d seen or heard? Was it something someone had done or said to me? My head was aching; nothing new in that, my head was always aching. This time however it wasn’t merely the after effects of my injuries but the added strain of trying to recall what I had missed.
It was no good, I couldn’t do it, I would have to give in. Nothing I tried would be of any use. I must face reality, the awful reality that I had lost this macabre game and with it, Eve would suffer a ghastly nameless fate. Just as I was giving way to despair a voice came to me out of the darkness of my dream, the blackness of my despondency. It was Eve’s voice; clear and confident. ‘Hurry, Adam,’ she was pleading with me, ‘hurry if you want to save me; I have so little time left, you must hurry.’
‘I can’t do this alone. I must know where to look. Why does it always have to be me? Why must I always be alone?’
Then in a really terrifying twist, my dream self was confronted with another figure; an accusing one. ‘Georgina,’ I cried out, ‘what are you doing here?’
‘I’m here because you asked a question. You asked why you always had to be alone. I’m here as an answer. You are always alone because you deserve no better than to be alone. You were too late then and you are too late now. Why couldn’t you see I was desperate and needed you? Why couldn’t you see that I was lonely? Why couldn’t you have come back to me before it was too late?
‘Now, when you’d been given a second chance, a chance that isn’t open to everyone, what have you done? Exactly as you did before. Ignored others, ignored what they were feeling, what pain and distress they were in, and gone your own sweet way until it was too late. You’ve lost her, Adam, exactly as you lost me, and for the same reason. Because in your foolish, blind, selfish arrogance you failed to see what she needed from you until it was too late.’
I woke up by sitting up. I was bolt upright in bed with a pounding headache, sweat pouring off me as if I was in the heat of a tropical rainforest. Although I was sweating I felt cold; chilled to the marrow by the ghastly nightmare. It was the coldness of fear; the icy desperation of terror that gripped me. As I strove to remember and rationalize the grisly dream that had haunted me I knew there was more than just a bizarre twisting of events in the nightmare. Somewhere within my fantasy lay a key I must try to use.
I glanced at the luminous dial of my watch. 2.15 a.m. I had slept barely three hours and felt jaded, yet I knew I couldn’t rest any longer. I flicked on the bedside lamp and stumbled from the bed. I’ve no idea how long I paced the bedroom floor trying to shake the memory of my terrifying dream. It did not recede; rather it intensified. I sat on the ottoman at the base of the bed and began to think. It did no good, for all my puzzling I felt I was no closer to a solution than when I’d begun. My mouth felt dry and I needed a glass of water. As I stood up and turned towards the dressing table for a glass I bumped my thigh painfully against the corner of the ottoman. I stood for a moment cursing the Rowe family ancestor who had placed the ancient box in my room. I leaned on the lid for support. I stared at the box. Was this what had been under my nose and overlooked all along? I dismissed the thought as fanciful but it refused to be dismissed and the more I tried, the stronger it returned. I went and filled my water glass and sipped it slowly as I looked at the antique wooden blanket box. I set the glass down and approached the chest slowly; almost apprehensively. I had looked inside when we were searching for the missing briefcase; knew it contained blankets.
I reached for the lid. There was no creak, of the type so beloved of film-makers, as I opened it. The chest was too well-made for that. My imagination wandered to picture a line of movie directors arriving at the Pearly Gates only to be served with writs for defamation by Chippendale or Hepplewhite. I dismissed the notion and lifted the lid to find the blanket box still contained blankets. Nevertheless, my curiosity remained high and I lifted the blankets out of the chest one by one. I stacked them alongside on the floor until I was looking at them empty interior of the box. My fanciful imagination satisfied I stared at the empty receptacle. Despite my initial disappointment there remained a slight query in my mind. Something wasn’t right.
I told myself I was clutching at straws, that whatever the meaning of my dream, if indeed there was any other explanation but the workings of an overwrought brain; this was not the answer. Such weird coincidences only happen within the covers of lurid thrillers or in the realms of Hollywood films. Despite my overwhelming sense of anti-climax the notion refused to go away. Something wasn’t right about this chest. I looked again at the age-darkened, oak-panelled ottoman. What had I failed to spot? What was there to see? It was no more than a rectangular container without legs sitting flush to the floor, filled with blankets.
I had given up and picked up the first of the blankets to replace them inside the ottoman when I paused. I looked at the small pile of bedding; then at the chest. ‘That’s odd,’ I told myself. I stared again at the chest; then at the blankets. I moved directly in front of the ottoman and sat on the floor. When I was seated, the top of the box was at eye level. It was when I viewed it from this angle that I realized what was wrong. When I’d opened the ottoman the pile of blankets had reached within half an inch of the lid. Stacked alongside the chest they only came halfway up the side. Obviously there was a difference between the dimensions of the interior and the exterior; a marked difference at that. To my mind there could only be one logical explanation for this. The base of the blanket container was not the base of the box. There was a hidden compartment below it.
I leapt to my feet and stared at the interior. The base and walls of the box were plain. No blemish that might be a device for accessing the hidden part of the chest. I suddenly realized I was cold. Before I began a detailed examination I decided it would be a wise precaution to get dressed. As I did so, I thought over the problem. Of course there wouldn’t be access via the interior, I told myself; that would be too obvious for the cabinet maker. If the object was to create a secret compartment the way to open it would be hard to find or it would defeat the object.
As soon as I was dressed I resumed my examination. I pulled it away from the bed. That in itself wasn’t easy, as the chest was extremely heavy. One significant fact occurred to me from my initial inspection. The box had been designed with a secret compartment in mind rather than a false base being put in later. Although, as I’d surmised, the way into the inner compartment would not be obvious; it would be visible if only one knew what to look for. I stared long and hard at the chest, studying it from all angles. I even tipped it on one end to see if the access might be through the base.
No success perhaps, but a faint thrill of excitement for, as I tilted the ottoman, I was sure I felt something move within it. I replaced the chest on the floor and paced around it once more, looking at the design. It was a long time before the solution came to me. It was an obvious one really, but all magicians’ tricks are easy once they are explained. All the joints holding the sides of the box together were off the type known as ‘tongue and groove’. They were exquisitely made, fitting perfectly together. Possibly the craftsman had used a little glue to help secure them initially but from the high standard of workmanship I thought that even that might not have been necessary. If the maker had used nothing but tongue and groove joints to build the chest, then why was there a screw hole complete with screw one-third of the way up the rear panel of the chest?
I reached into the pocket of my body warmer and removed my Swiss army knife. I opened the flat-bladed screwdriver and gave the screw a quarter turn. There was a soft click and the false bottom of the chest sprang open on beautifully made concealed hinges. I stared at the interior of the compartment. My excitement was at fever pitch as I reached inside and removed the heavy ancient volume from within. I was in absolutely no doubt that I had discovered the missing book; the Rowe family journal. What secrets would it yield? I wondered as I placed it carefully on the bed. I opened it at the first page and began to read.