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After Martha’s departure, Tom told everyone to help themselves to more food and drink, and poured himself a small glass of port. He offered it around the table, but only Peter fetched himself a glass from the sideboard and accepted the offer.
“So, what else do you have lined up by way of entertainment then, Tom?” he said.
“Quite a lot if you’re that way inclined. Tonight, Martha and I would welcome your company at the local village’s Carol Concert. Fenny Brayfield isn’t that far. It’s only about a half-mile walk through the park.”
“Walk?” Candice put down the fork she had been using to spear cheese and glared around the table. “But it’s December. It will be cold.”
“So, don’t wear your bathing suit and flip-flops,” Tom replied. “I wouldn’t advise stiletto heels, either. Wrap up well and wear boots if you’ve got em. A good brisk walk will soon get you warm, and there’ll be hot punch waiting for us when we get back.”
“We’ll come to that, won’t we, Bill?” said Sonia. “I love singing carols.”
“As I said, you’re all welcome. St Werburgh’s is a large church, and there’s usually a good turn out from the village, but I’ve spoken to the vicar and reserved the front two pews.”
“Is that your prerogative as Lord of the Manor, Tom?”
“You could say that, though it’s more a case of noblesse oblige, you know. Old habits tend to die hard here in the countryside, and quite a few of the older men still touch their hats to me when we meet.”
“Do any of them work on the estate?” asked Jerry.
“Not now, though in my father’s and grandfather’s day, Thornley Park offered employment to many in the village. Nowadays, there’s only a couple of cleaning ladies come in two or three times a week, and Mrs Oadby and her daughters. Cook sleeps in when we have a large party staying, but the girls go home.”
“How many bedrooms does this place have?” asked Liz.
Tom thought for a moment, totting them up in his head. “Twelve out of the house’s fifteen rooms are in use this Christmas, though there are a couple of box rooms in the attic that were used by parlour-maids, valets, and the like in Queen Victoria’s day. Martha uses one as a sewing room.”
“Perhaps we should have a live-in cook, Peter,” Candice remarked to her husband.
“First, we need a cook,” he said gruffly. “How much more help do you need? You’ve already got a cleaning lady.”
“Oh, but everyone has one of those,” she said.
Liz, Sonia, and I exchanged a glance, but it was Kathy who spoke up.
“I don’t, and I definitely need one for my flat.”
“No, you don’t,” said Michael. “It’s just untidy.”
“Go on, Sir Tom,” said Liz. “What else are you going to have us doing? Not country sports, I hope. I’m useless at anything sporty.” She laughed.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You’ve been sporty in your time.” Her husband elbowed her in the ribs to general merriment and she batted him away, calling him an old fool.
“Well, now, let’s see. There’s a treasure hunt on Boxing Day morning; outdoors if it’s fine, indoors if not.” He lifted his glass. “I think that’s about it, but I did just want to issue a warning.”
“Oh?” said Jerry. Once again he gripped my knee, telling me to hold my tongue. Needlessly, I felt. I wasn’t stupid enough to say anything of Thor’s fears to anyone yet.
“There’s a wonderful maze here at Thornley Park. You may have seen it if you looked out of the side windows in the Long Gallery, yesterday. I’m happy to take you round it if you want, but please don’t go in there on your own—at least not without telling someone where you’re going.”
“Then why don’t you tell us the clue to it? I assume there is one?” asked Bill Woodbridge.
“Oh, where’s the fun in that, love?” said Sonia.
“If the ladies don’t behave themselves, we should send them all in there and tell them to find their own way out.”
Laughter greeted Peter’s suggestion, mainly from the men around the table. Candice pouted, and the rest of us either tittered or giggled.
We made a merry band that lunchtime, the laughter and banter proceeding around the table hand in hand with the amount of alcohol consumed, but my thoughts drifted to the schoolroom, where I presumed Thor and Cecily were having their lunch. I wouldn’t be their governess now, no matter how much Tom might have paid me. The excitement of Christmas, the expected arrival of Santa Claus that night, and the presents in the morning would leave any five or eight- year-old in a fever of anticipation. I doubted the Tremayne children were different in that regard, and I hoped they would like the gifts we had for them; Jerry had chosen his nephew’s, leaving me to buy something suitable for Cissy.
As for Jerry, I’d had no idea what to get him. Whenever I’d asked him what he would like, he’d simply replied, “You. You are all I want for Christmas.”
Men can be so unhelpful at times.
I’d thought about getting him a new wristwatch, hardly novel, or exciting, but better than a pair of socks. In the end, I’d been lucky and spotted a lovely brown leather jacket in the window of a menswear shop in Bellhurst. It was perfect for Jerry and I’d snapped it up with barely a gulp and a cough at the price tag.
“Of course, Christmas is all about children.” Candice’s voice cut through my thoughts. “This year, Peter’s bought me a diamond bracelet.”
I kept a straight face at this monumental non-sequitur, though the hypocrisy—or more likely, the stupidity—set my teeth on edge.
“Do you have any children?” I asked her.
“Certainly not. I have enough trouble with my tearaway stepson without having any of my own.”
“He’s hardly that, my dear,” said Peter. “John’s twenty-five now and will be getting married himself next year.”
Relieved to hear that the Farishes already had a male heir, and that wasn’t something else Candice expected of me, I let out an audible sigh.
“Yes, it’s all about children.” Tom asserted his authority from the head of the table. “Don’t worry, there will be plenty to keep you occupied while you’re here.”
He pushed back his chair and, at a sign from Sonia, she, Liz, and I cleared the table, moving the empty plates and glasses down the passage to the kitchen. I noticed that Candice got up and walked out through the door into the living room, without offering to help her sisters-in-law.
Jerry and Michael brought in the soup tureen and the serving platters and placed them on the scrubbed table in the middle of the kitchen.
“Thank-ee kindly.” Mrs Oadby smiled. “Just leave them there, if you please, and me and the girls will see to the rest.”
She shooed us back out in quick order with a friendly manner, and we scurried back the way we had come.
In the dining room, the sisters linked arms with Michael and carried him off in the direction of the living room, but Jerry hung back, took hold of my elbow, and steered me to a quiet corner.
“Well?” he said.
“Yes, very.” In fact, I felt decidedly mellow after a glass of Tom’s red wine.
“I was referring to Tom, beloved. Did you believe him about security for the Treasure?”
“Not a bit of it.”
He scowled. “Oh, damn and blast it, Verity. Neither did I.”
***
Jerry seldom swore. I scanned the handsome and much loved face in front of me, wondering why he was so perturbed.
“What’s the matter?”
“Well, if he has no security and no insurance and that jewel gets nicked ...”
“That’s why we have to warn him.”
Jerry shook his head. He looked worried.
“I can’t right now. Tom’s been collared by Peter, so I’ll have to leave speaking to him for a while.”
“But, Jerry —”
He put up a hand and I relapsed into silence.
“A few minutes here or there won’t make any difference. Besides, I’m still not sure how to broach the subject with him.”
I grinned. “You could tell him you are acting on information received.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “Nice idea, but I don’t think so. As it is, if Thor’s right and the miniature is stolen, we’ll have to bring in the Law.” He let out a long sigh. “So much for me having a quiet family Christmas. Ha!”
“Oh, darling I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He pulled me towards him, hands on my waist, and smiled down at me. “You know I can’t stop being a policeman.”
Any more than I could resist a good mystery, though I didn’t say so.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
He shook his head. “I’d rather you didn’t, not to start with. I’d much prefer you to stay with the family and see what you can find out.”
“Yes, all right.”
I’d agreed readily enough, but when he left to see if Tom was free, I went back into the library where a fire had now been lit. Logs crackled and hissed sending sparks flying up the chimney, the flames dancing in the grate like sprites.
I held my hands to the warmth, then went to the bookcase looking for the old book that Tom had said contained the family history. The familiar tingle of excitement that I always felt whenever I took on a new piece of research ran through me as my eyes scanned the shelves. I reached out a hand to grasp a likely looking volume and nearly jumped out of my skin at the rustle of paper behind me. I swung round, the book in my hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realise there was anyone here.”
Partly hidden by the winged back of the armchair, an elderly lady peeked out at me. Her long blue skirt and top almost covered the carpet slippers on her feet and the colour so completely matched the upholstery of the chair that she was nearly invisible. Small wonder, then, that I had missed her when I came in.
“So I gathered.” She surveyed me gravely through a pair of fine grey eyes set deep in a lined face that still held vestiges of the beauty it had once possessed. “I’m Lillian, the dowager Lady Tremayne.”
So, this was Tom’s mother. I’d almost forgotten her existence since Jerry’s mention of her when we received the invitation. She held out a hand and I didn’t know whether to curtsey to it, kiss it, or shake it. I held the fingers, briefly, with my own.
“I’m Verity Farish, Martha’s newest sister-in-law. I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”
To my amazement, she grinned impishly at me. “Not at all. I’m staying out of the way.”
“Oh, dear. Are the Farishes that bad? This is the first time I’ve met them.”
“No, no, but at my age, I find crowds difficult to cope with. I get flustered very easily, you see.”
I didn’t, as it happened. I thought it an excuse not to have to put herself to the trouble of socialising with her daughter-in-law’s family, although I had to admit that having my home full of strangers would not be a prospect that I’d relish, either. It can’t have been easy for her and I wondered how well she and Martha got on.
“I hope you’ll celebrate Christmas Day with us, though,” I said, perching on the edge of a chair next to the fireplace.
“Yes, for a few hours at least. I’ll have breakfast in my own room, as usual, but then I shall join you until after lunch.”
“Of course, you won’t want to miss the grandchildren unwrapping their presents.”
“True, though they can get very rowdy. Cecilia squeals too much, I do wish Tillett would do something about that, and Thornley used to get very boisterous and noisy. He’s growing out of it now, I’m pleased to say.
“He’s bright, intelligent, and honest, which is unusual in one so young.”
Oh, hark at me, I thought, sounding like a child psychology expert. What did I know about kids?
“That’s very astute of you.”
Surprised that the dowager had taken me seriously, until I remembered that she knew nothing of my background, I missed the remainder of her remark.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I asked if you’d had enough chance to talk to him for you to make that judgement.”
“Well, possibly not, though I did have quite a chat with him yesterday and again in the tree house this morning.”
The dowager waved a hand heavy with rings. “Oh, la! That tree house. How my son indulged Thornley with that. Still, the boy gets plenty of use out of it by all accounts. Martha says he’s out there in all weathers, he even takes his books and his school-work out there and sits for hours reading, so I suppose it was money well spent.”
Yes, it would make an ideal spot to sit and read as well as the perfect hiding place. Around the far side of the tree and sitting with his back to the trunk, Thor could not be seen from the house, especially during the summer with the canopy above him in full leaf.
“Indeed. I have to admit to being very taken with that tree house when I was invited to ”come aboard“, and have a look around.”
She let out a ripple of laughter. “Goodness knows why he’s so keen on pirates. We’re miles from the sea.”
Wondering what that had to do with it and thinking it had far more to do with him watching the latest blockbuster film, I waved the book in my hand. “Perhaps he has a pirate ancestor. I hoped to have a look through this and find out more of the Tremayne family history, now that I’ve seen the house and the Treasure.”
“Well the Tremaynes have spawned their fair share of blackguards in their time, but no pirates, as far as I’m aware.” Her eyes twinkled at me. “What did you think to the house?”
“I think it’s a fascinating place. Mr Cavendish told us a bit about it at breakfast, entertaining us with tales of ghosts and priest holes.”
Lady Lillian threw me a glance from under her lashes and looked down at her hands. “Mere myths,” she said. “There are neither ghosts nor priest holes in Thornley Park. The wretched man should know better than to circulate such nonsense.”
Her vehemence baffled me and, as she obviously felt very strongly about the subject, I dropped it.
“Well, either way, I think it’s remarkable that the house has been in your family’s hands for so long.”
“Oh, for all its existence, from Elizabeth the First to Elizabeth the Second, as I like to think. We’ve been here throughout the Reformation, the Counter Reformation and the Civil War when the Tremaynes of Thornley Park staunchly supported the Royalist cause. Several ancestors were Members of Parliament and one was even Foreign Secretary during Queen Victoria’s reign.”
“Five hundred years. There can be few families in the country who can claim to have lived in one house for so long.”
“Indeed, and it will stay in Tremayne hands once I and Tom are gone, God willing.”
She fluttered a hand in front of her and it took me a second or two to realise that she had made the sign of the Cross.
“Young Thornley has quite an inheritance to look forward to,” I said, rising to my feet. “I’d better be going. I don’t want the Farishes to think I’m avoiding them.”
The dowager gave a pointed look at the book in my hand. “Which one is that?” she asked.
I looked at the ancient leather cover. “The Annals of The Tremaynes by Sir Peregrine Tremayne. Is it all right if I look through it?”
She gave me a disapproving look. “Ha! Your new family will think you’re downright rude, let alone avoiding them, if you read in their company.”
“Oh, no,” I said, rushing to my own defence. “I thought I might make a start on it tonight.”
“Very well, but please remember to return it here when you have finished. It is a first edition.”
Feeling like a naughty schoolchild reprimanded by the headmistress, I assured her that I would.
“I hope you find it of interest. Nice to meet you, Mrs Farish.”
Thus dismissed, I went out, intending once again to join everyone in the living room, only to be halted just outside the door by Thor.
“Aunt Verity, come quick,” he gasped, his eyes as wide as saucers.
“Come? Where to?”
He took hold of my hand and dragged me along the passage. “To the Long Gallery, of course. The Treasure, it’s ... it’s gone!”
***
He looked so serious that I had to believe him, yet still felt I ought to check.
“It’s gone,” I repeated. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, of course I’m sure. Come on, I’ll show you.”
He tugged urgently at my hand, heading toward the main staircase.
“Wait, Thor. Where are you taking me? This isn’t the way to the Gallery.”
Dropping my hand, he faced me, a finger to his lips. “Yes, it is, but I’m not supposed to use it, because of Grandma.” He raced up the stairs to the landing, beckoning me to hurry up and join him.
“What does your Grandmother have to do it with it?” I said when I reached him.
“It’s because she’s not steady on her feet and says we move too fast and might trip her. She also says that the back stairs are good enough for children and servants.”
His look expressed volumes and I shared his feeling of disgust. What on earth was the dowager thinking? Expecting the children, especially someone as young as Cecilia, to go up and down three floors of spiral staircase was insanity bordering on the murderous.
“What do your parents say about that? Surely, the spiral stairs are dangerous.”
“Oh no, silly, I don’t mean those. There’s another way up with stairs like that one”— he jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the main flight —“only it’s not so wide and doesn’t have such a fancy carpet. We aren’t supposed to use the stairs in the turret at all because Mother says we might fall and besides, the spiral stairs lead down to the kitchen and we mustn’t get under Cook’s feet.”
His face was the picture of innocence and it sounded exactly the sort of thing an adult would say, but I had no doubt that, despite Martha’s veto and warnings, Thor had been up and down that staircase whenever he pleased.
“You do use it, though, don’t you?” I smiled. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”
“Good. Come on, this way.”
Given how many additions and alterations the house had been subjected to in its long and turbulent history, it was hardly surprising that the house was a rabbit warren of passageways, stairs, and rooms beyond rooms. While it might be fun to grow up here, to a weekend guest it was all slightly baffling and disorientating. Without Thor to guide me, I would soon have become hopelessly lost.
Thor turned away from the corridor to our right which led to the bedrooms and opened a door in the left-hand wall revealing yet another passage beyond.
“What’s through here?” I asked.
“The other side of the house.” He ushered me through and closed the door behind us. “The Long Gallery is on the other side of this wall.” He touched the wall to his left. “And the rooms on the opposite side are Grandma’s bedroom and sitting room.”
“So, they look over the back of the house.”
“Yes, all the bedrooms do.”
I nodded. Tom had said something similar during the tour.
At the far end of the passage a further door opened onto the corridor to the Gallery and I breathed a small sigh of relief now that I knew where I was.
Inside the Long Gallery Thor marched straight up to the glass case. “There! See!”
“Don’t touch anything.”
“I know, because of fingerprints, right? Uncle Jerry’s told me all about them and showed me how to take them. It’s wicked.”
So was theft, and I didn’t really need to see the empty plinth that bore mute witness to the crime. The boy would not have bought me up here if the Tremayne Treasure had still lain on its bed of red velvet.
The display case had no wires connecting it to an alarm and only a small keyhole on the side facing the windows. It showed no sign of having been tampered with and I assumed that whoever had taken the jewel either had the key or, more likely, the case had been unlocked. Sir Tom had made it all too easy for the thief, I thought, but then, he would not have expected his in-laws to rob him of such a priceless possession.
I looked around for somewhere to sit while I thought about this and, in the absence of any chairs, pointed toward a padded window seat. “Come and sit down for a minute, Thor.”
“But the thief,” he objected. “He could be getting away.”
“I don’t think that’s likely and, besides, how do you know it’s a he? Did you see who took the Treasure?”
He wrinkled his nose and shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
I waited for him to come and sit beside me, and his reluctance to do so gave me a moment or two of much needed thinking time. The boy had a lot of explaining to do and I didn’t want him taking offence at my questions and running off in a huff.
“How did you know that the Treasure was missing?” I asked, as casually as I could.
“It isn’t missing. It’s been stolen, and I didn’t do it.”
“I never said that you did. If you’d pinched it, you wouldn’t have come and told me, now would you?” I spoke lightly and ruffled his hair. “That would be a stupid thing to do, and I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Oh! Really?” His face brightened for a moment at the praise, before he looked miserable again. “Mr Cavendish calls me stupid sometimes.”
I dismissed the tutor with a wave of my hand. “Oh, teachers always say that about their pupils. It makes them feel better when they do something really dumb themselves. So, have you been coming in here to check up on the Treasure?”
“Yes, of course. That’s how I knew it had been stolen.”
I nodded, thinking it through, hoping Thor had a good memory.
“Do you know what time it was when you discovered the theft?”
“About ten minutes ago, I think, and I came and got you straight away.”
I looked at my watch. If his sense of time was right, that placed the theft at approximately half-past two.
“And when was the last time you saw it?”
He pursed his mouth, pushing his lips out and in, as he worked it out.
“It was about half an hour after you left the ship. I went in for lunch but before going up to the nursery I came in here. The Treasure was still there then.”
I questioned him closely, but he was adamant that he’d seen no one at all on his visits to the Gallery, either going to it, or from it.
“Think carefully, Thor. I don’t mean strangers, I mean anyone, whether it was your family, the staff, or one of the guests like me. You’re sure there was absolutely no one around.”
He nodded gravely. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “Everyone was either busy, or in the dining room having lunch.”
“All right. Did you come up by the spiral staircase?”
“No, I came in through the kitchen door and up the back way. It brings you out on the corridor outside here, just behind the turret stairs.”
“Okay.” I dismissed the jumble of passages, trying to concentrate on the timing. From what the boy had said, the theft had taken place in a short window of opportunity, less than an hour, perhaps, yet someone in the house had seized it to good effect. The question was who? And why?
For the first time, I considered the motive. It was too early to tell if the miniature had been stolen for profit, revenge, or for some other unknown reason. I made a mental note to come back to that after I’d worked out what to do next.
“I’d like to smash their silly face in.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I looked sternly at my companion who sat with his hands bunched into fists and a furious scowl on his face.
“The thief, I mean.” His voice was loud with anger and I had to shush him. “The ratbag has robbed us of millions.”
“It’s hardly worth that much, Thor.”
“Oh, no? So why is it called the Tremayne Treasure, then?”
Ah, the joys of the English language! How an object of little or no value, by today’s inflated standards, could at one and the same time be described as priceless.
“Because it’s very old and is irreplaceable.”
His hands relaxed. “What does that mean?”
“It means there’ll never be another one like it.”
“Yeah, and now it’s gone, and we’re just sitting here doing nothing.”
He shifted on the seat beside me, turning sideways and putting his back to the wall, sitting with his arms around his drawn-up knees.
“No, we’re not. We are thinking of the best way to proceed. It’s what all policeman do.”
I didn’t know whether this was true or not, but it seemed to satisfy him. He pulled at a loose thread at his cuff and chewed at his lip, a picture of concentration.
“So, have we thought enough? What are we going to do now, Aunt Verity? How are we going to find out who stole it?”
I hid a smile at his eagerness. “Well, first we are going to go and find your Uncle Jeremy. I’ve already told him what you told me this morning, so he’s already in on the case.” I smiled as he clapped his hands in delight. “We’ll see what he says and take it from there, I think.”
“I hope I can do a little detectiving,” he said. “I might really be able to help, you know.”
He might at that, I thought. If he was any good at listening. Thor could go where an adult might not, eavesdropping at doors, all but invisible to the grown-ups around him. Any strange behaviour on his part would be disregarded as childish play.
“I’m sure you’ll get the chance.” I ruffled his hair again and stood up. “Come on, Sherlock, let’s go and find a policeman.”