I’m not entirely sure what I thought we’d find at Broomheath Hall. I think I half expected uproar and confusion, a scene of devastation in which the Summersbys, having been overwhelmed and bound, lay helpless in the cellar while their treasured English butler, crazed by lust for treasure, demolished the oak panelling in search of a secret chamber. But no such drama was evident from my first glimpse of the Hall, and when Dr Watson brought us juddering to a halt on the gravel sweep I was taken aback – and perhaps even a little disappointed – to see Pauncefoot opening the great double doors to greet us, as calm and as neat as he had always been.
I think Dr Watson was disconcerted too, for he looked decidedly sheepish as he dismounted and asked if Mrs Summersby was at home. On being told that she was, and that the butler’s instructions were to show callers straight through, we followed Pauncefoot’s stately progress in silence, and were ushered into Mrs Summersby’s morning room still looking rather crestfallen.
Our hostess greeted us with her usual smile, however.
‘How lovely!’ she enthused. ‘It seems so long since your last visit, and I was hoping you would call soon. I do so enjoy some company every now and then, you know.’ She hesitated for a moment then, as if realising what she had just said. ‘Of course, I know I have the contessa for company, but she is so very… well, so very Italian, I suppose, and I’m afraid I don’t find her company altogether restful.’
I was all too willing to believe this, and felt again the pricking of guilt at my role in deceiving her. To compensate I gave Mrs Summersby my warmest smile as she took my hand and led me to a seat near the fire.
‘And is the countess at home today?’ Dr Watson asked cautiously, still standing. He seemed to be waiting until he was sure Pauncefoot had retired before broaching the subject that was on both our minds.
‘She is lying down in her room,’ Mrs Summersby replied. ‘She had a very disturbed night, I’m afraid. The countess is prone to walking in her sleep, and last night we twice discovered her in the library, apparently quite oblivious to our presence.’ As Mrs Summersby spoke, I noted a shadow cross her face. Perhaps she was wondering if it was indelicate of her to have made such a revelation. ‘We heard a noise, you understand, and came down to investigate. Such an awkward affliction for a young woman to suffer from!’
Apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, Dr Watson joined us by the fire and rubbed his moustache for a moment rather anxiously.
‘Madam,’ he began, ‘I hope you will forgive me for speaking frankly. Always the best thing, frankness, don’t you think? Anyway, I think it is time we took you into our confidence. As I told you, it seems very likely that your predecessor at Broomheath left something rather valuable hidden here. Well, the thing is, we rather think that Pauncefoot might be searching for it.’
‘Pauncefoot?’ Her eyes grew round with astonishment. ‘But he came with such excellent references! And he seems, well, so very dignified. That’s exactly why we insisted on a London butler. Everyone knows that they are the best.’
‘I fear, madam, that Pauncefoot may still be in the pay of his former employer.’ Dr Watson puffed out his cheeks as if to demonstrate the enormity of such behaviour. ‘Now, I beg you do nothing hasty, my dear Mrs Summersby. You see, it rather seems that the fellow might be privy to a clue that no one else has.’
‘Then we must demand that he shares it with us! Surely, Doctor, you won’t allow a mere butler to stand in your way?’
Dr Watson held up a pacifying hand. ‘No, no, no. Quite the opposite, in fact. You see, if we can all keep a very close eye on him, we rather think he might lead us to the treasure of his own accord.’
I could see understanding dawning on our hostess’s face.
‘Like a dog to a bone, you mean?’
‘That’s it exactly! And it occurs to me that it might be helpful if I were to join you here as your guest for a few days…’
I saw her face fall.
‘Or failing that, ma’am,’ I put in quickly, ‘perhaps if you were to allow Mrs Hudson and me to take one of the rooms in the servants’ quarters, just for a day or two? Travelling back to Alston so late, well, I can’t deny that with all this going on we’d both feel a lot safer if we didn’t have to cross the moors by night! You wouldn’t know we were here, I promise. And of course it would mean we were on hand to help with breakfast! Mrs Hudson’s breakfasts are famous…’
As I had anticipated, however jealous she might be of her husband’s solitude, a plea made on such grounds proved tricky for Mrs Summersby to deny, and it was therefore agreed that when we returned to the Hall that evening, Mrs Hudson and I would bring with us such things as were necessary for a short stay. Then, as Dr Watson said his goodbyes to Mrs Summersby, I scribbled a quick note for the sleeping countess and congratulated myself on my cleverness. For surely, with Mrs Hudson and myself focused entirely on Pauncefoot and his movements, nothing could go wrong…
It was an opinion that, within the next two days, I would have good reason to revise.
That morning was a raw one and, as we drove back over the moor with the fells bleak and wintry all around us, my mind began to turn to thoughts of the warm fire at the Angel. But on arriving at the inn, we found Mr Spencer waiting for us by the doorway, pacing to and fro with a restless, troubled air. Dr Watson hailed him cheerfully, and suggested a warming drink in the snug.
‘No time for that, sir, I’m afraid,’ Mr Spencer told him briskly. ‘There have been developments!’
‘Developments?’ Dr Watson started like a warhorse to the bugle.
‘Yes, Doctor. As soon as you left I hurried down to the station to see if I could catch Mr Holmes before he left. I’m afraid he’d already departed for London, but while I was there I had a word with the stationmaster. It seems that a man answering to Pauncefoot’s description was there yesterday evening. He bought a ticket for tomorrow morning, Dr Watson. A one-way ticket to London!’
Dr Watson whistled. ‘Tomorrow, eh? So it must be tonight he intends to make his move. Well, the game’s afoot! But at least we know when, and from where, he plans to escape!’
‘Please, sir,’ I asked Mr Spencer. ‘Did you find Mrs Hudson at all?’
Mr Spencer frowned. ‘I did, Flotsam. I found her writing letters in her room.’
‘And what did she make of your news, eh?’ Dr Watson asked. ‘Pretty shaken up, I imagine!’
‘Well, that was the strange thing, Doctor. She just carried on writing letters.’
‘Surely not! Really, she must have said something.’
‘She just listened very carefully, then nodded. Then she asked whether we’d told the Summersbys and I said you’d gone over to explain matters, and she just nodded again and said she’d have thought as much. And then she went back to her writing.’
‘Remarkable!’ Dr Watson looked utterly perplexed. ‘Then I can only imagine she trusts us to get on with the job. After all, it shouldn’t be beyond us, should it? We’ll watch him like hawks tonight, and nab him if he tries to get away. Flotsam, I think you should reassure Mrs Hudson that she can leave matters entirely in our hands!’
That opportunity arose a few minutes later. Rather to my surprise, I found Mrs Hudson alone in Mrs Garth’s kitchen, plucking a chicken. This activity was in such contrast to Dr Watson’s urgent plotting and planning, and her air as she undertook it so serene, that I could not but wonder at her calm.
‘Yes, Flotsam,’ she reassured me, ‘I believe I understood Mr Spencer’s message very well. I imagine that he and Dr Watson are thoroughly enjoying themselves. Why, I confess I almost feel sorry for that butler. He is so very much outnumbered and surrounded by parties determined to part him from his prize. I’m rather looking forward to what he does next.’
‘Then you don’t think there’s any chance Pauncefoot might get away with the urn, ma’am?’
For a fraction of a second her eyebrow flickered upwards. ‘Pauncefoot? I’m sure he’s the least of our worries, Flottie. Now tell me, how were things at the Hall?’
With some trepidation, I told her how I’d persuaded Mrs Summersby to allow us to make our home at Broomheath for a few days. To my relief, rather than protest, the housekeeper paused in her plucking and smiled at me fondly.
‘Really, Flotsam, that’s most resourceful. I had been thinking that some such arrangement would suit us very well. I must tell Mrs Garth at once. There’s bound to be all sorts of nonsense going on at the Hall tonight and I confess I’ll feel a little easier in my mind knowing we can keep an eye on things. Now, I have some letters to post…’ She indicated a little pile of envelopes on a tray by the door. ‘When I’ve finished here, we’ll take them down to the post office. But I promised Mrs Garth I’d give her a hand with this, and as I don’t foresee anything very urgent happening just yet, we may as well make ourselves useful while we can. You could start by helping me clear up these feathers.’
And help I did, but not before I’d taken a surreptitious peek at the addresses on the envelopes. Letters to Mr Rumbelow and to Scraggs did not particularly surprise me as Mrs Hudson was always a very assiduous correspondent, but I looked up in surprise when I saw that the third letter was addressed to Mr Bertram Peeves, Esq.
‘Isn’t he the famous diplomatist, ma’am?’ I ventured to ask, forgetting that I was supposed to be helping with the chores. ‘The one they’ve just recalled from Washington? Dr Watson said he was coming back because he was destined for a peerage.’
‘That is indeed the gentleman, Flotsam,’ Mrs Hudson confirmed. ‘Now, about these feathers…’
I hastened to equip myself with Mrs Garth’s brush and pan. ‘Do you know Mr Peeves then, ma’am?’ I asked after a pause, sweeping diligently as I spoke.
Mrs Hudson rose and began to unpin her apron, shaking the feathers neatly into the path of my broom.
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Flottie. But some years ago, when Mr Bertram Peeves of the Diplomatic Corps was still young Bertie Peeves of the Rip-Roar Club, there was a little incident on Boat Race Night after his fellow club members had found him guilty of some breach of their rules. Very fortunately I was able to furnish him with a cloak to cover his modesty and to call for a locksmith before the bishop’s wife arrived. It is, I believe, an intervention he remembers gratefully. Now, when we have finished helping Mrs Garth, we may take a stroll to the post office. And after that, since the afternoon is our own, I suggest we take up the Rector’s invitation to view his collection of historical curios. I daresay they will prove educational and it will most certainly please the Rector, who is having a difficult time with his bunions.’
For all Mrs Hudson’s urgings I was in no mood for curios that afternoon, and the Rector’s gentle observations on local history were, I’m afraid, sown on fallow ground. My mind was entirely occupied with thoughts of the Hall and its occupants, and my imagination was running wild. What was Pauncefoot doing? What was he planning? Had Miss Peters succeeded in searching his room for clues? And where exactly was the urn?
The afternoon was a slow one and the Rector’s insights into Neolithic settlements seemed to me to last almost as long as the settlements themselves. An age passed before I was back at the Angel, hurriedly stuffing a bag with everything I would need for my stay at Broomheath Hall. We were driven to our destination by Mrs Garth’s son, a taciturn young man whose features seemed to have taken on some of the weathered inscrutability of the moors themselves. But he drove carefully and delivered us at the servants’ entrance a little before four o’clock, in plenty of time to prepare for dinner.
I fear I was of little help to Martha and Mildred that evening, for once again I was unable to settle to the task in hand. I could not help but watch Mr Pauncefoot’s every move, all the while marvelling at his calm. For the butler seemed as relaxed as ever, and even engaged in some rather avuncular flirtation with Martha over the state of her wardrobe, promising her that if his luck in life ever took a turn for the better he would be sure to remember the green muslin dress she’d set her heart on.
Such light-hearted comments set my mind racing, for it seemed to me that the butler’s thoughts were turning towards a happier, wealthier future. But if he had really discovered where to look for the Lazarus Testament, it seemed impossible that he could remain so calm; impossible also that Mrs Hudson could continue about her business with such unflinching single-mindedness. I was reminded of Sir Frances Drake and his famous game of bowls. Mr Pauncefoot, it seemed, would not have been one to flinch at the approach of a mere Armada, and it would have taken more than an enemy fleet, guns blazing, to deflect Mrs Hudson from preparing dinner. But I was not of their stamp: by the time the meal was over and the dishes washed, my nerves were so tightly wound that I was certain they must snap.
It was perhaps some relief to me that Miss Peters shared my restlessness. Just before bedtime, with the excuse of helping her undress, I made my way to her room and found her pacing up and down by the window, a pillow hugged tightly to her chest.
‘How can everybody possibly be so calm, Flottie?’ she wailed. ‘It’s as if tonight was just another night, with Mr Summersby gulping his soup like a convict and Mrs Summersby asking me endless polite questions about Italy until I just wanted to scream. And there was Pauncefoot, gliding around with his yes-madams and his no-madams as if none of us had ever heard the words ‘hidden treasure’! And I’m sure he must know that someone searched his room today, because I wasn’t the least bit careful about putting things back in the right place, but he doesn’t look at all concerned about it, does he? When he served my soup tonight, part of me felt like grabbing his hand and biting him and shouting ‘tell us where it is, you odious man!’ In fact, I rather wish I’d done just that, Flottie. Anything would be better than this terrible waiting!’
‘You will be careful, won’t you, Hetty? Pauncefoot is probably a desperate man.’
She seemed to brighten at this. ‘Do you really think so? That’s what they always say in the papers when prisoners escape from jail! I do hope Rupert knows that I’m about to wrestle with a desperate man. Is it true that he and Dr Watson and Mr Verity are all keeping watch on the house from the moors tonight? Well, if so I hope it’s very cold. It will serve Rupert right for being such an utter beast.’
‘And Mrs Hudson and I will be staying here tonight,’ I reminded her. ‘But somehow Mrs Hudson doesn’t seem very interested in keeping watch on Mr Pauncefoot. Whenever I talk to her about it, she just mumbles about the trap not chasing the mouse.’
‘Does she? Well, that’s probably just her being wise again, Flottie. Mrs Hudson is so very wise that sometimes I don’t really understand her at all. And I don’t know much about mousetraps, except that they seem to involve a lot of cheese. Daddy always used to say the longer the chase, the sweeter the fruits, which strictly speaking doesn’t make sense, of course, because you don’t really chase fruits, do you? You just order them from the green grocer. And I rather think Daddy meant something slightly improper by it, because Daddy usually did, but even so, I intend to chase Pauncefoot absolutely as hard as I can. And do you know, Flottie, I’m absolutely certain it will be me who gets hold of the Lazarus thingy first! I just feel sure of it.’
Buoyed a little by her confidence, but certainly no less on edge, I left Miss Peters trying to make towers on her wash-stand out of bars of soap and returned to the small bedroom at the back of the house where Mrs Hudson had laid out my things. There I found the housekeeper, still-dressed, putting clean slips around the pillows.
‘Now, Flotsam,’ she began sternly. ‘I know that you don’t expect to sleep a wink tonight, but I think a little lie-down won’t do you any harm. I’ve aired the sheets and put on some good warm blankets, and I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
Of course I knew that rest of any sort was quite out of the question, but hearing the iron firmness in Mrs Hudson’s voice I agreed to follow her advice, while secretly determining to lie down fully dressed beneath the covers, so as to be ready for prompt action should events require it. To pass the time, and to keep myself from fretting, I picked up the heavy pile of papers from the Baldwick Archive that I had brought with me from the Angel. They seemed to be part of an account of his journey to America, though whether they were intended as a journal, or an aide memoire, or as a polemic for public consumption, it was hard to tell. The writer seemed to switch from one to the other at random intervals, at times recording his observations, at others railing against the wrongs he perceived had been done to him. At no point was his style anything but leaden, and the tediousness of his complaints and grievances soon began to have the effect they always had. After thirty minutes of forcing myself to concentrate, the words were beginning to blur a little in front of my eyes; after forty, for all my determination, I was fast asleep.
I only became aware of this, however, when I was woken by a gentle shaking of my arm. The room was dark but for a faint haze of silver light from the window. Some of the papers on my chest had spilled onto the floor and my head was resting on the pillows at an awkward, crooked angle.
‘Quietly, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson’s voice whispered. ‘It seems the promised excitement is beginning. From here we should have an excellent view of it.’
Blinking slightly, I followed her to the window. Outside, the grounds of the Hall lay in darkness, and beyond them the great flanks of the moor rose black and brooding. There was a very thin covering of cloud but the moon behind cast just enough light for me to make out the shapes of trees and outbuildings. From its position, I guessed I’d slept for an hour or more.
Mrs Hudson was also looking at the faint outline of the moon. ‘A good night for our butler friend,’ she murmured. ‘Light enough to find his way, but dark enough to hide in. Now! Here he goes…’
Our window was almost directly above Broomheath’s back door. Looking down, I saw the bald and bearded figure of the butler emerging, his cape drawn tight around his shoulders. To my surprise he held a bright storm lantern in his hand and made no attempt to conceal it.
‘Now, watch carefully, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson whispered unnecessarily, for I don’t believe any power on earth could have made me take my eyes from the figure below us. As I watched, he made his way at a steady pace to one of the outbuildings, but he made no effort to enter. On reaching its door he seemed to change his mind, and headed instead for an old glasshouse that stood just beyond it. But again he didn’t go in, continuing in the same manner from one building to another, gradually inching further from the house and closer to the edge of the moor. Finally he came to the locked and shuttered belvedere that Miss Peters and I had been unable to examine.
‘So that’s the place!’ I breathed as he approached it, but to my surprise he made no effort to gain entry. He merely skirted around it to reach the old wall that lay beyond, where a stile took him out onto the moor itself.
The brightness of his lantern made it easy for us to follow his progress, and at first I had eyes for nothing else. But as he began to ascend the flanks of the heath I became aware of two other figures moving in the darkness. The first must have been watching from somewhere within the grounds and was clearly following in the butler’s footsteps. As I watched, that figure disappeared behind the belvedere, only to re-emerge by the stile, some thirty or forty yards behind his quarry. The other figure was even harder to pick out, camouflaged as it was by the blackness of the moor itself. This person had been stationed much further from the Hall, presumably on some helpful vantage point. Now, as the butler took to the fells, the watcher set a parallel course, keeping pace with him as he climbed but careful to stay well beyond the reach of his lantern.
‘Mr Spencer and Dr Watson,’ I concluded.
‘And Mr Verity too,’ Mrs Hudson added, gesturing towards a place where a third shadowy figure was making haste around the Hall’s perimeter, apparently desperate to catch up with the others. As we watched, he stumbled once or twice and then fell completely, disappearing from view behind the dry stone wall. ‘I fear he is not really cut out for this sort of work,’ she added sadly.
It was then, as my eyes were moving back to the lantern, that I caught sight of a movement just below us.
‘Miss Peters, if I’m not mistaken,’ Mrs Hudson pointed out, ‘apparently heading for the potting shed.’
‘She must have seen Pauncefoot’s light too, ma’am,’ I decided. ‘Will she be all right, do you think? Shouldn’t we be going with her?’
‘Oh, I think she’ll be fine, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson declared with confidence, as Miss Peters sped after the distant lantern. ‘She’ll probably get very cold and very damp and I imagine she’ll rather enjoy herself. And by the look of it she’ll soon catch up Mr Verity so she’ll be able to make sure he doesn’t come to any harm.’
Left alone, I too would undoubtedly have rushed down and given chase, but Mrs Hudson showed no urge to move whatsoever. Instead we stood and watched as the butler’s lantern, gaining height all the time, grew steadily smaller with distance. The various pursuers followed it, all well spread out, until their outlines became invisible to us against the heath.
In such circumstances, time can be difficult to measure. It seemed to me that we must have remained at that window for a full ten minutes, until the light from the butler’s lamp was no more than a tiny pin-prick of light. And then, without warning, the lamp went out.
‘He’s gone!’ I cried, and turned to my companion. But Mrs Hudson’s eyes continued to scan the darkness. ‘Of course it could be that he has simply dropped out of sight, into a hollow or something,’ I added lamely.
‘I don’t think so, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson replied with enormous calm. ‘I think he has put that light out quite deliberately.’
‘But why, ma’am? Has he reached the spot where the treasure’s hidden?’
‘Hardly, Flottie. Surely that would mean he needed more light, not less. No, I fancy his sole object so far has been to lead his pursuers a long way away, and now he intends to leave them there. Because, of course, the object he is seeking is much closer to home. Now, if we are curious about that urn, I suggest we talk a little walk. We don’t have a great deal of time before our butler friend gets back.’
‘The urn, ma’am? I don't understand! Do you mean you actually know where the urn is?’
There was enough moonlight for me to see a very faint smile play across her lips.
’Not at all, Flottie. But what we’ve seen tonight has certainly given me something of an idea.’
‘What we’ve seen tonight…? I still don’t understand.’
‘Come, Flotsam, put yourself for a moment in the butler’s shoes. Ever since Dr Watson confronted him and accused him of being in league with Viscount Wrexham, he must have known that his actions would be closely observed. Now, what did you notice about his behaviour tonight?’
As she spoke, she was already helping me into my coat.
‘Well, he wasn’t really trying to hide himself, was he, ma’am? I mean, his lantern was very bright, and the way he was waltzing about between outbuildings, it was almost as if he wanted to make sure everyone had seen him.’
‘Excellent, Flottie!’ Mrs Hudson had pulled on her own coat and was busy wrapping me in a woollen muffler. ‘He certainly did seem to be inviting attention, didn’t he? Now, if you’d hidden something, Flottie, and people were watching your every move, what would you make sure you didn’t do?’
I considered this as Mrs Hudson hustled me down the stairs.
‘Well, I’d be very careful not to lead them to the hiding place, ma’am. That’s what they’d want me to do.’
‘Very sensible! And where did the butler lead them tonight?’
‘To the moor! So it can’t be hidden out there, can it, ma’am?’
Mrs Hudson clucked impatiently. ‘Of course it isn’t! Why would anyone go and hide it out there when there are so many good hiding places that are much handier? I know Mr Baldwick was unbalanced, but I don’t believe he was as crazed as all that. So, Flottie, where did the butler go before he stepped out onto the moors?’
‘Practically everywhere, ma’am! He made a great big circle around the grounds.’
‘Everywhere, Flotsam? Are you sure?’
Suddenly it struck me. The strange route that Pauncefoot had taken had passed all the outbuildings except one. The oldest and largest of the barns had not been on the butler’s route: indeed, I realised, he had deliberately contrived to give it as wide a berth as possible.
‘The Home Barn!’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s the one place he avoided! He must think… No, he must be certain! Mrs Hudson, that’s where we’ll find the Lazarus Testament!’
Mrs Hudson nodded and held open the back door.
‘Now keep to the shadows, Flottie. You never know who might be watching.’ Together we slipped into the knife-sharp coldness of the night.
‘But, ma’am,’ I whispered as we walked, ‘Miss Peters and I have searched the Home Barn. There’s nothing in it but an old cart and some sacks, I’m sure of it.’
‘You may well be right, Flottie. But that day you were searching a number of different buildings. Tonight we only have one to search, which is quite a different thing.’
We hurried on, my mind racing. I could see my breath in the air in front of me, but I was too excited to worry about the cold. Then another thought struck me and I looked around in fright.
‘Mrs Hudson, ma’am! Might Pauncefoot have been clearing the way for someone else to come to the barn tonight? An accomplice, ma’am! Viscount Wrexham, perhaps!’
I heard Mrs Hudson’s familiar, low chuckle. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about the Viscount just yet, Flottie. I think we have a little time.’
She held up her hand and listened for a few seconds before we hurried on.
‘So, ma’am, if the Lazarus Testament isn’t hidden on the moors, what about all Pauncefoot’s night-time expeditions? Was he just trying to lead us astray?’
‘I suppose that’s possible, Flotsam. More likely he really thought the hiding place was out there. After all, he’d have heard the stories about Mr Baldwick’s digging. Without some definite clue to guide him, he knew no more than we did.’
We had arrived at the door of the Home Barn, and to my relief it opened smoothly, without squeaking. Inside, Mrs Hudson struck a match and lit her lantern, casting a pale, flickering glow that didn’t quite reach into the corners. But there was enough light to see what I had seen before: a bare, stone-flagged floor and a rickety old wagon. Nothing else. Nothing had changed.
Even so, I followed Mrs Hudson closely as she paced each line of flagstones, her eyes never leaving the ground, until, having covered two thirds of the barn without incident, we arrived at the old cart. Mrs Hudson held up her lamp and studied it.
‘Nowhere to hide anything in that,’ she mused. ‘But take a look at the wheels, Flottie.’
I looked, but could see nothing very striking, just some missing spokes and flaking paint.
‘Just here.’ She bent very low and pointed to some detail of the axle. ‘See how it has been kept well greased? Here, help me…’ Applying her shoulder to the rear of the cart, she began to push.
It proved surprisingly easy for the two of us to roll the vehicle forward a few feet. No sooner had we done so than Mrs Hudson was down on her knees, examining the section of the floor that we’d revealed.
‘Look, Flottie! Progress at last!’
Crouching next to her, I saw at once what she meant. Set into the flagstones, in a place previously hidden by the cart’s broad rear wheel, was a metal ring of the sort used to lift a trapdoor. Our eyes met, and Mrs Hudson’s, I saw, were full of mischief.
‘So, Flotsam, what is it to be? We could stand guard here, ward off all intruders and wait for the gentlemen to join us before investigating further. Or we could behave like two silly and over-excited young girls and press on regardless, purely because we are unable to contain our own curiosity.’
I hesitated. ‘Yes, ma’am. And we wouldn’t want to do that. Although, of course, I suppose there may be nothing at all down there. And we wouldn’t want to waste everyone’s time if it turned out there was nothing to show them, would we, ma’am?’
The housekeeper nodded solemnly. ‘Of course not, Flotsam. We certainly wouldn’t want to waste the gentlemen’s time. So perhaps it would be better if we took a very quick look after all…’
Mute with excitement, I could only nod, praying that she wouldn’t change her mind. The look in my eyes made her smile and without another word she positioned herself above the iron ring and pulled.