The women talked for a moment before heading back toward Palmerston House. As they reached the shaded path, Lottie abruptly turned and shot a look across the pond. As if she could sense his presence.
They were connected, no doubt. Always were. Pity she took the side of the Ryan family.
Bernie crushed the bottle and tossed it into the reeds.
Chapter Thirty-five
“You do know I have a way of solving mysteries?” Christie grinned at Martin as they waited outside the pub. He’d finally arrived at Palmerston House in the middle of the afternoon looking pleased with himself and refusing to answer any questions. This was the first time they’d been alone since waking up this morning and Christie wasn’t missing the opportunity.
Instead of answering, Martin pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She willingly returned the kiss, then drew slightly away. “I know what you’re doing.”
“Kissing my bride-to-be.”
“Well, yes. But—”
“But nothing.” He kissed her again. “All will be revealed when I’m ready.” Another kiss. “Which is not now. So, behave.”
“Aw... the lovebirds.” Daphne giggled as she approached with her arm through John’s. “At midnight you have to go separate ways.”
“Or what?” Christie leaned against Martin, her hands tightly enclosed by his.
“Or your intrepid celebrant will delay the ceremony.”
“I promise by midnight Christie will be in Palmerston House and I,” Martin winked at John “will be outside her window with a serenade.”
“More like the sad wailing of a bunyip.”
“Thomas!” Martha tugged at his arm as they approached from the opposite direction. “Martin has a lovely singing voice.”
“If you say so, bride.”
With a shake of her head, Martha reached out to kiss Christie. “Ignore him, Martin.”
“Always have.” Martin hugged Thomas. “Good thing he can paint.”
“Actually, Thomas, been meaning to ask if you’d like some work.” Trev stuck his head out of the pub door. “Need the station repainted.”
“As long as you take care of those speeding fines.”
Everyone turned to Thomas in shock. He burst out laughing. Trev stepped onto the pavement and held the door open. “Inside. The lot of you, before I have to arrest you all.”
Lance greeted them as they filed into his upstairs function room, which was beautifully decorated with candles and flowers on a long, narrow table. The lights were dimmed and champagne chilled in ice buckets.
Sylvia – with Barry one side, and Belinda and Jess on the other – waved. George and Charlotte poured champagne into glasses at a smaller table near the window. Christie stopped just inside the doorway, overcome with happiness. Martin leaned down to kiss her cheek. “This is our time, sweetheart.”
Yes, it was. Difficult times were behind them all. This weekend was a celebration for the town. A wedding. Lots of love and joy. An escape from the day-to-day and a hope for the future. In a couple of weeks, she’d open her new beauty salon and offer the people of River’s End and surrounds a new approach to their health and wellbeing. They didn’t know yet, but the first month was on her. Free for everyone to try.
“Earth to Christie. Come and sit down, okay?” Belinda held her hand out.
“Ha ha. Okay. Where?”
“Well, next to me, of course. Then, Martin can sit opposite and Martha beside you. Let the rest take care of themselves.”
“What about Elizabeth? And Angus?” Christie glanced around.
“On their way. The phone rang as I left and Angus said they’d follow.” Charlotte brought two glasses of champagne and handed one to Christie. “To you and Martin.” She clinked her glass against Christie’s and both of them took a sip. “How are you feeling?”
“Happy. Truly, deeply happy. Grateful for all the help and very thankful for the friends here tonight.”
“Palmerston House already looks beautiful and by the time the guests arrive tomorrow it will be ready for a fairytale wedding.”
“As long as there’s no wicked witch involved.”
“Or bad wolf roaming around the forest.” Charlotte frowned.
Christie’s stomach tensed. “Are you concerned about Bernie?”
Charlotte glanced around, her eyes resting on Trev, who chatted to George by the window. “Trev says not to be.”
“What do you say?”
“He is obsessed with Palmerston House.”
Trev smiled at Charlotte and she looked away. What is going on with you two? After the wedding Christie was determined to find out.
“Did he really believe he would get through the door with those tools? Dynamite would be a better choice.”
“As the resident police officer, I’m going to have to ask you why you want to use dynamite, and where?” Trev appeared beside Charlotte with a beer and a big grin.
“We think you have too much time on your hands.” Charlotte kept a straight face. “Small explosion at the back of the police station might give you something legitimate to take care of.”
“In that case, I will require you to turn yourself in for questioning. After dinner.”
Charlotte blushed and was suddenly very interested in her glass.
“We were talking about the door in the cellar at Palmerston House. Did you discover what’s behind it?” Christie decided to give Charlotte time to compose herself.
“Isn’t that your thing?”
“I’ve been busy. And I don’t want to upset Elizabeth by asking too much until she feels a bit safer again.”
Trev nodded, more serious now. “It isn’t on the plans for the house. Hidden away for decades and no key to be found. Probably there’s another small room behind it, perhaps for illegal grog or guns, but it certainly had Bernie Cooper interested.”
“Any sightings of him?”
“Not a thing. Besides, how stupid would he be to show his face around here again? Ah, there’s Elizabeth and Angus.”
***
The cottage was more of a challenge to get inside this time. The attic window had a new frame and lock so Bernie didn’t even bother getting the ladder. He wasted ten minutes trying every door and window. Everything was locked, so he resorted to breaking the small window in the laundry. All he could hope was it wasn’t discovered until after he’d got what he wanted from River’s End.
Once he’d reached carefully through the broken window and unlocked the laundry door from the inside, he pushed it open. Before going any further, he found a dustpan and brush, then cleaned up the glass shards. He pulled the lacy curtain across the break. Might buy him some time. He took the glass to the bin around the back of the cottage and emptied the dustpan under some other rubbish.
Back inside the cottage, he began his search. Being an outcast for a few weeks had given him time to dig a lot deeper into recent events. Holed up in an empty house on the far side of town – up for sale and apparently on the market for years going by its neglected state – he’d spent a lot of time scouring the internet for anything from newspaper articles to social media mentions. A stroke of genius was becoming a Facebook friend of Daphne’s, under a disguise of course.
In the archives of a local newspaper, he’d discovered an article about Thomas and Martha’s wedding. Touted as the love story of the century, the reporter provided enough backstory to reassure Bernie he was on the right track. Christie was left a mysterious key and later found the trunk.
On his last visit to the cottage, the key wasn’t with the trunk. Better to be sure. He went to the dining room but the trunk wasn’t there. He found it in the front entry, tucked under the table near the door. With no key.
Although he’d looked there last visit, he headed for the kitchen. If it wasn’t there, he’d go to the clifftop house in case she’d already moved in. There was enough light streaming through the window over the sink to see the key rack near the back door. It held a variety of keys but only one intere
sted him.
An ornate skeleton key. Old and designed for the locks of the nineteenth century. Almost in disbelief, Bernie removed it from the hook and held it up. “I’ve got you. Harry, I found it!”
***
As the evening wound down, it occurred to Trev this was amongst the best nights he’d experienced. To watch Christie and Martin together on this, their last day as single people, was a privilege. Such love he’d seen between his parents, and Thomas and Martha, but it was rare in a world of throw-away relationships.
Time and again he’d found himself gazing at Charlotte, who sat further down the table on the other side. What would she think of his musings? He knew she felt something for him, even though she kept him at arm’s length. Her odd words at the beach this morning stuck in his head. “I have lucky genes. At least where body shape is concerned.” Did she mean some other genes were unlucky? Prone to an illness? The thought made his stomach turn with worry.
Christie swapped seats and slid next to Trev. “Ask her out.” It was a whisper but Trev’s eyes shot to Charlotte. She was deep in a conversation with Daphne.
“I have.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
Trev moved closer to Christie. “She feels differently.”
“Nope. Bet she doesn’t.”
“Christie.”
“Okay. But don’t be afraid to ask her again. Anyway, didn’t she go with you to visit your mother that time?”
“She loves bookshops.”
“Long drive to go shopping.”
Trev leaned back and picked up the beer he’d nursed for most of the evening. “Might have been a mistake.”
“Why? Didn’t she get along with your mother?”
“Quite the opposite. They even chat on the phone sometimes. It’s complicated and I’m not comfortable talking about this. She wouldn’t like it.”
“Sorry. You’re right. I just want everyone as happy as I am. And you deserve to have love in your life, Trev.” Christie dropped a kiss on his cheek and returned to her own seat.
He blinked, realising he was again staring at Charlotte and she was now regarding him. He quickly lifted his almost empty drink and smiled. She raised her own glass with a twitch of her lips, her eyes going to his beer. “Another?” Was that what she mouthed?
Charlotte stood and headed to the table near the window. A moment later, a beer and a glass of champagne in hand, she wandered toward Trev. By the time she reached him, he was on his feet.
“You look thirsty.”
“I’m not overdoing it tonight. In case I have to arrest any loud party goers.” Trev accepted the beer. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be sure to tell George to tone it down then.” Her eyes sparkled. “You looked very serious talking to Christie.”
You were watching me? “You know Christie. She wants a world where her friends all enjoy life the way she does.”
“Let me guess, then. She wants you to have a yacht.”
“Not quite.”
“A beauty salon? Trevor’s Toning and Treatments.”
Trev couldn’t help himself. He burst into laughter. Charlotte joined in and for a moment, the connection was there, strong and deep. Anything is possible. You deserve love. He managed to control the chuckles. “And you’d be my first client?”
“Are you implying I need... improving?”
“You’re already perfect, Charlie.” The words came out before he filtered them, soft and sincere. Charlotte’s smile dropped and her eyes suddenly glistened. Was she going to cry? Despite the sounds of laughter and talk around them, he could almost hear her breathe. Short, sharp intakes.
“But, I’m not perfect. And you shouldn’t think... I shouldn’t let you think...”
“I’m not thinking anything.” No, it is all about feeling. “And you don’t need improving.”
“George is on his own. I might go... umm, I’m going to sit with him for a bit.”
“Charlie—”
But she retreated with a sad smile and he was left with only the scent of her. He finished the beer in a few mouthfuls.
“Trevor, excuse me?” Lance appeared at his side. “I completely forgot I had this. Meant to hand it in ages ago and seeing nobody came looking, well, I forgot about it. You’d better have it.”
“Sorry? What are you talking about?”
“This.” Lance held out a leather bound book. “Somebody left it in a booth and there’s no contact details in it. Being old, it might be of value.”
“You have no idea who left it?” Trev took the book and flicked it open. Nothing to easily identify an owner. Just old. He slipped it into a jacket pocket.
“No. Sorry, it was a busy night. Shall I get you another drink?”
“Oh, maybe a sparkling water, thanks, Lance.”
Lance hurried off and Trev glanced around to see where Charlotte was. She was next to George, listening to him, but her eyes were on Trev.
Chapter Thirty-six
Bernie stood in the kitchen of Palmerston House. He’d once been welcome here. Given awful tea and very nice scones. Breakfasts he’d remember and some interesting conversations. All good times despite the circumstances.
Following Daphne on Facebook had paid dividends with her post about the celebration dinner tonight, even mentioning the guests. All he’d done was wait until the last person left, and now the place was his.
Backpack bulging with tools and water bottles, he sprinted down the steps and through the cellar.
Under torch light, the stone door mocked him. I’m impenetrable. Bernie pulled the skeleton key from a pocket and with a shaking hand, managed to insert it. So far, so good. “Help me out, Harry.”
The key turned with a loud click.
Bernie pushed the door – hard – and with a groan it swung open. Cold air rushed in from the darkness beyond. To celebrate, he opened a bottle of water and drank the whole thing with barely a pause.
Finished, he crushed the bottle, tossing it into a corner. “Guide me, Harry. I’m here to set things right.” He had to duck to step through the doorway.
There was no keyhole on the other side of the door, so he pulled it almost closed and wedged a small rock to stop it locking him out. Bernie peered into the darkness beyond the torch beam. A long, slightly declining and narrow tunnel with a rough floor and damp sides.
Bernie could hear his own breath. Every footstep echoed. After a few moments he paused and glanced back. The door was only just visible and a lot higher than he expected. Trudging back up with a heavy load might challenge another man, but he had purpose.
The roof lowered and the tunnel veered to the left. Fissures in the walls suggested the tunnel was a natural formation Harry had refined. The diary mentioned it being done at the same time Palmerston House was constructed, but how he managed it without Eoin Ryan finding out was a mystery. Many more than one man must have done this and likely over a length of time. Was it possible the men he charged with the job of taking care of the grandfather clock were involved?
The tunnel was even steeper now, and small rocks skidded under Bernie’s feet. His head brushed the roof. A lesser man would turn back, but Bernie was unstoppable. Harry would be proud . Understanding his diary, following the clues, overcoming every obstacle.
There was a new sound. Waves crashing against rocks. Heart pounding, legs shaking, Bernie stepped into the cave.
***
1853
Legs dangling, Harry sat at the cave entrance, a glass in one hand and bottle of fine whiskey in the other. No reason to leave all the good drink here. He toasted the night sky and swallowed a shot, then refilled.
It must be only an hour or so before midnight. He was too tired to do more than drag himself back to Palmerston House. After some sleep, he’d bring the last load down, before Eoin Ryan evicted him. Sleep and food beckoned.
But for a few moments, he wanted to enjoy the peace of the night, here, alone. The ocean moved restlessly beneath an almost full moon. Waves smashed ag
ainst the rocks. Sea mist wet his pants and boots.
Harry hurt all over. Physically, of course, with the sheer volume of carrying, dragging, and stowing goods. The tunnel was hard enough getting down, but then there was the long walk back. And his heart ached for Eleanor and his little girl. For the life they’d shared so happily until that fateful night.
He forced himself onto his feet, dropping the glass over the edge. It smashed on its way down and he shuddered. A person wouldn’t want to fall. He took more care with the bottle, replacing its stopper and leaving it on top of a small, favourite side table. Good thing he did, for the key to the door beneath Palmerston House lay on the table and he needed to lock it behind himself.
The journey back to the house took a long time. Harry stopped frequently to rest, regretting drinking so much. Once this was all over, he’d give it up. He reached the stone door and closed it firmly, locking it.
There was only one thing left to take down and he’d do it when he woke. In his daughter’s bedroom, he sat for a while on the bed as sorrow mingled with triumph. He might have lost a lot, but he’d stopped Eoin having the satisfaction of taking everything. One day soon, he’d be able to put these dolls back into his little girl’s arms and see her smile. For now, they were piled in the trunk, waiting for the final trip to the cave.
Downstairs, the longcase clock chimed midnight. Harry closed the lid of the trunk and turned the key to lock it. Exhausted, he lay back on the bed and closed his eyes. Almost asleep, he imagined himself back with his family.
Until someone pounded on the front door and he sat bolt upright.
***
By mid-morning, Palmerston House was a hive of activity. Parked out the front was a florist van, its doors wide open as the florist, Christie, and Charlotte made trip after trip back and forth, arms filled with arrangements. Around the pond, Martin, John, Barry, and Trevor laid out staggered rows of white seats so all the guests would have a view of the ceremony, no matter where they sat. The arch waited for flowers as Daphne stood below it, practising.
The Secrets of Palmerston House Page 22