– now let’s see if . . . Oh!! That’s just . . . Lily! Don’t come in here, it’s too dangerous.”
As her small hands persistently prickled with pins and needles from tightly clasping the back of the chair, Lily’s eyes grew wide. “What do you want me to do?” she called nervously. “Should I get the Major?”
Peter remained silent for far longer than was necessary, sending her fertile imagination and heart rate stratospheric as she waited impatiently. “There’s something very horrible in here,” he said finally, his voice distant and ethereal.
“W-what? Can you tell me?” Lily cried, fascinated.
Peter took another long moment. “It’s a body. A very old, mummified body with papery thin skin and hollow eyes. It’s sitting at a desk and there’s a letter. I had to prise it out from under the arms – he seems to have slumped forwards when he died.”
Edging bravely forward, Lily gagged violently and put her hand quickly to her mouth, all pretence of maintaining a good impression forgotten. “W-who is it?” was all she said, hearing the sound of Peter moving something inside the room.
Again, his reply was an eternity in coming.
“It seems to be the body of Professor Thaddeus Ambrose. The letter explains he’d been diagnosed with a degenerative nerve disorder. As a consequence, he suffered changes to his memory and thought processes that interfered with his important research work.”
From the library, Lily gave a stifled cry and said, “Oh, the poor man. All those years he’s been trapped in there and no one knew.”
Peter continued. “The letter goes on to say that he thought long and hard about his options, having been told by his doctor that eventually, he’d end up in a mental institution, unable to make decisions for himself or care for his children.”
Again, Lily was saddened, shaken by the news. She wanted to go inside to see the poor man and show that someone cared, but Peter had said the inner room was small.
“Through his research, Professor Ambrose knew a quick death could be achieved with lethal animal toxins, so he used the secretions of Dendrobacidi, the poisonous arrow frog. He explains this little room was kept secret, doubting that his body would ever be found. In this rare event, the person who discovers him should know that, somewhere in the Hall, there’s a document that will reveal all.”
“He must have been in agony after he took the poison. How come no one heard him shout out in pain?” Lily asked, completely dismayed.
“This room probably has built-in sound proofing, perhaps in case any of the animals used in the experiments made a noise.”
Shuffling sounds from within told Lily that Peter was searching for the secret document mentioned in Professor Ambrose’s suicide letter. “I can’t find anything in his desk except copious notes on his experiments and a couple of articles he published in the Royal Society journal.”
Desperate to face the mummified corpse for herself, Lily spoke softly. “He’s just been waiting . . .”
“For what?” Peter said.
The library door suddenly shot open and Cecelia Morris entered, looking thoroughly bored. “We’ve solved the clue – just finding a stupid photograph that was on the floor under the sideboard.” Her mouth dropped open to resemble the gaping doorway next to the fireplace.
“What on earth’s going on?” Cecelia cried as Diane, not wanting to be left behind, barrelled into the room, her overpowering nosiness heightening. She took in the scene, the absence of Peter and Lily’s horrified expression.
Lily suppressed a massive tut at Cecelia and Diane’s immaculate timing. My private adventure with Peter is suddenly at an end. Lily hated to admit she would far rather both disruptive women were not there at all in the light of recent events. Untangling the mystery of the missing Professor did not belong to them.
“It’s a long story,” Lily sighed in a tired voice as her body slowly recovered from the shock of Peter’s horrific discovery. She was very proud that, as a policeman, he knew how to handle this kind of thing – although she imagined he hadn’t come across many mummified bodies in secret rooms before in the course of his work.
“Well?” Diane Pargitter demanded petulantly, fists braced against her wide hips.
Cecelia stood straight, immediately concerned with her hair and her obsessional need to continually primp it back into an acceptable position.
“It might be better to wait until everyone is gathered in the drawing room before the full explanation is given.” Lily said, deliberately not making eye contact with Diane.
“Why are you always leaving me out of things?” Diane accused, her eyes hardening. “Ever since I got here you’ve all done your best to ignore me. And where’s that bloody policeman?”
Lily’s face clouded with anger. I’ll resist the urge to confront you regarding your unfortunate manner, explaining exactly why people don’t want you around.
“If you really want to be useful,” Cecelia suggested, “go and fetch Lady Felicity and the Major. They definitely need to know what’s going on.”
“What is going on? Why won’t anyone tell me?” Diane wailed in dismay as she glared at the other two women. “I’m going in to look!” Before anyone could try and stop her, Diane was attempting to squeeze her rotund body through the exceptionally small doorway into the inner room. “Of course,” she pointed out in a loud voice, “they were a lot smaller in those days, which is why there’s very little room for me to get through.” Diane disappeared completely from view.
Lily felt rather sad as the situation escalated. The amazing discovery of Thaddeus Ambrose and the fact it had briefly been just me and Peter on our own was nice while it lasted . . .
The diminutive inner room was cramped to begin with, but with the additions of Peter and the Pargitter, as well as the deceased Professor Ambrose, there was barely enough space to pass without touching something human, or formerly human. Peter said very little, stoically accepting that Diane’s nosy nature would inevitably lead to such a situation.
“Not much room in here,” Diane observed candidly, taking in the ornately carved desk with the added decoration of a slumped, decades-old corpse, the oppressive dark panelled walls and the pile of yellowing papers in the corner.
Much to his regret, Diane didn’t suggest that Peter should leave so he could take the opportunity to seal her in there as well. The woman seemed remarkably unmoved. I would go so far as to say, emotionally constipated, Peter decided.
Diane assessed she had seen enough of the slight, mummified figure leaning eagerly over his elaborate desk with his collar studs still intact. In a final sweep of the scene she noticed a row of interestingly-shaped keys in various locks, reminding her of the one she’d found in the cellar. It was still sitting in the pocket of her skirt, discarded roughly over a hanger in the wardrobe of her room.
Squeezing her way out of the small gap, Diane observed the astonished faces of Lily and Cecelia. This only goes to prove, thought Diane smugly, that they obviously don’t have the guts to go in there themselves. She stood proud and dusty in the centre of the library, hands back on hips in defiance.
“I think I’ll go and explain things to the Major,” Lily announced in an even voice, keen to get away from the noxious odour that seemed to have become worse since Diane emerged from the room.
Cecelia nodded. “I’ll come too.” For once, both women were in agreement.
Peter had chosen to remain inside the chamber, Diane realised. She took the opportunity to go and fetch the gargoyle-headed key from her room. Climbing the stairs remarkably quickly considering her sore ankle and hip, Diane entered her room. Snatching open the wardrobe door, she rummaged in her skirt pocket for the mysterious object. There was no reason why it would be gone, but Diane did not trust any one of these people.
Back in the library, Diane found it surprisingly empty. Along the corridor, she heard the carrying voice of Lady Felicity announcing that the Major was about to telephone the police. Pushing her wide face into the gap between t
he false bookcase and the wall, Diane found the inner chamber blissfully empty of Peter.
Must have gone to join that silly librarian and the stuck-up Madam in the drawing room with the others, Diane concluded. She made busy with the key in the only available lock without a gargoyle-headed figure sticking out of it. The lock mechanism gave easily and Diane pulled open the drawer to reveal a tight roll of paper. She lifted it out, peering around as she unrolled the yellowing document on the corner of the desk. Next to her, the wizened eye sockets of Thaddeus Ambrose stared ahead reproachfully.
Diane addressed the corpse in a macabre fashion. “So, these are your re-designed house plans, are they – and what’s this – a note on the bottom about how to enter the safe? Now, that is interesting . . .”
From the narrow gap on the library side of the door, Simeon Bailey’s sinister black eyes watched her every move.
“I see you’ve got your secret room here on the architectural plans.” Diane pointed a stubby finger at the chamber, tapping it for emphasis. “Not very secret then, is it?” She stared directly at Professor Ambrose’s leathery yellow skin, gaping mouth and contorted expression with neither empathy nor distaste.
Simeon Bailey glided silently through the gap, coming to rest behind the prying, interfering Pargitter female. “How dare you meddle in the affairs of this house?” he hissed menacingly. “I’ll take that!” Reaching forward, he grabbed the plans from the desk in one fluid movement, shocking Diane into freeze mode, as she was in no position to fight or flight. “Go on, get out!” Simeon directed the now quivering Diane.
WHO’S THE FAIREST?
In the drawing room, the shocked gathering was quiet. “My apologies for this completely unexpected debacle,” the Major said, looking harassed. “I’ve telephoned the police, although they say there’s no urgency because Professor Ambrose has been dead for some time.”
Peter looked surprised but said nothing. Lily laced her fingers together as she sat pensive, her expression unreadable. Cecelia and Diane stood like statues and Lady Felicity periodically raised her hand to fiddle with the gold chain around her neck in a gesture of self-comfort.
“I think it would be best,” the Major continued, “if you go about the business of solving the final clue to take your minds off this while we wait. The police may not even arrive today and by tonight, you’ll all be returning to your own lives. The library is off limits, but that shouldn’t cause any difficulties.”
Full of nervous tension, Lady Felicity blurted, “Perhaps an early departure? I don’t know if they’re ready for another clue, Reggie, it’s all been very–”
Simeon Bailey silenced her with a withering glance.
“I think Lady F’s right,” Peter suggested, turning to Lily. “I, for one, could do with a bit of a rest and a good stiff drink.”
Lily nodded, with Diane following suit more vigorously.
“What about you, Cecelia,” the Major urged, “wouldn’t you like to continue, perhaps with a clue you could do by yourself?”
Cecelia glared contemptuously at the pompous creature before her, wondering what was behind the suggestion. Perhaps they want to get me out of the way? But the others were staying put, unaware of her inheritance quest, so this seemed unlikely. The Major and his wife were not the sort of people who would want Cecelia’s claim made public.
“Is the previous clue forgotten then?” Diane piped up, looking longingly at the refilled decanters of dark brown liquid on the sideboard.
“For the time being, yes.” The Major glanced fleetingly at Simeon Bailey then back to Cecelia.
“Very well,” Cecelia said wearily. Anything to escape the relentlessly vindictive glare of Lady Felicity. Cecelia briefly considered abandoning her plan, making a quick getaway. She wondered what the next move would be – a solicitor’s letter, perhaps, asking for more proof of her birth right. That could be tricky, but she would take care of it.
Handing around small glasses of warm sweet sherry, Lady Felicity gave her best impression of an obliging hostess. Cecelia received hers in an overly hasty thrust that feigned nervousness, but Cecelia knew better. The sherry, slopping dangerously, had been poured from the same decanter as everyone else’s, so she judged it safe to drink.
“Right,” said Cecelia, placing her glass on a side table after taking one unpleasantly tepid mouthful and rising from her chair. “What’s this clue you have for me?”
Lily surreptitiously took out her notebook. I’ll jot the clue down for the sake of completeness, she thought, feeling a little hard done by that she wasn’t taking part.
‘The Major stood, fixing his dark eyes on Cecelia. “Your clue is this – ‘TO CONTEMPLATE IN SOLITUDE, THE MIRROR’S CATCH MUST NOT ELUDE’.”
“Do you know,” chirped Diane, draining the last of her sherry and smacking her lips as if it were nectar, “that sounds fascinating – can we join in too?”
The Major looked horrified, as if someone were passing around his best malt whisky, but he quickly regained control. “I suppose it would do no harm to keep you all busy, if you’re determined to stay. You may assist Cecelia, if you wish.”
“Shall we?” Lily whispered to Peter. “It’ll be rather boring just sitting around here all morning until lunch, or until the police arrive. They’ll want to question us, so best if we all stay put.”
Peter nodded. “If that’s what you want to do, why not?”
Lily leaned in closer, speaking in hushed tones. “Well, we can’t go in the library, the obvious opportunity to ‘contemplate’. Besides, it smells foul in there, so I wouldn’t want to.” She wrinkled up her nose at the memory. “The ‘solitude’ reference could mean a cell, of course, but I don’t recall reading anything about a priest hole here at the Hall.”
“Perhaps we’re back down in the cellar,” Diane said, her wide face looming up behind them, making Lily jump. “I think the Professor
worked down there occasionally.”
Remembering that Diane hadn’t joined them in the Professor’s cellar laboratory room because of her swollen ankle, Lily nodded encouragingly. Walking reluctantly over to join them, Cecelia wore a furious expression – the opportunity of exploring alone having been snatched away.
“There could be all kinds of secrets down there,” Diane continued eagerly, knowing that this time, a trip to the cellar would mean safety in numbers and hopefully, a working torch.
“The trouble with that woman,” Cecelia commented under her breath to no one in particular, “is that even if she had a secret, she wouldn’t know how to keep it.”
Lily gasped at the undisguised nastiness and swiftly busied herself with her trusty notebook, tapping the page thoughtfully. “This clue is in a room obviously containing a mirror, so we should focus on that first and foremost.”
Cecelia, still irritated and unafraid of taking it out in anyone who crossed her path, shot Lily a look. “Who put you in charge of solving what was supposed to be my clue?” Peter, about to crack a feeble joke concerning focussing on a mirror, thought better of it.
It’s far better to back down calmly, Lily told herself. “Yes, of course – it must be disappointing now that we’re involved as well.”
“You don’t have to be,” Cecelia pointed out in challenging tones.
“Well,” said Peter, wondering why Cecelia was defending the chance to solve a clue she hadn’t even wanted, “like it or not, we are now involved, so I suggest we get on with looking for mirrors.”
Cecelia gave a disgusted look, turned on her stilettoed heels and stalked off.
Having already been in the study, locating the key to Professor Ambrose’s cellar laboratory in the Major’s secret desk drawer, Cecelia was familiar with the layout. Her eidetic memory instantly recalled the ornate gilt-framed mirror above the Major’s desk.
There was little doubt in her mind that the centre of contemplation mentioned in the clue was the study. In fact, Cecelia had worked out every single clue before Lily had even finished writing them
down, but chose not to share this fact. Explaining was so very tiresome and involved too much effort.
Running her right hand across the lower edge of the mirror frame, Cecelia located the tail of the central lion-shaped decoration, flicking it to the right with pressure from her fingers. Behind a distinctly incomplete globe of the world in the corner of the room, a wall panel slid across to reveal a small opening. Cecelia quickly moved the globe aside, finding it lighter than its brass fittings implied. On her hands and knees, she peered inside the limited space, seeing several boxed compartments housing rolled up documents. This space could also accommodate a lithe, trim person, she decided.
Cecelia crawled in to examine the contents, seeing that the low shelf above her contained a burned-down candle and some matches. She found that the little room was lead-lined, a precaution, she presumed in the event of a house fire, to preserve the documents within.
The Mystery at Fig Tree Hall Page 18