‘More like Lady Jemima’s found out!’ said Atticus grimly. ‘What was Inspector Cheddar’s reaction when Mrs Tucker told him Lady Jemima was planning to bulldoze the moor?’
‘She didn’t,’ said Mimi, ‘in case he tips Lady Jemima off that we’ve rumbled her.’
That was very sensible of Mrs Tucker, thought Atticus. Inspector Cheddar seemed incapable of identifying a villain even if they were standing in front of him with a sign round their neck saying ‘I DID IT’.
‘Oh, there you are, Atticus,’ Mrs Tucker said. ‘I think you already know about this.’ She gestured at the kitchen table. The evidence was laid out on top of it. ‘Could I have everyone’s attention?’ she hollered.
Everyone stopped what they were doing to listen.
‘Will you make a list of the exhibits please, Mrs Cheddar?’ said Mrs Tucker, holding them up one by one.
‘Of course.’ Mrs Cheddar wrote neatly on her clipboard.
Mrs Tucker put the diary back on the table. ‘All of these provide conclusive proof firstly that Lady Jemima Dumpling will stop at nothing to turn Biggnaherry moor into an indoor bingo park; and secondly that she is intent on concealing the truth by pretending that her pet panther is the Cat Sith.’
Everyone nodded glumly.
‘It’s disgusting,’ said Debs. ‘I’d like to knock her block off with a cheese.’ She pushed her sleeves up. To Atticus’s interest he saw that she had another tattoo, which read:
WORLD CHEESE THROWING CHAMPION: HE AVYWEIGHT DIVISION
‘Thanks, Debs; that’s certainly one solution,’ said Mrs Tucker. ‘We’ll come back to that. But first I’d like to thank our brilliant team of detectives for collecting the evidence. Michael identified the animal at the station as a panther; Herman sniffed out the sock; Callie took the photos; and Mimi and Bones zoomed in on the small print and showed it to me this morning.’ She patted her curlers. ‘I have no idea how we came to be in possession of the scratch card and the diary …’ She looked sideways at Atticus. ‘But I’m guessing it has something to do with a certain Police Cat Sergeant Claw?’
Atticus purred throatily. He’d got so wrapped up in the events on the moor last night he’d forgotten how much he liked being a cat detective, especially when Mrs Tucker was on the case.
‘I thought so,’ said Mrs Tucker. ‘Good work, Atticus.’ She glanced round the eager faces. ‘Between us, I’m quite sure we can outsmart Lady Jemima, as long as Inspector Cheddar doesn’t give us away. No offence,’ she added to Mrs Cheddar.
‘None taken,’ Mrs Cheddar assured her.
Bones finished stirring the mugs of hot chocolate. Mrs Tucker handed them round. There was an unpleasant slurping noise.
‘I’s got maaaarrrrsshmallow stuck to me gum,’ Mr Tucker explained, flicking his false teeth out and cleaning them on Inspector Cheddar’s bedsock.
‘Stop tampering with the evidence, Herman!’ shouted Mrs Tucker.
‘Sorry!’ Mr Tucker put the sock down and used his beard-jumper instead. ‘These maarrssshmallows are as sticky as a squashed jellyfish,’ he complained.
Mrs Tucker ignored him. ‘So, we’re all agreed that Lady Jemima’s plan stinks,’ she said. ‘The question is, what are we going to do about it? One option is for Debs to knock Lady Jemima’s block off with a large cheese. The problem with that is that Debs will go to prison for the rest of her life. Has anyone got any other ideas?’
‘Stop Lady Jemima finding the treasure,’ said Michael. ‘Then she can’t do anything to the moor.’
‘I’m afraid it might be too late for that,’ Mrs Tucker said. ‘The way I read it, she must be close or she wouldn’t be so desperate to keep people away with the panther.’
‘Does it tell you where the treasure is in the diary?’ asked Don.
‘I don’t think so. Not in so many words anyway,’ said Mrs Tucker. ‘Which means she must have a knockout Plan B, like we have with Debs and the cheese.’
A knockout Plan B. Atticus hadn’t thought of that. But it sounded plausible. Lady Jemima was desperate to get her hands on the treasure. If the diary didn’t give away its location, she would find another way to unlock the secret. It suddenly struck Atticus that Lady Jemima’s knockout Plan B might have something to do with Peregrine.
‘I know what we should do,’ said Callie. ‘We should find the treasure before Lady Jemima does and hide it somewhere else.’
‘I agree,’ said Mrs Tucker. She picked up the diary. ‘If Stewart Dumpling really did find the treasure, I reckon he would have left a clue in here. Maybe Lady Jemima’s missed it. Now, concentrate, everyone.’
Atticus screwed his face into an attitude of rapt attention as Mrs Tucker opened the diary and began to read.
EXTRACTS FROM THE DIARY OF STEWART RENNET DUMPLING
Tuesday 1st December, 1987
I am Stewart Rennet Dumpling, Laird of Biggnaherry Castle. I have decided to keep this diary to chronicle my attempt (with my good friend Archibald McMucker of Biggnaherry Cottage) to unlock the secret of the Roman treasure of Biggnaherry moor. If, contrary to my firm belief, there does exist upon the moor a creature known as the Cat Sith, which has been entrusted by the wildcats with the task of protecting the treasure from the descendants of the Pictish leader, Domplagan, then in all likelihood, if you are reading this now, I will be dead. In any event, it is my intention to set down everything we discover for future generations of Dumplings so that they may decide for themselves as to whether there is any truth in the story of the Dumpling family curse …
Friday 4th December
Archie and I have searched the castle from top to bottom with no luck so far. From now on we are going to concentrate the search on the cellars. We think that is where Domplagan would most likely have hidden the gold if he defeated the Roman legion in battle. But the cellars are extensive. Some of the excavations date back to when the castle was first built. Many of the chambers are bricked up and others have passages and tunnels that lead only to dead ends. Archie and I have resolved to make a map, so that we can find our way through the labyrinth. We start tomorrow.
Monday 7th December
Today is another dull and foggy day with the threat of rain. It is seldom it doesn’t rain here upon the moor. The last sunny day I can remember was June 27th 1976, the day dear wee Jemima was born. What a gem she is, especially precious to me since her mother left on a one-way ticket to Australia. But then she is a Dumpling and all Dumplings are stout and loyal of heart. The dear girl is always busy, finding things about the castle to amuse her during the long dark days of winter. She shows a particular interest in wildlife television programmes about big cats and is often to be found in the attic playroom making bingo cards. I feel blessed to have her as a daughter and to know that the future of the moor is safe in her hands.
Talking of which, there is a big storm brewing on the moor. I must remember to tell dear Jemima to keep the draughts out from under the duvet tonight.
Wednesday 9th December
The storm was the worst I have ever experienced. I fear our search for the Roman treasure may be doomed to failure. Archie and I will have our work cut out chopping up fallen trees and pumping water from the cellars into the loch before we can start again.
Dear Jemima has offered to help but I have sent her up to the playroom to amuse herself. She tells me she is putting on a one-girl play which she has written to keep our spirits up, entitled ‘When I am Rich’! She asks me if she may dress up in the Dumplings’ old frocks and furs, of which there are many. (Most of them belonged to Lord Hilary Blair Deuteronomy Dumpling, the old rascal!) I see no reason why not – I do not plan to wear them myself – and I have given her my old school trunk to put them in. That trunk was a present from my own father when I went to boarding school. It has a secret drawer for hiding tuck which has a rather interesting mechanism to open it, although I shall not trouble dear Jemima with that as she is only a little girl and may find it difficult to operate.
Now, on with the choppi
ng and mopping, say I, so that Archie and I may resume our hunt for the treasure.
Thursday 10th December
I can scarcely believe it! Today Archie and I struck gold when we least expected to. As we went about clearing the debris from the storm, we came across a secret tunnel beside the loch at the roots of a fallen tree.
We crawled through the tunnel, fearing that we should never again see the light of day. Eventually, after many wrong turns, we stumbled upon a chamber buried deep below the earth. Full it was of beetles and bugs and hung with white cobwebs as thick as the mist upon the moor. Somehow we found the courage to push our way through them and there, in the middle of the floor, a heavy stone was embedded in the earth. It took the two of us to jemmy it open, using an old iron tool that we found beside it. But at last we managed to move it a fraction. Enough to see that the stone concealed a deep pit and within the pit lay the Roman treasure.
Mountains of precious coins shimmered in the torchlight like sand dunes made of gold, and upon them, within touching distance, sat the terrifying standard of the Roman eagle, its eyes gazing blindly back at us in the torchlight.
What joy we experienced when first we clapped eyes on it, what wealth it promised …
And yet after all this I find I am forbidden by an oath from revealing the precise whereabouts of the treasure. It must remain buried for the time being at least.
You see, poor Archie has become increasingly worried over the last few days that the legend of the Cat Sith may be true after all. He does not fear for himself, you understand – because he is a McMucker not a Dumpling – but for me. For today when we came out of the tunnel we saw a wildcat. It stood upon the moor beside the loch, watching our every move. Archie is becoming superstitious. He thinks it’s a sign; a sign that the Highland Tigers have been spying on us. He believes it meant to warn us off, and that if we don’t leave the treasure alone the wildcats will gather as a clan and summon the Cat Sith against me.
Archie was so upset I was forced to make a promise. I agreed that we would hide our treasure map for a period of one year. If in that time nothing happens to me, then we will know that the legend of the Cat Sith was simply a myth. If, on the other hand, I die an untimely and suspicious death, then the treasure should remain buried to prevent any other Dumpling from suffering from the curse that haunts this family.
Of course I argued with Archie. I told him that were I to die in the next twelve months, it would be a mere accident. Besides, I said, the wildcats have nothing to fear from me. I intend to use the money to make a sanctuary for them so that the rift betwen our two kinds may be at an end.
But Archie held the trump card. He reminded me of my daughter, dear Jemima. If there were the smallest chance the legend was true, he said, and I was to die at the paws of the Cat Sith, then I would not wish the same fate on my dearest child. She might be in jeopardy if I was to claim the gold. It is possible that no Dumpling would be safe for evermore.
I felt obliged to comply with his demands. I would not risk sweet innocent Jemima’s life for anything. It is better that she lives in a leaky castle with bedsocks to keep out the draughts under the duvet than chance the wrath of the Cat Sith, were it to truly exist. With this in mind I agreed that we should wait one year. If at the end of that time I am still in good health then I will claim the treasure and create the sanctuary of which I dream.
Then came the business of what we should do with the treasure map. Archie was all for destroying it but I refused. Without the map, I said, the secret would remain with the wildcats and our search would have been for nothing.
Archie finally saw the sense in this and gave way, but on condition that the hiding place for the map is completely secure. Both of us have to be present to open it. He insisted on this, he told me, for my own sake, because he does not wish me to give way to temptation and go back on my oath.
I struggled to think of such a hiding place but finally it came to me in a flash of inspiration. Whilst Jemima was at dinner, the two of us crept through the castle and solemnly locked the map away. It has fallen to me to guard the lock while Archie is to be the keeper of the key.
And there the matter rests, dear diary, for the next twelve months. Now I am off to watch Jemima’s play.
Friday 11th December
I had little sleep last night. I had no idea dear Jemima wished so ardently to be rich! The way she paraded in Hilary Blair Deuteronomy’s frocks and furs! The places she wishes to travel! Who’d have thought Las Vegas would be top of her list? She is next in line to the Dumpling fortune and she has a right to know where the treasure lies. In the event, I could have created a sanctuary for the wildcats AND given Jemima everything she wanted, had I the courage to seize the gold.
I am in a quandary, tormented by the thought that if I do die in the next twelve months Jemima will not be able to benefit from what Archie and I have discovered, but I am bound by my oath to Archie not to breathe a word to anyone.
And yet, and yet I do not think I shall break my pledge to my dear friend if I leave a riddle for Jemima as to the whereabouts of the treasure map. She is the next in line to the Dumpling fortune and – although I pray not – to the curse, if it is real. It seems to me she has a right to know where the treasure lies and in the event of my death it should be for her to decide if she wishes to take the risk of claiming it herself. It is a hard riddle, but one that I feel she is sure to decipher when she is older from the clues contained in this account.
One to lock, another to open,
Until then not a word be spoken,
Pretend to be what you want to be,
For that’s when the Cat Sith holds the key.
Now I need to clear my head. So it’s off to the iced-over loch for me to practise skinny-dipping ready for our traditional celebrations at Hogmanay.
There was silence for a moment when Mrs Tucker finished reading.
‘So they did find the treasure,’ said Callie eventually.
‘And Great-Uncle Archie made Lord Stewart promise to wait before he claimed it in case the legend of the Cat Sith was true,’ said Michael.
Just because he saw a wildcat! thought Atticus indignantly. Atticus wished he could prove to Great-Uncle Archie that cats were good, not bad. All the wildcats wanted was to protect their habitat. Atticus didn’t believe they would ever hurt anyone, except the original Domplagan perhaps, but that served him right.
‘If only Looorrrrd Stewart hadn’t gone skinny-dipping in the freezing-cold loch,’ observed Mr Tucker, sucking away at his pipe. ‘Then the mooooooor would have been safe from Lady Jemima.’
‘To think he planned to turn it into a sanctuary for the wildcats,’ Don said with a sigh. ‘What a shame he didn’t get the chance!’
Atticus agreed. Then the Roman gold would have been spent on something worthwhile and the wildcats wouldn’t have to worry any more.
‘And now look!’ Debs scowled.
‘At least Lady Jemima didn’t solve the riddle,’ Mrs Cheddar said cheerfully. ‘Or she’d have found the map and turned the moor into a bingo park years ago.’
Mrs Tucker looked around the kitchen at the eager faces of her team of helpers. ‘The question is, can we solve it?’ she said. ‘Thinking caps on, everyone.’
‘Please can you read it again, Mrs Tucker?’ Callie asked.
Atticus concentrated hard. He hadn’t solved a riddle before but he was sure he’d be good at it – he was good at everything else.
‘Here goes.’ Mrs Tucker found the place in the diary.
One to lock, another to open,
Until then not a word be spoken,
Pretend to be what you want to be,
For that’s when the Cat Sith holds the key.
Atticus’s chewed ear drooped. What on earth was it about? He looked at Mimi for inspiration.
‘Shhhh!’ she said. ‘I’m thinking.’
Silence descended on the kitchen. Atticus tried to engage his brain but all he could hear was the kitchen clock
ticking, like on a TV game show.
It was Michael who got the first part. ‘The diary said Lord Stewart would guard the lock and Great-Uncle Archie would keep the key. So “one to lock” must be Lord Stewart and “another to open” is Great-Uncle Archie.’
‘Well done, Michael!’ Mrs Tucker offered him another marshmallow as a reward.
Atticus wondered if Mrs Tucker would give him a smokie if he got any of the riddle right. He decided to try harder.
Debs got the next bit. ‘“Until then not a word be spoken” – that means the two of them promised one another they would keep the hiding place a secret until they opened it together.’
Oh yes, thought Atticus. He’d get the hang of it in a minute.
‘Good, Debs.’ Mrs Tucker nodded. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. What about the next part? “Pretend to be what you want to be …”’
This bit was really hard. Atticus groomed his whiskers thoughtfully.
‘Is it to do with the stage?’ suggested Mrs Cheddar.
‘What do you mean, Mum?’ asked Callie.
‘Well, if you’re an actor you pretend to be someone else. Lady Jemima wrote a play called When I am Rich. That was what she wanted to be more than anything: rich.’
Atticus Claw On the Misty Moor Page 8