‘If you hear your number called,’ Carolyn instructs, ‘please come up to the front until you’ve been paired up, then take one clue envelope between you – no peeking until I start the hunt – and wait by the rose garden.’ She indicates the plot behind us, where Tom is busy pruning. He doesn’t appear to be taking part in the treasure hunt, but then I suppose he’d be in danger of enjoying himself and, judging by the way he’s attacking the roses, happiness isn’t an option.
Carolyn starts to pick out tickets at random, calling out the numbers. Alice heads to the front when her number is called, and I see her face drop when the next number is called out and Francelia holds up her ticket.
‘Oh, fantastic,’ Francelia says as she joins her stepdaughter. ‘We’re never going to win. Remember the time you were stuck on the first clue for two hours?’
I glare at Francelia, wishing for very bad things to befall the witch, but it’s Archie who sticks up for Alice.
‘Give her a break, Aunt Francelia. She was only a kid.’
‘A kid?’ Francelia hoots. ‘She was fifteen.’ She snatches the first clue envelope from Carolyn before frogmarching Alice to one side.
‘Is it any wonder Alice hasn’t been back here for years?’ I ask Archie as the ticket-picking resumes. ‘Francelia has really got it in for her. With family like that, who needs enemies, eh?’
‘She’s got me.’ Archie points to the top of the steps, where Carolyn is calling out the next number. ‘And Carolyn, of course. Wait, did she just say twenty-six? That’s me. I’ll see you later. Good luck!’
Carolyn swirls the few remaining tickets in the bowl and plucks one out, holding it aloft as she reads, ‘Number nine!’ She’s clearly in her element as she plays games master this afternoon.
‘That’s me!’ One of the bridesmaids jumps up and down, her ticket held aloft like one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets. She bounds to the front and threads her arm through Archie’s, reaching up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He smiles good-humouredly before taking a clue envelope from Carolyn.
‘Oh.’ Carolyn’s jovial mood dips once all of the tickets have been picked from the bowl. ‘It seems we don’t have a partner for you, Emily.’
‘That’s fine. Honestly.’ And it isn’t as though I haven’t been in this situation before. I was always picked last at school sports, and then that was only because I had to be picked at all. Being the last one standing isn’t a new thing for me.
‘No.’ Carolyn shakes her head. ‘This won’t do. It’s a paired treasure hunt. It’s only fair you have someone to work with…’ Tapping her chin with her finger, she glances around the grounds, as though somebody will magically appear, ready and able to be my partner. And, of course, they bloody well do. I have the worst luck ever as Lothario Ezra strolls into view.
‘Ezra!’ There’s a look of pure panic on the man’s face as Carolyn pounces, grasping his hand and towing him towards the crowd of people impatiently waiting for the treasure hunt to begin. ‘You’re just the kind of gentleman we’re looking for. We’re a man down for the treasure hunt, I’m afraid, so would you do me the hugest favour and partner with poor Emily here?’
Poor Emily?
Nah, I’m not having that. I don’t want a pity partner. I don’t want any partner at all.
‘Actually, I already have a partner lined up.’ I’m already crunching my way across the gravel, eager to nip any notion of partnering with the would-be cheat in the bud. ‘Tom agreed to be my partner earlier, before we knew the pairs were going to be chosen at random.’
‘I did not.’ Tom scowls over the top of the rosebush he’s trimming.
‘Yes,’ I say, my voice a low growl. ‘You did.’
Carolyn’s brow furrows. ‘But I asked Tom if he’d like to take part and he said no. He was quite adamant.’
‘He changed his mind.’
‘Did you?’ Carolyn asks Tom, whose scowl has deepened. I shoot him my best pleading look, all wide-eyed and pouty-mouthed. My hands are clasped at my chest as though in prayer. Please don’t make me spend the afternoon with that letch, alone.
Tom sighs and chucks his secateurs towards a tool bag. ‘Fine. Whatever. It isn’t as though I’m working. I’m here simply to act as an entertainer. I suppose somebody needs to be on hand in case she gets lost in the woods again.’
I’m grateful he’s helping me out and everything, but he’s being a bit of a douchebag. Still, if it’s a choice between Tom and the toothy letch…
‘Here you go.’ Carolyn hands over our first clue and takes centre stage at the top of the steps again. ‘Okay, treasure hunters, get ready.’
‘You don’t really have to do this,’ I whisper as Tom joins me. ‘We’ll wait until everyone has gone and then you can toddle off back to your flowers. I can do this on my own. I just needed an excuse not to partner up with Mr Pervy.’
‘I feel so used,’ Tom mutters. ‘I was so looking forward to working with you.’
‘Do you have to be such a dickhead about this? Just stand there for a few minutes and then I’ll leave you alone.’
‘Nope.’ Tom plucks the envelope from my fingers. ‘If we’re doing this, we’re doing this properly. I’m reigning champion of the Durban Castle treasure hunts. I intend to keep my belt.’
Oh, for God’s sake. Is it too late to work with Ezra?
‘On the count of three, you may open your envelopes.’ Carolyn pauses dramatically before starting her mini countdown. There’s a flurry of envelope ripping as she reaches number one. I haven’t even read the clue before couples start tearing away from the garden.
‘Say goodbye to your reigning championship, mate,’ Archie calls to Tom as he and his bridesmaid partner pass us. He laughs merrily, as though he’s just messing around, but I’ve clocked the determination in his eyes.
‘Right, it’s time to put your money where your mouth is,’ I tell Tom. ‘Let’s win this thing.’
Chapter Seventeen
‘Whoa, hold on a sec.’ Tom grabs hold of my arm as I attempt to surge away from the rose garden. ‘Where are you going?’
I wave my free arm towards the door to the castle, which everyone has now stampeded through. ‘To find the next clue.’
‘And where is it?’
I frown at him and point to the envelope in his hand. ‘That’s going to tell us.’ I thought he’d taken part in one of these things every summer? How the hell did he win so often if he’s lacking the most basic of treasure-hunt skills?
‘Then don’t you think we should read it before we go running off? Most of those guys don’t have a clue what’s written inside the envelope, never mind have the foggiest where they’re heading to. They’ll be running around the castle like headless chickens.’
Okay, so maybe he has a point.
Just a teeny one.
‘Come on then.’ I flap my hands at the envelope. ‘What does it say?’
Tom holds out the slip of paper and reads the clue aloud.
‘Her icy glare is surrounded by gold. Her lips are tight, her story never told. Between 1800 and a hundred years plus, you will find this sourpuss.’
What the actual?
‘It’s Velda.’ Tom’s already striding up the steps. ‘She’s near the staircase.’
I scurry after him. ‘Who the hell is Velda?’
‘Carolyn’s great-great grandmother.’
‘She’s still alive?’ Blimey. I want to know the woman’s secret to vitality.
‘Of course not.’ Tom turns to give me a withering look. ‘It’s her portrait. It used to terrify us when we were kids. You’ll see why in a minute.’
Tom heads straight to a particular portrait when we make it to the entrance hall, and I can certainly understand why the miserable cow facing out would scare young children. Her face is covered by a black veil, but you can still see the cold eyes glowering out from the canvas, her mouth a thin, mean line, her chin tilted in challenge. It’s the old boot Mr Cravat was so fascinated with yesterday, though I had
no idea why. The old crow is giving me the willies.
‘Her eyes follow you.’ I shudder as Tom reaches for the painting. There’s the tiniest slip of white poking out from behind the frame, which he eases out. He takes the next clue out of the envelope and we read it silently, in case we tip anyone off.
‘It’s the fireplace in the nursery,’ Tom whispers before he slips the clue back into place. ‘We’ll take a shortcut through the courtyard.’
Tom, in what I’ve come to recognise as his signature move, starts to stride along the corridor, bursting out through a door before striding along the path towards the fountain. We keep going until we reach a door on the other side, and I’m panting by the time we make it into a pretty much identical corridor from the one we’ve just left. Boy, Tom really is keen to retain his crown as reigning treasure-hunt champion. If we carry on like this, Archie’s smug look will go AWOL pretty damn fast.
‘This part of the castle is usually closed off,’ Tom says as we move swiftly along the corridor. ‘Most of the rooms were converted into bedrooms and suites for the business, but Ned wanted to keep a bit of his childhood home, so he closed this wing off to the public. Here we are.’
He pushes open a door and I step into a childhood fantasy. A four-storey wooden doll’s house stands in one corner, complete with beautifully crafted furniture and accessories, while a painted rocking horse stands in another. There are shelves crammed with books, their spines cracked with use, while others are lined with toy cars and tin soldiers. A window seat overlooks the lawns at the back of the castle, with the little wood in the distance. From here, I can see the stream I heard trickling last night while out with Archie. A row of dolls, ranging from the slightly creepy-looking porcelain variety to more modern-day plastic-faced models, sits along the seat as though waiting to be chosen by a child to play with, though I’m sure they’d leave the one on the end well alone. Her straw-coloured hair is matted, her eyes staring off in different directions. She makes me shudder just looking at her.
And there, in the centre of the room, is a wide fireplace framed by a decorative surround. The fireplace is now sealed off and empty, apart from a folded slip of paper.
The next clue.
The next clue takes us back out into the courtyard. I was hesitant to leave the nursery, my inner child fighting to stay and play, but Tom couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He wanted to get to the next clue as soon as.
We find the next envelope tucked under a rock beside the fountain. It would have been much simpler if we’d spotted it on the way to the nursery, therefore bypassing the fireplace clue entirely, so I vow to keep my eyes peeled for sneaky slips of white paper from now on.
‘Wave hello,’ Tom reads, his eyes dashing from the clue to our surrounds as he checks for other treasure hunters. We haven’t seen anybody since they charged into the castle, which either means we’re way ahead of the game or failing miserably.
‘And goodbye,’ Tom continues. ‘Let him know you’re here. Let him know you’ll return. A faithful friend, standing tall. Cherish him. Evermore.’
Tom’s forehead crinkles as he turns his gaze from the clue to me, practically shoving the paper under my nose. He starts to read it again, but I see it straight away. You don’t pass these kinds of things in the corridors every day and not pick up a poetry style or two.
‘It’s Old Rusty.’ I take the clue and fold it up, ready to pop it back into its envelope and slip it back under the rock for the next hunter to find (if we’re not actually last. For all we know, the others could be sitting down to tea and cakes and wondering what’s taking us so long by now).
‘Who?’ Tom’s brow crinkles further. ‘What?’
‘It’s an acrostic poem.’ I unfold the paper and run my finger down the first line, which spells out ‘WALLACE’ – the suit of armour guarding the door.
I have just enough time to drop the envelope and plonk the rock on top before Tom starts to advance back towards the castle. I really want to win to wipe that smug look from Archie’s face, but I think Tom may want the win even more.
‘Can you slow down a bit?’ My hand is clutching at my middle as I amble after him. ‘I’m getting a stitch.’
‘A stitch?’ Tom holds open the door and I shuffle inside. ‘From walking?’
‘Walking?’ I give a hoot. It comes out rather raspy. ‘Even Usain Bolt doesn’t walk that fast.’
‘Do you want to win or not?’
‘Yes.’ The stitch is starting to ease off now we’re moving at a more leisurely pace. ‘But I also want to be able to breathe.’ I take a few deep breaths to demonstrate. ‘We do need to beat Archie, though. And Francelia.’ My lip curls at the mere mention of the witch’s name.
‘Is she still giving Alice grief over that necklace bullshit?’
‘Yep.’ My breathing is pretty much back to normal now. I think I may have exaggerated about the speediness. ‘You think it’s bullshit too?’
Tom makes a pfft sound. ‘Obviously. There’s no way Alice took it. You should have seen it – it was so gaudy, even Mr T would have turned it away. Alice thought it was ugly too. We had a good laugh about it, actually. The day it went missing.’
I can’t imagine Tom having a good laugh about anything, but I keep this info to myself.
‘How did it end up in Alice’s drawer though?’
‘Somebody was framing her. Think about it. How did Francelia know to look in Alice’s underwear drawer? She didn’t look in anybody else’s. Apparently, she got a tip-off or something, but she wouldn’t say who from.’
‘Why would anyone want to frame Alice?’
Tom sighs as we near the entrance hall. ‘That’s always been the bit I didn’t understand.’
We pick up speed as we cross the entrance hall – Tom is racing, I’m jogging behind – and find the clue tucked into Old Rusty’s visor. The clue sends us to the poolroom, but there are no specifics, so we tear about the place in search of the clue. Tom takes charge of the changing facilities while I tackle the sunloungers and general poolside area.
‘Got it!’ Tom cries as he pulls the clue from between a couple of towels. I rush over (carefully, remembering the rule about running near pools) and we read the clue together.
‘It’s the umbrella tree.’ I grab the clue and shove it back between the towels, making sure a bit is peeping out. I want to win – badly – but it has to be fair.
‘How do you know about the umbrella tree?’ Tom, instead of tearing towards the door, is standing in the same spot.
‘Archie took me there last night.’
‘Ah.’ Tom gives me a knowing look and I resist the urge to push him into the pool.
‘Nothing happened in there.’
Tom shrugs. ‘Whatever you say.’
I decide to ignore the rather seedy look on Tom’s face and grab him by the arm, pulling him towards the door. ‘It makes sense that one of the clues will lead into the woods. You were there this morning, clearing the branches so nobody gouges out an eye, remember?’
‘Until you came along and disrupted my hard work by getting lost.’
‘I wasn’t lost,’ I say through gritted teeth. This guy is extremely annoying.
‘You should seriously think about getting tagged. Like they do in case your pet gets lost.’
‘And you should seriously get off my case.’ We reach the door and push our way out into the grounds. Ahead, I can see two bodies about to disappear between the trees, but they’re too far away to make out who they are. Curses! I bet it’s Archie and the bridesmaid. ‘Come on, quick.’ Grabbing Tom’s arm again, I break into a jog. There’s no way I’m going to be able to run all the way to the umbrella tree, but we’ll at least make up a little ground.
‘I’m sorry,’ Tom says as we reach the edge of the woods. ‘About the tagging thing. I was just joking. You know, having a bit of a laugh.’
‘Really? I didn’t think you were capable of having fun.’ I will not be the bigger person. I can hold on to a gru
dge like nobody’s business. I didn’t speak to Kevin for a week when he claimed Friends was overrated, which created a bit of an awkward sitch both at home and work.
‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’
Tom stops, folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head to one side. I want to grasp him by his overalls and give him a good shake while screaming ‘we don’t have time for this!’ in his face.
But I don’t.
‘You’re just… a bit uptight.’
I forge ahead, even though I have no idea where the umbrella tree is. I think we all know how abysmal my navigation skills are.
‘Excuse me?’ Tom sets off after me, catching me in a stride-and-a-half. ‘You think I’m uptight?’
Okay, I’m feeling a little uncomfortable here. Perhaps I should have kept my big gob shut. I either need to backpedal or brazen it out, and since I can’t think of a way to backtrack, it looks like I’m just going to have to go with it.
‘Well, you’re hardly the life and soul of the party, are you?’ My cheeks are flaming and I’m in danger of wetting myself, but I jut my chin in the air. ‘One of your oldest friends is getting married – someone who once thought of you as a brother – and you couldn’t care less. You strut about the place with that surly expression on your face, as though you’d rather be anywhere else.’
‘Maybe I would.’ I still have no idea where the umbrella tree is located, but Tom has taken the lead, winding us through the trees swiftly. ‘Maybe I’m sick to death of bloody weddings. Of people pretending it’s all going to end happily ever after.’
‘At least we finally agree on something,’ I say in between pants. Tom is power-walking his way through the woods now. Plus, I am seriously unfit. ‘What is it with people thinking you have to have a man to be complete? And by people, I’m talking about Alice here.’
The Wedding that Changed Everything Page 12