The Crown that Lost its Head: A Historical Mystery Thriller (An Agency of the Ancient Lost & Found Mystery Thriller Book 2)

by Jane Thornley

  “I don’t plan to,” he murmured. “We must communicate by note from here on,” he whispered. “We have been attempting to line up transportation but it fell through. The coronavirus—”

  “What is problem?” Craca barked.

  “He can’t move as quickly as we can,” I snapped.

  Craca turned on his heels and marched into the house.

  The moment that we stepped into the castle behind him through yet another side entrance, I caught that flash of pink again, this time in the shadows to my right. Now Ana Marie was beckoning us to follow her around a dark corner. Putting a finger to my lips, I pointed ahead to Craca and shook my head. She peered around the corner and pulled quickly back while mouthing something and pointing overhead.

  Rupert, leaning heavily on me, watched the exchange. “Senhor Craca, hold on, please,” he called.

  The man turned and waited, a flash of irritation visible on his broad features.

  “I don’t feel quite well enough to brave those steps to the bedrooms at the moment—quite out of the question. I would prefer to retire to the library for a spot of tea and recuperation; it’s more manageable given my present state.”

  “I take you to room as instructed,” Craca said.

  “Instructed by whom?” I asked. “Senhora Carvalho? I am certain she would not want one of her guests to pass out on the stairs. Let me speak to the lady.” I held out my hand for his phone.

  Craca hesitated. I knew damn well that Adriana wasn’t at the end of that phone.

  Rupert pressed our advantage. “Do tell her that Sir Rupert Fox is not well and requests a brief respite in the room to which has been afforded for our leisure. Tell her,” Rupert said more loudly, turning up the garrulous quotient like a pro, “that I really must insist unless you plan to carry me up those stairs single-handedly. I simply cannot …manage them…at the moment.” Still leaning against me, he mopped his brow. “Shall I call her myself?” He removed his own phone.

  Craca stepped forward as if to intervene and for a second I was afraid he might try to wrench the phone away.

  “Do you want your guest to pass out on your watch, senhor? Do as he asks and take us to the library, which is much closer at hand,” I insisted, though nothing was really close in that place.

  Craca began talking hurriedly into his phone. After a second he jerked his head at us and led us down the long hall. His heavy footsteps masking our whispers.

  “Adriana is not at the end of that phone,” I said.

  “I agree,” Rupert said between huffs. If he was feigning his breathlessness, he was doing a damn good job.

  Climbing even one set of stairs seemed truly challenging for Rupert and by now I realized his condition was more serious than I thought. Craca made no offer to assist, leaving everything up to me. After many long laborious minutes, we finally arrived at the deserted library.

  Rupert stumbled to one of the velvet couches and collapsed. “Tea!” he croaked.

  Craca muttered something before retreating. We heard him shouting to some hapless servant. I felt Rupert’s forehead, relieved to find no signs of a fever.

  ‘“It’s all right, Phoebe,” he whispered. “I am merely exhausted from all this excitement and not on the brink of some nasty virus apocalypse, if that is what you are surmising.”

  I smiled and held his hand, my eyes swerving to Queen Isabella. “Where are the others?”

  “Evan will be in his room…working on the technology. I have no idea about the others.”

  Minutes later, a maid entered with a tray of tea things. She set it down on the table, cast us a quick smile, and quickly left. I followed her to the door long enough to see Craca standing on guard outside.

  That’s it, it was official: we were prisoners. When I turned around, something pink was waving from the elevator alcove. Rupert, now propped on his elbows, waved back before sinking back against the pillows.

  “I’m just going to sit by the window while you rest,” I told Rupert loudly. “Whenever you’re ready to go to your room, let me know.”

  “I shall,” he murmured, closing his eyes. “No doubt the tea will fortify me sufficiently to make it up…the next flight…”

  I slipped around the perimeter to the elevator alcove.

  Ana Marie was waiting, finger on her lips. “Phoebe, I will take you to my grandpapa now,” she whispered. She tugged me into the conservationist’s closet. “I do not know why Mama will not let you see him but he wishes to see you.”

  She dropped my hand long enough to dart under a table packed with boxes, shove away one of the containers, and beckon me under. In seconds, her little pink leggings were disappearing as she crawled out of sight. I bent down to look at the two-foot-square opening hidden behind a flap of false wall.

  “Come, Phoebe, hurry!”

  I had no idea if I could even fit in there, let alone hurry doing it. But soon I was on my hands and knees squeezing through the hatch, fearing that my bottom end would wedge in the opening leaving all of us in an untenable position and me in a humiliating one. But by pushing my elbows against the floorboards, I managed to drag myself forward until I had just enough room to unfold myself into a kind of crouching stand.

  The area was dark, dusty, and stuffy. I sneezed.

  “Shhh!” the girl warned. Already far above me in the cramped stairwell she was out of sight. I scrambled after her in a narrow twisting stairway that appeared to curve all the way up beside the elevator shaft. Muttering to myself, I used my phone to light the way while stifling sneezes.

  At last we arrived inside another closet, this one much larger and filled with gentlemen’s clothing, cubicles of footwear, and the scent of cloves.

  “Come. No one knows that I am gone but we must be very quick,” Ana Marie told me.

  “Quick,” I said, brushing dust off my sweater.

  “Yes, not slow.”

  “Ana Marie, I’m sorry about last night. I couldn’t catch the bad men who tried to hurt you.”

  She gazed up at me in the half-light, her heart-shaped face solemn. “The monsters tried to steal me away but I escaped them. All things are dangerous now, Phoebe. Grandpapa said that we must be brave.”

  That shut me up. She took my hand and led me through the hanging suits, past the shelves of shirts and sweaters, and into a spacious round room where the floor-to-ceiling drapes had been drawn against the light. I blinked, trying to adjust my eyes. Around me I glimpsed a bureau, a dresser, dark wallpaper…

  “Grandpapa, I have brought her!” Ana Marie dropped my hand and ran across the room toward a bed plumped high with brocade cushions where Senhor Carvalho sat, book in hand.

  “Ana Marie! So you have successfully escaped poor Alma again! In truth, I believe she only pretends to sleep so you can get away,” he said, setting aside his iPad and awaiting his granddaughter’s landing.

  The child practically flung herself at her grandfather, tumbling in among the pillows with a giggle. “And I have brought Phoebe as you requested, I mean Senhora McCabe.”

  “Phoebe, I am so relieved to see you. I did not know how we could manage it at first but this little girl is a brilliant strategist.” Senhor Carvalho caught my gaze over top of the girl’s head in the midst of giving her a hearty hug.

  Ana Marie lifted her head. “What is ‘strategist’?”

  “It means one who is very clever like you are. Now, my dear, you must leave us and return back to poor Alma so she does not get into trouble once again.”

  Ana Marie sighed. “Yes, poor Alma. I will come back to see you as soon as I can, but first I must distract Senhor Craca. I like that word—distract.”

  “Distract? Ana Marie, what are you planning now?”

  “I will go out through another way and make him follow me. He runs, I hide. It will make him very cross. Senhor Craca does not like me.” She grinned.

  “Be very careful, child. That man is not our friend.”

  “I know, so I annoy him more. Bye, Grandpapa.”
/>   Senhor Carvalho shook his head. “Be careful. Remember what I told you: this is not a game.”

  “Not a game,” the child agreed, “but a battle between good and evil. I won’t forget. Goodbye for now, Grandpapa, and goodbye, Phoebe. I hope Grandpapa helps you stay.” Ana Marie blew him a kiss, tossed me a little wave, and darted back inside the closet.

  Only once the child disappeared did Senhor Carvalho speak. “I apologize on behalf of my family for the manner in which you and your friends have been treated. My daughter-in-law is terrified and refuses to listen to reason. She hears only threats and gives too much credence to certain staff. We are now infiltrated by our enemies, who grow bolder by the day.”

  I stepped forward. “So you do know?”

  “How could I not? It is as if we are surrounded by strangers wearing the masks of our friends,” he continued. “Some are loyal, others do the brotherhood’s bidding either from bribery, cohesion, or conviction, we know not which. Ours has become a tenuous existence.”

  “But they are forcing us to leave tomorrow.”

  “Yes, that is why I asked Ana Marie to bring you to me. Their plan is not to send you to the airport but to ensure that you come to a horrible end along the way. That’s the Divinios’ pattern: accidents, unfortunate events, seemingly random twists of fate. Believe me, Adriana has no idea.”

  “We can’t let that happen and we certainly can’t just leave you alone with the Divinios.”

  “I have been in touch with a Spanish friend to arrange your escape, but with Covid, transportation has become more difficult. He can only guarantee safe passage for three. In the meantime, Sir Rupert and I have devised a plan that keeps him here.”

  “You and Sir Rupert?”

  “Dear Phoebe, do not look so shocked. It is the mistake of the young to believe that those older are unable to plot. Ana Marie has passed several notes between your friend and me, which has assisted us to formulate a strategy.”

  I laughed, sobering quickly. “I know Sir Rupert’s ability to plot. I’ve been on the receiving end of that enough times. Rupert implied that he was up to something a few minutes ago but didn’t get into the details. What exactly are you brewing?”

  “The gist of it is this: tomorrow, Sir Rupert will appear too ill to travel. Let them think what they will regarding the cause but it will be necessary for him to stay behind in isolation for which he will require support. He and one other will stay while you, Senhor Collins, and Senhor Barrows are transported elsewhere. It’s you the Divinios wish to destroy most. Senhor Fox and Senhora Williams will be safe enough for now.”

  “But for how long?”

  “The Divinios will not harm them or our family as long as we appear to remain compliant. They need to retain an appearance of normality to carry out their diabolical plans. A sick man and his nurse will be of no concern. It’s you three they fear the most. You they know by reputation.”

  “Then we will be the ones to escape to Spain. That’s where we’ll hunt for the crown.”

  He studied my face. “That was one of the theories Ricardo was chasing for years but he found nothing to confirm that theory. He returned to Portugal to continue the hunt. I hold little hope that you’ll find something there.”

  “Sometimes we can’t see what lies right under our nose.”

  His eyebrows rose. “Dear Phoebe, what are you thinking?”

  “Just that I must get to Spain.”

  “But you know that Spain is at least as dangerous as remaining here, maybe more so, even with my friend’s considerable assistance. There are hundreds of the Divinio brotherhood active there.”

  “But once that crown is safely beyond their reach, that monster loses its teeth, right?”

  “So we hope.”

  “Then we have to try. It’s the only chance we have. Please tell me more about your Spanish friend. You’ve been so scant on details up until now.”

  Senhor Carvalho closed his eyes for an instant. “And reticent I must remain at his request. He—they, actually, for there is more than one, though I know the elder best—will remain anonymous.” When he opened his eyes again, his gaze held mine in a strong grip. “What assistance he’ll offer will be at arm’s length but he does have better access to historic places than I. I will contact him again.”

  “Thank you. My hunch is the best chance we have.”

  “And what can you tell me about your hunch?”

  I smiled. “I prefer to keep my hunches under wraps. Call it superstition but if I expose them to air too early they tend to shrivel.”

  He smiled slightly. “And who am I to threaten something so fragile? In the meantime, you and your friends must pack for exit. It’s imperative that you follow the preliminary plan that Adriana established even if it is only to deviate at the first opportunity. Leave that part to me. Once everything is arranged, I will dispatch a note tonight.”

  “Through one of the myriad secret passageways that snake through this house?”

  He smiled. “Hidden passageways abound in large houses like this. We keep them secret so they can serve us when we need them.”

  “One more thing, senhor: do you have documentation regarding the exact time the Titian Isabella portrait arrived in Portugal?”

  “The Aviz ledgers were destroyed in the fires. So you believe the answer lies somewhere there?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then good luck, my friend. God knows you’ll need it.” Studying me from over top of his glasses, his gaze struck me as alert and calculating. “I will communicate with you by note regarding tomorrow. In the meantime, please be safe and keep this with you at all times.”

  I took the object from his fingers, smiling as I tucked the little metal button down into my jacket pocket. “A tracking device.”

  “My Spanish friend will need it to locate you.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “One other thing, Phoebe.”

  I waited.

  “You will need a password. Choose your own and I will ensure that he receives that, too.”

  “You are a strategist, too, I see.” I thought for a moment. “Isabella.”

  He nodded and smiled. “Godspeed in the name of Isabella.”

  “You, too,” I said, backing away, “and forgive me for what I am about to do.”

  “Pardon me?”

  I grinned. “Desperate times require desperate measures, senhor.”

  Soon I was carefully negotiating the stairway downward, which had been bad enough going up. When I finally hauled myself out of the crawlspace, I was suppressing sneezes and covered in dust. I took a moment to beat the dirt off my clothes, replace the boxes, and study the bottles, jars, and boxes crammed into the small space. The room smelled faintly of solvents.

  I then proceeded to slip into the library and inch toward the seat closest to the garden window, thinking only to pretend to study long enough for Craca to check in. Who knew how long Ana Marie could distract the bastard.

  Taking a seat, I stared across the room. “Rupert?” I called. “Are you feeling any better?”

  No answer. That sent me to the couch, heart in my throat. There my friend lay stretched out against the cushions, eyes closed, his face pale and shiny, the tea untouched…

  “Help!” I cried, running for the door.

  15

  Supper that evening was a solemn affair. Rupert remained in his room complaining of illness, leaving the rest of us to hurry through our fish and soup, too anxious to enjoy the meal.

  Adriana had arrived in the library earlier to deliver instructions for the morning, careful not to meet our eyes before sweeping out. If she knew that the Divinios intended to ambush us somewhere between Sintra and the airport, would she have aborted her plan? I guessed that she was simply in emotional lockdown, trying to keep the pieces together any way she could.

  “We’re acting like this is our last supper,” Markus complained, ladling himself another serving of vegetable soup. The food had become much less b
ountiful in the past day but no less delicious. It was as if the entire household was operating under occupation.

  “It sure feels that way,” Peaches mumbled, gazing sourly at her plate.

  At 5:00 a.m. a van was to arrive from Lisbon to take us to the airport where we would remain at a hotel until we could negotiate our various flights back to Britain. Or that was the official script.

  “I have checked the flights leaving Lisbon for London and have only managed to secure two seats on the Porto flight at 6:00 p.m. so far,” Evan remarked. “I will keep trying, of course.”

  In the meantime, we needed a way to pass a hardcopy of a running dialogue among us, a problem that had been preoccupying me along with everything else. Any obvious transfer of notes might be seen by the spies infiltrating the place. Subterfuge was needed.

  An idea came while nibbling on a pastry. “Hey, is anybody having trouble with the mineral content in the water? At first I couldn’t find a shampoo that foamed sufficiently,” I said, conscious of how ludicrous the topic sounded but determined to see it through. “Nothing seems to suds up the way it should, which left my hair feeling not quite clean.”

  Everyone stopped eating to stare. I touched my mass of shoulder-length curls and grinned like someone out of a TV commercial. “But I just happened to find a bottle of a hotel shampoo stuffed in my bag that works like a dream. I’d be happy to share when we get back to our rooms.”

  Evan shot me a heart-stopping smile. “Your hair certainly looks beautiful just as it is, Phoebe, but if you think it would help my locks…” He leaned forward so I could touch his hair. I couldn’t resist, tangling my fingers for mere seconds in the stray curls at his neck.

  “Oh, just stop,” Markus muttered, tossing his napkin down. “I’m trying to eat here.”

  I pulled back. Still grinning like an idiot, I added: “Oh, come on, Markus. You look like you could use something to strengthen your lank strands—maybe a fortifier? I have one of those, too.” In truth, I always lugged a collection of trial-size hair products everywhere since nothing ever worked consistently on my unruly tangle.