‘How can everybody possibly be so calm, Flottie?’ she wailed. ‘It’s as if tonight was just another night, with Mr Summersby gulping his soup like a convict and Mrs Summersby asking me endless polite questions about Italy until I just wanted to scream. And there was Pauncefoot, gliding around with his yes-madams and his no-madams as if none of us had ever heard the words ‘hidden treasure’! And I’m sure he must know that someone searched his room today, because I wasn’t the least bit careful about putting things back in the right place, but he doesn’t look at all concerned about it, does he? When he served my soup tonight, part of me felt like grabbing his hand and biting him and shouting ‘tell us where it is, you odious man!’ In fact, I rather wish I’d done just that, Flottie. Anything would be better than this terrible waiting!’
‘You will be careful, won’t you, Hetty? Pauncefoot is probably a desperate man.’
She seemed to brighten at this. ‘Do you really think so? That’s what they always say in the papers when prisoners escape from jail! I do hope Rupert knows that I’m about to wrestle with a desperate man. Is it true that he and Dr Watson and Mr Verity are all keeping watch on the house from the moors tonight? Well, if so I hope it’s very cold. It will serve Rupert right for being such an utter beast.’
‘And Mrs Hudson and I will be staying here tonight,’ I reminded her. ‘But somehow Mrs Hudson doesn’t seem very interested in keeping watch on Mr Pauncefoot. Whenever I talk to her about it, she just mumbles about the trap not chasing the mouse.’
‘Does she? Well, that’s probably just her being wise again, Flottie. Mrs Hudson is so very wise that sometimes I don’t really understand her at all. And I don’t know much about mousetraps, except that they seem to involve a lot of cheese. Daddy always used to say the longer the chase, the sweeter the fruits, which strictly speaking doesn’t make sense, of course, because you don’t really chase fruits, do you? You just order them from the green grocer. And I rather think Daddy meant something slightly improper by it, because Daddy usually did, but even so, I intend to chase Pauncefoot absolutely as hard as I can. And do you know, Flottie, I’m absolutely certain it will be me who gets hold of the Lazarus thingy first! I just feel sure of it.’
Buoyed a little by her confidence, but certainly no less on edge, I left Miss Peters trying to make towers on her wash-stand out of bars of soap and returned to the small bedroom at the back of the house where Mrs Hudson had laid out my things. There I found the housekeeper, still-dressed, putting clean slips around the pillows.
‘Now, Flotsam,’ she began sternly. ‘I know that you don’t expect to sleep a wink tonight, but I think a little lie-down won’t do you any harm. I’ve aired the sheets and put on some good warm blankets, and I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
Of course I knew that rest of any sort was quite out of the question, but hearing the iron firmness in Mrs Hudson’s voice I agreed to follow her advice, while secretly determining to lie down fully dressed beneath the covers, so as to be ready for prompt action should events require it. To pass the time, and to keep myself from fretting, I picked up the heavy pile of papers from the Baldwick Archive that I had brought with me from the Angel. They seemed to be part of an account of his journey to America, though whether they were intended as a journal, or an aide memoire, or as a polemic for public consumption, it was hard to tell. The writer seemed to switch from one to the other at random intervals, at times recording his observations, at others railing against the wrongs he perceived had been done to him. At no point was his style anything but leaden, and the tediousness of his complaints and grievances soon began to have the effect they always had. After thirty minutes of forcing myself to concentrate, the words were beginning to blur a little in front of my eyes; after forty, for all my determination, I was fast asleep.
I only became aware of this, however, when I was woken by a gentle shaking of my arm. The room was dark but for a faint haze of silver light from the window. Some of the papers on my chest had spilled onto the floor and my head was resting on the pillows at an awkward, crooked angle.
‘Quietly, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson’s voice whispered. ‘It seems the promised excitement is beginning. From here we should have an excellent view of it.’
Blinking slightly, I followed her to the window. Outside, the grounds of the Hall lay in darkness, and beyond them the great flanks of the moor rose black and brooding. There was a very thin covering of cloud but the moon behind cast just enough light for me to make out the shapes of trees and outbuildings. From its position, I guessed I’d slept for an hour or more.
Mrs Hudson was also looking at the faint outline of the moon. ‘A good night for our butler friend,’ she murmured. ‘Light enough to find his way, but dark enough to hide in. Now! Here he goes…’
Our window was almost directly above Broomheath’s back door. Looking down, I saw the bald and bearded figure of the butler emerging, his cape drawn tight around his shoulders. To my surprise he held a bright storm lantern in his hand and made no attempt to conceal it.
‘Now, watch carefully, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson whispered unnecessarily, for I don’t believe any power on earth could have made me take my eyes from the figure below us. As I watched, he made his way at a steady pace to one of the outbuildings, but he made no effort to enter. On reaching its door he seemed to change his mind, and headed instead for an old glasshouse that stood just beyond it. But again he didn’t go in, continuing in the same manner from one building to another, gradually inching further from the house and closer to the edge of the moor. Finally he came to the locked and shuttered belvedere that Miss Peters and I had been unable to examine.
‘So that’s the place!’ I breathed as he approached it, but to my surprise he made no effort to gain entry. He merely skirted around it to reach the old wall that lay beyond, where a stile took him out onto the moor itself.
The brightness of his lantern made it easy for us to follow his progress, and at first I had eyes for nothing else. But as he began to ascend the flanks of the heath I became aware of two other figures moving in the darkness. The first must have been watching from somewhere within the grounds and was clearly following in the butler’s footsteps. As I watched, that figure disappeared behind the belvedere, only to re-emerge by the stile, some thirty or forty yards behind his quarry. The other figure was even harder to pick out, camouflaged as it was by the blackness of the moor itself. This person had been stationed much further from the Hall, presumably on some helpful vantage point. Now, as the butler took to the fells, the watcher set a parallel course, keeping pace with him as he climbed but careful to stay well beyond the reach of his lantern.
‘Mr Spencer and Dr Watson,’ I concluded.
‘And Mr Verity too,’ Mrs Hudson added, gesturing towards a place where a third shadowy figure was making haste around the Hall’s perimeter, apparently desperate to catch up with the others. As we watched, he stumbled once or twice and then fell completely, disappearing from view behind the dry stone wall. ‘I fear he is not really cut out for this sort of work,’ she added sadly.
It was then, as my eyes were moving back to the lantern, that I caught sight of a movement just below us.
‘Miss Peters, if I’m not mistaken,’ Mrs Hudson pointed out, ‘apparently heading for the potting shed.’
‘She must have seen Pauncefoot’s light too, ma’am,’ I decided. ‘Will she be all right, do you think? Shouldn’t we be going with her?’
‘Oh, I think she’ll be fine, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson declared with confidence, as Miss Peters sped after the distant lantern. ‘She’ll probably get very cold and very damp and I imagine she’ll rather enjoy herself. And by the look of it she’ll soon catch up Mr Verity so she’ll be able to make sure he doesn’t come to any harm.’
Left alone, I too would undoubtedly have rushed down and given chase, but Mrs Hudson showed no urge to move whatsoever. Instead we stood and watched as the butler’s lantern, gaining height all the time, grew steadily smaller with distance. The
various pursuers followed it, all well spread out, until their outlines became invisible to us against the heath.
In such circumstances, time can be difficult to measure. It seemed to me that we must have remained at that window for a full ten minutes, until the light from the butler’s lamp was no more than a tiny pin-prick of light. And then, without warning, the lamp went out.
‘He’s gone!’ I cried, and turned to my companion. But Mrs Hudson’s eyes continued to scan the darkness. ‘Of course it could be that he has simply dropped out of sight, into a hollow or something,’ I added lamely.
‘I don’t think so, Flottie,’ Mrs Hudson replied with enormous calm. ‘I think he has put that light out quite deliberately.’
‘But why, ma’am? Has he reached the spot where the treasure’s hidden?’
‘Hardly, Flottie. Surely that would mean he needed more light, not less. No, I fancy his sole object so far has been to lead his pursuers a long way away, and now he intends to leave them there. Because, of course, the object he is seeking is much closer to home. Now, if we are curious about that urn, I suggest we talk a little walk. We don’t have a great deal of time before our butler friend gets back.’
‘The urn, ma’am? I don’t understand! Do you mean you actually know where the urn is?’
There was enough moonlight for me to see a very faint smile play across her lips.
’Not at all, Flottie. But what we’ve seen tonight has certainly given me something of an idea.’
‘What we’ve seen tonight…? I still don’t understand.’
‘Come, Flotsam, put yourself for a moment in the butler’s shoes. Ever since Dr Watson confronted him and accused him of being in league with Viscount Wrexham, he must have known that his actions would be closely observed. Now, what did you notice about his behaviour tonight?’
As she spoke, she was already helping me into my coat.
‘Well, he wasn’t really trying to hide himself, was he, ma’am? I mean, his lantern was very bright, and the way he was waltzing about between outbuildings, it was almost as if he wanted to make sure everyone had seen him.’
‘Excellent, Flottie!’ Mrs Hudson had pulled on her own coat and was busy wrapping me in a woollen muffler. ‘He certainly did seem to be inviting attention, didn’t he? Now, if you’d hidden something, Flottie, and people were watching your every move, what would you make sure you didn’t do?’
I considered this as Mrs Hudson hustled me down the stairs.
‘Well, I’d be very careful not to lead them to the hiding place, ma’am. That’s what they’d want me to do.’
‘Very sensible! And where did the butler lead them tonight?’
‘To the moor! So it can’t be hidden out there, can it, ma’am?’
Mrs Hudson clucked impatiently. ‘Of course it isn’t! Why would anyone go and hide it out there when there are so many good hiding places that are much handier? I know Mr Baldwick was unbalanced, but I don’t believe he was as crazed as all that. So, Flottie, where did the butler go before he stepped out onto the moors?’
‘Practically everywhere, ma’am! He made a great big circle around the grounds.’
‘Everywhere, Flotsam? Are you sure?’
Suddenly it struck me. The strange route that Pauncefoot had taken had passed all the outbuildings except one. The oldest and largest of the barns had not been on the butler’s route: indeed, I realised, he had deliberately contrived to give it as wide a berth as possible.
‘The Home Barn!’ I exclaimed. ‘That’s the one place he avoided! He must think… No, he must be certain! Mrs Hudson, that’s where we’ll find the Lazarus Testament!’
Mrs Hudson nodded and held open the back door.
‘Now keep to the shadows, Flottie. You never know who might be watching.’ Together we slipped into the knife-sharp coldness of the night.
‘But, ma’am,’ I whispered as we walked, ‘Miss Peters and I have searched the Home Barn. There’s nothing in it but an old cart and some sacks, I’m sure of it.’
‘You may well be right, Flottie. But that day you were searching a number of different buildings. Tonight we only have one to search, which is quite a different thing.’
We hurried on, my mind racing. I could see my breath in the air in front of me, but I was too excited to worry about the cold. Then another thought struck me and I looked around in fright.
‘Mrs Hudson, ma’am! Might Pauncefoot have been clearing the way for someone else to come to the barn tonight? An accomplice, ma’am! Viscount Wrexham, perhaps!’
I heard Mrs Hudson’s familiar, low chuckle. ‘I shouldn’t worry too much about the Viscount just yet, Flottie. I think we have a little time.’
She held up her hand and listened for a few seconds before we hurried on.
‘So, ma’am, if the Lazarus Testament isn’t hidden on the moors, what about all Pauncefoot’s night-time expeditions? Was he just trying to lead us astray?’
‘I suppose that’s possible, Flotsam. More likely he really thought the hiding place was out there. After all, he’d have heard the stories about Mr Baldwick’s digging. Without some definite clue to guide him, he knew no more than we did.’
We had arrived at the door of the Home Barn, and to my relief it opened smoothly, without squeaking. Inside, Mrs Hudson struck a match and lit her lantern, casting a pale, flickering glow that didn’t quite reach into the corners. But there was enough light to see what I had seen before: a bare, stone-flagged floor and a rickety old wagon. Nothing else. Nothing had changed.
Even so, I followed Mrs Hudson closely as she paced each line of flagstones, her eyes never leaving the ground, until, having covered two thirds of the barn without incident, we arrived at the old cart. Mrs Hudson held up her lamp and studied it.
‘Nowhere to hide anything in that,’ she mused. ‘But take a look at the wheels, Flottie.’
I looked, but could see nothing very striking, just some missing spokes and flaking paint.
‘Just here.’ She bent very low and pointed to some detail of the axle. ‘See how it has been kept well greased? Here, help me…’ Applying her shoulder to the rear of the cart, she began to push.
It proved surprisingly easy for the two of us to roll the vehicle forward a few feet. No sooner had we done so than Mrs Hudson was down on her knees, examining the section of the floor that we’d revealed.
‘Look, Flottie! Progress at last!’
Crouching next to her, I saw at once what she meant. Set into the flagstones, in a place previously hidden by the cart’s broad rear wheel, was a metal ring of the sort used to lift a trapdoor. Our eyes met, and Mrs Hudson’s, I saw, were full of mischief.
‘So, Flotsam, what is it to be? We could stand guard here, ward off all intruders and wait for the gentlemen to join us before investigating further. Or we could behave like two silly and over-excited young girls and press on regardless, purely because we are unable to contain our own curiosity.’
I hesitated. ‘Yes, ma’am. And we wouldn’t want to do that. Although, of course, I suppose there may be nothing at all down there. And we wouldn’t want to waste everyone’s time if it turned out there was nothing to show them, would we, ma’am?’
The housekeeper nodded solemnly. ‘Of course not, Flotsam. We certainly wouldn’t want to waste the gentlemen’s time. So perhaps it would be better if we took a very quick look after all…’
Mute with excitement, I could only nod, praying that she wouldn’t change her mind. The look in my eyes made her smile and without another word she positioned herself above the iron ring and pulled.
Chapter XVII
The Brides of Quietness
The trapdoor, though heavy, yielded to Mrs Hudson’s urgings without great resistance, and swung upwards with a mournful groan to reveal a dark void below. By the glow of the lantern I was able to make out a narrow wooden stair leading down, but before I could see more Mrs Hudson had raised the lantern high above her head and was studying the barn as if in search of something. She se
ized upon a short plank of wood that lay discarded beneath the wagon and, handing me the lantern, took it firmly in her hands like a club. Then, without a word, she advanced towards the opposite wall, where the three narrow windows looked out towards the Hall.
To my utter astonishment, and with a crash as resounding as the discharge of a cannon, my companion proceeded to smash the plank into the first of the windows, sending a shower of glass onto the paving stones beyond. In the quiet of the night the noise seemed catastrophic, but even more startling to me was the shock of seeing Mrs Hudson behave with such reckless abandon. Perhaps aware of my bewilderment, and pausing only to throw the plank out after the glass, she came quickly to my side and gave my shoulders a squeeze.
‘No point in secrecy now, Flotsam,’ she explained, ‘and I don’t intend to find myself down there with the trapdoor closed above me and the cart pushed back in place.’
‘But the windows, ma’am…!’
‘I’m just letting people know where to look for us in case anything happens, Flottie. We’ll send the bill to Sir Percival. Now, will you go first, or shall I?’
I will never forget the sight that met my eyes as I tiptoed down the narrow steps into the cellar of the Home Barn. The lamp revealed a long, low chamber, no more than six feet wide, but running the whole length of the building above it. At first I thought it empty but for an old shovel and one of those huge wicker baskets that peat-cutters strap to their backs to carry home their sods. These items were lying untidily beneath the wooden steps and around them I could see nothing but bare stones and a dusting of old straw. But then, as I descended further, the rest of the cellar was illuminated and I saw before me a sight of the sort that treasure-seekers down the ages have yearned for.
Positioned at the far end of the chamber, a little like skittles across an alley, stood an array of earthenware vessels – old jars or urns, stoppered and sealed, all of them about two or three feet tall, and all grey in the pale light. For a moment they looked a little absurd, like the wine flagons beneath some ancient Roman tavern, lined up for the attention of the cellarer. But as I grew closer and began to see in more detail the texture of their surfaces, the cracks and blemishes of unguessable age, I found myself moved by their simple, unadorned dignity. In their presence I felt a great solemnity begin to descend upon me, a sudden, awkward reverence that wiped away my smile and urged me to be still. I was standing face to face with the truly ancient, and something about them – something in their patience or their stillness – touched my soul with a sort of awe.
Mrs Hudson and the Lazarus Testament Page 24