The text was all written in small, cramped letters and he soon wearied of trying to decipher it. He had meant to start reading from the beginning but quickly started skipping from page to page, looking only at the diagrams and drawings.
There were numerical tables and geometric charts. There were drawings of flowers and animals. And then moving further into the book he came upon a whole page devoted to a rough sketch that had obviously been altered many times. Two dragons writhed at the bottom, twisting and turning back on themselves and biting their own tails. Between them a straight staff had been placed with two snakes that curled and wound from side to side of it, ending with their heads facing each other at the top. Each snake head was crowned with a little coronet. On top of the staff between them perched a bird, facing to the left. On the left of the staff, a sun with spiky rays was drawn. On the right of the staff was a thin crescent moon. It was a drawing of the brick pattern William had just seen on the wall above the fireplace.
Surprised, he swung the torch away from the book and shone it across the room to where the brick fireplace gaped in the far wall, with its canopy above. But no design was now visible on the worn surface. William went quickly round the table and stood in the centre of the hearth, pointing his torch up at the canopy. Then he stood on the stool to reach a little higher. He moved the torch beam backwards and forwards over the surface of the bricks. Although the wall was rough and indented in many places, where the brick had crumbled, there was no sign of any design or motif on it at all. But it had been there. Of that he was certain. It had been there and now it had vanished. What was more, the picture in the book confirmed this for him. Returning to the table, he looked again at the rough drawing. It was as though the person responsible for it had had to come back to it many times before it was completed to his or her liking. There were innumerable pale outlines of different dragons before the final two were etched in in darker strokes. The snakes climbing the staff had ghostly counterparts that had been previously rejected. Dimly, a crescent moon could just be seen on the left of the staff, placed there before the sun had been drawn over it. It was as if the artist was trying to recall precisely what had been seen when he or she was no longer in the presence of the real thing. But what had finally been settled upon was, without any doubt, the same strange design that William had seen when he was looking down from the gallery above.
William shivered. The cold in the hall was intense. But he was reluctant to go back to bed. He felt himself to be on the brink of an important discovery, if only he could understand what the picture was trying to tell him. He stared at it again. Phoebe had said that the dragons represented nature. But what did that mean? And how did she know? And what were the snakes and what was the bird and why the sun and the moon?
Then, with a gasp, William thought of something else. Or rather, he thought in a different way. Was it, perhaps, the fireplace that was important? Was the reason that the unknown artist (although, come to think of it, William told himself, the artist is almost certainly Jonas Lewis, considering that this is his book) had difficulty drawing the picture exactly the same as the one that he would now have; was it because the picture had disappeared? Then another thought occurred to him. Was the picture trying to tell him, and before him Jonas, that the secret lay . . . in the chimney?
As William had the thought, he shivered again. And then he remembered the little window in the eaves.
‘Of course,’ he said, aloud, and he ran back to the fireplace. But this time he went right into the hearth, so that he was standing in the opening, and shone the torch up the chimney. Above him the shaft rose, black with soot, into the dark. The beam of his torch could not penetrate the upper reaches of the chimney. The walls of the chimney seemed to be built in sections and up the back face there were protuberances, at regular intervals, as the opening gradually narrowed.
At first, William was disappointed. He had been so sure that he was right. He swept the torch beam slowly down the shaft, moving it from side to side as he did so, and then he suddenly noticed a ledge up above him, not much higher up than the height of an average man. It seemed natural that it should be there. After it, the chimney started to narrow gradually. But on the side wall, to the left, the ledge was broader than at the back or to the right.
William moved to the left of the hearth, and shone the torch straight up at the ledge. Was there, perhaps, an opening leading from it, into the back wall of the chimney? He wasn’t tall enough to be sure, and the torch light was not strong enough to penetrate the deep gloom.
Just supposing, he thought, just supposing there were steps up the chimney.
He walked slowly back to the table, deep in thought. The window they had seen would be at the top of this staircase. The room that he was certain was up there would lead off it. It was a perfect hiding place.
But a hiding place for what? And why? Hiding what?
He sat on one of the chairs at the table and rested his head in his hands. He was certain that the answer was within his grasp, if he could only organize his thoughts. He had already worked out that the top floor of the tower, in other words the attic, where their bedrooms were, and where he also suspected the secret room was situated, had been added during the Tudor period. The fireplace had also been installed during that time. The two fitted together perfectly. Someone, during the reign of Henry the Eighth, or Mary, or Edward the Sixth, or Queen Elizabeth, had built on to the house. Then William recalled illustrations of Elizabethan black and white timber buildings that he had seen in a project about the age of ‘Good Queen Bess’.
So, he thought, the building was added to, some time during the reign of Elizabeth the First. So what? Am I any nearer the answer to the puzzle?
He crossed round the table again and looked at Jonas Lewis’s book. But that was no help. It had been written, according to the front page, in 1899. So who, in 15 . . . whenever it was that the new building had been added . . . wanted to hide a room up under the eaves?
Then William remembered that Uncle Jack had said that the envelope he had been given by the woman at the library contained a list of the people who had lived in the house.
Of course, William thought, as he opened the envelope and extracted the sheets of paper that it contained, a name isn’t going to mean very much to me.
But it did. The name meant a great deal to him.
He scanned down the list of dates and names, written in a spiky longhand, until he came to:
1542. Gelden Place stripped of religious protection and abandoned.
1550. The property is purchased and restored as a private dwelling, to be called Golden House. The new owner is one ‘Stephen Tyler, from the City of London’.
As William read the name he recalled the strange meeting on the platform at Druce Coven Halt, and how the tall man in the black coat with the piercing eyes and the hair the colour of a fox had held him by the shoulder.
‘My name,’ William heard a voice in his head saying, ‘is Stephen Tyler. Will you remember that?’
William dropped the piece of paper and ran back up the staircase and into the cold but welcoming safety of his bed.
11
Morning
WILLIAM AWOKE TO discover Mary, fully dressed, sitting on the side of his bed.
‘What time is it?’ he asked, surprised into wakefulness.
‘Nearly ten,’ Mary answered.
‘You should have called me sooner.’
Mary shook her head and looked at her hands.
‘What’s the matter, Mare?’ William asked, alarmed by her behaviour.
‘Phoebe’s ill,’ Mary told him in a low voice. ‘She’s staying in bed.’
‘Very ill?’ William asked her as he struggled into his clothes.
Mary shrugged.
‘Uncle Jack says she just needs to rest. But by the way he’s behaving I should think she must be very ill indeed. You’d better come down, Will.’
‘Where’s Alice?’
‘She’s in the kitche
n.’
‘Why didn’t you call me?’ William said again, as he wiped a wet flannel across his face. It was freezing cold in the bathroom and the window was piled high with snow on the outside.
‘Uncle Jack said we had to let you sleep,’ Mary answered.
She was standing at the bathroom door, watching him.
‘What’s going on, Mare? You’re behaving funnily,’ William said.
‘Uncle Jack was really cross with us,’ she said in a low voice, looking over her shoulder as if she was afraid of being overheard. ‘Something to do with that book. We didn’t know what he was going on about. He’s going to ask you now.’
‘Ask me what?’
‘Oh William, did you go down in the middle of the night and look at it?’
‘What if I did? No one told us not to.’
‘We made a Solemn Vow, William. You broke it.’
‘Yes, I know,’ William admitted, as he put on his shoes. ‘I’m sorry, Mare. I couldn’t sleep – and I didn’t want to wake you, and . . . well, I just had to know about the secret room. I’m sorry. Really I am.’
‘There’s no point making Solemn Vows if you just go and break them.’
‘Oh, Mary!’ William exclaimed. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry.’
‘Anyway, Uncle Jack’s furious about it,’ Mary said.
‘I left the book lying open on the table in the hall, that’s how he knew. But I don’t see why he should be cross about it. Last night we were all looking at it together.’
‘Maybe it’s just that he’s worried about Phoebe,’ Mary said as she led the way down the spiral stairs to the gallery below.
Dull light filtered into the great hall from the two windows on either side of the front door. As William started down the main stairs, he glanced at the canopy above the fireplace, but there was insufficient light to see if the brick picture was visible or not.
Alice was sitting on a chair beside the kitchen range. She looked small and cold and miserable. As the other two entered she pulled a face that said: I don’t like it here. Let’s go home! and she motioned with her head towards the back door, through which a moment later Uncle Jack entered, carrying a large basket of logs.
‘Oh, you’re up, are you?’ he said to William, as he stamped his feet on the floor to dislodge snow from his boots. ‘Well, after you’ve had some breakfast you can help me to get logs in, all right?’
‘OK,’ William answered.
‘There’s porridge on the range. And milk in the larder,’ Jack told him. Then, before William had a chance to help himself to a bowl from the dresser, he continued:
‘You came down in the night, William?’
‘I couldn’t sleep,’ William replied.
‘So it was you who looked at the book, yes?’
William shrugged.
‘I didn’t know it wasn’t allowed.’ His voice sounded indignant. He wasn’t going to be blamed for something about which he didn’t feel guilty. He glared defiantly at Jack.
‘Well you do now,’ Jack answered him after a moment. ‘I’ve put that book away and I don’t want any of you looking at it. And that’s an order.’
‘But why?’ Alice demanded. ‘It’s just a book. Why can’t we look at it?’
‘I don’t want any arguments about this,’ Jack said. Then he added, rather weakly: ‘It’s not for children, that’s all.’
‘What’s wrong . . .?’
‘William, I told you. I don’t want any argument,’ Jack cut in. ‘Now the subject is closed.’
‘I was only going to ask,’ William said once more in the same indignant voice, ‘what was wrong with Phoebe. That was all.’
‘She’s not feeling too good. She’ll be all right,’ Jack answered. ‘Well, get your breakfast. There’s a lot to be done today. You’ll find me in the barn chopping wood when you’ve finished,’ and he went out again to the yard, closing the kitchen door after him.
As soon as they were alone, the children drew together round the open range and started whispering all at the same time.
‘Wait a minute! Shut up both of you! Please!’ William interrupted them. ‘We’ve got to stop Uncle Jack lighting a fire in the hall.’
‘Oh, why, Will? I’m frozen,’ Alice wailed.
But William was already hurrying towards the hall door and didn’t answer her.
‘Where are you going?’ Mary demanded, feeling her temper rising.
‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ he said. ‘But first, one of you keep watch out of the window for Uncle Jack and the other come and tell me if he’s coming back in.’
‘No!’ Mary said, firmly. ‘We’ll not do anything of the sort. I’m fed up with you bossing us about, William. You broke a Solemn Vow. There’s no excuse for that. A Solemn Vow, William. None of us has ever broken one before.’
‘I know and I really am sorry,’ William said, pausing in the doorway and looking suitably ashamed of himself. ‘I know it was wrong of me . . . but I just couldn’t help myself.’
‘Of course you could,’ Mary snapped. ‘That’s the point of a Solemn Vow – to stop us doing something we want to do, because we promised each other we wouldn’t. It’s just like you! Just because you’re older. Well I won’t put up with it . . .’
‘Oh, Mary!’ William shouted, dangerously near to losing his temper as well. ‘If I waste time arguing with you, it’ll be useless,’ and he ran into the hall and crossed to the fireplace.
‘Where are you going?’ Alice asked, following him.
‘Sssh!’ William hissed, glancing up at the gallery in the direction of Phoebe and Jack’s bedroom. ‘She’s up there,’ he whispered. ‘Will you keep watch, Alice?’
‘All right, but why, Will? Please tell us why,’ Alice pleaded.
But William was lost in thought, standing in the vast fireplace. It was big enough for two narrow ledge seats along each side. Though anyone sitting on them would get horribly hot when the fire was alight, he thought. Then he noticed that, by standing on the left one, he was able to reach a protruding stone that jutted out of the wall some way above the bench. There was another stone set at a higher level and at an angle to the first. Above this second stone, a third stuck out, just below the level of the ledge he had seen by torch light the night before. The stones were big enough to stand on. They formed a rough way of climbing up to the ledge.
‘I’m going up,’ he whispered just as Mary, unable to bear not knowing what was going on, came out of the kitchen.
‘William!’ she hissed in a loud, impatient whisper. ‘William, where are you going?’ and she ran across the hall and into the fireplace.
At first it was too dark for her to make out anything at all. But, as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, so, gradually, she was able to make out the figure of her brother, standing on a ledge above her head.
‘What are you doing?’ she whispered.
‘I’m not sure,’ William replied. ‘I should have brought the torch.’
‘Mary!’ Alice’s agitated voice sounded behind her. ‘Mary!’
‘What?’ she asked, swinging round.
‘He’s coming,’ her sister hissed and a moment later Uncle Jack pushed past her into the hall, carrying three large logs cradled across his arms.
Mary gasped and stepped out of the fireplace as Jack came towards her.
‘Out of the way, Mary. These are heavy,’ he said, and he dropped them on the stone slabs in front of the hearth.
‘Where’s William?’ Jack asked, straightening up and wiping his hands on his jeans.
‘He’s gone . . .’ Mary said uncertainly. She was never very good at lying.
‘Gone?’ Jack asked, looking at her suspiciously.
‘Upstairs,’ she replied and at once she felt more confident. After all, that was where he had gone, in a way. He was at least higher up than they were, so it wasn’t really a lie.
Jack frowned and crossed to the kitchen door.
‘Well, tell him I need help. And there’s masses you tw
o can be getting on with in the kitchen.’ Then, seeing Alice standing forlornly in front of him, he seemed to repent a little. ‘Sorry,’ he said, turning back to look at Mary and putting a hand on Alice’s shoulder at the same time. ‘I must have got out of bed the wrong side this morning.’ Then he lifted up a hand, like an American Indian. ‘Friends?’ he said, with a smile.
Mary pursed her lips and looked at her feet.
‘What d’you want us to do in the kitchen?’ she said, wishing her voice didn’t sound sulky.
‘I thought we could get things ready for tomorrow, so that Phoebe doesn’t have too much work.’
‘Is she very ill?’
‘No. She’s just . . .’ Jack shrugged. ‘Well, you know what it’s like being pregnant.’
‘Uncle Jack!’ Mary exclaimed and then she blushed.
‘Well, I expect you know as much as I do about it,’ Jack said and he grinned again.
‘She’s not going to have her baby now, is she?’ Alice asked in a startled voice.
‘I hope not,’ Jack replied and for a moment he looked almost worried. ‘No, I’m sure she isn’t. She just got worked up last night . . .’
‘About that book?’ Mary asked and when Jack didn’t reply, she continued, ‘I don’t see what’s so special about it anyway. It’s just an old book. I thought it was a bit boring, really.’
‘Good,’ Jack said and smiled. ‘Now, I’m going to light a fire and Phoebe’s coming down to sit in front of it and we’re going to give her a good time for a change. Agreed?’ and he went out into the kitchen again, without waiting for a reply.
At once Mary dashed back into the fireplace, skipping over the three big logs that Jack had placed on the hearth.
‘William, William,’ she called. ‘Uncle Jack is going to light a fire.’
‘What’s going on down there?’ a voice above them said, and a moment later Phoebe appeared at the top of the stairs and started to come down into the hall.
Alice stared at her in confusion and couldn’t think of anything to say. Mary came out of the fireplace and looked up at her, grinning in a stupid way.
‘What are you two up to?’ Phoebe said, but she was smiling and sounded friendly.
The Steps up the Chimney Page 7