Aunt Dimity Beats the Devil

by Nancy Atherton

  I listened to the ticking of the ebony clock, filled with a sense of numbing defeat. Edward had survived so much and for so long that he’d come to seem invincible. I couldn’t quite believe that he was dead.

  “Passchendaele.” Adam spoke with his back to us, in a hollow, faraway voice. “A lowland village surrounded by bogs drained by a system of dikes and canals. Artillery barrages destroyed the drainage system, and when the rains came, the bogs were reborn.

  “Farm fields became sucking quagmires that swallowed horses whole. Wounded men pitched forward into the mud and drowned. The dead sank without a trace. More than forty thousand soldiers vanished in the insatiable sea of mud. Local farmers still harvest their bones.”

  I exchanged a worried glance with Nicole and went to stand at Adam’s side. His eyes were glazed, unblinking, as if he were in a trance, and I felt a stab of guilt for leaving so much of the reading to him. It had been hard enough to listen to Edward’s words. To read them, in the boy’s own hand, on paper stained with battlefield filth, must have been wrenching.

  “He has no grave,” Adam murmured. “Josiah has a mausoleum, but Edward has no grave.”

  Adam knew better than I that Flanders was littered with military cemeteries, but it wasn’t the time or the place to remind him.

  “He had Claire’s love,” I said softly. “Surely that was enough.” I twined my arm in his. “It’s been a long night. I think we could all do with a little sleep.”

  He raised a hand to rub his tired eyes. “Yes. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

  “It’s morning already,” I said, but Adam made no reply.

  He turned and left the room, moving like a sleepwalker, with Nicole and me trailing after him, each of us grieving in silence for a young man we’d never known and the young woman who’d loved him.

  CHAPTER

  I stayed up longer than I’d intended, curled on the fainting couch in my flannel nightie, savoring the fire’s warmth and telling Aunt Dimity about the staircase, the tower room, and Edward. When I finished, her first response was one of almost comic indignation.

  I simply cannot abide ghost impersonators. Wyrdhurst is troubled enough without adding amateur apparitions to the mix. Apart from that, they’ve no sense of subtlety. The tape-recorded laughter wouldn’t have frightened you for more than two minutes if you hadn’t been under Claire’s influence. I can’t imagine why any self-respecting faker would use such a silly, childish toy.

  “Jared might have rigged the black box to serve as an alarm,” I suggested. “The laughter would confuse an intruder and warn Jared that someone was on his staircase.”

  You’re convinced that Jared’s responsible, then?

  “He’s the most likely suspect,” I replied. “He has the motive and, as far as I know, the opportunity.”

  Don’t you find it odd that he never entered the tower room?

  “I’m pretty sure that the door to the tower room was locked until last night,” I said, “when Claire unlocked it for me.”

  Yet she couldn’t enter the room herself. I have a bad feeling about that place, Lori.

  I heard a soft tap at the door, set the journal aside, and called out, “Come in.”

  Adam stepped into the room. “I saw the light under your door,” he said. “Mind if I join you?”

  “Not at all.” I swung my legs to the floor, to make room for him on the fainting couch.

  He closed the door behind him. He was still wearing the clothes he’d worn all night, and he looked dog-tired, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.

  As he sank onto the couch I said, “I know this’ll sound ridiculous, coming from me, but you really should be in bed.”

  “I know.” His voice was rough with fatigue. “It’s absurd, isn’t it? I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep.”

  “It’s my fault,” I said. “I shouldn’t have left all of the reading to you. I know how deeply you sympathize with the soldiers who—”

  “Please, Lori,” he broke in. “Please don’t apologize to me. I don’t think I could bear it.” He sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “Besides, it’s not the letters, it’s that room, that awful room. I can’t get it out of my mind.”

  “Dimity has a bad feeling about it,” I told him.

  “So do I.” He looked over his shoulder at the barred windows. “It’s all of a piece—the bars, the telescope, the peepholes, Claire’s fears.…I keep thinking about the embroidery frame and that pathetic collection of children’s books.” He turned his red-rimmed eyes toward me. “Shall I tell you why the room was built?”

  I nodded reluctantly. I didn’t really want to hear his answer.

  “Josiah treated his daughter like a prisoner,” Adam said. “I think he finally built a prison for her.”

  I envisioned the isolated, barren room, with its heavy door and slender windows, but shook my head.

  “We’re not talking about the Middle Ages,” I protested. “Josiah wasn’t a feudal lord. He couldn’t snap his fingers and make people vanish.”

  “Couldn’t he?” Adam’s gaze intensified. “Wyrdhurst is a world unto itself, Lori, and Josiah built it. He created the staircase and the tower room, and he made sure that he alone had access to both. Do you think he excluded them from the floor plans by accident?”

  “But someone would notice that Claire was missing,” I insisted. “Someone would…” A sick feeling of dread welled up inside of me. “Clive Aynsworth. He must have found the hidden door in the library and figured out what Josiah was up to. That’s why Josiah killed him—to prevent him from telling people that Claire was in the tower.”

  Adam motioned toward the windows. “Josiah tried putting bars on her bedroom windows, but they didn’t do the trick. I believe he shut her up in the tower to keep her from running away.”

  “He couldn’t keep her there forever,” I said.

  “Not forever.” Adam gave a shuddering sigh. “Just until Edward was dead.”

  A coal fell on the fire, sending up a shower of sparks. Beyond the windows, the sun had risen on another crisp autumn day. How often had Claire looked out from her cell, I wondered, remembering sunny mornings on the moors?

  “He must have been insane,” I murmured.

  “There was a time,” said Adam, “when we would have called him evil.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dropped this on you, not at this hour, not after last night.”

  “I’m glad you did.” I went to the bedside table and brought Major Ted to Adam. “Here. Take Teddy with you. He’ll stand guard over your dreams.”

  “No nightmares shall pass?” Adam smiled, took the bear, and stood. “Thank you, Lori, for—”

  “Don’t be silly,” I scolded. “Now go to bed.”

  When he’d gone, I took up the blue journal. The handwriting began the moment I turned the first page.

  Adam seems deeply disturbed.

  “He’s had a tough night,” I reminded her. “He’s studied the First World War. He knows what Edward went through and”—I hesitated—“and I suppose he feels close to Claire. She chose him to stand in for Edward. In a sense, he’s held her in his arms.”

  He has feelings for you as well, Lori.

  “I know.” I hadn’t missed the half-regretful smile or the shadow of sadness in his eyes, and I couldn’t deny a certain sadness of my own. Adam and I had been through a lot together, in a very short period of time. It would have been inhuman to feel nothing.

  It seems almost inevitable, given the circumstances.

  “Yes.” Dimity had touched a tender place and I shied away from her probing. “Dimity, Adam believes that Josiah imprisoned Claire in the tower room. Do you think he’s right?”

  I do. It explains so much. Still, I feel certain that something else happened in that room, something terrible, more terrible than imprisonment, more terrible even than Edward’s death.

  I blanched as a horrifying possibility presented itself. “Do you think Josia
h murdered Claire?”

  I don’t know. I only know that Claire’s tormented by unfinished business and unhealed wounds. This house is haunted by its past, Lori.

  I shrugged helplessly. “I can’t change the past.”

  But you can change the present. Claire led you to Edward’s letters for a reason.

  I thought for a moment. “The treasure,” I said finally. “She wants me to find the treasure Edward sent to her.”

  She wants you to piece the puzzle together properly, the way it should have been done so many years ago. Only then will she be able to rest in peace.

  Now follow your own advice, my dear, and go to bed. You’ll need your wits about you to help Claire reach her final destination.

  Nicole was the first to broach the intriguing subject that had been justifiably overshadowed by Edward’s death.

  We’d gathered in the dining room for a hearty English breakfast served by Hatch at the unconventional hour of two o’clock in the afternoon. Seven hours of sleep had restored Nicole’s peace of mind, but Adam still looked troubled. He ate in silence while Nicole and I discussed the tantalizing hint Edward had dropped in his final letter to Claire.

  Nicole kicked the conversation off by announcing that she’d telephoned Uncle Dickie, to tell him of the night’s adventure, and discovered that he knew nothing about the hidden staircase or the tower room. What’s more, he’d never heard of Edward Cresswell or the treasure that had supposedly come into Claire’s possession in 1917.

  “I do wish Edward had been more specific about the kind of thing he’d sent,” Nicole complained, scooping marmalade from a pretty porcelain jam pot.

  “What would the owner of a French château bury in his garden?” I asked.

  “Jewelry,” Nicole answered promptly. “That’s what I’d bury if the Scots threatened to invade Northumberland.” She giggled girlishly, glimpsed Adam’s solemn face, and straightened her own. “Uncle Dickie wondered if Claire actually received the treasure.”

  “I don’t see why not,” I said. “Clive Aynsworth was a faithful courier. He wouldn’t have kept back a package meant for Claire, particularly since she already knew it was coming.” I put my teacup down abruptly as a jarring thought struck home. “It must have been the last package he delivered.”

  “Why is that?” Nicole asked.

  Adam spoke for the first time. “If you’ll examine the memorial tablet in the church, you’ll see that Clive Aynsworth died less than a month after Edward. Lori’s probably right. The treasure was the last thing Mr. Aynsworth brought to Claire.”

  “How sad.” Nicole allowed a decent interval to pass before returning to a subject that had evidently seized her imagination. “Claire must have hidden the treasure, just as she did the letters, to keep Josiah from confiscating it.”

  “She didn’t hide it in the tower room,” I stated flatly. “If she had, we’d’ve found it last night.”

  “Where else could it be?” Nicole paused to contemplate a marmalade-slathered triangle of toast. “Claire last saw Edward at the Devil’s Ring. Do you suppose she might have buried the treasure there?” She turned to Adam. “What do you say, Adam? Shall we mount an expedition?”

  Adam blinked slowly, as if Nicole had awakened him from a deep sleep. “Not today,” he said softly. “It’ll be dark by the time we get there.”

  Nicole grimaced. “I don’t fancy visiting the Devil’s Ring at night. We’ll go tomorrow, if the weather’s fine.” She nodded, satisfied, and continued eating.

  “I think we should search the rooms on the third floor,” I proposed, “the ones you haven’t renovated yet.”

  “Really?” Nicole’s good cheer vanished abruptly. “You know, I haven’t been up to the third floor since we took possession of Wyrdhurst. The…the noises I’ve heard, the footsteps, the creaks—they always seem to come from up there.”

  “Then it’s high time someone had a look around,” I told her. “You said yourself that humans are behind all of this ghost nonsense. Let’s see if we can find proof—and the treasure.”

  “Are you acting on another hunch?” Nicole inquired.

  “No,” I admitted. Claire hadn’t made herself known to me since she’d left me at the tower room. I suspected that she, like Adam, needed time to recover from our difficult journey into the past. “I just think we ought to cover all of the bases. We can search the third-floor rooms today and the Devil’s Ring tomorrow.”

  “Well…” Nicole took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “If you’re up to it, I’m game. What about you, Adam?”

  “Adam needs a few more hours of sleep,” I said.

  He looked at me gratefully. “You may be right, Lori, but it’s not a wise idea.” He lowered his long lashes, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Captain Manning would accuse me of dereliction of duty.”

  I gave him a covert glare. I’d nursed a faint hope that Nicole would forget the whopper I’d told to explain Adam’s presence at Wyrdhurst, but I should have known better. When it came to Captain Manning, Nicole had a mind like a steel trap.

  “I’m glad you take your assignment seriously, Adam, but I’m sure G—Captain Manning won’t mind us being on our own during the day. It’s only at night that strange things happen.” She patted Adam’s hand. “You go back to your room and have a nice lie-down. If Lori and I find anything, you’ll be the first to know.”

  As I swallowed a last bite of smoked salmon, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard from Guy since he’d reached me by telephone at the fishing hut. I wondered briefly if he’d managed to locate Nicole’s missing husband or identify the culprit who’d opened the gate to the military track. On the whole, however, I welcomed his silence. I wasn’t looking forward to his reaction when Nicole thanked him for sending Adam to watch over us.

  “It’s rather spooky, isn’t it?” Nicole whispered.

  The east-wing corridor lay before us, as surreal as the deck of a drowned ocean liner. Wyrdhurst’s elaborate Victorian decor ended abruptly at the third floor. Gone were the polished tables, the velvet hangings, the gilt-framed oils. Instead, ragged ribbons of faded wallpaper drooped from the walls, tarnished sconces hung askew, and a fine layer of dust covered everything in a ghostly gray shroud.

  The silence was so profound that we crept along like truant children fearing discovery. I wore my cat-burglar outfit, Nicole a russet sweater and tweed trousers, and we both carried flashlights.

  “I’m sorry it’s so filthy,” Nicole went on. “The cleaners come up here only once a month.”

  “I don’t mind,” I whispered back. “It gives the place a certain je ne sais quoi.”

  Nicole’s giggle echoed eerily from the peeling walls.

  “Lori,” she said suddenly. Her normal tone of voice rang out like a shout. “Someone’s been here before us.”

  “I know,” I said. “Hatch and those two men you sent up to the east tower have been here before us.”

  “But…why would they stop at every room?”

  She directed her flashlight along the floor and I saw on the threadbare runner row after row of blurred footprints leading to and from every door along the corridor.

  “Mrs. Hatch?” I suggested.

  “She never comes up here, and the cleaners haven’t been for three weeks.” Nicole took her lower lip between her teeth. “We should fetch Adam. Better yet, we should ring Guy. Guy will know what to do.”

  “You’re being a ninny again.” I had no intention of disturbing Adam or bringing Guy’s wrath down upon me until it was absolutely necessary. “You should be happy to see that someone’s been up here.”

  “Why?” Nicole asked.

  “Because,” I said impatiently, “ghosts don’t leave footprints. Come on. Let’s take a look for ourselves before we go running to the menfolk.” I brushed past her, reached for the handle of the nearest door, and flung it open.

  Daylight filtered softly through the faded drapes of a long-disused bedroom. Dust sheets covered the furnit
ure, but the rugs were rumpled and the dust on the floor was disturbed. The same held true for the next room and the next.

  “Do you suppose someone else knows about the treasure?” Nicole asked.

  “If your uncle didn’t know about it, how could anyone else?” I looked up and down the corridor suspiciously. The Wyrdhurst ghost was becoming more corporeal by the minute. “Were there a lot of little things up here, Nicole? Candlesticks, snuff boxes—things small enough to carry?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Nicole replied. “Uncle Dickie brought some bits downstairs when he refurbished our rooms, but left the rest for us to sort through. Why?”

  “Let me think for a minute.” My mind flashed back to the strange behavior I’d encountered at Her Majesty’s pub, the averted eyes, young James’s embarrassment, Bart Little’s overwarm welcome. At the time I’d suspected the men of impersonating the Wyrdhurst ghost, but now another explanation seemed possible.

  “If you ask me,” I said, “we’re dealing with a simple, straightforward case of burglary.”

  Nicole bristled. “Do you mean to say that someone’s been looting my house under my very nose?”

  I nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time thieves robbed a mansion while it was occupied.”

  “But how could anyone get in? We have a security system that…” She wilted slightly. “That I sometimes forget to use.”

  I pursed my lips. The Little family was looking guiltier by the minute. Who would know the Hollanders’ habits better than the villagers? Guy had already proved that the locals knew all about Jared’s comings and goings, and I had little doubt that Nicole’s negligence was also common knowledge. News traveled fast in places like Blackhope.

  Nicole stepped past me, murmuring, “Jared will be livid when he finds out what I’ve done.”

  “Maybe he shouldn’t go away quite so often,” I muttered, but Nicole didn’t seem to hear me. She’d moved on to the last room in the east wing and was standing in the doorway, one hand raised to her mouth.