"Look!" he exclaimed. "There!"
Jabbing his finger at the page there appeared to be a small red 'x' in a room adjacent to one of the turrets.
"Well," said Charles, his feelings of excitement covered with traditional British reserve, "I suggest we make that location our next destination."
Taking the all-important book with them, they sprinted from the library and out into the maze of corridors.
Chapter 8
Sometimes running, sometimes walking briskly, Charles and Matthew turned left and right through the endless maze of passageways which was Heston Grange. Although they had Lord Alfred’s hand-drawn map to guide them it was difficult to follow it at times, since it was hardly of Ordnance Survey standard, and their route passed through some dark areas of the irregularly shaped house where was no light source to enable them to look at it properly. Added to that was the realisation that there was no indication as to which floor the red X referred to. All they knew for sure was that it had been marked next to one of the manor’s turrets. After what seemed an age of scurrying this way and that, upstairs and down, Matthew, who had been leading the way with the book in hand, came to a stop. They were now on the top floor and Charles, catching up a moment later, was somewhat out of breath, thanks to all the stairs. Matthew examined the map again.
"Well," he began, "if I'm reading this correctly the room we're after is on the other side of this wall."
"So where's the way in?"
There was no door; just oak panelling. But this panelling was slightly different to elsewhere in the house because many years ago a craftsman had engraved into the wood, and then painted, posy of red poppies.
Reasoning that the entrance must be round the other side they immediately tried to get there, but it proved not to be as simple as just walking round the corner. There appeared to be no direct route. Once again they had to brave the catacomb-like structure of the house. Eventually, though, Matthew once again halted - by another wall. Again, no door.
"Do you suppose it could be a secret room?" wondered Charles, "A bit like the octagonal room in the tower - completely enclosed. No windows, and impossible to detect because of the ramshackle layout of the place."
"Damn!" Matthew slammed his fist against the oak panelling. "How are we supposed to get in?"
"Stay calm. If there is a room behind here I'm sure Lord Alfred would have ensured it was possible for us to get in."
Charles began to run his fingertips over the rough, gnarled oak panelling. It was difficult to see anything clearly with what little light managed to find its way into the area.
"Shall I fetch a torch?"
"Good idea. In the meantime I'll keep searching."
"For what, exactly?"
"Well, if I find it I'll tell you."
Matthew vanished into the gloom on his quest for some illumination. Left alone, Charles continued to explore the panelling. Surely there must be some sort of doorway?
Suddenly, he froze. He had heard something. It was similar to the sound he'd heard in the library a couple of days ago. There it was again. That same scrabbling sound. James had thought it might be a rat. It didn't sound like a rat to Charles. He moved back into the shadows as he realised that someone was moving along one of the corridors in his direction. It was probably James, he told himself, yet his heart pounded with the feeling that something was not quite right. Should he stay concealed or confront this mysterious stranger? Before he had any more time to think a shape materialised out of the darkness and, before he quite knew what he was doing, he had stepped out in front of it.
The shape screamed and dropped a large stack of bed linen. "Oh, sir, you startled me!"
"Mrs Gillcarey, I'm so sorry." Charles stooped to help her pick up all the sheets and pillowcases, while she was clucking around like some old mother hen.
"Oh, that's alright, sir. My own silly fault, really. There now, no harm done." Tut-tutting to herself she gathered everything up. Then, with her arms full, she tried to blow the hair out of her eyes which had somehow fallen over her face in the excitement.
"I do apologise again, Mrs Gillcarey. It's just that I've been hearing some strange sounds during my stay at Heston Grange, and they have started to make me feel a little on edge."
Mrs Gillcarey laughed. It was a round, comfortable laugh.
"Ho ho ho. Well, Mr Seymour, sir, from time to time I have heard tales that this house has more than its fair share of spooks but you can take it from me that I've never seen any. No. Not even one. Anyway, if I did see something I think they'd probably be more frightened at the sight of me than the other way about!" She laughed again.
"Thank you, that's good to hear."
"Er...is there anything I can help you with, sir?"
"Well, actually, as a matter of fact, yes, perhaps you can help. I believe there may be a room on the other side of this wall. Would you happen to know anything about that?"
"Oh, certainly sir."
"You do?" Charles could hardly believe his ears.
"Yes, sir. There is a room behind there. It used to be occupied by Meg, the Lord and Lady's maid. She doesn't work here now though. After Lord Alfred lost his wife he felt he didn't need the services of a maid so she was let go. Still, she ain't done too badly out of it - His Lordship said she could stay in the Lodge, and that's where she's been from that day to this."
"How do I get into the room?"
"Through the door, sir." She spoke with a mischievous twinkle in her eye.
"Hmm...quite so, Mrs Gillcarey. Er...where is it?"
"Oh, there I go forgetting my place! I'm sorry, sir. I shouldn't waste your time by jesting, you being a busy man and all. The door's right here."
She stepped aside and pointed to a particular portion of panelling.
"That's it? That's the door?"
"Yes, sir. There's no handle, but you can see...just there...is a tiny keyhole."
Charles pushed against the panelling.
"It appears to be locked."
"Yes, sir, and the key has been missing for quite some time. No idea where it is."
"I suppose we could always just break it down."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that, sir. All this timber is very old. You start crashing and banging about, you're likely to bring the whole thing falling in."
Thinking back to the rickety bridge leading to the tower, Charles had to agree.
"Was there anything else, sir?"
"No, thank you. You've been very helpful."
She went on her way and was swallowed up by the darkness just as Matthew returned with a torch. Charles showed him the keyhole. It wasn't at all surprising that they had been unable to see it at first, hidden as it was positioned between two knots in the wood. Then he told him about his conversation with the Housekeeper and about Meg, the former maid.
"Well, she might be able to tell us where the key is," said Matthew, "and if she’s just in the Lodge at the end of the drive perhaps we should pay her a little visit."
Chapter 9
The afternoon had suddenly become much colder. Charles and Matthew walked down the long driveway towards the main gate and the lodge. They had considered using the car but decided the exercise would do them both good, having been cooped up inside for the last couple of days. It didn't occur to either of them that they had actually been getting plenty of exercise already as they worked their way all over the house in their search for clues. Furthermore, they hadn't quite realised just how far away the lodge was and now, as the wind picked up and the chill started to bite, they both privately wondered whether taking the car hadn't been such a bad idea after all. With collars turned up and hands thrust deeply into pockets they trudged along the unmetalled road and sighed with relief as the lodge at last came into view, with the high imposing gates to the outside world just beyond.
The lodge was a quaint, quintessentially English cottage with lattice windows. A white picket fence stood a few feet in front of it, with a gate opening onto a short pathway of cra
zy paving. This lead up to a panelled front door in which just one of the panels was made of glass, enabling the occupant to see who was visiting before opening the door. All the curtains were closed, but the glow from some lights within could be seen at their edges so Charles and Matthew approached the door and knocked. They waited for a few moments but there was no response. Matthew raised his fist to knock again, but just at that moment a small wrinkled face appeared in the glass panel and eyed them both. After pausing for only a moment, the head nodded in apparent satisfaction and disappeared, after which a bolt was drawn back and the door was opened. Charles stepped forward and offered his hand.
"Hello, my name is- "
"I'm glad you've finally arrived," she interrupted, sweetly. "I've been waiting for you. Come inside and I'll bring you your coffee."
Charles exchanged a puzzled glance with Matthew and, somewhat bemused, the two of them followed her in. She led the way into a small but comfortable sitting room containing sofas and chairs which were over stuffed, and ornaments of all kinds adorning shelves in every inch of available wall space. She motioned for them to be seated and then went through another door into her even smaller kitchen from where the sounds of cups and saucers rattling together could be heard, along with a kettle boiling. She came back a couple of minutes later carrying a tray.
"Here's your tea," she said. "Nice and hot, just the way you like it. Oh, now look at me! I forgot to bring any cake."
Before either man could speak, she beetled away and various kitchen-like sounds emanated once again. Returning a few moments later, she proudly announced, "Here we are, then. A nice selection of biscuits. Please help yourselves."
They began to sip their tea, and Matthew nibbled on a biscuit. Meg watched them attentively, a maternal smile on her tiny face, while Charles tried to think how to start the conversation. After a moment, he cleared his throat.
"Er...Meg?"
"You'll think me very foolish," she interjected, "but I can never remember which of you is which." She paused, obviously giving the matter some thought, before continuing. "No, it's no use. You'll just have to tell me." She gave an attractive little-old-lady giggle. "Which one of you is James?"
"Er...well actually, Meg, Neither of us is James. My name is Charles, and this is Matthew. We've come to ask you about your old room in the manor?"
No response.
"The one with the hidden door in the panelling?"
"Go easy on James," she said. Then she leaned forward and whispered, "He has alzheimer's, you know."
"Meg, I know it might be difficult for you to remember, but can you recall what happened to the key to your old room?"
"The key?"
"Yes. At the moment, the door is locked and we can't find the key. Can you think where it might be?"
"James was always such a nice fellow. He looked after me very well."
"Meg, do you know where the key is? We need to get into your old room. It's really very important."
"Is Mrs Gillcarey still there?"
"Meg, please!"
"Hmm?"
"Where is the key?"
"Oh yes, the key, yes. Erm...now let me see. Oh, I'm not sure I can remember. Which key do you mean?" She giggled again. "Oh, I know it must be round here somewhere."
Matthew, who was becoming increasingly impatient, stood up and walked over to a Welsh dresser that was really too large for this small room. With a glance in Charles' direction he began to open the drawers and started rummaging through them. Charles was both shocked and embarrassed and opened his mouth to say- he knew not what. But, since Meg didn't seem to mind this rather intrusive behaviour, he remained quiet. He sat and watched her as she sipped her tea, demurely, lifting both the cup and saucer in the way proper ladies would, while Matthew rifled through all those over-full drawers, as proper gentlemen wouldn't. Meg might not know where the key is, he thought, but it's just as unlikely that she would know where anything else is either, in all this jumble of ancient clutter.
"Aha!"
With a look of satisfaction, Matthew extracted a bunch of keys from one of the drawer's nethermost recesses and held them up. All manner of sizes, and some of them looked very old and rusty. He crossed to Meg, who was still staring impassively into her teacup.
"Meg, is one of these the key to your old room?"
She took the bunch in her delicate hand and, with a small sigh, gazed at the conglomeration before her.
Oh...yes, I think so...probably. But I can't remember which one it would be. No, wait...I think perhaps this one seems familiar."
She held up an iron key which was quite long and obviously old.
Gently, Charles said, "Thank you, Meg. You've been very helpful. Would it be alright if we took these keys away with us for a short time? We'll return them to you as soon as we have the door open."
She gave another of her small smiles and nodded. Matthew was already heading for the door. Charles paused and looked back.
"Thank you for the tea, Meg."
"You're welcome. Please ask James to come and see me. I do miss him so."
He nodded and left, quietly closing the front door behind him.
Meg sat for a long time after that, staring into the middle distance and continuing to sip her tea even after it had gone cold.
Charles had to run to catch up with Matthew who was already some distance along the driveway, holding the keys in his hand and heading towards the house with renewed determination.
"How could you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Just start picking through an old lady's personal things?"
"Come on, give me a break. It was obvious that she's senile; and it wasn't as though I was stealing from her."
"Still, I think you should have waited for her permission."
Matthew stopped walking and turned to face Charles. "Ok, you're right. You want me to take the keys back?"
Charles looked at the ground and felt awkward. "No, but-"
"Thought not." He started walking again, then turned to look back to where Charles was still standing. "Are you coming?"
Charles heaved a sigh of resignation and followed. The sky continued to darken as they approached the house and rumblings of thunder could be heard in the distance.
A few minutes later found the two of them back in the gloomy corridor outside the secret room. Charles held the torch while Matthew selected the key which Meg had pointed out. As he moved it towards the keyhole it was immediately apparent that it was far too large. In exasperation he tried one of the other keys, then another, and still another. None of them worked. Then he tried every one of them again, just in case. Despite his perseverance, however, the door remained decidedly locked. With a cry of frustration he gave the door a hefty kick. That didn't work either. Obviously angry now, he began to use some words that Charles hadn't heard before.
"Perhaps Meg might have some other keys?" he suggested, when he was able to get a word in.
"Yeah, maybe. Stupid old biddy."
"Shall we go back and ask her?"
"I suppose so."
As they left the house for the second time they found that the rain was now falling heavily and the thunder was louder. This time, they decided to take the car. Charles unlocked his Jaguar and they both climbed in. The engine roared and the vehicle pulled out of the courtyard.
"Oh, how lovely to see you again!" said Meg, as she answered the door. "It really doesn't seem like a week since you were last here. My goodness, doesn't time fly! Well, come in out of the rain and I'll put the kettle on."
"Actually, Meg," said Charles, calling after her as he followed her into the tiny hallway, "we don't really have time for tea on this occasion. What we really need is some more of your help."
"Oh?" She paused and turned back to face him. "Well, what can I do for you?"
Charles held up the keys.
"Oh, I was wondering where they had got to. Someone was asking about these quite recently."
He didn't bother to
explain, but continued, "Meg, we still need the key to your old room in the manor. None of these fit the lock."
"But I did tell you, this is the one you need." She again indicated the old iron key.
"We've tried it, Meg. It doesn't work."
"Doesn't it? I'm sure it was alright the last time I used it."
Matthew was starting to get impatient again.
Charles shot him a glance. "Meg, do you have any other keys?"
"I don't think so. This is the one you need."
Now Charles was becoming frustrated too. "Meg, this key does not open the door to your room."
"I know that."
"What?" Matthew was incredulous. Charles was puzzled.
"I thought I'd explained it all to you...or maybe I didn't...ah well, I can't remember. Anyway, follow me."
As she turned away Matthew whispered, "We don't have time for this. Let's get back to the house. Maybe we can find some other clues in the map book or on the film."
"Down here." Meg was holding open a door which revealed a flight of wooden steps descending into a cellar.
"Let's humour her for a moment," said Charles, under his breath, "then we'll be on our way."
Meg reached inside the door, pulled a string and a low-wattage naked light bulb flickered into life. They followed her down the stairs into the low-ceilinged cellar filled with wooden packing cases.
"These are all my things that I didn't have room to unpack after I came here from the manor," she explained, a little sadly. She gestured towards some others. "These belong to His Lordship, and these others belong to James. He said he would visit me, you know."
She led them further into the cellar which was proving to be quite extensive. The light from the one bulb didn't quite reach into these furthermost recesses and they had to pick their way carefully. Passing row after row of packing cases, they eventually turned a corner and reached a dead end.
The Cryptic Lines Page 6