Nancy Atherton - Aunt Dimity and the Duke

“I don’t know,” said Emma. “You’re in back of a wardrobe that must weigh at least a ton.”

A muted groan came through the wall.

“Hang on,” said Emma. “Let me take a look.” She dumped her clothes unceremoniously out of the wardrobe and onto the floor, then flicked on Crowley’s flashlight and examined the back panel. “I don’t see any hinges, but there’s a row of pegs down the center of the panel. Maybe, if I ...” She climbed into the wardrobe and, crouching, tugged at the top peg. It came away in her hand, and the others followed suit. Stepping back out of the wardrobe, she called, “Try sliding the right side of the panel sideways.”

The panel rattled, creaked, and finally began to shift slowly, one half slipping neatly behind the other. Cool, musty air wafted out of the darkness; then Derek emerged, with a flashlight in one hand, dusty smudges on his face, and cobwebs in his hair.

Emma pulled her robe around her and schooled her face into a neutral expression. Derek took one look at her and began to apologize as though his life depended on it.

“Emma, I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t let you know what I was up to. I should’ve come by sooner, and I meant to, but I’ve been rather on the go these past few days, and I simply lost track of the time, and I know it’s a piss-poor excuse, so all I can say is that I hope you’ll forgive me and I promise that it won’t ever happen again.” He paused to take a breath, sneezed three times in a row, wiped his nose on a dusty sleeve, sneezed once more, then peered down at her imploringly and added, “What d’you say?”

Emma was vaguely unsettled by the amount of pleasure Derek’s heartfelt apology gave her. “I guess this means that I don’t get to smack you in the kisser,” she said, half to herself. Then, smiling: “It’s okay, Derek. Now, go in the other room and wait there while I put on some clothes.”

Emma changed quickly into her gray trousers and Nanny Cole’s blue sweater, returned the rest of her clothes to the wardrobe, and joined Derek in the bedroom. He was perched on the arm of one of the overstuffed chairs, peering at a schematic drawing from the old portfolio.

“Told you the place was a honeycomb,” he said. “Meant to take my time exploring it, but, circumstances being what they are, I pushed it a bit.” He handed her the house plan. “An annotated version.”

“Secret passages?” Emma asked, tracing a line of red ink with her finger.

“Most weren’t included on the older set of house plans, none at all on the newer ones. Want to see what I’ve found?”

Emma didn’t bother to answer. Instead, she turned off all the lights in her room, switched on her flashlight, and headed for the wardrobe, where she moved aside to let Derek take the lead. Once she’d closed the wardrobe door behind her, she pushed through the hanging dresses and stepped into the gaping hole, then waited while Derek slid the panel back into place. As the darkness enfolded them, Derek said, in a low, excited voice, “You’re not going to believe this.”

18

The flashlights danced an eerie pas de deux on the smooth stone walls, and the silence was absolute. No moaning wind disturbed the musty air, no lightning pierced the inky darkness. The coming storm might break and shake the rafters, but it would not touch the core of Penford Hall.

The massive building slumbered all around them, and the passage stretched before them endlessly. The floor was dry and level, the ceiling high enough for Emma to walk upright, though Derek crept, half crouching, by her side. They scanned the way ahead, their shoulders touching, the thick stone walls absorbing every sound.

“I imagine the castle had a network of passages just like this one,” Derek told her. “Grayson’s predecessors probably used it to store their loot.”

“But I thought the first duke gave up piracy,” Emma objected.

“And what did he get in return? A title and a scrap of land unsuitable for farming. Old habits die hard, Emma, and food must be put on the table. I’ll wager the old devil gave up piracy for smuggling and perhaps a spot of wrecking now and then.”

In the past, small coastal towns had considered shipwrecks a boon to the local economy. For some, “wrecking” had become a way of life. Emma had read chilling tales of bonfires lit to lure ships to their doom, of sailors left to perish while their vessels were plundered. “The Nether Shoals would make it easy enough,” she agreed, with a shudder.

“I’m all for carrying on family traditions,” Derek commented dryly, “but there’s such a thing as carrying them too far. Ah, here we are.” He played the beam of his flashlight on a narrow opening to his right, where a spiral staircase wound away into the darkness. “Runs from the subcellars to the roof,” he explained. “This passage and several others feed into it, and at least four rooms open off of it.”

“Sounds like a main thoroughfare,” said Emma.

“Hasn’t been used for a long time, though. Took hours to get the hinges on all the doors oiled up and working properly.” He jutted his chin upward. “Our first stop is up there.” Emma started forward, but Derek put an arm out to block her way. “Not so fast. We’ll have to kill the torches first.”

“You want me to turn off my flashlight?” Emma peered uncertainly into the gloom.

“I’m afraid so. It’s the only way we’ll be able to see if light’s leaking around the doors. If it is, we’ll have to assume that someone’s on the other side and pass them by.”

“But what if someone’s asleep inside one of those rooms?”

Derek shook his head. “No bedrooms lie off of this staircase. I’ve checked.”

Emma watched unhappily as Derek turned off his flashlight and hooked it on his belt. She understood the need for caution, but she wasn’t thrilled by the idea of groping her way up an unfamiliar staircase in utter darkness.

Derek seemed to read her mind. When she hesitated, he reached for her hand. “We’ll take it slowly,” he promised. “One step at a time.” He tightened his grip. “I won’t let you fall.”

Smiling weakly, Emma thumbed the switch on her flashlight. Derek vanished, the walls seemed to close in around her, and she was acutely conscious of the great weight of stone hanging just above her head. Please, God, she prayed, as her heart began to race, please don’t let my palms perspire.

Derek’s disembodied voice was reassuring. “Remarkable, isn’t it? Like being in a mine. I’m just glad there aren’t any rats.”

Emma’s hands turned to ice. “You’re sure about that?” she asked faintly.

“Quite sure.” He tugged her gently forward. “Come on, now, slide your foot straight ahead....”

Climbing the stairs wasn’t so bad, once Emma got the hang of it, although it would have been easier if she hadn’t been straining to hear the rustle of rodent feet. Her imagination populated the darkness with tiny glowing eyes and razor-sharp teeth, and though she tried to ignore the morbid fantasy, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being watched.

Derek stopped and Emma squinted as his flashlight flared, illuminating a narrow landing and a sturdy wooden door. A heavy iron ring was bolted to the door, and Derek reached for it.

“We’ll have to keep our voices down once I open the door,” he warned, passing his flashlight to Emma. “This room’s buried in the servants’ wing.” Gripping the iron ring with both hands, Derek planted his foot on the wall, and heaved. As the door swung silently toward them, Emma nearly screamed.