Page 21 of The Secret Christmas Library
The setting of the sun will show,
The ancient routes stand fast;
The saddest tale of woe is told,
When all the songs are past.
Then you must find a crown of gold,
And hopes will not be dashed;
Between the vellum sheets, dear James,
The answer shows at last.
They stared at it.
‘That’s it?’ said Mirren. ‘That’s all you have to go on?’
‘A precious book?’ said Theo, sizing up the situation and nodding seriously. ‘Among everything else.’
Jamie nodded. Theo looked around, his face doubtful.
‘Oh, my goodness,’ said Mirren. ‘Are you absolutely sure these aren’t just – I don’t know, poetic ramblings or something?’
‘Oh, no, he’d mentioned it before,’ said Jamie. ‘That there was an incredibly valuable book in the house. And I asked him what it was, when I was about eleven, and he said he couldn’t say, otherwise my mother would sell it and spend it on clothes.’
‘Harsh,’ said Mirren.
‘No, my motherwouldhave sold it and spent it on clothes.’
‘What does the internet say?’ said Theo, taking out his phone.
‘Absolutely zero,’ said Jamie. ‘It talks about some old paintings we used to have, but that’s about it. And before the war everything was carefully listed and written down by staff – howmany bottles of Burgundy in the cellar, how many silver spoons, that kind of thing, and they kept all the receipts in account books. But then that started to go by the by once they lost all their staff, and after that I don’t think my family kept receipts for anything. My grandfather would sell a painting for cash at lunchtime and spend it by the afternoon.’ He said this without bitterness.
‘I thought it was kind of an essential part of the job, to look after places like this for the next generation,’ said Mirren, gently, not wanting to speak ill of the dead.
‘I know,’ said Jamie. ‘I think he must have hoped I’d fix it.’ He opened his hands. ‘But I don’t know where to start.’
A broad beam of sun suddenly appeared behind a cloud, rendering the world dark and light all at once. Mirren couldn’t help it: she stood up, and walked to the kitchen door.
‘Can I . . .?’ She indicated outside.
Jamie shrugged. ‘Be my guest,’ he said, although, of course, she wasn’t a guest at all.
14
Jamie followed her outside. Theo was already flipping through his phone, trying to work out what precious lost book might theoretically have found its way to the remote northeast of Scotland. His face frowned at the lack of signal, but Mirren couldn’t deny, much as she would like to, that it was quite attractive to see him take charge.
They were standing in front of the kitchen garden, which had a high wall, with a gate set low in it. It was surprisingly tidy, long rows of carefully planted carrots and cabbages, with nets over the fruit, and a small greenhouse where, in the summer, tomatoes must run free. Now it was full of herbs, great tubs of rosemary and mint. The gravel was neatly raked and from here it was almost possible to imagine the castle as it must once have been, filled with gardeners and footmen; chefs rushing to gather the ingredients for a ball or a party taking place that night; the rumble of the carriages coming up the long drive and great braziers lighting the way. Mirren followed Jamie through the open door at the far side of the garden, entranced by the world visible beyond it, like stepping through Alice’s garden gate. There wasn’t a croquet lawn, she saw, looking around, but long, unkempt fields, barley stalks left unharvested.
Jamie saw her looking.
‘We’ve had tenant farmers, but . . . ’ He shrugged. ‘They need schools and supermarkets and their kids moved away and . . . ’
Mirren nodded. She walked forward on to the little path. ‘I see what you mean.’
You could hear the breath of the wind through the trees, the chattering of winter birds here and there, on their busy way, but apart from that, nothing. To Mirren, born and raised in London, it was an astonishing lack of noise. No sirens. No car horns or reversing lorries or screeching boy racers or rumbling Underground trains. A world untouched by time.
