Page 39 of The Secret Christmas Library
‘There’s ghosts?’
‘Oodles!’
‘Esme!’ said Jamie.
‘You didn’t tell them about the ghosts?’
‘No,’ said Jamie shortly. ‘Because it’s absolute bollocks of the first order.’
‘Everyone thinks that, when there are other people around,’ observed Esme. ‘Once you’re on your own in the middle of the night, well, it’s a different matter.’ She looked straight at Mirren. ‘Listen for the floors creaking. The people who live here, who know their way around . . . we know how not to creak. But if anything unwanted shows up . . . ’
Mirren couldn’t help but shudder. They arrived at another set of double doors with light beneath them and she thought how strange it was to walk past the rows and rows of closed-off rooms, all dusty and miserable and spooky – then here and there find a tiny remnant of what the entire house would have been once, a room full of light and colour, clean and bright and lively and waiting for them: they had reached the dining room.
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The dining room was dramatic; painted in a dark brick-red. There were old glass cabinets lining the walls, some shelves empty, some with odds and ends of what had clearly once been beautiful sets of china, but now only contained remnants; chipped willow-pattern saucers, cups without handles, whatever could not be sold. But the shelves were dust-free, the glass display cases unsmeared. Someone was looking after this room. No need to ask who.
Loveliest of all, in the corner was a vast Christmas tree, and the whole room was deeply scented with fir. It must have been quite a job to get it in, but now it was here it was beautiful; covered in ancient, cracked ornaments of thick glass or carefully hand-painted wood. There was no mass-produced tat here, no cheap tinsel. There were, amazingly, and, Mirren thought, incredibly dangerously, real candles lit, the candleholders carefully strapped to the boughs, and she stared at them in fascination.
The long table was set at one end with polished silver and old glasses. A decanter of red wine stood open, and there were vases of winter ferns placed at intervals along the table. A huge fire crackled in the open fireplace, giving the gloomy room a cheery aspect; candelabra were lit and there was a delicious smell coming from somewhere.
Esme marched over to the carafe and poured wine for everyone, then handed out the glasses.
‘Jamie is being a dick about this,’ said Esme, taking a long swig. ‘But I’m going to put it to you guys: you’re trying to find something my grandfather left.’
Nobody said anything.
‘And all my grandfather left is a pile of bloody books. So, is it something to do with books? Am I guessing right so far?’
They all nodded.
‘And you weren’t going to tell me?’ she said accusingly to Jamie, who went rather pink.
‘Because you’d accuse me of stealing from you,’ he said, ‘and I really am not. And then you’d say it was a stupid idea.’
‘It is SUCH a stupid idea,’ said Esme. ‘Remember those treasure hunts he used to set for us?’
Jamie nodded.
‘They wereimpossible,’ said Esme. ‘I don’t think we ever solved one.’
‘One year Bonnie found the present by accident,’ said Jamie.
‘What’s that?’ said Bonnie, pushing into the room from a different door, an inconspicuous swing door set in the side that must lead down to the kitchen. She was carrying a huge tray, which she set down on the embroidered tablecloth.
‘The year you solved the treasure hunt.’
Bonnie screwed up her face. ‘Oh, they wereimpossiblethose things. Ridiculous.’
‘What was it?’ asked Mirren, interested.
‘Well, I was in the stables, and I found a parcel and I brought it in,’ said Bonnie.
‘And Grandfather was FURIOUS,’ said Esme. ‘Absolutely furious. What were the clues, even?’
‘There was a set of numbers,’ remembered Jamie, ‘that didn’t seem to make any sense at all.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ said Esme. ‘What were they?’
