Page 27 of A Devilish Element
Rot?
There was no smell of it, nor signs of woodworm or moths. She rapped her knuckles against the back panel. It didn’t make sense, but then so little about Cedarton did. There was a knot hole near the base that resembled a keyhole in shape. Eliza traced her finger over it, and there was a sharp click. She leapt back, alarmed, fearing she’d find her finger pricked, but there was no ruby bead on her fingertip. Instead, the back of the armoire swung into the space where the wall ought to have been.
A door in the back of a wardrobe? Whatever was the purpose in that?
Oh, Eliza,she could hear Maria’s voice in her head, as if she were right by her in the room.I’m most terribly vexed with you. As if it weren’t bad enough that you are off enjoying ghastly adventures without me, now you have stumbled on a secret passage and haven’t the nous to recognise it. I am delirious with envy.
Was it lucky to discover a disguised entrance to your room that anyone might come and go by without your knowledge? That was also dark and dismal and smelled strongly of mice?
If you even think of sealing it up and leaving it unexplored, I shall disown you as my sister.Maria was so loud inside her head; it was a wonder Eliza could hear her own thoughts.Really, sister, you are so trying. I’m simply beyond myself. How can I be stuck at home and you in a castle riddled with secrets? It is dismally unfair. And you’re still hesitating over finding them. Freddy ought to have let me visit Jane.
“You don’t even know her.”
Nor do you anymore, not really. You don’t even know why she married Linfield.
He’s a viscount.Really did there need to be any more reason for it than that?
Eliza shot a glance over her shoulder. All was quiet in the adjoining room. Perhaps, she could just take a peep at where this led.
Armed with the nearest candelabrum, and the armoire key stowed safely in her pocket, Eliza stepped into the hidden passage. The space was narrow, barely the width of a person, and as far as she could ascertain, wove a path between the internal and external castle walls. One presumed it was intended to be used by the servants, enabling them to pass unseen, its existence now forgotten. Cedarton’s layout was confusing, but she thought she was heading towards the burned portions of the castle. Would this then take her beyond the black door? The darkness, and the lack of reference points made it difficult to gauge how far she’d travelled. The passage bent and meandered, seemed to curve back on itself more than once, so that before long she wasn’t sure of her direction at all. The only blessing was that there were no side tunnels, so that she had only to retrace her steps to find her way out. Eventually, she came upon a tight spiral stair that led down into even inkier darkness. Perhaps she might find her way to the portion of the castle that housed the still room, and hence finally be able to make good on her promise to Mrs Honeyfield.
Down and down, she delved, collecting cobwebs, and stirring up long settled dust, before a small landing branched off to one side, bringing with it a gust of air that almost puffed her candle out.
This new passageway was far wider than the first, enabling her to walk easily without fear of scraping her elbows. A few sharp turns soon presented her with an exit. Faint light seeped around the edges of the frame. Quite uncertain of her location, Eliza put her ear to the grain. It wouldn’t do to burst in on Lord Linfield, or Mr Cluett, or even Jem, though he at least might see the humour in her emerging from behind a bookcase or one of the grim ancestral portraits. And while she didn’t consider herself the sort of woman who would usually be tempted to a gentleman’s bedchamber, how much fun might they have, if she could do so unseen?
Eliza found the latch by touch alone. She couldn’t hear a thing and did so desperately want to know where she had ended up. She raised the latch carefully, anticipating the squeal of rusted metal, but it lifted as if recently oiled, allowing her to inch open the door just far enough to peep around the gap. The room beyond was shrouded in darkness, with only a faint orange glow from below. She appeared to be on some sort of gallery. A wooden rail surrounded a narrow walkway. She reached out to her right—books. Row upon row of them. This then must be the library, and she in the upper level of it.
Keeping low and to the shadows, she was able to creep forward and peer down at the central portion of the room.
A single figure, too portly to be Lord Linfield, stood hunched over a gargantuan desk, sorting through a bundle of papers. Several of the desk drawers were pulled open, but the room’s numerous lamps were unlit, including the large one on the corner of the desk. The fire had burned low, so that the fellow had to raise each paper to his single candle.
“Drat and damn you for the cur you are, Linfield,” he swore.
It was Mr Cluett.
But what manner of mischief was he about?
“It has to be here somewhere. What have you done with it, you monster?” He shoved the sheaf of papers back into the topmost drawer, then turned his attention to the central drawer, rattling it in anger when it failed to open. Petulantly, he cast himself into the desk chair and dug his knuckles into his eyes, only to rise a moment later and snatch a small box off the desktop. The tinkling of notes revealed it to be a music box. George turned it over in his hands, then slid a side panel free and hissed a triumphant “Yes!” through his teeth.
He had recovered the key, which he applied at once to the locked drawer. Another folio was set on the desktop. George licked his fingertips and began to fan through the documents.
Not that one, nor this, she could almost hear his thoughts growing more frantic as the stack thinned, until the last page was turned, and still not having found whatever he sought, he slammed his fist down on the blotter.
Eliza flinched. George too seemed to shrink back over his actions. His gaze darted from one shadowy corner to the next, but never turned upwards to the gallery where she hid.
Satisfied he’d not alerted anyone to his presence, he began a second pass through the papers. “I don’t understand. It has to be here. Everything else of import is.”
George pulled the drawer free of its housing and turned it over. Only one item remained within. It drifted softly to the hearth rug, from which it was snatched immediately and as swiftly discarded. “That makes no sense.” He picked it up again, this time looking at it with considerably more interest. “Linfield, what the devil?”
“You know, desperation is most unbecoming, George.”
Cluett started, Lord Linfield stood in the doorway, a glass of spirits in his hand. He came forward revealing himself to be swaddled in his banyan. He sniffed at the disorder wrought upon his personal correspondence, not seeming overly concerned by the intrusion. “You won’t find anything of note in there.”
“Will I not?” Cluett replied. “It seems to me I’ve found a puzzle most curious.”
“Which was hardly what you were looking for.”
“Yet perplexing enough to be noteworthy.”
