The Pirate's Hoard 3

 

3

 

After Henderson brought through the dumb waiter with water boiler, teapot, tea caddy – and its key – and sugar and milk, Lucy asked,

“What are the arrangements for your and Mrs. Henderson’s tea allowance?”

“We have our own caddy, Miss Lucy, but I had charge of the key to the master’s caddy, as I have hold of the key to his brandy tantalus. I brought that for you as well; I don’t like brandy, so I never was tempted.”

“Thank you.” Lucy smiled approval on him as she attached both keys to her own chatelaine.

“What first?” asked Arabella, once Henderson had withdrawn, and Lucy deftly mixed tea to their own tastes from the compartments in the caddy.

“I want to look over the master chamber and see about jamming up any secret ways in,” said Lucy. “Or setting a trap for any importunate ghosts.” She frowned. “No, first is to find the false Spanish Dollar which Uncle Lucius said was in the sewing box in here. I’ll do that whilst the tea steeps.” She found the sewing box, an ornate piece on legs, decorated with inlaid ivory, after the fashion of Tunbridge ware. Lucy thought for a moment, then turned the mantelpiece clock round to open its back, to retrieve the key to the sewing box.  A piece of paper in her uncle’s hand said merely, ‘Good girl!’ and Lucy blew her nose hard as she fastened this key to her chatelaine, too. She unlocked the box, which had three trays within it. It took a few moments to search, but her uncle had described the false coin well. Lucy slipped it into her reticule, and put the sewing box back as she had found it.

The tea was reviving, and Lucy felt ready to face the housekeeper.

She rang the bell.

Mrs. Henderson arrived, looking truculent.

“Ah, Mrs. Henderson, what had you arranged for dinner?” asked Lucy.

“I don’t know as there’s much in the house... miss,” said Mrs. Henderson.

“Oh? Are you a thief, and have you sold the viands ordered in on my uncle’s orders by his solicitor for my visit?” asked Lucy, silkily.

Mrs. Henderson pleated her apron between her fingers.

“I forgot that,” she said.

“Dear me,” said Lucy. “You forgot supplies put up especially. Are you in your second childhood and in need of being dismissed for a housekeeper who can do her duty in remembering what supplies there are? I assumed you had made choices without being directed, but it seems I will need to use the list I was given by Mr. Death, and direct you forthwith.”

“I wuz gwine ter do a haricot of mutton from the leftovers....”

“So, you had already started on the provisions for my stay. How interesting,” said Lucy, keeping her tone even. “Did you intend to palm me off with bread and milk as you tried to do when I was a child? I will not have it, Henderson. Oh, and though Miss Bellington will assist you, she will dine with me, as my companion. The haricot of mutton sounds acceptable, following a soup; I think we will dine in the Russian fashion with courses. So, the first course will be a leek and potato soup, I think, or shallot and potato if you have no leeks, followed by a fricassee of white fish served with baked shallots and parsnips, followed by the haricot of mutton with honey glazed carrots, roast potatoes, cabbage and green beans. I presume you have green beans laid down in salt?”

“Yes, madam. And will you have ice-cream for dessert?”

“Yes, I believe so,” said Lucy.

“Well, there be-ant none,” said Mrs. Henderson, triumphantly. “Account o’ how the ice house is plum out o’ ice.”

“Dear me, you are in your second childhood to offer it, then,” said Lucy. “A shilling from your wages this week. I do not appreciate insolence.”

“But... yew carn’t du thet!” Mrs. Henderson was aghast.

“I can fire you and put you out of the house,” said Lucy, with steel in her voice. “I am your mistress, and you will treat me accordingly, and Miss Bellington as my voice. Do I make myself quite clear?”

“Yes, madam,” said  Mrs. Henderson, colourlessly.

“We will have preserved pears stewed, as our dessert,” said Lucy. “And you can take some eggs from the isinglass and make meringues to go with them, saving the egg yolks to add to a rich buttered egg dish for breakfast tomorrow, which will be served at eight, half an hour later than I will usually expect it, and with plenty of thin toast, rashers of bacon, mushroom, and black pudding. I will then see you at nine in the study, where a fire will be lit, to go over your books.”

“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Henderson. “Is that all?”

“No,” said Lucy. “Mend your attitude or expect more fines.”

“Yes, madam,” said Mrs. Henderson, withdrawing.

“Nicely done,” said Arabella.

“I am glad it sounded well done; I felt quite sick,” said Lucy.

“Have another cup of tea, my dear,” said Arabella. “And sample some of these Viennese biscuits; she can certainly cook, however truculent she is.”

 

 

Lucy and Arabella inspected the bedroom over the boudoir.

“The bed is wide enough to share, so we can be together for safety,” said Lucy.

“Yes, it makes sense,” said Arabella.  “The fire is drawing well, Henderson took your warning to heart.”

“He isn’t stupid,” said Lucy. “Maggie Henderson dotes on Luke, but has not realised that he will discard her as soon as she is no longer useful to him. Henderson understands that. So, let us go and inspect the master suite, and let us then check the landing each side of the figurehead, for a door out.”

“Yes, it’s just two days to the solstice, and we don’t want to miss it,” said Arabella. “I also want to sound all panels in our bedroom to check there are no passages.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Lucy. “Though, I suspect if there had been, Luke would have been keen to find it and use it to scare me.”

“And he might not have found one at the time,” said Arabella.

“Good point,” said Lucy.

They left the cosy bedroom and passed along the gallery, at eye level with the figurehead, some seven feet high, the torso of a woman whose black scales began at her rib cage and ran down onto a snaky tail, and up to discreetly cover her bosom. Lucy knew, because Uncle Lucius had told her, the scales covering her modesty had been carved and added by himself, because of the offence it caused female servants. The Elizabethans were, it seemed, more robust.

The gallery opened at either end onto the side wings. To the left, as she left her chamber, were the main salons, bedrooms, and the music room. To the right were more bedrooms, the muniments room, and a sewing room. On the ground floor of that wing was the kitchen and its associated offices, the servants’ hall, the butler’s pantry and bedroom, and the housekeeper’s room; and at the back, a dormitory for male servants. Female servants would sleep on the second floor, above the family bedrooms. Behind the great hall under the rooms that opened off the gallery, in addition to the boudoir, there was the study and a parlour for receiving guests. The Master wing, as it was called, housed the dining room on the ground floor, some distance nowadays from the kitchen, because originally everyone would have eaten in the great hall. At the back, was the library, and a small room known as the flower room, with a door into the gardens, where the lady of the house might arrange flowers.

The master suite was above the dining room, and had once been a single room; in consequence of which there was only one fireplace, in the master bedroom. The chimney stack was huge, considering that the fireplace was relatively modest. It echoed the chimney stack for the kitchen, and one could walk into the fireplace in the kitchen, by stepping round the modern closed stove. It appeared to be for the reason of symmetry, but the cupboard by the fire side went into the depth of the chimney stack, with a sloped roof where the library chimney entered the real smoke stack; the library occupied two floors, ground and first floor. One must go through the mistress chamber to the master chamber, not considered an ideal situation by modern standards. 

“Let’s see this stair, then,” said Lucy, opening the cupboard.

A snake coat hook opened a door; and a narrow stair went down the thickness of the chimney breast.  Arabella lit a candle for Lucy.

“I assume you intend to go down it, my dear,” she said.

“Most certainly,” said Lucy. “To think, I have hid in the gardener’s tool room many a time, playing hide-and-go-seek, and never knew it concealed a door!”

Lucy took herself down the steep stair, and found herself behind a door.  Lucy operated the catch, and the door swung open.

Silently.

Without catching on anything.

Lucy stepped out into the shallow cavity, and looked around. Spades and forks hung on hooks on the wall, which was lined with wooden planking; the door she had come through was planked in the same way, and had hooks of its own, one of which was a snake on close examination. But it was extraordinary how clear and uncluttered a gardening shed should be... unless one took into account the idea that someone planned to use it for nefarious purposes.

Lucy closed everything up, and went back.

“Well?” said Arabella.

“Not well at all,” said Lucy, grimly. “I was hoping that Uncle Lucius was feeling unduly cautious, and that I would knock over a pile of rakes, hoes, and other gardening paraphernalia. But the cupboard is as Spartan as any spinster’s dower chest. Or, in other words, everything that should be there is there, but neat, as if unused.”

“I’ve never known a gardener to be that neat,” said Arabella. “I’ll see if I can talk to Mr.  Jermyn, he having been taken on with gardening duties,” she added. “And I had better go to offer my aid in cooking dinner, you know. Are you going to block up that nasty stair?”

“No, but as the door from the mistress chamber opens out into master chamber, I am going to tie a cord around the door handle, and pass it over one of the beams in the ceiling, to tie it shut, in case anyone has a duplicate key,” said Lucy. “I will also lock the master suite door, though I have no doubt the key is the same as those of other doors. And I’ll check, and if so, I’ll keep it in our room, and hide it on top of the tester, which I believe has never been dusted, as well as keeping the key to our room on my chatelaine.”

Arabella bustled downstairs as Lucy went along the other side of the great hall’s gallery to the figurehead. She searched the panelling for any signs of carven snakes, and was about to give up, ducking under the figurehead to search the other side of it, when, ducking down, she found a snake carved into the decorative edge of a panel. She bent down to feel how the mechanism worked; and with a press to the head, there was a distinct click, and the door swung out, accompanied by a chill blast from the increasingly crepuscular gloom of the winter afternoon. Lucy shivered, but she had to investigate this!  She stepped forward, and onto the flat roof of the porch, and gave a little cry of horror as she caught the door, and it smoothly closed behind her.

Lucy shivered, and wondered whether to scream. The door was solid wood, but on the outside it was carved into brick shapes, and painted, being up against the sundial on one side to hide the join, and the other side against the parapet.

Lucy wondered if she would have to yell, and shout for help but there was a metal snake at waist level, and it was with great relief that she found it unlatched the door let her go back onto the balcony. She almost fell back inside, trembling uncontrollably, and not all of it from the shock of the cold of being outside in an indoor gown. The thought of being trapped outside without any means to keep warm, and the likelihood of Henry being inside and out of earshot now, and nobody else being around to rescue her was terrifying.

“Don’t go exploring secret doors without someone on hand to help you, Lucy my girl,” she said, firmly to herself, ashamed that her voice shook as she said it.

She took herself downstairs and into the kitchen.

“And how can I help madam?” asked Mrs. Henderson, as insolently as she dared.

“I wasn’t going to disturb you whilst you made dinner,” said Lucy. “This place really needs more servants. I am going to make a pot of tea, which you and Henderson are welcome to share, as well as Miss Bellington, because I may be an indifferent cook, but even I cannot burn water. And I’m not so discourteous as to drink tea in front of you without offering to share.”

“Thank you, madam,” said Henderson. “We surely du appreciates the offer.”

 

Lucy made tea, which Arabella and Henderson thanked her for, and Mrs. Henderson did not; but she drank it.

“You make a good cup o’ tea, miss,” said Henderson. “Bain’t tu weak tu struggle out o’ them ow’ pot.”

“Uncle Lucius taught me,” said Lucy. “It did spoil me for drinking tea with Papa’s diplomatic friends, though. I am happy for you to be extravagant with your tea allowance; no point having tea if there isn’t enough in the cup to enjoy it.” She considered. “And, speaking of enjoying, I like my food hot; Miss Bellington and I will eat in the servants’ hall. Whether you and the gardener join us there or eat at the kitchen table is a matter of supreme indifference to me, as you must eat somewhere.”

“We’ll eat in the kitchen, madam,” said Henderson. “You’ll want a fire lit in the servants’ hall; nobody uses it right now. I was about to light the fire in the dining room.”

“Good; set it in the servants’ hall for now.  I will be using that as my dining room for the duration of my stay, for convenience,” said Lucy. “I will retire to the boudoir until dinner.”

 

 

oOoOo

 

 Mrs. Henderson’s truculence notwithstanding, she produced an excellent meal, which Lucy was able to compliment honestly.

“And I am impressed by her meringue points, which stay up far better than mine ever do,” said Lucy.

“It’s in the beating, miss,” said Henderson. “But she will be pleased.”

“I dislike being at loggerheads, but I will not take insolence,” said Lucy.  “Or attempts to drive me out.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

 

oOoOo

 

Lucy was keen to retrieve the old pirate’s commonplace book, and soon worked out how to open the panel; and took it up to her bedroom to peruse in bed.

Arabella glanced into it, and tutted.

“This poetry is not suitable for a young lady,” she said.

“I do not understand,” said Lucy. “It is about Diana the Huntress and pearls I assume she is wearing.”

Arabella sighed.

“It’s an allegory,” she said.

Lucy giggled.

“The way you say that, it sounds more like an alligator.”

“It refers to a lady’s privacies,” said Arabella, primly. “And when you get married, it will be for your husband to explain.”

“Oh!” said Lucy. “I think I may put this in the muniments room.”

“Very wise,  my dear,” said Arabella.

 

They had just settled down to sleep when they heard a muffled wail from the direction of the master chamber.

 

the pirate#s hoard 2

 

2

 

The sturdy coldblood horse was built for stamina rather than speed, having more than a touch of Friesian in its heritage. It was mostly Cleveland Bay, and was a dark enough bay to pass as black. It had no problem pulling the two women in the curricle, the girl Molly being on board wages with a gratuity package for the Feast of Stephen, as was common, and permission to entertain if it were not too extensive. This meant that Molly could have her mother and younger sisters to stay for Christmas, because Arabella was soft-hearted. Anything breakable, like the figurine Arabella had inherited from her mother, and the pretty cut glass vase Lucy used for flowers, were packed away in the shop, where Molly had no reason to go.

It had been a cold journey, but they had wrapped up warmly, with a hot brick between them and one each for their feet. Lucy wore cotton gloves inside woollen gloves, and she wore a muff suspended round her neck with thick cords which did not drag on her neck, and she might put one hand at a time into it to warm up. Feathers, the gelding, was sufficiently placid that she might rest the reins in the muff most of the time, removing her hand only when she needed to tell him which way to go. Feathers would take verbal commands, being late of the artillery, and Lucy claimed him when her father, who owned him, died in battle.

He would also ignore all orders, verbal or by the rein, if there was a military band, which he followed if he could, and pranced in time to it in any event.

They had been held up briefly by a military parade as a new regiment entered Newmarket, and Lucy whipped out the bugle she had acquired to play ‘Taps,’ to make him stop and show respect.

“Silly old fool,” said Lucy, affectionately, extracting her silly old fool from making an exhibition of himself.

Escaping the parade, they headed north into fen country, and through the hamlet Fenwick-cum- Tadreth, and up the drive with the wide grassy green in front of the hall.

Arabella sniffed.

“I don’t know why there’s a sundial, there, it’s facing the wrong direction. And you’d have thought a pirate who must have navigated by the sun, would have realised.”

“The gnomen is modelled as a small version of a bowsprit and the figurehead,” said Lucy. “I expect he told the builders what he wanted, and then they built it facing the way they thought it ought to, and spoilt his design.”

“Oh, you could very well be right, my dear,” said Arabella.  “But as it is mentioned in that frisky poem, I think it was probably deliberate.”

“Oh! The bowsprit, thin and aged length; you mean on the winter solstice, when shadows are long, it will cast a shadow to treasure?”

“I imagine so, though it will be hard to see where.”

“It said something about dizzying heights; I will have to go up a ladder?”

“If I was you, my love, I would spend tomorrow looking either side of that bowsprit in the hall, the real one, to see if there is a hidden door out onto the flat roof of the porch. As I recall, it is mounted about where the sundial is, on the other side of the wall.”

“It is all brickwork; surely that is unlikely?

“We shall find out,” said Arabella, firmly.

“I am glad you are here,” said Lucy. “Oh! There is a gardener; not old Mr. Henderson but someone young and... Henry? Mr. Jermyn, I mean?”  she asked as the curricle drew level. She barely recognised her old playmate, whose normal sleek, butter-coloured hair had become a haystack of ginger hair with a ring beard.

“Hush!” said Henry. “I’m Harry Harris to the Hendersons; they were told that I had been sent for to care for your horse, and to do some gardening to make it worth paying my wages.”

“Do you have a ladder?” asked Lucy.

“I do; why do you need a ladder?” asked Henry.

“In case there isn’t a secret door through to the roof of the porch,” said Lucy. “Because we need to see where the shadow falls at noon on the shortest day.”

“Oh,” said Henry. “I’d say, ‘I see,’ but I don’t really. It doesn’t matter; I’m here to help you, and I have a bed in the servants’ quarters, so I’ll be inside, but as a technical servant. Like Miss Bellingham, I collect,” he added, bowing to that lady.

“Indeed,” said Lucy. “It’s not difficult, it’s just solving the poem, which means being on the roof of the porch at noon on the solstice.”

“And hope there’s some sun to shine,” said Henry, glancing at the overcast sky.

“I imagine we can work out where it ought to be casting a shadow,” said Arabella. “Drive on, Lucy; if unfriendly eyes are watching, they might wonder at us hobnobbing with the gardener.”

“Not if he follows us to the front of the house and then drives the curricle round to the stables, and takes in our valises,” said Lucy. “And I’ll be occupying my old room, over the boudoir, not the master suite.”

She flourished the whip and drove on, leaving Henry to run behind as a stable hand might be supposed to do. Feathers sensed something of a festive nature and stepped out briskly with a parade trot.

Lucy alighted, and Arabella stayed in the carriage. Lucy frowned.

“I’m your servant, remember? So I help with your baggage at the servant’s entrance,” said Arabella, serenely.

“Oh! I suppose so,” said Lucy. “I don’t like you being demeaned.”

“No, my love, nor do I, but I wager I get more out of Mrs. Henderson if she can gloat over me going down in the world.”

“Beastly woman,” said Lucy.

“Lucy Amabel Fenwick! Language!” said Arabella.

“Sorry, Belle,” said Lucy, from habit.

“Don’t let me hear such nasty words in your mouth again,” said Arabella.

Chastened, Lucy entered the big porch, left open for her anticipated arrival, and rang the great bell, which was the old ship’s bell of the ‘Black Snake.’ It clanged forcefully within, with a voice used to being raised against storm and wind.

Even so, Henderson took his time to answer.

“Whoi, Miss Lucy!” he said, as if surprised. “I didn’t reckon yew’d of come in the end, tergither, orl on yor lonesome bravin’ ghosties.” Lucy raised an eyebrow at this burst of his native dialect.

“Henderson, if servants can brave ghosts, I do not see why you would consider that I should be so feeble as to fail to do so,” said Lucy, who felt a set-down was in order for studied insolence.

“Ar, well, yew better come on in, then,” said Henderson, reluctantly.

“And you had better shape up,” said Lucy. “I am not sure that you and Mrs. Henderson might not be better off enjoying your Christmas in the retirement cottage, if doing your duty is now beyond you.”

“I am sure we can manage to stay and care for you properly, Miss Lucy,” said Henderson.

“I was hoping so, but if you have been declining I will see,” said Lucy. “I understand that your wife was foolish enough to give medicine to my uncle without verifying it with his doctor. My maid will help out in the kitchen, and we will have nothing of anything unauthorised added. Is that clear?”

“Quite clear, thank you, madam,” said Henderson, stiffly. She was not the little girl to be pushed around anymore, when her father dumped her here when he went off on his fool expeditions. “Will there be anything more, madam?”

“I assume you have a fire lit in the boudoir in anticipation of my arrival?” said Lucy.

“No, miss, I didn’t think you’d really come,” said Henderson.

“Henderson, I was directed to stay here by my uncle; you have no business thinking for me. Get a fire lit in the boudoir as soon as possible, and in my bedroom over it, to air it.”

“You’ll be staying in the master bedroom, surely, Miss?” said Henderson.

“I hardly think so,” said Lucy. “That would be for any husband I took, and for me to move to after marriage. I shall be quite happy in my old bedroom, and, Henderson! I know fine well that if you light a lopsided fire on the right in either the boudoir of my bedroom that it is inclined to smoke, so please don’t play any stupid games. And inform your wife that the solicitor has a letter from my uncle in which he complains that she was trying to poison him; if I even become ill here, Bow Street will be informed. No unauthorised medicine, whoever tells you to do it. Is that understood?”

“Yew du talk as though Maggie and me have it in for you, madam,” said Henderson, resentfully.

“Well, yes,” said Lucy. “You and she made it quite clear how you felt about me when I stayed here when Papa was in foreign parts, and until Uncle Lucius noticed and laid down law, my cousin Luke got treats whilst I got bread-and-milk for tea, and Luke was thrashed for throwing a tantrum when Uncle Lucius swapped what we had been given. I am well aware you want me to fail and want to have him as a master; but consider this, Henderson! My cousin’s parents indulged him and spoilt him, and Maggie aided and abetted in that, and he is now, thanks to her and his parents, a thoroughly nasty young man, and don’t for one moment suppose he would treat you well. He’s the sort who throws things at a butler, and the moment you show to be infirm, Henderson, you’ll be fired by him, and he’ll say with a straight face that you refused a pension and a cottage to reclaim the money. I have asked the solicitor to place the money for your pension in escrow, to preserve it, so that it can’t be touched by anyone but you, and your name is on the deed as a tenant-for life, with rights for your wife to live out her life too. So just consider who has looked out for your interests, and think about how much Luke would do so.”

Henderson’s face had been working hard as Lucy made this crisp little speech.

“I... will consider your words, miss,” he said.

“Do,” said Lucy. “If you go out of your way to be helpful, if I find the pirate treasure, you will have a share. Though I suspect it has probably already been long since plundered on the quiet, if it existed in the first place.”

“Mr. Luke believes in it,” said Henderson.

“And he is likely to share even a keepsake from it with you?” said Lucy.

“.... No, madam,” said Henderson.  “It keeps the wife sweet, pandering to Mr. Luke!” he burst out suddenly. “And it was a nuisance, having a child in the house, never knowing where you’d take it into your head to go exploring, and getting lost.”

“I never got lost!” said Lucy, stung. “I went places to read, and I found the secret stair beside the fireplace to the linen closet, and it was a convivial place to read.  And I recall one summer it was hot, I discovered it was cool in the box room behind the water-tank, and another cool spot was up the oak tree in the bluebell glade.”

“We never knowed where yew moight git tu,” said Henderson, his local vernacular breaking out again.

      “If you had asked me to tell you where I intended to go, I would probably have told you,” said Lucy, mildly. “Unless Luke was here in the School Holidays, when I might have been more reticent, as his idea of fun was taking books from me, and taunting me for not being able to run fast enough to catch him. And Uncle Lucius thrashed him for that, when he tore one up, because it was from Uncle Lucius’s library, and my uncle knew I would never tear up a book.”

“He told my missus you’d done it and laid blame on him,” said Henderson.

“And he lied about it being you who had broken a window, too,” said Lucy, “And you had a nasty half hour whilst Uncle Lucius questioned you, before he decided he knew who to belive.”

“Arr, thass roight,” said Henderson, thoughtfully. “Well, don’t yew worry yor hid, miss, I’ll see yew roight and toight.  I’ll hev them ow fire going directly, and a cup o’ tea.”

“And tea for my maid-companion,” said Lucy.

“Yes, miss,” said Henderson, who had recognised the governess, and felt pity that she had to be a servant now.

Lucy left her pelisse and bonnet in the cloakroom under the stairs, and used the bramah closet in there. She met Arabella, engaged on the same mission, and waited for her, to go to the boudoir together.

Here, Henderson was coaxing the fire into life.

“Thank you, Henderson,” said Lucy. “That looks like being a merry blaze.”

“You’ll be warmed up in no time flat, Miss Fenwick, Miss Bellington,” said Henderson.

“Thank you, Henderson, your courtesies are appreciated,” said Arabella, flushing slightly, since Maggie Henderson had called her ‘Bellington,’ without any honourific, and crowed over ‘How are the mighty fallen.’

“Stand to reason, you’re still a lady, even if you are acting as a paid companion,” said Henderson. “Don’t you mind Maggie; she ain’t got much up top to think with, and she’s low, bein’ a mole-catcher’s daughter.”

“Why did you marry her, Henderson?” queried Lucy.

Henderson flushed, and muttered something which sounded like, “Caught handlin’ the goods.”

Lucy winced.

“A harsh sentence for the act,” she said.

“Ar, and entrapped me, she did, wantin’ a good position once Mr. Luke was out o’ the nursery, and bethinkin’ her that married to me would do her well enough, an’ leavin’ the door open an’ screamin’ fit to wearken the dead so’s Master Lucius come to see wass gooin’ on, an’ yew know what a stickler he wuz.”

“True enough,” said Lucy. “I can’t think of a way round it.”

“Well, I been punished for my transgressions,” said Henderson gloomily. “I’ll get that tea.”

 

The Pirate's Hoard 1

 

1

 

The solicitor cleared his throat.

His name was Montgomery Lacklove Death, and he looked as if he had earned it.

“The will of the late Hugh Fenwick, having died without issue, but with the interested parties being his nephew, Luke, and his niece, Lucy, offspring of his brothers; and Henry Jermyn, distant cousin, being in descent of the family progenitor, Lucius, also known as Lucifer, Fenwick, sometime sea captain with Walter Raleigh and pirate.”

He looked over his glasses at the three young people gathered in his office.

“I don’t know why Henry is here,” said Luke, pugnaciously.

“Because I was invited,” said Henry, mildly.

“It’s lovely to see you again,” said Lucy, late of a lady’s seminary. The three, as children, had been playmates, and Lucy had leaned towards spending time with Henry, a gentler character than her rather rough cousin, Luke.

“It will become clear in time,” said Mr. Death. “Let me see... ‘This is the last will and testament of Lucius Frederick Walter Fenwick, being of sound mind, and knowing it, before any of my legatees try to question it, I have been examined by an alienist who has declared me not merely sane but frighteningly shrewd, which I took as a compliment.’”

“He would,” said Henry, appreciatively. “The old man had his eccentricities, but not when it came to business or family.”

“This is the man who flew the Jolly Roger at his house’s flagpole,” said Luke, snidely.

“To honour our ancestor; nothing wrong with that,” said Lucy. “At least he didn’t have an obsessive interest in snakes, like old Lucifer, who had them all over in the woodwork.”

“Hem!” said Mr. Death. “‘To Lucy, free and clear, and regardless of any other outcome, the watercolour which I made of Fenwick Lodge, and an admonition to remind her of discussions we had about secrets.’”

“Well, that’s sweet, but not very helpful, poor Lucy;  I’ll give you a little of the old man’s money,” said Luke, condescendingly.

“I hadn’t finished,” said Mr. Death. “Don’t count your inheritance until you get it, Mr. Fenwick. The will goes on, ‘I require Lucy to live in Fenwick Lodge from the nineteenth of the coming December, over Christmas to the twenty-eighth. She may bring one servant, and there are the live-in caretakers, but nobody not employed on the estate is permitted to stay with her. If she can stay the full time, whatever ghostly or other vicissitudes there are, she inherits the house and its contents, and half my money, which is divided between her and Luke, save for a thousand pounds to Henry Jermyn, my neighbour and distant relative. If Lucy leaves before the time is up, she will receive one thousand pounds for every day she stayed, the rest to be divided equally between her and Luke, the house to go to Luke. If Luke and Lucy should marry to overcome this will, then the house and contents revert to Henry Jermyn, and the money divided three ways. I disapprove of cousin marriage.’ And that concludes the last will and testament of Mr. Lucius Fenwick save for some small legacies to servants.”

“I never saw any ghosts when I was staying there as a child; I cannot see a problem,” said Lucy.

“What, you never heard any of the groans of the victims of old Lucifer?” said Luke. “I am surprised.”

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” said Lucy.

“I believe in dirty tricks,” murmured Henry to Lucy. “Mrs. Henderson was Luke’s nursemaid before she married Henderson and became housekeeper.”

Lucy nodded.

“I accept the challenge,” she said.

Luke looked furious.

“You won’t last until Christmas,” he snarled.

Mr. Death cleared his throat.

“Here is the watercolour for Miss Fenwick, and for both of you, a copy of a poem Mr. Fenwick believed to be a clue to the supposed treasure hidden by the old pirate. Personally, I consider it to be spurious, but I am sure you will have fun looking. I must warn you, however, that Lucifer Fenwick was...” he cleared his throat delicately, “... A man of his time, and the clue is couched, hrr’m, in the terms of metaphysical poetry, and is decidedly... indelicate.”

“Why, Lucy must not look at such; I will not permit it,” said Luke.

“You have no say in the matter,” said Mr. Death, handing a sheet of paper to each.

Lucy looked up from her examination of the watercolour of the Elizabethan mansion, with Flemish gables, a prominent brick porch, above which was a wall-mounted sundial, its gnomen modelled as a ship’s figurehead and bowsprit.

“Thank you,” said Lucy.

She looked at the poem.

A ship must come at last to rest, though its bowsprit still keen

To penetrate the hidden treasure, found therein unseen;

On shortest day, its thin and aged length

Still finds the well of dreams at day’s best strength.

Ascend the dizzying heights if you aspire

To reach the hidden stream born of desire.

“I do not see how this is indelicate,” said Lucy, puzzled.

“Ah, your thoughts are too pure to understand its hidden meaning, I hoped that might be so,” said Mr. Death. Lucy’s smile was brittle at his condescension.

 

oOoOo

 

Lucy was not destitute; she had to watch every penny, but she lived quietly alone but for her old governess and their maid, in an apartment above a milliner’s shop where she also did piece work in lieu of rent, and had the use of the stables for a gig and a horse, in return for taking care of deliveries. The shop and apartment were owned by her former governess, who had saved her pay to be able to retire with dignity, having made her meagre wardrobe last longer with her clever fingers.

“Oh, Arabella, I am wildly excited, and I wish I could take you,” said Lucy. “Molly is a good girl, but I fear she would succumb to fear over ghosts, which will be no such thing, just Luke being Luke.”

Arabella Bellington, who preferred her one-time charge to use her name over the usual expedient of mangling her surname to something like ‘Belly’ and had gone as ‘Belle’as a governess anyway, sniffed and managed to make it sound ladylike.

“That Luke!” she said.

Unlike many ladies of uncertain years, who succumbed to the charms of Luke Fenwick, there was no indulgence in her tone, only disapproval.

“Oh, Arabella, I know you are the only person outside of Uncle Lucius who does not fall under Luke’s charm of manner,” said Lucy.

“He has as much charm for me as any other slimy creature which crawls out from under a rock,” said Arabella. “But the answer is quite simple, my dear; you draw up a contract for me to work for you as dresser during your sojourn at this place, and you fulfil the requirements of taking only a servant.”

“But how demeaning for you! And is it ethical?”

Arabella embraced her.

“My sweet Lucy, who thinks first of it being demeaning for me! Is it ethical? Dubious. But the wording was very careful.  And will Luke be ethical?”

“No,” said Lucy. “I know Lucius did not like Luke; I wonder why he did not just leave it to me, if he wanted me to succeed?”

“Because Luke, as male descendent, has good grounds to get the will overturned,” said Arabella. “Now, what did you discuss with him about secrets with regards to that pretty, but not very distinguished painting?”

“I love the painting,” said Lucy. “It reminds me of happy childhood holidays.”

“Yes, my love, but what did you discuss?”

“Hiding documents between backing paper and paintings,” said Lucy. “I’ll put a kettle on the fire to steam up the glue.”

 

Shortly thereafter, Lucy was reading a letter in her late uncle’s forceful hand.

 

My dear Lucy,

If you are reading this, I am dead, and I cannot leave my house to you free and clear or Luke would use the law to usurp my will. By making it a challenge, once he accepts that challenge, he can no longer legally contest the will. I know you will succeed, whatever Luke tries – and he will try. I do not rule out my increasing weakness being due to some poison introduced, probably with Mrs. Henderson told that she is given something to make me stronger.  I have been better since I told her that the medicine was bad for my constitution but I think the damage is done. She is not a wicked woman, but she is not clever, and Luke has her wrapped around his little finger. You should pension off the Hendersons; there is money set aside for that, and a small cottage. But have whoever you bring as a servant oversee any meal preparation.

Now that the serious bit is over, let me tell you all that I have found about our pirate ancestor. You will have read a poem, which is not as full of innuendo as some which he wrote, but it is suggestive. Ignore that, as it also, I think, speaks directly of his intent. I found the commonplace book he kept and a bag of eight reale pieces – pieces of eight, as they are known.  But a dozen does not constitute a treasure hinted of as being in gold and jewels.

You will remember all the carved snakes in the woodwork; bear in mind that some, at least of those snakes are carvings cleverly jointed to be openings to secret passages, stairs, and cavities. The cavity of the commonplace book is over the fireplace in the library. You know, with the Garden of Eden and a most evil-looking snake leering at Eve in the panel. The whole panel swings out. Now! The commonplace book is full of very frisky poetry and drawings, which is why I have put it back in there; you may find it a little shocking, but please do not destroy it if you do, because it is a valuable  document, which should eventually go in the muniments room with all the other family history. As to the pieces of eight, one of them was false. Seven were silver pieces of eight, as might be expected; now these are large coins, my dear, as big as an old twopenny piece of the late 1700s, about an inch and a half across, and a full ounce of silver. The fake one is steel. It has a short ring handle on one side, and what I can only describe as wards, like the wards of a key, on the other side. I have abstracted that, and hidden it in my mother’s sewing box in the boudoir where you loved to sit and read.

So, the passageways I know about.

Do not stay in the master bedroom. There is a secret stair into the cupboard in the corner, from what appears to be no more than a recessed cache for gardening tools; it is lined with wood and the back panel slides when you find and move the snake carving.

As well as the cloakroom under the stairs, where I have installed one of the several Bramah closets, one of the stair treads lifts via a cunningly hidden snake looking like no more than a carved edge to the tread. There is a priest’s hole below, which goes below the floor of the vestibule, and has a tunnel out of it which emerges into the antechamber of the ice house.

“There’s an ice house? What an extravagance,” said Arabella.

“I don’t know if Uncle Lucius had it restocked lately,” said Lucy. “As to the passage to the master chamber, I will lock the door, and occupy the room I used to have before, over the boudoir. And we might think about leaving some traps to upset unwary ghosts.”

“We must take some equipment which might be useful, like wax to plug peep holes, string and rope, nails, and a hammer,” said Arabella.  “Read on, my dear,” she added

A panel on the gallery around the vestibule opens to reveal a ladder down to the porch. I have to say, Lucifer was fond of his bolt-holes; it makes me wonder how many enemies he may have had, to build a house with ways out, no matter which part of the house you might be in.  There are several panels leading to spaces no bigger than cupboards in the thickness of the walls in the servants’ quarters, I assume to wait in for an opportunity to reach a better way out; and one entire section of filing drawers in the muniments room swings away to reveal an entrance into the kitchen chimney, with rungs set in the wall to climb down. A nervous exit, but there was probably only rarely a huge fire in there. That one is found by the decorative board with his motto, ‘Serpens Sapienti Sat’, ‘The serpent is enough for the wise’; his ship was known as ‘The Black Snake’ and the figurehead, which is mounted opposite the stairs, over the entrance, is a representation of a snake-woman. In truth, it’s in the way of using the gallery as a short cut from one wing to the other, unless you duck under it. I tried to take it down, once, in order to move it to a more convenient place, but the thing is well and truly embedded in the wall. He wanted his saucy snake girl winking at people on their way to bed!

“I am sure it inconveniences the servants, but they can go along the landing gallery on the other side, and off which bedrooms open,” said Lucy. “Speaking of which, I wonder if Mrs. Henderson knows the last stairway he mentions?”

The last secret I have found is in the excessively extravagant strap-and-jewel work around and above the big fireplace in the vestibule, which has a stairway directly up to the linen closet which is between two of the bedrooms; you know, it also shares a chimney in the corner with the great chimney, with ovens for irons beside the door in, which looks a less than convenient arrangement, but hides the thickness of the wall for the stair, which exits into a corner cupboard the other side of the door supposedly for hanging clothes. The clothes hooks are iron snakes, and the door is opened the other way by pulling one.

My dear, I hope you do not mind me spoiling your fun in hunting for passages, but knowing them might save your life.

Good luck,

And may you find Lucifer’s treasure.

Your affectionate uncle, Lucius.