“Even so, Aunt B, I don’t want to bother–”
She patted his arm. “On the contrary, my dear boy, I do wish you would think of your own needs more often. It’s unhealthy here in this house, what with Harold lording it up and your brother–what a nasty piece of work he’s turned out to be! Victoria must be turning in her grave. I don’t know how you put up with those two louts, truly I don’t.”
“Aunt B, you are a perfect brick.”
“You are too kind, Kevin. And how is the old chest bearing up?”
“Well enough, thank you.”
“Now, before I rush off, Kevin, you absolutely have to tell me what your note was about, or I shall worry about it all the way to London.”
“Briefly, Aunt B, I was reading a book from the Library and discovered a letter within it from Great-Grandmother, addressed to me.”
She adjusted her spectacles, frowning. “Addressed to you, did you say?”
“To one Kevin Albert Jenkins–I know no other.”
“Indeed! How queer.”
“It’s a fine mystery,” Kevin said. “In it she asked me to look beneath the mantelpiece in the Blue Room–but before I could read further, Father caught me reading the letter and … got angry.” Aunt B huffed, but before she could launch into a tirade, he added quickly, “The letter mentioned a Key-Ring that I should find. Do you know anything about it? It was not where the letter intimated it should be found.”
A curious fire lit his Aunt’s eyes. “How did you ever get into the Blue Room, Kevin? Your Father keeps it under lock and key.”
“There’s a secret passage from the dining room,” he said, shrinking back into the armchair. “Last Tuesday, in the dead of night, I snuck in and nosed about.”
“Why, you brave fellow!” she exclaimed, then lowered her voice quickly, hearing footsteps in the hallway outside. “ Kevin, this is very important–I cannot stress it enough. Listen closely.”
“I am.”
Her manner was so fierce, he shrank back into the armchair. “We need to talk when I get back from London. In the meantime, it is imperative that you do not tell anybody what you have seen or done.”
Both sets of eyes flickered to the doorway as one of the servants entered. Kevin stared at his Aunt. What had he stumbled upon? How did Aunt B know about the Key-Ring? And why the need for secrecy? A thousand questions jostled in his mind.
“Swear it!”
His heart lurched in his chest. “I swear.”
* * * *
Kevin had hidden Locks Through the Ages directly after returning from the Blue Room, but now he brought it out and devoured the weighty tome. 857 pages on the subject did little to enthuse him, although it did contrive to give him a backache and a numb posterior. It was late evening by the time he finished the last few pages, reading by the light of the full moon streaming in through the Library windows. That was when the penny dropped.
“Oh, I could kick myself!” he hissed, vastly irritated. His unfeeling fingertips played with the dog-eared top corner of the page. “Here you’ve been castigating the curvaceous Colette for turning over the pages, when all along she was leaving clues.”
He flushed richly, quite certain he was not supposed to be considering a dead female relative ‘curvaceous.’
Swiftly , he scanned the page for any obvious writing or markings. He turned the leaf over to examine the back. As he did, it so happened that the moonlight shadowed a couple of small indentations near the top of the page, where it appeared someone must have pressed overly hard with a pen or pencil, leaving an impression on the paper. His fingers quivered. A quick grab across the desk netted him a square of tracing paper, which he had used to trace the architectural drawings of Pitterdown Manor. He rooted a soft pencil out of the drawer. He shaded very lightly over the indentations, gradually forming a picture of the word beneath.
“Cellar,” he breathed at last. “Something in the cellar.”
He knew
She patted his arm. “On the contrary, my dear boy, I do wish you would think of your own needs more often. It’s unhealthy here in this house, what with Harold lording it up and your brother–what a nasty piece of work he’s turned out to be! Victoria must be turning in her grave. I don’t know how you put up with those two louts, truly I don’t.”
“Aunt B, you are a perfect brick.”
“You are too kind, Kevin. And how is the old chest bearing up?”
“Well enough, thank you.”
“Now, before I rush off, Kevin, you absolutely have to tell me what your note was about, or I shall worry about it all the way to London.”
“Briefly, Aunt B, I was reading a book from the Library and discovered a letter within it from Great-Grandmother, addressed to me.”
She adjusted her spectacles, frowning. “Addressed to you, did you say?”
“To one Kevin Albert Jenkins–I know no other.”
“Indeed! How queer.”
“It’s a fine mystery,” Kevin said. “In it she asked me to look beneath the mantelpiece in the Blue Room–but before I could read further, Father caught me reading the letter and … got angry.” Aunt B huffed, but before she could launch into a tirade, he added quickly, “The letter mentioned a Key-Ring that I should find. Do you know anything about it? It was not where the letter intimated it should be found.”
A curious fire lit his Aunt’s eyes. “How did you ever get into the Blue Room, Kevin? Your Father keeps it under lock and key.”
“There’s a secret passage from the dining room,” he said, shrinking back into the armchair. “Last Tuesday, in the dead of night, I snuck in and nosed about.”
“Why, you brave fellow!” she exclaimed, then lowered her voice quickly, hearing footsteps in the hallway outside. “ Kevin, this is very important–I cannot stress it enough. Listen closely.”
“I am.”
Her manner was so fierce, he shrank back into the armchair. “We need to talk when I get back from London. In the meantime, it is imperative that you do not tell anybody what you have seen or done.”
Both sets of eyes flickered to the doorway as one of the servants entered. Kevin stared at his Aunt. What had he stumbled upon? How did Aunt B know about the Key-Ring? And why the need for secrecy? A thousand questions jostled in his mind.
“Swear it!”
His heart lurched in his chest. “I swear.”
* * * *
Kevin had hidden Locks Through the Ages directly after returning from the Blue Room, but now he brought it out and devoured the weighty tome. 857 pages on the subject did little to enthuse him, although it did contrive to give him a backache and a numb posterior. It was late evening by the time he finished the last few pages, reading by the light of the full moon streaming in through the Library windows. That was when the penny dropped.
“Oh, I could kick myself!” he hissed, vastly irritated. His unfeeling fingertips played with the dog-eared top corner of the page. “Here you’ve been castigating the curvaceous Colette for turning over the pages, when all along she was leaving clues.”
He flushed richly, quite certain he was not supposed to be considering a dead female relative ‘curvaceous.’
Swiftly , he scanned the page for any obvious writing or markings. He turned the leaf over to examine the back. As he did, it so happened that the moonlight shadowed a couple of small indentations near the top of the page, where it appeared someone must have pressed overly hard with a pen or pencil, leaving an impression on the paper. His fingers quivered. A quick grab across the desk netted him a square of tracing paper, which he had used to trace the architectural drawings of Pitterdown Manor. He rooted a soft pencil out of the drawer. He shaded very lightly over the indentations, gradually forming a picture of the word beneath.
“Cellar,” he breathed at last. “Something in the cellar.”
He knew
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