Treasured (41 page)

“Maybe they were able to keep a secret.” Isobel went to the fireplace, Jack by her side. “I suspect in the 1600s, there were still times a Rose might need an escape route. Or a secret entry.”

“Do you remember which side of the fireplace your father was going into?” Jack asked.

“I—I’m not sure. It’s so long ago. I peeked in from the hall.”

“It does stand out a good bit beyond the mantel.” Jack rapped along the protruding wall beside the fireplace until it echoed hollowly. “There seems to be a slight crack here, where the stone of the fireplace begins.” Jack ran his finger down a line. “But how would it open?”

Isobel joined him, followed by Elizabeth and Millicent. Isobel pressed at one carved decoration, then another. “There might be some mechanism, a lever or—” She leaned closer, peering at the corner of the marble mantel. “Look at this rosette.” She pointed to a carving of the familiar Rose emblem. “There’s a hole in the center of this flower.”

Jack joined her, rubbing his finger gently over it. “Yes. It’s odd.”

“A flaw in the marble?” Aunt Elizabeth suggested.

“But the hole is so perfectly round, as if it had been drilled.”

Jack went to the opposite corner and inspected the matching rosette. “No hole on this one.” He turned back.

“Also, it’s rather large for a flaw, almost the size of—” Isobel stopped, staring at Jack. “Almost the size of your watch key.”

“What?” Millicent looked confused.

Elizabeth, however, drew in a sharp breath. “Isobel . . . do you think . . .”

Jack’s eyes lit up as he pulled the key from his vest pocket. “Perhaps that is why your father wanted to keep the key. He did not need the watch, but he needed the key to turn something else. It would be a clever way to conceal it.” He inserted the watch key into the hole. It fit perfectly.

With a glance at Isobel, he tried to turn the key. At first it did not move, but as he applied more pressure, it did.

“Papa’s key had a longer handle,” Elizabeth said. “I remember; it looked a little odd.”

“That would make it easier to turn—more leverage.” With a click, a narrow section of wall opened along the edge of the stone, swinging slowly out to reveal a small, semicircular chamber.

“It
is
a priest hole!” Millicent exclaimed.

“No.” Jack picked up a candlestick from the mantel and held it closer to the chamber. “It is a staircase.”

S
ecret stairs!” Elizabeth’s face glowed
and she clasped her hands together in excitement. “Where does it go?”

“I don’t know.” Isobel peered down into the dimly lit spiral of stone steps.

“It must go outside,” Elizabeth said. “A secret entrance to the house.”

“One where he wouldn’t be seen coming or going,” Isobel agreed. “It would make sense. He could escape the notice of the soldiers that way.”

“I intend to find out where it goes,” Jack said, stepping forward. He turned as Isobel grabbed the other candlestick from the mantel and started after him. “Wait. We have no idea what’s down there. It could be unsafe. Isobel, perhaps you should—”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “If you think I am letting you have all the fun, you clearly suffered damage to your head as well as your shoulder.”

The two older women, taking a look down the narrow, steep steps, reluctantly agreed that they would wait here for news, so Jack and Isobel went down alone, their flickering candles creating eerie shadows against the old, gray stones.

Turning around on itself in a dizzying fashion, the staircase seemed endless, the steps above and below them fading into darkness. The air was close and musty, the rock walls splotched with lichen and sometimes glistening with moisture. Isobel tried not to think about stepping on a slick patch of stone and tumbling down. The staircase, she hoped, was so narrow one would knock into one wall or the other rather than hurtling down the steps.

“How far down does this go?” Jack asked finally. “Surely we have gone more than one story.”

“I think it must lead into the cellars. Perhaps it just goes to a larger secret room. It could be where Malcolm hid.”

Finally, his voice rising with anticipation, Jack said, “There’s a dirt floor below.”

He trotted down the last few steps, Isobel right behind him. The steps ended, with no door, at a low-ceilinged passageway barely wide enough for two people to walk. It stretched out in front of them into utter blackness.

“A tunnel!” Isobel clutched Jack’s hand as they started forward.

“Beneath the house?”

“I think so. Either we are below the cellars or the cellars lie on the other side of this wall. I think it’s an escape route.”

“You think this goes to the caves on the shore?” Jack asked.

Isobel shrugged. “The caves are some distance from here, farther than they are from the castle. But they wouldn’t have
had to build the tunnel all the way to the sea. It could end anywhere.”

Soon the tunnel narrowed so that they had to walk single file, and the ceiling was low enough that Jack had to bend his head to pass through. The walls of stone gave way to braces of timber. Isobel could not help but think uneasily of the weight of the earth above their heads. The tunnel could be a hundred and fifty years old, and it appeared not to have been used since Malcolm came through here some sixty years ago—if, indeed, he had even used the passageway. How much might it have deteriorated? It was easy to envision rot in the support timbers.

Jack’s steps slowed, and he held the candlestick higher, letting out an oath. “It’s caved in.”

“What? No!” Isobel cried in frustration, and Jack turned so that Isobel could see past him.

A few feet in front of Jack, the tunnel was choked with dirt, stones, and broken timbers. They would not find where the passageway came out.

When they emerged from the staircase, Millicent and Elizabeth were predictably impressed with their description of the tunnel, though they did deem the cave-in a disappointment.

“Will you explore the caves to find the other end?” Millicent asked.

“I don’t know. They are a great distance from here. In any case, Gregory and Andrew are already searching the caves for the treasure. If there is an entrance there, they might find it.” Jack frowned as he said it, and Isobel could not help but feel
a spurt of amusement. Clearly Jack had developed a jealous interest in the tunnels that the treasure had not spurred.

“The entrance could be anywhere,” Isobel pointed out. “It just needs to be far enough from the house to make one’s escape undetected.”

“The entrance could be near the loch, I suppose,” Elizabeth said.

“Or the castle ruins,” Jack suggested.

Elizabeth nodded. “If there truly was a tunnel to the caves from the castle, digging one from here to the castle would mean one could go all the way to the sea without outside notice.”

“I fear it is too dangerous to search the castle ruins.” Isobel sighed. “No doubt it was fine when this house was built, and even in our grandfather’s day it was probably safe enough. But it has deteriorated a great deal in the last sixty years.”

“That’s true.” Elizabeth frowned. “There was another cave-in there when you and Andrew were children.”

“It might be possible to climb down on ropes,” Jack mused.

“There would still be the danger of it collapsing on top of you,” Isobel pointed out. “Please, Jack, promise me you will not try that.”

“I won’t. I’ve more fondness for my skin than that. But if we were to shore it up, it might be possible to search there in the future.”

“In the meantime,” Isobel put in, “I think the best place to search may be the attic.” At the others’ puzzled looks, she went on, “When I was cleaning the attic, a number of the chests had papers in them as well as possessions—letters and lists and documents. Cousin Robert took a few chests
and I got rid of a fair bit of clothing and such, but most of the papers I just stacked together. Also, there is a good portion of the attic that I never even touched. There might be original plans for this house that show the tunnel. Or letters, instructions, a will. Obviously knowledge must have been passed down in some fashion if our grandfather was using the passageway. If he had lived, he probably would have told my father.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Do you think Papa knew of its existence?”

“I don’t think so.” Elizabeth shook her head. “He never said anything to me, and you know your father was not a secretive man. I know my memory is not always certain, but I cannot believe I could have forgotten it if your father told me about a tunnel. Nor did Mother speak of it; it would not surprise me if she didn’t know. The Roses tended to be a secretive lot. My grandfather was said to be very tight-lipped about anything concerning the family. This could have been something they would not let slip to anyone but the heir. Even spouses could have been excluded.”

For the next few days, all four of them spent much of their time searching through the accumulated papers of the Rose family. Isobel had the servants bring down the chests of papers she had set aside when she was cleaning the attic, and Elizabeth and Millicent began to sort through them while Isobel and Jack started with the papers stored in the household strongbox, then moved on to the records in the office.

When nothing of any use turned up, they returned to the area of the attic that Isobel had not yet cleaned. Isobel stumbled upon a trunk containing a number of things belonging to her father, among them some childish notes written by her and her brother that made her eyes mist a bit
with sentiment, and she set the chest aside to go through at a more leisurely pace.

After a week of such efforts proved futile, Isobel’s aunt and Millicent returned to their needlework and conversation, and Jack was speaking of taking up his daily rides again. Even Isobel’s interest began to flag.

Andrew returned from town, declaring that it was simply too boring to continue living in Cousin Robert’s house. Isobel realized, with a pang of regret, that she felt more apprehension than happiness at her brother’s homecoming. He was, predictably, thrilled at the notion of the tunnel and insisted on trying out the secret stairs and exploring the underground passage.

Looking at her brother’s eager face, hearing his easy laugh and droll depiction of the misadventures he and Gregory had experienced in their search for the treasure, Isobel told herself that her suspicions must be wrong. Still, she could not help but hope that Andrew would soon grow bored and head back to London.

The morning after Andrew returned to Baillannan, Jack sent a servant to his room asking Andrew to join him in the office. Predictably, it was almost an hour before Andrew strolled in. He flopped down carelessly in a chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, ankles crossed, the very picture of unconcern. Jack felt an urge to grab the young man by the collar and jerk him upright, but he refrained. He sat down across from the young man and regarded him steadily for a long moment.

“I assume you must have had some reason for sending for me,” Andrew said finally, shifting in his chair. “It’s like being called down by the headmaster.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“No. I suppose you would not.” The ghost of a smirk touched the corner of Andrew’s mouth.