‘Go on, then,’ said Dunn with a sigh. ‘It’s not like I’ve got anything else to do.’

  ‘That’s the spirit,’ said Howard. ‘Spoken with the weary resignation of a true Englishman. If it helps, you can console yourself with the fact that you’re doing yours truly the most enormous favour. When we’ve scoured the place top to bottom one last time and found nothing, Ronnie will be forced to shut her trap about it forever more.’

  ‘Just you wait and see,’ said Veronica.

  ‘My breath is bated. I am positively agog with electric anticipation. The mysteries of our nation’s persecutory past await, I’m sure. But they’ll have to wait a tiny bit longer – I’ve promised everyone I’ll check the roads. Load your packs. Don your sturdiest boots. Alert the bearers to our imminent departure. I shall be with you before you can say, “Complete waste of a morning.”’

  He grabbed another slice of toast and munched it as he swept out of the dining room.

  Howard didn’t hang about and was back in the Grand Hall with his report in less than a quarter of an hour.

  ‘The roads remain impassable,’ he said. ‘But the levels are still falling. I stand by my estimate of tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Boo and hurrah,’ said Ellie. ‘In that order.’

  Howard laughed. ‘I just need to tell Gordy, then I’ll be with you. Oh, and there seemed to be some chaps off in the distance shinning up the telegraph poles. At least, I assume they were telephone engineers. Could have been anything, what?’

  ‘They could have been circus performers practising a tightrope act,’ suggested Skins.

  ‘Well, quite. Still, there’s a reasonable chance the telephone might be back on soon.’

  It took him another few minutes to find Gordon and return.

  ‘Are you ready now?’ said Veronica.

  Howard struck a heroic pose. ‘As I’ll ever be. Lay on, McRonnie, and damned be him that first cries, “Is it time for elevenses yet?”’

  Shaking her head, Veronica led them towards the study.

  ‘Why are we starting here?’ asked Howard. ‘What about the billiards room? At least I could practise my game while you’re fossicking in the fireplace for your secret room.’

  ‘You don’t have to come, you know. I have new friends now.’ She swept her hand to indicate Skins, Ellie and Dunn.

  ‘I wouldn’t miss it for the world, dear heart.’

  They arrived at the study door and Veronica pushed it open.

  Skins quickly scanned the room for signs of anyone else having been in there since his own visit. As far as he could tell, it looked exactly as he’d left it.

  ‘We were never allowed in here as children unless Papa was here,’ Veronica said, ‘so I’ve honestly never had a chance for a good old nosy round. That’s why I wanted to come here first. I had hours to go over all the other rooms, but the study was always locked and out of bounds unless Papa was working.’

  She went straight to the fireplace and began to inspect the mantelpiece. She ran her hands along the top, then down the carvings of the stone surround. She put her hands on either side and pushed hard. She pulled out the fire basket, inspecting and then pushing at the stonework at the back of the firebox. Finally she reached up into the chimney itself. Her hands returned soot-blackened but empty.

  ‘No luck, old horse?’ said Howard.

  Veronica dusted her hands together to get rid of the worst of the soot. ‘Not yet, no. But I’ve only just started. You could help instead of sneering, you know.’

  ‘I was always told one should play to one’s strengths. Sneering is what I do best.’

  ‘Why don’t we try to approach this logically?’ suggested Ellie. She stepped over to the wall on the hall side and hit it with the side of her fist. ‘This wall is good and sturdy, but you can see from the doorway that it’s only a foot or so thick. You’d not conceal any sort of secret room in there, and it’s probably a supporting wall anyway so you’d not want to weaken it.’

  ‘I say,’ said Howard. ‘Are there architects in your family? “Supporting wall”, eh?’

  ‘I’ve never met an architect, but it stands to reason, don’t you think? How else would the upper floors stay up?’

  ‘No idea, Mrs M. By magic?’

  ‘Supporting walls or magic, yes. And of the two options, it’s far better to rely on a solid structure. So the same applies to the wall with the window. It’s good and thick, but we can see roughly how thick so we know there’s nothing inside it. That leaves the wall behind the gramophone, the outside wall with the bookcases and fireplace, and the floor.’

  ‘Trapdoor, you mean?’ said Veronica.

  ‘Possibly. It would be harder to conceal, but we can’t rule it out as easily as these other two walls.’

  ‘This is the woman you should have consulted years ago,’ said Howard. ‘She’s made more sense in the last two minutes than you have in the last twenty years.’

  Ellie ignored him. ‘So why don’t Howard and Veronica take the right-hand bookshelves, Ivor and I will take the left, and Barty can see what lurks behind the gramophone equipment?’

  ‘Ivor?’ said Veronica.

  ‘Me,’ said Skins.

  ‘What a nice name. Do you mind if I . . . ?’

  ‘I’d honestly rather you didn’t. I’ve been Skins to everyone except Ellie since I was a nipper. And my mum, of course.’

  ‘But why “Skins”?’

  ‘Drum skins,’ said Dunn.

  ‘Oh, of course. I feel such a fool. Skins it is, then,’ said Veronica. ‘Sorry. Shall we?’ She indicated the wall of bookshelves.

  They split into their assigned groups and began the search.

  Ellie started on the bottom shelf, pulling each book in turn.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Skins, looking down.

  ‘One of these might be a secret lever. I’m sure I read it somewhere once. Some Gothic horror thing where the dungeon was concealed behind a fireplace. The latch was operated by a book on the shelves.’

  ‘Secret latch? I was expecting something a little more . . . I don’t know . . . ordinary, I suppose. Like we give it a shove and it turns out to be a door.’

  ‘I know you must all be getting frightfully weary of the way I keep pouring cold water on all this,’ said Howard, ‘but I really do think they’re going to turn out to be a good deal more like ordinary bookcases.’

  Skins, though, had clearly thought of something. Ignoring the higher shelves, he ran his fingers along the underside of the two at about waist height. Each shelf had a rounded, downward lip. Slowly and carefully, he traced along the back of each lip on first the upper, then the lower shelf. He found nothing on the upper, but after a few moments his fingertips caught on to slight imperfections on the lower. They might otherwise pass as the outline of a knot in the wood, but Skins was looking for a button like the one on the desk. He pressed it. Nothing happened. He pressed again, more firmly this time.

  There was a loud clonk, and the left-hand side of the bookshelf moved ever so slightly away from him.

  The others stopped and turned.

  Skins pushed against the bookcase and the left-hand side swung into the wall on smooth hinges to leave an opening about eighteen inches wide. There was a light switch just inside. Skins flicked it on to reveal steep steps leading downwards.

  ‘This is entirely unfair,’ said Howard. ‘We’ve lived here all our lives and Ronnie here has searched every inch of the place. You’ve been here five minutes and you walk straight in and open the secret door. How on earth . . . ?’

  ‘Nimble fingers, mate,’ said Skins with a grin. ‘I could have been a concert pianist.’

  ‘What stopped you?’

  ‘Can’t play the piano.’

  ‘I can see how that would be a disadvantage. Do you want to lead the way?’

  ‘I think Veronica should go first – she’s the one who’s been looking for this all these years.’

  ‘Actually, that’s a splendid idea,’ said Howard. ‘I couldn’t agree more.’ He touched Veronica’s arm. ‘I take back everything I’ve ever said. You were right all along and I apologize for doubting you. Lead the way, old girl.’

  Veronica smiled and edged past them all so that she could squeeze through the narrow entrance and down the stone steps. The others were close behind.

  Skins was at the rear, and paused for a moment to make sure he knew how to open the door from the inside, just in case it should close behind them. He found the latch and satisfied himself that they wouldn’t be locked in, then made his way down to join the others.

  At the bottom of the steps, he found them crammed into a small stone-flagged room, about ten feet by six. There was a desk with a reading lamp at the far end, and the walls were lined with shelves. Once he joined them, they could barely move, and certainly couldn’t examine the contents of the room.

  ‘Didn’t think this through,’ said Howard. ‘It’s a bit cramped in here with all five of us, don’t you think? What say we take turns? Ronnie can have first dibs, then we can come down one by one to have a look for ourselves without feeling like we’re in an impromptu game of sardines.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea,’ said Ellie. ‘Lead the way, Ivor.’

  They dutifully trooped back up the steps and into the study, leaving Veronica to explore on her own.

  ‘Not much use as a priest hole,’ said Dunn as they clustered around the bookcase waiting for her to return.

  ‘How’s that?’ said Skins.

  ‘Priest holes always had two exits. No good hiding in a little room with only one way out if the queen’s agents find the secret door – you’d be trapped.’

  ‘It’s not a real priest hole, though, is it? Not if Veronica’s story about the brewer bloke . . . ?’

  ‘Hopson,’ said Ellie.

  ‘It would be, wouldn’t it?’ said Dunn. ‘And his partners, Barleyford and Yeasten.’

  ‘Anyway,’ continued Skins. ‘If he just had it built because he liked the idea of it, it didn’t need to be a proper escape route, did it?’

  ‘Then what’s down there?’ asked Howard.

  From downstairs, they heard a muffled but hearty laugh.

  ‘I think we’re about to find out,’ said Ellie.

  Moments later, there were rapid footsteps on the stone steps and Veronica emerged holding one of the small boxes.

  ‘You’re never going to believe this,’ she said as she put the box down on the desk and lifted the lid. ‘Take a look at what Papa was hiding down there.’

  The box was crammed tightly with what looked like postcards. Ellie pulled a few out and spread them out on the table.

  The others looked and then they, too, began to laugh.

  ‘The dirty old bugger,’ said Skins.

  John Bilverton, it seemed, had been the owner of one of the largest collections of ‘naughty’ French postcards in all England.

  ‘Well,’ said Dunn, ‘that’s a turn-up.’

  Chapter Twelve

  Skins hunted for the bell push and within moments had ordered a pot of coffee from the ever-friendly butler. It took only a few minutes for a tray to arrive, borne by one of the young footmen, and Skins was driven to assume that they must have pots of coffee pre-prepared at that time of day, ready for just such a request.

  He poured three cups, still without milk, and then joined Ellie and Dunn, who were looking out through the French doors on to the formal walled garden.

  ‘I sometimes wish we could have a garden like this,’ said Ellie as Skins handed her a cup.

  ‘We’ve got our garden,’ he said. ‘And there’s all the parks in London for the kids to play in.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not complaining, but look at this. It’s magnificent. Ordered and precise like something from a story book.’

  ‘I’ll take our little patch of grass and our swing on the apple tree any day.’

  ‘True. I’ve got everything I need.’

  ‘But you don’t have an enormous stash of filthy French postcards,’ said Dunn with a grin.

  ‘I’m sure I could do without those,’ she said. ‘I mean, I’m no prude, but a whole roomful?’

  ‘They’re probably worth a few bob,’ said Skins. ‘I mean, they’re not that easy to come by. And there are some connoisseurs about who’d pay handsomely for decent ones.’

  ‘Do I want to know how you know this?’

  ‘We knew a bloke in the war, didn’t we, Barty? He made a mint.’

  ‘Dirty Dudley,’ confirmed Dunn. ‘Always had a few in his pack for the lads, but he made his real money selling them to the officers.’

  ‘Each to his own, I guess,’ said Ellie. ‘But finding the room opens the case up, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘I’d not be so certain,’ said Skins.

  ‘Sure it does. We’ve been wondering how the killer got out of a locked room with the key still in the lock on the inside, but now we know they didn’t have to get out at all – they could have been hiding among the dirty postcards the whole time. When the girls and I left, they could have sneaked out and joined the others to make it look as though they just got there.’

  ‘It’s an attractive idea, but no one’s been down there for weeks.’

  ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  ‘When I first flicked the light on there was at least a month’s worth of dust on those steps. If anyone had been down them there’d be footprints, but the dust was thick. Undisturbed. And did you see the state of them cobwebs? They’d have been brushed out of the way, too.’

  Ellie sighed. ‘Oh. You’re sure?’

  ‘Absolutely, sorry. Veronica was the first person down those steps for ages. I’d bet my pension on it.’

  ‘Blimey, have you got a pension?’ asked Dunn.

  ‘Well, no. But if I did have, I’d bet it all on us being the first ones to open that door for a good few weeks. Longer, maybe.’

  Ellie sighed again. ‘And where does that leave our opinion of Howard and Veronica?’

  ‘I’m tempted to rule them both out completely,’ said Dunn. ‘It doesn’t make sense for it to be either of them.’

  ‘Fair dos,’ said Skins. ‘So that’s two off the list and good news all round.’

  ‘How’s that?’ asked Dunn.

  ‘Well, I doubt those postcards are in the will,’ said Skins. ‘What with them being illegal and all that. So if they play it right, they’ve got everything they need whatever the will says. Just sell the postcards to some other connoisseur and Bob’s your uncle. Sounds like a happy ending to me.’

  Ellie smiled. ‘To me, too. Oh, Barty, you haven’t told us what happened when you followed Charlotte and Marianne outside.’

  ‘Oh, of course. Sorry. I didn’t want the Bilvertons to hear. It was pretty odd. Charlotte wants to tell everyone, and Marianne won’t let her. Says it would destroy the family.’

  ‘Tell everyone what?’

  ‘That’s all I heard before Howard came along.’

  ‘Tell them about how they murdered dearest Johnny B, I reckon,’ said Skins.

  ‘But why?’ asked Dunn.

  ‘What if he’d given Charlotte the old heave-ho? Then it would be the jilted lover and the betrayed wife banding together for revenge on the man who done them wrong.’

  ‘It’s possible, I guess,’ said Ellie.

  ‘If we can work out how they did it, I’d say it puts them squarely in the frame,’ said Skins.

  Ellie was still doubtful. ‘Maybe. We’ll have to think about it. Hey, is it lunchtime yet?’

  Dunn looked at his watch. ‘It’s only just gone eleven.’

  ‘So it’s time for cake? Can we order cake? Why didn’t they bring any with the coffee?’

  Skins laughed. ‘She needs her cake, mate, what can I say?’

  He once more rang the bell and they placed an order for cake, which they ate while pondering their next steps.

  Coffee drunk and slices of Battenberg eaten, Ellie took the lead as they left the garden parlour and headed for the salon and the main doors to the rear of the house.

  Skins was telling a joke. ‘ . . . so the barman says—’

  Ellie stopped dead, holding up her hand. ‘Shush.’

  ‘You have no respect for the comedic arts, Ells-Bells. I was just getting to the punchline.’

  ‘Just shut up for a second – you can tell him later. He’s probably heard it before anyway. I know I have.’

  Dunn shrugged. ‘I didn’t want to say anything, mate.’

  ‘Will you shut up, as well? I can hear something.’

  ‘Again?’ said Skins. ‘Another crying woman?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, yes. You two really do need to get your hearing checked, you know. It’s coming from the library. You carry on through and I’ll stop and find out what’s going on.’

  With a shared grin, Skins and Dunn breezed through the library without looking round. Ellie waited a moment and then followed.

  She was half expecting to meet Marianne again, but to her surprise she saw Charlotte in a chair by the unlit fireplace. She hadn’t really paid much attention to her before, simply filing her away as ‘Gordon’s wife’ or ‘the woman having an affair with John Bilverton’. But now she looked properly, she saw that she was actually rather attractive. Her blonde hair was cut in a fashionably boyish bob, and her face had a soft beauty that Ellie thought wouldn’t be out of place on a movie star.

  Ellie scuffed her feet on the rug as she approached, to alert Charlotte to her presence.

  Charlotte wiped her eyes with a handkerchief which she hurriedly stuffed into the sleeve of her pale blue cardigan.

  ‘Hello, there,’ she said. ‘It’s Ellie, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. We’ve been here all this time, and you and I haven’t spoken properly yet.’ She sat down in a chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. ‘Are you OK, honey?’

  ‘I’m fine, thank you,’ said Charlotte wearily.

  ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t look at all fine.’

  Charlotte offered a tiny smile. ‘Americans are always so direct.’

  ‘Sorry. I forget where I am sometimes.’