Page 85 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
‘Maybe we could learn together,’ I say, looking deeply into his eyes again. But to my, and most likely Tom’s annoyance too, the chances of our lips actually touching this time are dashed once more, as my gaze is redirected to the painting behind him.
‘That’s it!’ I cry.
‘What is?’ Tom asks, startled. He looks behind him at what I’m staring at.
‘The painting. Look,’ I say, dashing over to it. ‘Here.’ I point to Clara’s hand resting on the book. ‘It’s the diary.’
‘How do you know it’s the diary?’ Tom asks, obviously trying to hide his disappointment at yet another interruption. ‘Her hand could be on any book.’
‘No, it looks exactly the same as all the other diaries we found; they were all written in the same style of cream leather-bound book with gilt edging around the pages. This must be the missing one. There is only one other diary after the one we’re looking for, and in it Clara talks about sitting for this very painting. She even talks about there being a meaning to this painting that no one else will ever understand.’ My forehead wrinkles as I try to remember. ‘Something about her locking her grief and guilt away somewhere, so that no one else will ever need to know or share in it.’
I look at Tom. ‘What could that mean?’
Tom shakes his head. ‘No idea.’ He looks more closely at the painting now. ‘If that’s a diary under her hand there, would it have a key, perhaps? Maybe that’s what she means by locking her guilt and grief away?’
‘It could be, but none of the other diaries had locks on them. Hmm . . . what about this chest of drawers thing she’s standing in front of? What if the diary is locked in there now?’
‘That’s a bureau. If it was Clara’s it was probably called her writing desk.’ Again Tom examines the painting closely. ‘Yes, I’d say by looking at it, it was probably designed specifically for her – it’s a smaller, more delicate piece than some of the earlier writing bureaus, which tended to be bigger and less intricate. This one likely dates from the late-Edwardian era.’
I smile at Tom.
‘What?’ he asks, noticing.
‘Nothing. You’re very clever.’
Tom shrugs. ‘I know my furniture – that’s my job.’
‘Do you think this could be the thing that’s locked, then?’ I look at the painting again. ‘Would it have had a lock on it, do you know?’
‘Oh yes, more than likely. In addition to the drawers you can see here, once open it would have had a writing slope, pigeonholes, inkwells, small slots and often secret drawers—’
‘Wait!Secretdrawers?’
Tom nods.
‘So if Clara’s bureau is still here at Chesterford the diary might be locked away in a secret drawer.’
‘I guess.’
‘Have you seen it?’ I ask, looking at the painting again. ‘It doesn’t look familiar to me, but you’ve probably spent longer looking at the furniture here than I have.’
Tom stares at the bureau. ‘I don’t think I have. I’m sure I would have remembered it if it has the same detailing on it that’s shown in this painting. It’s quite unique with this inlaid marquetry.’ He points to some patterns on the front of the bureau.
I sigh. That would be just our luck if it had been thrown out or sold somewhere along the line. I don’t know why, but suddenly this search seems so important to me. I know why it’s important to Benji – searching for missing links to piece together a family’s history is right up his street. But I feel like there might be something else significant going on here.
‘I’ll take some photos of the painting and show it to the others. Maybe one of them will recognise it.’ I pull out my phone and stand back a little from the painting to take a few snapshots. ‘Look,’ I say as I move a little nearer to get a close-up of the desk. ‘Thereisa key shown here – on the desk next to the flowers.’
‘So there is,’ Tom says, looking at the painting again. ‘But that’s not going to be for this desk, it’s far too big. That’s a key for something bigger, like a door or a gate. The key to this desk would be very small and easily lost over the years, I’m afraid.’
‘Well, I’m still going to try to find the bureau – with or without its key,’ I say determinedly, putting my phone back in my pocket.
Wait, I suddenly think.A key! When we were in the stables with the ghosts they’d said something about a key, and that Clara would know all about it . ..
‘Have you ever seen this writing bureau here at the castle?’ I ask for what feels like the umpteenth time today. I hold out my phone to Arthur this time, after already asking Tiffany, Dorothy, Benji and the two tour guides that were in with us today. Joey is away for a few days to attend his cousin’s wedding in Wales.
Arthur takes my phone from me with a puzzled look.
‘That’s the painting of Clara, fifteenth Countess of Chesterford,’ he says, peering at the photo.
