Page 92 of Secrets and Seashells at Rainbow Bay
We carefully lift another six tissue-wrapped packages from the chest, all containing similar beautiful dresses.
‘Someone knew what they were doing when they put these away for storage,’ Tom says, wrapping another dress back in its protective paper. ‘I’d say this is acid-free tissue paper; that’s fairly modern stuff, so these could only have been wrapped fairly recently.’
‘My sister wrapped her wedding dress in something similar to this before she put it away in her loft,’ Tiffany says, feeling the paper. ‘It protects it from damp and stuff.’
‘I wonder why it’s only recently been wrapped up? You’d have thought it would have been done years ago.’
‘Perhaps it was,’ Tom says knowingly. ‘It might have just beenre-wrapped recently.’
‘Oh, look at this one,’ I say, opening up a new package. I’d expected to see another beautiful ball gown, but instead my hands are now touching a much heavier material. It’s black and scratchy and not at all like the luxurious fabrics the previous colourful outfits have been made out of. ‘It’s a maid’s dress,’ I exclaim, holding it up, ‘and look, there’s an apron too.’
The next few packets from the large truck contain items that must have belonged to ‘downstairs staff’ – some dowdy but practical shoes, a very basic brush, some hairpins, and some stout-looking stockings. There’s even a little white hat, which I could just imagine one of the maids at Chesterford wearing to tend to one of the previous Countesses.
‘These would look great on display in the castle,’ I say as I lift another smaller package up from the trunk. ‘We could get some mannequins or something similar – we could even display Clara’s outfits in the Ladies’ Chamber with her portrait, and maybe the maid’s things in one of the bedrooms.’
‘That’s a great idea,’ Tiffany says. ‘I love to see stuff like that when I visit old houses. There’s something about clothes that make history come to life that little bit more. Ooh, what’s that?’ she asks as I open up the tissue paper and begin unfolding what I assume is another dress.
‘It’s a shawl,’ I say, beginning to unwrap a large, silk, embroidered shawl. ‘It feels like there’s something hard wrapped inside it, though – like a box.’
‘It is a box!’ Tiffany exclaims as the fabric reveals a small colourful box hidden within it.
‘It’s locked again,’ I say, examining the object in my lap. ‘Look, there’s another small padlock on it.’
‘That box is old,’ Tom says, looking over my shoulder. ‘It looks like enamel to me. Probably eighteenth century, by the look of the design.’
I look at the box in my hand; it looks familiar. Where had I seen it before?
‘This must have been Clara’s too!’ I say as it dawns on me where I’ve seen this box before. ‘It’s in her portrait in the Ladies’ Chamber; it’s on the desk next to where her hand rests on the diary. You don’t think . . . ’
‘We don’t think what?’ Tom asks impatiently as I stand up and reach into my pocket.
‘You don’t think that this,’ I say, holding up the silver key still attached to the dog’s collar, ‘opens upthis.’ I hold up the box in my other hand. ‘It looks like a perfect fit to me.’
‘Try it. Try it!’ Tiffany squeals excitedly.
I reach the key across to the lock, and to my delight it fits. I’m about to turn it when we hear a deep voice bellowing down the stairs.
‘No! Don’t you dare try it. I insist you put that box down immediately.’
Thirty-three
‘Arthur!’ I cry, jumping at both the loudness and the tone of his voice. ‘Whatever’s wrong?’
Arthur comes thundering down the stairs, faster than I’ve ever seen him move before.
‘Put that down,’ he says, his voice calmer but just as forceful.
‘Why?’ I ask, still gripping tightly to the box. ‘What’s inside? Why don’t you want us to open it?’
Arthur swallows, obviously trying to calm himself. ‘This is a private area,’ he says, looking around at all the open trunks. ‘You have no right to come down here . . .disturbingeverything.’ He glances at the box in my hand again, and something inside me makes me grip it all the tighter. ‘And you,’ he says, pointing at Tiffany, ‘had no right bringing them down here. How many times have I told you this area is out of bounds?’
Tiffany looks like she might burst into tears.
‘Arthur, that’s enough. It’s not Tiffany’s fault we’re here. If you want to blame someone then blame me; I asked her to show us where you kept a picture, that’s all, and she told us it was down here with the last Earl’s things. It was only because we didn’t know which key opened which trunk that we ended up opening so many.’
‘Well, you’ve obviously found that particular trunk now,’ Arthur says, looking at the painting of the dog propped up in front of one of the trunks. ‘So perhaps it’s time—’ He suddenly notices the dog’s collar in my hand, and more specifically the key I’m about to open the box with.
‘Where did you get that?’ he asks, his voice suddenly a bit too calm.
