couldn’t touch these garments; the idea made her ill. “I’ll get Tess and the Trasks,” she said. “They can take all the clothing away and examine it.” She walked out before he could object and summoned her small staff.
They stared at the strange bedchamber. But the main floor had inured them to oddity, and they were soon carrying out armloads of clothing. “If you find anything in the pockets, no matter how small or trivial, bring it back here,” Sir Alexander told them.
“Are there any family members who would want his clothes?” Charlotte asked, to anchor herself back in the commonplace.
“You could offer them to Edward,” was the dry response.
The thought of his elegant cousin in Henry’s drab garments was ludicrous. “I don’t think he… oh, you’re joking.”
“I was.” His expression was sympathetic. “Send them off to the workhouse. Or see if the Trasks know anyone who could use them.”
“That’s a good idea.” With the clothes gone, she felt better. “Are there papers?”
“Some, in the chest here. Correspondence my uncle didn’t wish anyone else to see. He appears to have been involved with people who are willing to steal artifacts, for a price.”
“Or say they had.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, Henry bought mostly fakes.”
“Ah. A good point. Still, they are clearly unsavory characters. I’ll hand these letters over to Hanks.” Seeing Charlotte’s expression, he added, “He’s best suited to question them.”
“I know. I just…” She turned away from the humiliating memory of his accusations. “I suppose he will want to come here.”
Sir Alexander nodded. “I think he must.”
A note was duly written and dispatched. But they did not wait to begin a thorough search, going over each piece of furniture inch by inch, including the undersides and the backs of drawers. In the end, defeated and dusty, they had only the letters and a lost collar stud from under the wardrobe. “No real help,” concluded Charlotte, disappointed.
Sir Alexander didn’t seem to hear. “I am very suspicious of this wall,” he murmured, gazing at the partition that had been added to the room. “When a man as devious as my uncle seems to have been adds a wall, can he have resisted…?” He ran his fingers along the narrow panels that sheathed the lower half, pressing and prodding.
He was right, Charlotte thought. Henry loved his secrets. But, for one thing, he would never want to bend over them. She surveyed the top part of the wall. It seemed to be smooth plaster, painted in stripes as broad as her forearm of lighter and darker blue. She had thought the scheme strange when she first saw it, out of keeping with the utilitarian nature of the room. Was there a crack parallel to the top of the door frame? Wavering candlelight made it hard to judge. She went to the section of plaster on the right of the door and pressed along the edge of the stripe, the top of the wainscoting, the jamb. Something gave, and three feet of the stripe opened, revealing ranks of narrow shelves fitted into the thickness of the wall.
“Good for you!” said Sir Alexander. He picked up a candlestick and brought it over. They peered inside together.
A small object rested on the lowest shelf. Charlotte took it out. The light gleamed on an oval of amber as large as her palm. A delicate insect floated within it. She heard Sir Alexander’s breath catch. “That, or something exactly like it, belonged to my grandfather. It was always in his study in Derbyshire. He used it as a paperweight.”
Charlotte put it back as he reached to a higher shelf. Their hands brushed in passing. He took down a china cup; gold rimmed the base and lip. “I believe this comes from his club. I’ve seen such settings when I lunched there with friends.”
Something glittered on the top shelf. She couldn’t quite see. Charlotte stretched up. “There’s a fork,” she said incredulously. She tilted it in the dim light, revealing a monogram.
Sir Alexander bent nearer. “That is a piece of my parents’ wedding silver,” he said, sounding outraged. He held the candle closer.
Charlotte replaced the fork and retrieved an enameled snuffbox. It rattled. The lid resisted her fingers, then sprang open to reveal a chunk of polished stone, brightly veined with red.
The top shelf is full of earrings,” said Sir Alexander from his superior height.
“Earrings?”
“Single ones. No pairs.” He reached up and retrieved them.
Charlotte gazed at the glitter of jewels in his hand. “No!”
“What?” asked Sir Alexander.
“That lapis one is