“According to Fibbens, William did attempt to help put out the fire. But since he was not trained in one of your drills, he was more a nuisance than a help, and Bogsley-in his inimitable Bogsley way, persuaded him to leave before he caused harm. Still-how did he find out about the fire so much sooner than the others?”
“And Henry?”
“Supposedly drunk.”
“Supposedly?”
“Oh, several bottles of your finest port are missing.”
“Charles’s port! But you sound as if you doubt he drank them.”
“I’m not sure. I find myself wondering where the empty bottles are, and why, at breakfast this morning, he did not appear to be suffering any ill-effects of such a binge.”
“A veteran drinker might be able to manage both the bottles and the morning.”
“True. And since I have long avoided the Banes, I have no idea if our cousin is a souse or abstemious.”
“Which leaves us where we started.”
“Do you know, this morning I found myself thinking like a soldier for the first time in a long time.”
“Meaning?”
“We must use strategy, Lucien. And I believe we would do well to take the offensive, rather than wait for the murderous Bane to make another attempt on Charles’s life.”
“Ah!” he said, smiling. “You want to set a trap.”
“Yes. We will each have a role-including Charles. Do you suppose, dear Lucien, that you could play the part of a headless monk?”
Charles proved to be his father’s equal as an actor. He staged a perfect tantrum, with Fibbens providing able support, just outside the morning room, where Henry had settled into a chair before the fire to read a newspaper. Lucien told us that was how he was occupied just before Act I, Scene I. Five minutes or so later, a child’s voice was heard in the hallway just outside the morning room door.
“There’s no such thing as ghosts!” Charles said angrily.
“Perhaps not, your lordship, but the north tower is dangerous. Your father meant to undertake repairs but-”
“I’m not afraid. It’s my treasure!”
“Not so loud, please, your lordship!” Fibbens said, knowing perfectly well that Henry Bane was undoubtedly pressing his ear to the door.
“Uncle Edward knows how to find it.” Charles declared. “We’re going treasure hunting!”
“Not with a houseful of guests, your lordship. It would be-er, impolite.”
That was my cue. “Charles, Charles! Are you talking that treasure nonsense again?” I asked. After a brief pause, I said, “Fibbens, I believe I will need my heavier cloak-and his lordship will need his own as well.”
“Yes, sir,” Fibbens said, and treading heavily, left the hallway.
“Charles, what have I told you about the treasure?”
“That we will find it tonight, because you promised Papa you would show me where it is.”
“Yes. And what else?”
“Not to tell the Banes. But Fibbens isn’t the Banes.”
“Fibbens is entirely trustworthy, but you never know who might be listening. So please don’t discuss it with anyone else. Now, here’s Fibbens with our cloaks. Have you your gloves? Excellent. Let’s go for our walk.”
Two slight variations on this performance were given-once for the benefit of Fanny and once for William.
Only Lady Bane seemed to enjoy a normal appetite at dinner that evening. Charles kept looking conspiratorially at me, which required no real acting.
Lucien’s role was proving the most difficult. To our dismay, he could not move objects, and any attempt to dress him in something other than the riding clothes he had been wearing on the day of his accident met with utter failure. Bogsley had unearthed the old headless abbot-the one the village seamstress had manufactured for that long ago Christmas haunting. It was losing its stuffing and looked a little aged, but we only needed the robe itself. However, when Lucien tried to put it on, it simply fell to the ground.
Making the best of what he could do, he practiced materializing, and soon had the knack of partial materialization. “I do so hate the prospect of being dead from the neck up,” he said, when he had managed to appear before us without a head. Charles, who had been rather thrilled with our story of swinging the “headless monk” past the Banes’s windows, asked the housekeeper if it might be possible to repair it. She stuffed a few pillows into the old costume, and our headless abbot had yet another round of life. Before falling asleep, Charles enjoyed playing with this large, if rather gruesome doll.
“Boys is all alike,” was the housekeeper’s assessment, with a nod toward Lucien and me.
At ten o’clock that evening, I awakened Charles from his brief slumbers. Bundled up in warm clothing, we carried shielded lanterns as we went through one of the secret passages to the north tower. The tower was built into the rise on which the Abbey stood. Perhaps at one time, it had indeed towered over the castle that had been here, but very little of the castle remained. Now the only apparent entrance to the tower was near the top of it-the tower was more akin to a well than a tower-more of it was reached by descending a staircase that by climbing. It was dank, musty smelling, and of no practical use.
I knew of no Rolingbroke who would dream of tearing it down.
After the treasure story had been spread about, Fibbens, several footmen, and other servants had taken turns keeping an eye on the Banes. None of them had yet been seen at the only tower entrance-the only entrance they would know of. In addition to it, there were two means of reaching the tower by secret passage. The one we were in ended on a sturdy, wide, stone platform, about halfway up (or down, as it seemed) the tower. Above us, a relatively new wooden staircase led to the tower entrance, off one of the Abbey hallways. Below us, at the foot of a crumbling stone staircase, was the other. As boys, Lucien and I had explored it, half-hoping, half-dreading we’d encounter the Headless Abbot. We found damp stones and little else.
Charles and I waited in relative comfort, hidden from view, our lantern shielded. We soon knew who the first of our arrivals would most likely be-Lucien came to report that within a few minutes of one another, Henry and Fanny had each softly knocked at the door to my room, and peered inside. They had then hurried back to their own rooms.
But it was William who opened the door at the top of the stairs, carrying a candle. He had opened the door and was halfway down the stairs when the door opened a second time. He turned to see Fanny.
“What on earth are you doing here?” he asked her.
“I might ask the same of you.”
“I’m looking for Henry. Do you know where he is?”
“I haven’t the vaguest. Where are Edward and the brat?”
In the darkness of our hiding place, I laid a finger to Charles’s lips. He nodded his understanding.
“How should I know?”
“I should have known it was all a Banbury tale,” she said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to gammon me, dear brother. You’re here looking for the treasure, too!”
“I’m not worried about any treasure-”
“Not worried about any treasure! That’s a loud one! You who’ve been punting on River Tick for I don’t know how long!”
“If Mama could hear you using such terms-”
“Mama is sound asleep. Go on, deny that you’re one step ahead of the bailiff.”
“All right, I deny it. I’m not in debt. I’ve come about-thanks to Cousin Lucien.”
“What!”
“I never told you or Henry, but it’s true. He helped me, Fanny.”
“Why you?”
“Because he cared about the family, you bacon-brain! Wasn’t just the money-he talked to me. Made me think, I tell you. So if anyone is planning any further mischief around here, they’ll have to come through me. I was too late for Lucien, and last night, I was sure I was too late to help Charles. But this time I’ve caught you, and I tell you I won’t allow it!