“Me either,” Ben said. “Just hoping that something jumps out at us.” He sighed.
“Might it have already been found?” Jenny asked.
“Maybe, but we think it’s unlikely,” Dan said. “There’s been no mention of it, and this notebook would have rated a mention, somewhere.”
“Unless it was purchased on the black market and went straight into someone’s private collection,” Ben added.
“I still think, no,” Dan said. “There isn’t even a mention of the notebook existing other than in the correspondence between Benjamin the 1st and Doyle. I think wherever it was put, it stayed there.”
Jenny checked her wristwatch. “Well, we got a date, so we better just keep our fingers crossed. Otherwise, at least it will have been a nice holiday for you.”
In 20 more minutes, Jenny herded Ben and Emma back into the van. Dan, Andrea, and Steve had come out onto the front steps to wave them off, and Steve gave them a thumbs-up as they pulled out.
Ben waved back in return, and then began to chuckle.
“What?” Emma nudged him.
“Well.” Ben still grinned. “One minute I’m at a funeral, then you turn up, and suddenly I’m on the other side of the world about to try and trick my way into an old folk’s home.” He looked across at her.
She smiled. “Yeah, and one minute, I’m running an everyday adventure tour business, you turn up, and suddenly I’m swept away by Hurricane Cartwright. See, I could say the same about you.” Her smile widened. “But at least no one can accuse us of having a dull life together, huh?”
He lowered his brow. “You do know I was thinking about moving back home just to enjoy the dull life.”
“And yet, here you are.” Emma jiggled her eyebrows.
“Windlesham Manor coming up,” Jenny said.
The van turned off the main road onto a heavy tree- and bush-lined avenue. The magnificent oak and chestnut trees created a green tunnel for them to pass through before they arrived at an impressive sandstone entrance gate with a single silver pole by the side with intercom. Jenny slowed and lowered her window. She reached out to press the button.
“Jennifer Brock with the Cartwrights; we’re expected.” She turned to wink at them.
They only had to wait a few moments before the gates buzzed, clicked, and then slowly began to swing ponderously inwards. Ben noticed that there were discrete cameras mounted on each of the sandstone pillars.
“Good security,” he observed.
“Hm-hmm.” Jenny eased the van forward. “But I’ll wager it’s more to keep the elderly from wandering away rather than keep intruders out.”
They drove up a winding gravel driveway and pulled up in front of the magnificent house. It was only two floors, but enormous. Climbing fig adorned one wall, and roses bloomed all around its perimeter. Everything seemed so green and lush, and Ben saw under a few leafy canopies there were huge garden umbrellas with wheelchairs pulled up beneath them. Tiny heads of fluffy white hair turned to watch them approach.
In another moment, a woman appeared on the top steps and gave them a friendly wave. She had a powder-blue cashmere cardigan over a silk blouse, and pearls the size of marbles adorned her neck.
She first crossed the lawn to the wheelchairs and chatted to a few of her residents. She patted shoulders, poured tea, and laughed at something one of them said. Then she began to head towards them.
Ben smiled at the perfect pastoral scene. The sunshine was warm on his face, the gardens fragrant, and guests looked happy. Ben turned to Emma.
“Make a note; this is where I want to retire.”
She scoffed. “I thought you were retired now.”
“Ms. Brock?” The woman’s smile was open and honest.
“Mrs. Hurley,” Jennifer responded and stepped forward, hand outstretched. They clasped hands, and Jennifer motioned to her friends.
“The Cartwrights: Benjamin and Emma.”
“Of course.” She held out one firm and dry hand. “Pleased to meet you.”
The older woman’s eyes ran up and down Ben from his hair to his shoes for a fraction of a second, missing nothing.
Ben noticed that the woman’s attire could be described as understated elegance. She was dressed simply, but expensively. And though he and Emma were dressed nicely, it probably told Mrs. Hurley they might just not be in the Manor’s league. Ben only hoped that being from out of town, she might give their casual attire some leeway.
“You’re making inquiries on behalf of your mother, Mr. Cartwright?” Her perfect eyebrows rose.
Ben nodded. “Yes, she’s getting on, and always wanted to move somewhere with a nice climate, and plenty of class. Windlesham Manor was recommended to us.”
Mrs. Hurley nodded as though this would be expected. She turned and started to walk towards the garden beds, talking as she went. Ben briefly looked to Emma, shrugged, and they followed.
She took them in a circuit around the house, pointing out the plantings, a separate building she called the aqua room that contained a swimming pool, aqua-aerobics center and sauna, plus a full gymnasium. Ben wondered what Arthur Conan Doyle would have made of his grand old house turning out like this. Being a visionary, maybe he would have approved.
She stopped underneath a large oak tree. Its wizened trunk was gnarled, heavily aged, but yet they could make out the initials, A.C.D., carved into it.
“Arthur Conan Doyle was here.” Ben smiled.
She tilted her head. “I assume you did some research prior to arriving and would know this was his home and where he wrote many of his wonderful stories.” She waved an arm around gently. “This impressive Edwardian country house was where Sir Arthur Conan Doyle spent the final 23 years of his life living happily with his wife and family.”
“Yes, we did,” said Emma. “We also found that in 1955, the last of the Crowborough estate grounds were sold out of the Doyle family. The remains of Sir Arthur and his wife Lady Jean Conan Doyle were removed and reburied at All Saints Church, Minstead in the New Forest, Hampshire. I guess all that remains now is his spirit.”
Mrs. Hurley gave Emma a cool look. “And perhaps also his memories.” She waved an arm around. “I like to think we’ve done the Doyle legacy proud. The Manor needed significant restoration work, and the grounds were in a terrible state. This tree is the only thing that remains of the gardens as they once were.”
Ben had a sinking feeling. “Even the gardens have been replaced?”
“My word, yes; everything out here has been replaced. Even the soil has been rejuvenated.” She smiled benignly. “It’s why the roses do so well.”
Mrs. Hurley marched back towards the front of the house, and Emma turned to him with her mouth slightly twisted down. “So much for under the earth,” she whispered.
Ben just grunted and followed.
Mrs. Hurley led them up the sandstone steps and in through a waiting open doorway. Ben saw the large men immediately — all dressed in white jackets and dark pants. They looked like a cross between butlers and doormen. Each of them looked formidable and fit. They were obviously male nurses who doubled as security — no wonder the front gates seemed so lightly guarded; the Manor had its own private army.
Ben watched for a moment as the men pushed wheelchairs, polished furniture and mahogany rails, and carried trays up stairs. Every one of them glanced at the newcomers with their eyes lingering on the large frame of Ben and perhaps recognizing another body trained for confrontations.