ceiling.
“Wintercombe Abbey,” he said, his voice prim and high. “Yes. Yes…Certainly. One moment please.” He turned to Jake and held out the receiver. “It’s for you.”
Jake stared. Then he came and took it. At once Venn stalked up the stairs and slammed a distant door. Piers glanced at Wharton and went back to the kitchen. After a moment, awkward, Wharton took himself off up the stairs too. At the landing he paused and looked down. Jake was talking quietly, into the receiver.
Thank God for whoever that was.
Because, for a moment there, it had all looked very nasty.
“Sorry? Who is this?” Jake snapped.
“You don’t know me, Mr. Wilde, so my name would mean nothing to you. But I have some information for you. Something you might dearly want to know.”
The voice was a man’s, quiet, faintly husky.
Jake leaned with his back against the paneled wall. “Like what?”
There was a small breathy silence at the other end. A scratchy sound. Then the voice said, “I know where your father is.”
Jake kept very still. His hand shook a little, as if he was holding the receiver too tight. He said, “Where?”
“I can’t tell you that over the phone. The line might not be secure. You understand?”
Another scratchy sound. Was someone listening in? Piers? Jake said, “Yes. Okay. But how do you know?”
“I’m calling from the village. From the parking lot of the pub. Can you get here?”
“Yes, but…”
“Come at once, Mr. Wilde. Come alone. Then I assure you, I will explain everything.”
A click.
Silence.
He replaced the receiver slowly and looked around. Should he find Wharton? No time. And he didn’t want the hassle. He grabbed a coat that hung on a peg and went to the front door. It was warped with damp, and stiff; he pulled at it, but Piers said softly, “Going out again, Jake?”
He swung around, fast. “Maybe.”
The tiny, smiling man gave him the creeps. Always that mocking grin. As if he knew so much.
“It’s just that Mr. Venn would rather you didn’t leave the estate at the moment. In your state of mind.”
“Venn, or you?” Jake stepped forward. “Who’s really running this place, Piers? Because you seem to be the one in control around here.”
“I assure you, I’m just the slave of the lamp. The controller of the cameras.”
Jake was simmering, but he had to keep calm. He managed a bitter shrug. “I get it. So that’s how it is.”
“That, I’m afraid, is how it is. I’m sure by tomorrow you’ll be feeling a little better about things.”
“You can’t keep me a prisoner here.”
Piers shrugged. “It was you who wanted to come, Jake.”
Jake snorted. He walked past him, down a corridor lined with vases, not knowing or caring where he was going, striding around a corner and past a door thatopened. A hand came out and grabbed him. “Jake. In here.”
Sarah looked worried. She stood in the dim scullery and whispered, “What’s going on? You and Venn?”
“Forget him. Sarah, listen, I need your help. Someone in the village has information about Dad. How do I get out of here without Piers knowing?”
“You have to be invisible,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Well, there’s a side door that leads out by the Wintercombe. But the gates at the end of the drive will be locked, and Piers…”
“I’ll climb them. I don’t care if he sees me. Show me.”
She led him through a tiny stillroom to a black studded door. It took both of them to grind back the rusty bolts; when it creaked open, they found they were looking into shrubbery that had grown thickly over the door. Jake suddenly remembered what Gideon had said, and stared at her curiously. “I know you only came here yesterday. How did you know about this?”
She shrugged, irritated. The movement slid a small medal on a chain around her neck. It was one-half of what seemed to be a broken coin. “Maybe I know this place better than you think. Jake, listen! Try and get
“Wintercombe Abbey,” he said, his voice prim and high. “Yes. Yes…Certainly. One moment please.” He turned to Jake and held out the receiver. “It’s for you.”
Jake stared. Then he came and took it. At once Venn stalked up the stairs and slammed a distant door. Piers glanced at Wharton and went back to the kitchen. After a moment, awkward, Wharton took himself off up the stairs too. At the landing he paused and looked down. Jake was talking quietly, into the receiver.
Thank God for whoever that was.
Because, for a moment there, it had all looked very nasty.
“Sorry? Who is this?” Jake snapped.
“You don’t know me, Mr. Wilde, so my name would mean nothing to you. But I have some information for you. Something you might dearly want to know.”
The voice was a man’s, quiet, faintly husky.
Jake leaned with his back against the paneled wall. “Like what?”
There was a small breathy silence at the other end. A scratchy sound. Then the voice said, “I know where your father is.”
Jake kept very still. His hand shook a little, as if he was holding the receiver too tight. He said, “Where?”
“I can’t tell you that over the phone. The line might not be secure. You understand?”
Another scratchy sound. Was someone listening in? Piers? Jake said, “Yes. Okay. But how do you know?”
“I’m calling from the village. From the parking lot of the pub. Can you get here?”
“Yes, but…”
“Come at once, Mr. Wilde. Come alone. Then I assure you, I will explain everything.”
A click.
Silence.
He replaced the receiver slowly and looked around. Should he find Wharton? No time. And he didn’t want the hassle. He grabbed a coat that hung on a peg and went to the front door. It was warped with damp, and stiff; he pulled at it, but Piers said softly, “Going out again, Jake?”
He swung around, fast. “Maybe.”
The tiny, smiling man gave him the creeps. Always that mocking grin. As if he knew so much.
“It’s just that Mr. Venn would rather you didn’t leave the estate at the moment. In your state of mind.”
“Venn, or you?” Jake stepped forward. “Who’s really running this place, Piers? Because you seem to be the one in control around here.”
“I assure you, I’m just the slave of the lamp. The controller of the cameras.”
Jake was simmering, but he had to keep calm. He managed a bitter shrug. “I get it. So that’s how it is.”
“That, I’m afraid, is how it is. I’m sure by tomorrow you’ll be feeling a little better about things.”
“You can’t keep me a prisoner here.”
Piers shrugged. “It was you who wanted to come, Jake.”
Jake snorted. He walked past him, down a corridor lined with vases, not knowing or caring where he was going, striding around a corner and past a door thatopened. A hand came out and grabbed him. “Jake. In here.”
Sarah looked worried. She stood in the dim scullery and whispered, “What’s going on? You and Venn?”
“Forget him. Sarah, listen, I need your help. Someone in the village has information about Dad. How do I get out of here without Piers knowing?”
“You have to be invisible,” she said softly.
“What?”
“Nothing. Sorry. Well, there’s a side door that leads out by the Wintercombe. But the gates at the end of the drive will be locked, and Piers…”
“I’ll climb them. I don’t care if he sees me. Show me.”
She led him through a tiny stillroom to a black studded door. It took both of them to grind back the rusty bolts; when it creaked open, they found they were looking into shrubbery that had grown thickly over the door. Jake suddenly remembered what Gideon had said, and stared at her curiously. “I know you only came here yesterday. How did you know about this?”
She shrugged, irritated. The movement slid a small medal on a chain around her neck. It was one-half of what seemed to be a broken coin. “Maybe I know this place better than you think. Jake, listen! Try and get
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