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The Dark Viscount. Deborah Simmons
Читать онлайн.Название The Dark Viscount
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Автор произведения Deborah Simmons
Издательство HarperCollins
Kit turned towards Barto. ‘The solicitor said that our great-aunt claimed that someone was breaking into the house. But no thefts were reported.’
‘He acted like she was addled, but maybe she wasn’t,’ Sydony said.
Barto glanced around the room at the old mullioned windows set deep into the walls, presumably an easy entrance for a would-be thief. And unreliable or disbelieving servants attending an elderly woman they thought addled would provide little protection. And yet, something didn’t fit…
‘Why wouldn’t the would-be thief just come in after her death?’ Barto mused aloud. ‘By all accounts, the place was abandoned and deserted.’
‘Maybe he did. Maybe it’s empty,’ Sydony said, looking down at the spot in the floor.
But Barto suspected that the average thief wouldn’t trouble to return the room to the way he had found it. And yet, maybe the thief wasn’t average. Or maybe what he was looking for was already gone…
Barto watched as Kit levered the opener into the corner and the plank popped upwards, with no apparent damage.
‘Is it empty?’ Sydony asked, stooping beside her brother.
‘No,’ Kit said. Lifting the end further, he peered below. ‘It’s quite deep, actually, and I can see something in there.’
‘Books? Papers?’ Sydony asked, and Barto wondered why she seemed focused on those things. You’d think a woman would hope for a box of jewellery or a hidden hoard of coins or gold.
‘Hold on,’ Kit said, reaching into the space. His movements sent up a cloud of dust, and Sydony inched backwards, waving a hand in front of her face, which was probably just as well, considering what Kit pulled out of the hole.
Although dirty and blackened, the object appeared to be a skull. A human skull. Barto watched Sydony in case she started to drop into a swoon, but she didn’t even shriek at the sight. Again, she proved that she was not the typical female, that perhaps she was as brave as he remembered.
The shriek, when it came, echoed from outside their small circle. Barto looked up in surprise to see the workman, who had remained standing silent and as far from them as possible, stifle another wail.
‘You don’t suppose he’s anything to do with this, do you?’ Kit asked.
Barto shook his head. ‘More than likely the fellow is thinking of abandoning his employment.’
‘Why? Because of an old skull?’ Kit asked, grinning at him, and Barto felt the same sensation he had known earlier with Sydony. The years fell away, and he and Kit were just two boys, digging in the dirt and gleefully sharing their mischief. Except Barto wasn’t sure just how much they shared these days.
Schooling his features, he leaned over the opening. ‘Is the rest of a body down there?’ he asked.
‘I might need a lantern, but I don’t think there’s anything else down there,’ Kit said. He set aside the skull to peer into the blackness, but he had barely moved when another wail pierced the silence.
Again, Barto looked to the workman, who was so pale, he seemed frozen to the spot by fright. Finally, he lifted a shaking arm to point toward the skull. ‘It’s his,’ the fellow mumbled.
‘Whose?’ Kit asked, sitting back on his haunches.
‘His.’ The workman’s voice was low and ragged.
‘Well, whoever he is, he’s been dead for a while, from the looks of his skull,’ Kit observed.
At his words, the workman looked like he was going to faint dead away and Sydony shushed her brother fiercely. ‘Do you know whose this is? Is it someone who lived live here at one time? Are you saying the man was never buried?’ Sydony asked.
Barto suspected the workman was incapable of answering, but now that Kit had remarked on the age of the relic, Barto stooped to look at it more closely. He had seen bones before, mainly at the Royal College of Surgeons, where some members were always eager to share grisly learning tools. This one was old, and unusual, if he wasn’t mistaken. Pulling out his handkerchief, Barto rubbed away some of the dust to reveal its unique properties.
‘What the devil is that, a hole in the head?’ Kit asked.
‘Yes,’ Barton said. ‘Apparently, our departed friend was trepanned.’
For a long moment, the room was so quiet that Barto could hear the intake of Sydony’s breath. Then the silence was broken by the sound of the workman’s boots echoing on the hard floor as he fled the room.
‘Should I go after him?’ Kit asked.
Barto lifted a brow. ‘Even if you could catch him, I don’t think you’ll be able to convince him to return.’
‘Damn. Who’s going to finish the work?’
‘What do you mean—he was trepanned?’ Sydony’s voice rang out so loudly that both Barto and Kit both looked at her in surprise.
‘How can you two calmly discuss repairs when there is a skull secreted in our floor with holes drilled into it?’
For a moment, Barto wondered whether Sydony had succumbed to the ways of her gender, but she appeared to be more angry than hysterical.
‘Calm down, Syd. There are all sorts of strange things in buildings that are this old,’ Kit said. ‘Maybe it’s some saint or another. Lots of medieval churches have famous relics and bones.’
‘Not with holes drilled in them,’ Sydony said. She turned toward Barto with a look of exasperation that was so familiar he felt another giddy slip of time. Only firm resolve kept him from finding it endearing.
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