Tommy groaned. “That’s how she traps me. My bad sense of calendar.”
“I don’t know if Mr. Olivebury kept more diaries before this one,” Viv said, “but for the past three years, similar entries appear biweekly—and only when he’s in London.”
“So, matching the social season?” Jacob asked. “As in, it might be related to parliamentary sessions after all?”
She rifled through the pages. “Yes. No. Here, I found a visit to London when the House of Commons was adjourned, and the cryptic entries are still present.”
“At least you found something,” said Tommy. “There’s nothing behind these portraits but—”
Viv and Jacob looked at her.
Frowning, Tommy gripped the final framed painting. “It’s stuck to the wall.”
“Stuck?” Viv repeated.
“It can’t be.” Jacob crossed the room. “I’ll help.”
He tugged on the gilded frame.
It didn’t budge.
He narrowed his eyes, then pushed the painting toward the left.
Nothing moved.
He shoved the painting toward the right. A six-foot section of wall moved with it.
Viv gasped and leapt to her feet, then remembered to lock the diary back in the drawer where she’d found it.
“It’s a secret panel,” Tommy said with respect. “But it doesn’t appear to go anywhere.”
The movable wall hid an eight-inch-deep recess, stretching from floor to ceiling, and as wide as Jacob’s outstretched arms, from fingertip to fingertip.
There was nothing inside but dust.
“Wait,” said Viv. “I see something.”
“I can see that it’s empty,” said Tommy.
“Empty now,” Viv agreed. “But look close.”
She traced a barely discernible rectangle, in which the wallpaper’s floral pattern was ever so slightly brighter than the rest.
“Something hung here,” said Jacob.
Viv tilted her head. “Mr. Olivebury must leave the secret panel open when he’s alone in his study. Light from the window fades the bits of wall covering exposed to the sun, but the part behind the object stays protected.”
“Until it was stolen,” said Tommy. “This has to be what the thief took.”
“Another watercolor, like the ones decorating the rest of the house?” Jacob guessed. “But why would anyone steal that? Or hide it in the first place?”
“A treasure map,” Tommy said confidently. “That’s what the letter-writer to Ask Vivian wanted to find, remember? And did so successfully, from the looks of it.”
Jacob appeared skeptical. “What kind of treasure? You really think there are chests of gold buried here in London?”
“Maybe in America,” Tommy suggested. “No one said the treasure had to be located in London. Gold could be anywhere.”
“The missing rectangle could be anything,” Viv said in frustration. She straightened. Not knowing gave her an idea. She turned to a blank page of her journal and fumbled for a pencil.
