‘You said they originate in the library and in the salon,’ Reverend Shackleford clarified. ‘How do we know which tunnel to take?’
‘Once you’re under the Chateau, you’ll come to a fork. If you want the library, take the right one. For the salon, it’s left…’ he stopped, puckering his brow. ‘Or is it the other way round? It was a long time ago I was last in ‘em.’
‘But even if we manage to get all the way into the house, what can we possibly do?’ Percy argued.
‘We’ll niver ken wi oot tryin’, Da. That be wat ye tell me.’
Percy looked at his son’s excited face – almost exactly like the Reverend’s and sighed. Truly, the lad would be the death of him.
‘There’s no time to waste, Percy my man,’ the Reverend declared. ‘It’ll be like old times – just me and you venturing into danger and saving the day…’
‘You’re not venturing anywhere without me and Rosie,’ Henri proclaimed, the mulish expression on her face daring her grandfather to argue.
‘Me too,’ Finn chimed in. ‘An’ dinnae forget Flossy.’
In the end, it took them half an hour to reach the tunnel entrance, mostly because Antoine had forgotten where it was located, and by the time he finally got his bearings, he looked ready to keel over.
The entrance was cleverly hidden behind a prolific tangle of vines growing down from a mossy bank, and after pointing at the faintMcarved into the stone on one side, the old man sat down on a large rock, mopping his brow. ‘After I’ve had a breather, I’ll go back to the village and spread the word,’ he wheezed.
‘Excellent idea,’ Reverend Shackleford agreed, patting the old man on the back. ‘Rile ‘em up, Antione lad.’ Privately he couldn’thelp wondering if the old fellow would actually make it back to the village, let alone indulge in a spot of rabble-rousing.
They remained with him until they were sure he wasn’t going to collapse on the spot. ‘Dae ye reckon he’ll peg oot afore he gets back tae the village, Revren?’ Finn asked in a loud whisper.
‘I’ve no idea, Finn my lad,’ the Reverend whispered back, equally loudly. ‘But better he does it there rather than here. Nothing says suspicious tunnel like a dead body stuck outside the deuced entrance...’
Finally, after fishing about in his cassock for the tinderbox, the Reverend lit the oil lamp they’d borrowed from the innkeeper. Then, turning to look at the tangle of vines, he muttered, ‘Right then...’
‘Do you think it’s safe?’ Henrietta asked as she watched him pull the creepers back and hold up the lamp to peer inside.
‘I reckon there might be a few spiders,’ the clergyman muttered as he stepped through, only to be immediately swallowed by the gloom until all she could see was a bobbing light.
‘What kind of spiders?’ Roseanna hissed as she followed Henrietta in after him.
‘Big ones…’ The Reverend’s chuckle was muffled in the dank space.
‘Dae ye let me keep one, Da? Like a pet mebbe?’ Finn said over his shoulder as his father brought up the rear.
‘Flossy would eat it,’ came Percy’s prompt reply. He was finally beginning to realise that a direct no came with its own problems.
Tucked in the boy’s arms, the little dog’s pricked up on hearing her name. ‘Ugh, that be bowkin,’ was all Finn muttered before lapsing into silence - likely contemplating the strategic measures involved in keeping a pet spider.
Twenty sweaty and grimy minutes later, they were just beginning to wonder whether Antoine had sent them into the wrong tunnel, when the Reverend suddenly stopped. ‘Does that wall look different to you?’ He held up the lamp as they turned to inspect the tunnel wall.
‘It’s limestone,’ Percy confirmed. ‘I think we must be finally under the chateau. Please don’t be tempted to do anything foolish, will you, Sir.?’
‘Don’t be such a deuced chucklehead, Percy,’ the Reverend grumbled, starting forward again. ‘This is just like old times. The two of us throwing a rub in the way of a good-for-nothing scoundrel's nefarious scheme.’
Unfortunately, since the curate had heard virtually the same sentence during every other totty-headed idea his superior had dreamed up, it didn’t provide quite the inspiration the Reverend might have hoped for…
‘Thunder an’ turf…’ Augustus Shackleford stopped a few moments later and held up the lamp. The passage was completely blocked by rubble.
‘We can’t turn back,’ Rosie declared, her voice desperate. ‘Who knows what horrible things that awful man might be doing to them all, right this second.’ Without answering, Reverend Shackleford swung his lamp, revealing another tunnel snaking off to the left.
‘I’d wager this one goes to the salon,’ the Reverend enthused. ‘Come on, we’re going to put a stop to this varmint once and for all…’
Twenty
‘Antoine never mentioned that the way into the salon was via a deuced ladder a mountain goat would have had difficulty scaling.’
