“The castle is massive.” Eoin spoke for the first time, his gaze on everyone but Hannah. “We figured it would be best to start in the easiest place for my aunts and uncles to stash objects.”
“But where would you hide things?” Papa pressed. “You were a boy here. What nooks and crannies did you play in?”
“I was not permitted to roam. My grandfather found rambunctious curiosity inappropriate for his heir.” Eoin gazed unflinchingly at Hannah’s father. “I have read most of the tomes in the library, and I can tell you the tale behind every portrait of my ancestors, but I know little of the actual building. I sometimes escaped to the gardens, but there aren’t any structures or follies on the castle’s grounds that would be suitable for squirreling away records.”
“You know your family history, though,” Sophia pressed, leaning forward. “Did you ever hear mention of a secret tunnel in case of a siege? Perhaps one leads to the river. Or a priest hole?”
“No, especially not the latter.” Eoin held himself extremely stiffly, and Hannah wanted so desperately to squeeze him. “The Aucourtes have always been staunchly anti-papist since Henry the Eighth broke with the Catholic Church.”
“That is not precisely true,” Championess Quick said. “Yourpaternal grandmother was Catholic. She taught your father his catechism before she died. Her teachings, in fact, began his interest in the Church.”
“But she was only an Aucourte by marriage,” Charlotte pointed out, “and she lived here over a hundred years after the priest hunts under Queen Elizabeth.”
“True,” Championess Quick agreed, “but she wasn’t the only wife with Catholic sympathies. Now that I think about it, your father did mention a priest hole. One of his female ancestors had hidden her crucifix and other items of worship in it.”
“Do you remember where it was?” Hannah asked as she bounced one of her legs impatiently. She wanted to fly from her seat and chase down the clue immediately.
“Oh, I was never here before yesterday,” Championess Quick said, “and I haven’t thought about that conversation in over twenty years.”
“The east wing was added less than half a century ago, so it would either be in one of the old towers or the west wing.” Eoin rattled off the information until he paused. “There were major renovations to the south tower in the fifteen hundreds. At that time, the Aucourtes were still earls, and I believe the modifications were a wedding gift for a new countess. She insisted on having one of the solars redecorated before marriage. We should start there.”
Matthew spoke up. “I know a trick for finding hidden rooms. Where do you keep your candles?”
Ten minutes later, everyone had gathered in the tower across from the original keep. Thankfully, its staircase, although still twisty and narrow, had much larger openings into the roomsthan the older, unrenovated structure, so it had been easier to reach the old solar, where they were standing. Square-shaped wooden panels completely covered the room’s sandstone walls. Although the extreme use of oak felt overbearing, it was still more welcoming than the bare rock of Eoin’s boyhood chamber, and the false work would be a perfect way to hide a chamber.
“This room does feel smaller than mine although it could be just the effect of the paneling.” Eoin glanced around the chamber. “And the towers were built almost a hundred years apart, so there is no telling if their outer dimensions are the same.”
“We’ll soon see.” Matthew lit a candle and then slowly began to pace the perimeter. When he passed any joinder, he ran the flame up and down the seam.
“What precisely are you testing?” Calliope asked.
“If there’s an empty chamber behind one of the walls, the draft from the crack might blow out the light,” Matthew explained.
“How do you bloody well know that?” Powys asked. “Is that standard knowledge of physicians?”
Before Matthew could answer, the flame winked out. “Here.” Matthew began feeling around the area, searching for a trigger to open the obscured door.
“Let me help,” Calliope offered. “My ancestral seat is full of hidden passages.”
“Of course it has those,” Powys muttered.
Calliope shot him a glare. “Must you always comment snidely about my family and me?”
Powys was not chastised. In fact, the rascal even grinned in what appeared to be a genuinely friendly smile. “Yes. You are, after all, a muse, and I am a playwright. I can’t help that you inspire such lines.”
“That is only because your unrefined mind can’t truly comprehend the brilliance that I engender.” Calliope flounced over to where Matthew stood.
Lizzie leaned over to her brother and asked in her unintentionally booming voice, “Lovers’ quarrel?”
“It isnota lovers’ quarrel,” Powys snapped. “It is simply a quarrel quarrel.”
“Ah yes, your mastery of the English language is nearly Shakespearean.” Calliope didn’t even spare Powys a glance as she tapped on her chin and studied the decorative scrollwork that ran parallel to the floor and was positioned about a third of the way up the wall.
“What are you looking for, Calliope?” Hannah asked, desperately wanting to end the spat—whether it was between lovers, enemies, or an amalgamation of both.
“An uneven part of the carving. Perhaps it sticks out a little more than the other designs or it is further depressed. Anything that could be pushed or jiggled,” she explained.
“I am good with details,” Eoin said woodenly as he joined Calliope. His broad shoulders seemed locked in place as he clasped his hands behind his back. When he stiffly bent to study the artwork, Hannah swore that she could hear his body creak.
