* * *
When Caitlin came down for a late breakfast— or early lunch— she was surprised to find out that Holt got up early and had gone out. “He’s not still asleep?” She had worked late last night doing research online while waiting for Holt to return from the city. Once she heard him come in and go straight to his room, she finally was able to shut down her laptop and go to sleep.
“I believe he decided to look up some former acquaintances,” Mrs. Smith told her as she set a sandwich in front of her.
Caitlin dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. Really? She didn’t know what to say to that. Holt hadn’t shown any interest in any part of his past not involved in unloading this estate. She barely noticed what she was eating as she took a bite and chewed, thoughtfully. “What made him decide to do that, I wonder.”
“I asked if he’d looked up any old classmates and such,” Mrs. Smith admitted. “He seemed taken with the idea, and off he went.”
Caitlin nodded. This development might be very good. If he reconnected with old friends and his walk down memory lane showed him that things were better here than he remembered, he might finally see a reason to keep the estate.
Farrell came into the kitchen then. “If you’re looking for Mr. Ridley, he drove away hours ago.”
“We know,” Caitlin and Mrs. Smith replied together, then they chuckled.
“I wonder if he’ll change his mind about decorating the house,” Mrs. Smith said. “Farrell, the decorations are all up in the attic?—”
“Attic?” Caitlin broke in. “How did I not know ye had things stored in an attic?”
“Most people do around here,” Farrell said.
Caitlin kicked herself. Ye dafteedjit, of course, there was an attic in this pile. “What’s in it, besides Christmas decorations?”
“Why, a lot of old things,” Mrs. Smith answered. “I thought you knew…”
Her job might have just gotten much more complicated. Caitlin shook her head. “How do I get up there?”
“Farrell, will you do the honors? After both of you finish eating?”
“Of course,” he replied. Once the meal was over, and Mrs. Smith allowed them to leave, he led Caitlin to a set of stairs that had been hidden by what she assumed was a closet door in an empty, unused bedroom.
“Give a shout if you need anything,” Farrell told her and went on about his business.
Caitlin mounted the stairs, determined not to let her hopes get the best of her. Still, attics were often treasure troves. Perhaps this attic would be full of the very sort of things she’d come here to find. Not high-quality English or Scottish antiques of the first water, the kind on display in the parlor downstairs, but pieces reminiscent of Scottish history. Perhaps even Jacobite pieces carted off by murderous and avaricious English lords who took control of much of Scotland after Culloden, then brought their spoils to the colonies sometime later.
Or there might be nothing of value. Junk that no one had the heart to discard. Broken pieces of an earlier time, but not as early as the period that interested her.
Did Holt know about this attic? Perhaps not, since he’d never lived in this house. Certainly, knowing her interests, he would have mentioned it.
At the top of the staircase, Caitlin paused and took a breath while she surveyed the open attic space that had been to the side and behind her as she mounted the stairs. Cobwebs draped from rafters to exposed lightbulbs across the ceiling, dangling down to the attic’s contents. Caitlin shuddered. She hated spiders.
Well, there was no way to avoid them other than going back downstairs for a broom. She moved into the space, gaze drawn by a grouping of furniture once covered with sheets and now half exposed as old fabric rotted and split apart. She ducked under a low-hanging cobweb but managed to catch some of it in her hair. “Shite!” she cried, batting at it and shuddering. At least she didn’t see any creepie-crawlies…yet.
Straightening, she fingered the fabric. Linen, yellowed by time. She flipped up a corner to expose a sideboard and coughed as dust filled the air. She turned away and breathed through the fabric of her sleeve until the dust settled. Next time, she’d bring a broom and a dust mask with her. But while she was here…she turned back to the sideboard and studied it.
Older than the showpieces downstairs, not as finely crafted. The finish had darkened almost to black. The linen might have blocked some of the dust, but not all of it. She ran her finger across the top and left a revealing streak of woodgrain.
Next, she tugged at a drawer. It slid open with a squeal of protest, then got stuck halfway. She couldn’t see anything inside it and made a mental note to add a torch— a flashlight on this side of the Atlantic— to the list of things to carry up the stairs next time. Another drawer wouldn’t budge, but one below it slid open smoothly. As near as she could see, it too was empty, but she hesitated to put her hand in and feel for contents. Something might have taken up residence in there. Instead, she pushed it closed and lifted more of the linen out of the way, revealing a side table tucked between the sideboard and a headboard.
They all looked to be of an age, darkened by time, of simple lines and graceless construction. Crouching down, she tugged the small table out into the light. Square, with four square legs and one drawer, there was nothing fancy about it. It might have been used as a place to put a water pitcher or washbowl in someone’s chamber or stood beside a chair. During a later time, it would have boasted inlaid wood, cabriole legs, or a center column with three curved feet, an ogee edge on the top surface and a metal or glass drawer pull. Not this poor wee thing. This was much rougher stuff, this wee table. Possibly older than the showpieces downstairs…or just cheaper.
Caitlin left it and pulled the linen away from the piece behind the headboard. Another cabinet, taller than the sideboard she uncovered first, but still rough, with several columns of small drawers. Serviceable, not decorative. Something from servants’ quarters, she mused. Or used in a kitchen or apothecary? Interesting for its history, but she doubted it would prove to be very valuable. Still, in this light, it was hard to tell. She turned to head back to the stairs, still thinking she’d come back up later, with her list of items and something to add to the illumination, and walked right into a dangling cobweb.
Shrieking and batting at the gossamer threads like a madwoman, she backed away, knowing if she darted toward the stairs, she might run into another and find one inhabited.
At first, she thought she heard her heart pounding in fear, then realized she was hearing footsteps pounding the floor below her and up the stairs, while she fought to clear the mess from her face.
“Caitlin, what the hell?”
