Chapter Twenty-Four
As Donovan and Phoebe emerged from the picturesque thicket and the small lake came into view, Phoebe paused her step and gazed at the blissful sight.
“It’s the most gorgeous place I’ve ever seen. The weeping willows could have come from a fantasy, and look at the domed roof on the building…and the Roman pillars…it’s just breathtaking. I wonder what it’s like inside.”
“We’re about to find out,” Donovan said, moving to one of the two dinghy’s tied to a tree.
Dragging it to the water, he pushed it from the bank, stepped down into it, then held out his hand to help Phoebe. As she climbed in and settled on the seat, he picked up the oars and began to row.
“Donovan! You’ve done this before.”
“Once or twice,” he replied with a grin.
“What does that mean?”
“I spent a year on a rowing team in college.”
“Is there anything you haven’t done?”
“I’m sure I’ll stumble across something one day,” he replied as he maneuvered the boat alongside a small jetty. Nimbly climbing out, he tied it to the pylon, helped her up, and immediately wrapped his arms around her.
“What’s this for?” she murmured, leaning into his hard body.
“Just because,” he replied, then with his arm around her shoulders, they walked to the front door and pushed it open.
The room was filled with shards of sunlight beaming through the many windows, and though most of the furniture was hidden by dust covers the opulence was obvious.
“So…where do we start, and what are we looking for?” she asked, moving to a door at the back of the room. “Oh, look, a kitchen.”
“These rugs…” he murmured, still standing where they entered.
“What about them.”
“This reminds me of a home I once knew. It looked like small gothic castle and the owner was paranoid. He hid anything he considered important under the floorboards and they were covered by rugs.”
“Why do you think there’s something hidden?”
“From what I just heard. Peter is acquainted with a man by the name of Giles Cavendish, and he’s trying desperately to make a deal with Alexi for the painting.”
“How do you know this?”
“The camera picked up the conversation. Anyway, apparently this man Cavendish had a great grandson—or someone like that—living here during the war, and the painting was stored in here.”
“Oh, wow. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, it can’t. The question is, what would someone want to hide?”
“I’d say a letter,” she suggested earnestly. “I mean, to me that makes the most sense. An injured serviceman wouldn’t be carrying much of anything. Certainly nothing valuable, except maybe a ring or a piece of jewelry. But if he thought he wasn’t going to make it he might write a note and hide it in the hopes it will be found after he’s gone.”
“You really are very clever sometimes,” Donovan said with a grin. “Let’s say your theory is correct. This plank floor is the perfect place to ferret away just about anything. Peter said the portrait was hung here,” he remarked, staring at a wall boasting several paintings of forest life. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
As he picked up the edge of a large Persian rug, Phoebe walked quickly to his side and they rolled it back exposing the floor boards.
“Now what? How do we check them?”
“Like this,” he replied, lightly bouncing on one after another. “Ah! This is loose. Go into that kitchen and see what you can find to pry it up.”
“Like a knife?”
“Yes, but it has to be strong.”
As she hurried away and Donovan tried to place his fingernails along the edges, he spotted small chips.
His heart skipped.
“I found a few things, including two long, flathead screwdrivers,” she exclaimed, walking quickly toward him.
“I found something too. Look at these old markings.”
Kneeling beside him she stared at the scratches made many years before when the plank had been moved.
“This is so exciting,” she muttered as he picked up a screwdriver.
“If nothing else, hopefully this will break away the wood bit by bit until it makes a hole, then I can get it wedged and try to lift the board.”
“That should work. Can I do anything to help?”
“Sure, use that other one and do the same thing.”
The painstaking chore did exactly what Donovan had hoped, and faster than he expected. But before trying to raise the board, he picked up one of the steel blades, ran it along the sides, and pounded it in where the wood had swollen.
“Okay, let’s give this a try,” he exclaimed, placing his screwdriver in the hole he’d dug out. Phoebe did the same, and together they tried to lift the board. Though it took awhile it started to give, then suddenly popped out. Donovan hastily withdrew his small but powerful flashlight from his pocket and shone into the dark space.
“Do you see anything?” Phoebe asked urgently.
“I sure do. A pouch.”
“Really? Oh, my gosh.”
Reaching down, he wrapped his fingers around it and gently lifted it from its dark grave.
“This is incredible,”
“Hold it while I—”
“Are you kidding? I have to see what’s in it.”
“Wait…it’s been down there for decades. It has to be handled with care or it could fall apart, and you might get a nasty surprise.”
“Like what?”
“Spiders and other creepy crawlies.”
“Oh…never mind,” she muttered, hastily placing the pouch on the floor next to her.
“Yes, I see something,” he continued, squinting as he studied the shallow depths, then stretching out, he moved his arm into the space. “I can just reach it…there…okay…I have it.” Slowly straightening up he stared down at the envelope, then brushed away the dirt. “It’s addressed to someone named Julie Pemberton, 42 Bluebottle Lane, Hampshire. I have a feeling this will tell us everything we need to know.”