Chapter 28
Ruby
I’m sitting on the cold steps outside the Beauforts’ house, looking at my watch. James texted me over an hour ago that he was on his way home and asked if I’d like to come over. I didn’t hesitate a second.
I meant what I told him at lunchtime. I want to be there for him, to have his back, and if he’s got through a hideous meeting at Beaufort’s, I want at least to have a nice evening with him before the whole thing loops back round to the beginning.
I don’t have to wait long before I spot the Rolls-Royce on the drive.
I stand up and wipe the dust off my skirt.
Percy parks right by the front door, and almost at once, James gets out.
I know he feels anything but comfortable in the gray-checked Beaufort’s suit he put on for the meeting, but there’s no denying how good it looks on him.
You can tell it was made specifically for him, and I gulp as I glance up again and spot the suggestive smile on James’s lips.
The next moment, he comes over and hugs me tight.
“Hey,” he murmurs into my ear, pressing a kiss on the top of my head.
I hold him for a moment, then lean back to take a look at his face.
“How was it?” I ask carefully, stroking my hand over the nape of his neck.
“Come on,” James says, nodding toward the front door. “I’ll tell you everything indoors.”
He glances at Percy, who gets out of the car and disappears with a nod, then James takes my hand and leads me up the steps to the house. He unlocks the door, but before we’ve even stepped inside, Mary appears with an inquiring look on her face.
“Ruby and I could do with a bit of space this evening, Mary,” James says. “It would be good if nobody came upstairs.”
I feel the heat flooding my cheeks—and the housekeeper is blushing slightly too. James’s words have completely thrown me, and I feel in a daze as he leads me up the stairs and left, toward his bedroom. He glances over his shoulder again once we get there, then shuts his door behind us.
I’m expecting James to pin me against the wall and kiss me senseless, but instead he reaches into his trouser pocket and pulls out his wallet.
“I have to show you something,” he says, repeating the words in his earlier text.
I look at him in confusion. “What’s going on?”
“After the meeting, Percy picked me up to bring me home—but we stopped by a pub along the way. And then he told me something about my father. Something that could change everything.”
He opens the wallet and pulls something out. It’s a small key. He holds it out to me, and I turn it this way and that. It doesn’t look particularly special—just a perfectly ordinary little key.
“What’s this?” I ask slowly.
“Mum gave this key to Percy to look after, years ago,” James says rapidly, his words practically tumbling out of him.
He pushes himself away from the door, loosening the knot of his tie and looking at me again.
“And he also told me that, just after she died, he had to drive Dad to see his lawyer. He said it was urgent but not to mention it to anyone.”
Without realizing it, I’m holding my breath. “What does that mean?”
James drops the tie onto the sofa. Then he unbuttons his cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to the elbows. “It means we need to find out what Mum was hiding from Dad. This key might have something to do with Dad’s secret. Maybe…” His words fade away, and he presses his lips together in a thin line.
I straighten my shoulders and walk over to James. I put my hands on his flushed cheeks and stand on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. Then I move away and look seriously at him. “We’ll find out what the key is for.”
James gulps hard, then nods. He takes the key back and slips it in his trouser pocket. “Dad’s spending the night in London. This is the perfect time to look through Mum’s stuff.”
James takes my jacket from me, and then we leave his room again.
We walk back past the stairs, into the part of the house I’ve never been in before.
The landing is at least as long as the one James’s and Lydia’s rooms are on, but there’s only one door here.
We stop outside it, and James takes a deep breath.
Then he turns the handle and opens the heavy wooden door into the room.
It feels kind of wrong coming in here, and my heart sounds way too loud.
Breathlessly, I look around as James shuts the door behind us again, then locks it.
We’re in a narrow passage, with some kind of fancy hallstand that has a light-up mirror.
To the left is a door that must lead to the en suite bathroom.
James walks past it into the bedroom, and I follow him.
“I can’t remember the last time I was in here,” he admits. He’s whispering, as if he’s just as scared of getting caught as I am. He walks across the room to a desk by the window.
“Mum always liked to be able to look outside while she was working. Anytime she came into my room, she wrinkled her nose at my desk being by the wall.” He eyes the papers on the desktop and fans them out.
He skims them. “But these days, I like to look out too. Once I’ve got a place of my own, I’ll be just the same as her. ”
I walk over and gently stroke his back. “Shall we get started?” I ask.
James pauses a moment, his hand on the papers, then eventually takes a deep breath and nods. “Yes. Let’s get started.”
“Seeing that we’re here…” I say, bending down to the desk drawers. I look at James for permission.
“Go for it.”
I pluck up all my courage and open the top drawer. It’s full of Beaufort’s-branded notebooks and matching pencils. I take them all out, put them on the desk, and feel the bottom of the drawer. I knock, but it sounds perfectly ordinary, not hollow.
“You look like you’ve done this hundreds of times before. Is there anything that I should know about?” James asks from the other side of the desk, where he’s in the middle of clearing out the little cabinet.
“I’ve seen enough films,” I reply, shaking the drawer. Nothing happens, so I put the stuff back, making sure everything is back in the right place, and shut it again. Now for drawer number two.
“I don’t know whether to consider that scary or sexy.”
I grin and pull out the folder in the next drawer. I flick through it but don’t find anything suspicious looking, let alone anything the key would fit.
We work through the whole desk, one section at a time.
After that, we even pull it out a little in case there’s anything hidden behind it, but no such luck.
Then we go to the bedside tables. By this point, if not before, we’ve lost the urge to crack jokes to lighten the mood.
I feel kind of dirty, looking through Mrs. Beaufort’s hand creams, bits of jewelry, and classic novels.
There’s an old magazine too, with a photo of Cordelia on the cover.
For a moment, I wonder why she kept it in her bedside table, but I would probably have done the same thing.
I might even have had a cover like that framed to hang over my desk.
“There’s nothing here. And nothing under the bed either,” says James, his voice muffled. When he stands up again, his shirt is all crumpled.
“Same here. Shall we look in the wardrobe?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
When he opens the door to his parents’ walk-in wardrobe, it takes my breath away. It’s massive. A whole room.
There are rails on either side, hanging with neatly ironed his-and-hers suits, along with shirts and blouses, and shelves filled with countless pairs of shoes.
It seems like the left side was hers, and I really start to sweat looking at her things.
Meanwhile, it occurs to me in a flash that my sister would give her right hand to be in my place right now.
She adores a walk-in wardrobe, and I know that this would be a dream to her.
Then I’m ashamed of the thought and put it out of my mind to concentrate on the task at hand.
James takes a few steps into the room and gently strokes one of his mum’s suits.
“It even smells of her,” he murmurs hoarsely.
I come up behind him and gently pat his shoulder. “If you want us to stop, you just have to say.”
He shakes his head at once. “No.”
I nod and go to the shelves. Cautiously, I start to look for anything hidden between the T-shirts. But there’s nothing there. James tackles the higher shelves that I can’t reach, and the shoes, but he has no luck either.
“What about here?” I ask, pointing to the white-painted cabinet at the back. James nods, and I click open the door.
Again I’m holding my breath. I’m positively dazzled by jewels. Everything glitters and sparkles—brooches, chains, earrings; there are a few fascinators too, the kind you wear to weddings or Ladies’ Day at Ascot.
“Wow,” I murmur.
James comes over and crouches beside me. “I recognize a lot of this stuff. I can even remember the exact occasions when she wore different things. Is that weird?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
We study the drawers, which are lined with black velvet, and take them out in case there’s anything hidden behind them. The bottom one contains hair clips and all kinds of extravagant bits and bobs. I recognize some that I saw Lydia wearing when she sat in front of me in history.
“Why is this only half a drawer?” James asks suddenly.
I’d been too busy looking at a glittering spider, and wondering what occasion it would be suitable for, to have noticed.
The next moment, James leans forward and pulls the drawer out as far as it’ll go.
Then he squeezes his arm into the gap between the bottom drawer and the back of the cabinet. His eyes widen.
“I think there’s something there,” he says, shifting so that his whole arm can fit inside. I hear a quiet scraping sound as James reaches for whatever it is. I hold my breath as he finally gets hold of it and his arm reappears. But then I frown in confusion.
“What’s that?” I whisper.
James looks just as surprised. The object he’s holding is a small box. It’s completely covered in little beads and sequins, in all the colors of the rainbow. It’s so bright, so tacky, that it seems totally out of keeping with everything else in Cordelia Beaufort’s wardrobe.
“Looks like a jewelry box. But…I don’t think it can have been Mum’s. It looks kind of weird.”
I nod. All the beads are so wonky that it reminds me of a small child’s overenthusiastic artwork. “Did you or Lydia make it at nursery school?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “If we had, Dad would have thrown it in the bin.”
“James,” I say suddenly. “Turn it around.”
He does as I say, then freezes. There’s a little keyhole on the front of the box.
“Have you got the key?” I ask, but James has already reached into his pocket and pulled it out. I think we’re both holding our breath as he slips it into the lock—and turns.
We exchange glances, then James opens the lid. I lean in for a closer look.
It’s lined with navy blue velvet, and inside, there’s an envelope. James takes it out and sets the jewelry box down on the floor beside him. Then he slowly opens the letter.
I watch him as he reads. He doesn’t react in any way. But I try to wait, and not to show how worried I feel.
After a whole two minutes, James looks up from the letter.
“And?” I whisper.
“We have to call Ophelia right away.” He holds up the paper. “This is my mother’s will.”