The Book of Hours (21 page)

“You can say that again,” Cecilia murmured, and the night wind caught her words and tossed them skyward.

“The thing about the house that scared her the most was the attic and the stairs leading up. She described the top floor as a long, narrow hall, not much taller than Heather and running the entire length of the house. The stairs were tight even for her, and so steep she had to use her hands to climb. The place was full of dust and strange noises. She used to have terrible nightmares about monsters coming down from the attic to get her.”

As they crossed the front hallway and started up the main staircase, he continued, “Whenever it rained or the wind blew hard, her bedroom ceiling creaked and rattled like beasties were racing back and forth overhead.”

Together they walked down the middle floor hallway and started up the steps to the third floor. “What I just remembered was Sarah describing how Heather had turned this into a game. She and Heather spent an entire weekend making a list of all the things that scared her. Then Heather took the list up into the attic, and she said that if Sarah could face up to her fears, meet them head-on, the rewards would be greater than she could ever dream.”

The attic stairwell stood behind a door that merged with the hallway, a crack and a keyhole the only signs of a door being there at all. Brian twisted the rusty skeleton key, pulled back the door, and went on, “Whatever it was Sarah found, she said it was like entering an Aladdin's cave.”

But Cecilia did not start up the stairs. Instead she looked up at Brian and asked, “What is it that frightens you the most?”

He started to explain the thoughts of the previous night and how he had spent two years running from anything that hinted of commitment or responsibility. But the night seemed years ago now, back on the other side of all he had experienced and learned that day. He stood there in the dimly lit, dusty hallway, and realized that his entire world was changing. Altering so greatly that he had to search to find something new to be frightened of. And when he realized what it was, he wondered whether he should say it at all.

Cecilia cocked her head to one side. “Why are you looking at me . . .”

They heard the sound together. A scraping and a knocking from up above. Cecilia's eyes grew round. “Was that one of Sarah's beasties?”

Brian launched himself up a stairwell so narrow that his shoulders brushed each wall. The steps were almost as steep as a ladder, and he used his hands to climb faster. “Stay there!”

“You're not leaving me down here alone!” Cecilia scrambled up behind him.

He fumbled at the catch to the narrow door, slammed it back with his shoulder, stepped into gloom, and shouted, “Who's up here?”

Then stars erupted in his head, and suddenly his legs could no longer support him. He did not even feel the floor when it rushed up to catch him.

“Brian? Please wake up!” The voice worked its way through his fog and growing pain. “Can somebody hear us? Help!”

It was the near-panic in her voice that gave him the strength to fight off the blackness and the agony that took its place. Brian rolled over, groaning softly only because anything louder threatened to lift the top of his head. “Cecilia?”

“Over here.” She almost sobbed the words. “I was so worried.”

Brian could not rise to his feet. Pushing himself to his knees was enough for the entire world to thunder with pain. Cecilia's frightened face swam through the gloom, and he crawled toward her. “What happened?”

“I don't know. Somebody hit . . . Oh, you're bleeding.” She leaned over, revealing hands tied behind her back. “Can you release me?”

“I'll try.” Every word heightened the pain in his head. He squinted and brought the knots into focus, but his fingers seemed unwilling to work. It took forever to loosen the cords enough for her hands to slip free.

Cecilia swiveled back around and cradled his head in both her hands. “Look at me—can you focus?”

“Hurts.”

“I'm sure it does.” She held up a bloodied finger. “Follow this, please. Good, good.” The hand returned to probe his head, so gently that the fingers soothed the agony, at least momentarily. “Your skull seems intact.”

He mumbled, “Did you see who hit me?”

“Nothing. Tilt your head back. Good.” The probing continued. “I heard you fall, I rushed up, and I saw this shadow. Then I was hit, but on the shoulder and not my head. I fell, and somebody fell on top of me, holding me down. Then he tied me up and left.”

“He?”

“Had to be a male; he was too strong and heavy for a woman.” She used her good arm to push him up. “Can you stand?”

“Yes.” But only because she was there to support him. Even so, the steep attic stairs almost defeated him. Twice he swayed and thought he was going to fall. But together they made it down both sets of stairs and into the central parlor. With a groan of relief, Brian collapsed onto his pallet.

“Stay right there.”

Brian had to laugh at that. As if he were going anywhere at all.

“I'll go call the police and get my bag. That cut needs a couple of stitches.”

Brian lay and listened as a doorbell rang and voices drifted up from downstairs. He could make out Gladys and Arthur's rising worry. Then he must have drifted off, for the next thing he knew the pain seemed fresher and Cecilia was bending over him again. But at least now he could focus more easily, and he saw that there were three figures behind her—a very worried Arthur and Gladys, and beside them the same constable Brian had seen at the charity shop that afternoon. Brian murmured, “We meet again.”

“Hold still,” Cecilia said. “I'm going to give you a local. This will sting a little.”

The policeman waited until Cecilia withdrew the needle to ask, “I don't suppose you observed any more than Dr. Lyons?”

“Less.” Brian watched her thread the hooked needle. “I didn't even see a shadow.”

“I've had a good look around upstairs. It appears the intruder used a high stepladder to scale your sidewall and broke in through the ventilation slats. There are footprints all over the place. Any idea what was stowed up there?”

Brian felt a faint queasiness as the skin of his forehead was poked and tugged by the needle. “None at all.”

Cecilia must have caught the change, for she paused and asked, “Are you all right?”

“So-so.”

“Really, Officer,” Gladys complained. “Can't this wait until tomorrow?”

“If we want to catch the assailant, we need to be on this immediately.” But he wore the same skeptical expression he had shown at the charity shop. “Though to be perfectly frank, sir, unless you can tell us what was up there, we have nothing to go on.”

“He can't help you, and neither can I.” Cecilia slipped a hand behind Brian's head, raised it up, and held a plastic cup to his lips. “Drink this.”

The viscous liquid seemed to soothe even before he swallowed. He felt the warmth flow directly from his belly to his head. He sighed, “Better.”

“Good.” Cecilia smiled at him before turning to the constable and continuing, “We were actually going up to see what might be stored there.”

Brian forced his suddenly sluggish mind to function. “Did you see any secret compartments?”

“Secret . . . I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, so Heather's clue was behind this little escapade of yours, was it?” Arthur brightened. “I say, that means I must have been right about the dollhouse.”

The policeman turned toward the old gentleman. “You are referring to the house that was stolen today?”

But Brian found it impossible to stay around any longer. His eyelids drifted lower, and he fell asleep to the sound of Arthur's excited voice.

It seemed he was only asleep a moment, for he returned to the same excited voice. Even before Brian was released from the drug-induced slumber, Arthur's words took form in the dream. Which was perhaps why his first truly rational thought was the answer to Heather's riddle.

“Oh, look what you've gone and done,” Gladys scolded. “He's waking up.”

“I haven't bothered him a bit.” Arthur prodded him with one finger. “Am I bothering you, old chap?”

“Do stop being such a booby.” Gladys waved his hand away. “Cecilia told us to let him sleep.”

“Can't sleep his whole life away.” Arthur was immensely cheerful.

“Can you now, dear boy? I say, would you care for some tea?”

Brian nodded, focused on his watch, saw it was just after one. “What are you two doing here?”

“I spelled Cecilia a few hours back.” Arthur's grin was immense in the parlor's gloomy half-light. “Gladys insisted on keeping me company. How's the old noggin?”

“Hurts.”

“Well, of course it does!” Arthur seemed to find great satisfaction in that bit of news. “You just had yourself a lesson in the school of hard knocks!”

“I really wish I knew what has gotten into you,” Gladys erupted.

“Brian knows precisely what's kept me up the better part of the night, don't you, sport?”

He nodded and instantly regretted it.

“We know they stole the dollhouse because there's something more hidden away!” Arthur's voice brimmed with the triumph of the chase. “And they broke into Castle Keep to find it!”

Gladys huffed but said merely, “I suppose I'd better go put on the kettle.”

Brian took the opportunity to say, “Could you go get Cecilia?”

The old man's gaze sharpened further. “I say, you haven't come up with where it's hidden, have you?”

“Just go wake her up, okay?”

Twenty-one

A
FEW MINUTES LATER
C
ECILIA'S PLAINTIVE VOICE AROSE
from downstairs. When she stepped into the parlor, Brian had to smile, though every movement of his face stretched and pulled at his wound. Cecilia wore a college sweatshirt so old the stitching had come out and the letters fallen off. Her jeans were washed to a chalk color, and her sneakers came from two different pairs. Her hair was tousled and her face lined with the sleep that was still in her eyes. Brian croaked in greeting, “Here we have what the fashionable doctor is wearing this season.”

“I'm not on duty tonight, so I didn't lay out any clothes.” She knelt beside him and opened her bag. “I knew I should have given you an injection. That oral solution wasn't going to keep you out all night.”

“It wasn't the pain that woke me. It was Arthur.”

The gentleman's gaze turned furtive. “I say, old chap. That's telling.”

Before Cecilia could speak, Gladys appeared in the doorway and fussed, “Poked the poor man in his ribs,Arthur did. Ought to be taken outside and horsewhipped.”

“Really, Gladys dear, that's a bit much.”

Brian interrupted, “If he hadn't, I might have missed the dream.”

“There, you see!” Arthur cried in relief. “Just as I said, the man was ready to get up.”

Cecilia's gaze narrowed. “You told me he was in pain.”

“Well, of course he is. All you need to do is—”

“Arthur,” Gladys warned.

Brian said, “I asked him to go wake you.”

“You asked . . .” Cecilia rounded on him. “In case you didn't know, I have to be at the clinic in less than seven hours.”

“Which means we've got to hurry.” Brian stretched out a hand to Arthur and another to Cecilia. “Help me up.”

“You can't be serious,” Cecilia objected. “You may have a mild concussion. You certainly aren't acting sane.”

But Arthur was already hauling on his other arm. Brian grimaced, swayed, but held on to his balance. Arthur inquired, “Are you quite certain you're up for this?”

“Absolutely.” To Cecilia he said, “It was a dream, but it was also a memory. Something Sarah said after one of her talks with Heather. It wasn't the attic at all.”

“And all it took was a bump on the old noggin to sort things out,” Arthur said, rubbing his hands in glee. “I say, perhaps we should write a note and thank the thief for—”

“Arthur, stop it, please. You're acting your age.” Gladys appeared with two steaming mugs and handed one to Brian. “Drink this, dear. Tea is proper treatment for almost anything that ails you.” She handed the second mug to Cecilia, cast Arthur a stern look, and added, “Except perhaps senile dementia.”

Cecilia continued to stare at Brian in utter confusion. “Why did you wake me up?”

Brian took a sip, then sighed a sweet, milky breath. “I didn't think you'd want to miss this.”

“Miss what?”

He took another noisy slurp, and a third, then set down the mug and replied, “Let's go see.”

Brian led them along the upstairs hallway, turned the key, and opened the door leading to the attic stairs. He stepped aside and let Arthur and Gladys crowd in for a look. “I say, they're rather steep.”

“Exactly,” Brian agreed, watching Cecilia over the two gray heads.

“You've lost me,” The doctor said, but the excitement was catching, and sleep was a long-lost memory. “So?”

“So it's not as if they're exactly cramped for space around here, is it?” Brian replied. “Why on earth build stairs so narrow you have to climb sideways, and so steep you've got to use your hands?”

“Unless,” Arthur exclaimed, “they were intending to mask something behind it!”

“What I remembered,” Brian said, tapping his way down the hall, “was how Sarah said it was never the attic that scared her the most.

It was the stairs. That was what she had the worst nightmares about.”

“So what are we looking for?”

“I don't know,” he said. “Just start looking.”

Arthur banged his way noisily down the wall, saying, “Trevor will be absolutely livid when he learns what he's missed. Do you suppose I should go—”