Chapter 2

We moved in a couple of days later. Not completely, we only took suitcases with enough clothes for a holiday as it were, and decided that decisions regarding our other possessions could be left for the time being. On the first morning Mr Johnson, who seemed rather older than the remarkably comely Mrs Johnson took us on a tour of the estate, all of which seemed to be running just fine, with the farm managed and various cottages let, in addition to which there was a considerable amount of shooting and game in the charge of a young lady which seemed unusual. We were introduced to a number of people who now worked for us, discussed what they actually did, and assured them that we didn't think we would make any great changes to something which seemed to function very well. We were pretty exhausted by the time he dropped us back at the house where lunch was served. In the mean time we had discovered that Mr Johnson was the handyman and kept the house up together, using outside contractors for any of the bigger jobs, and that Mrs Johnson was in fact not Mrs but Ms, being his daughter, but Mrs was easier. I had thought there was a considerable age gap. They lived in one of the estate cottages. Mrs Johnson did the cooking and ran the house.

After lunch we decided to explore the house. It was large, but a lot of it was taken up by locked rooms. We had been shown to the largest bedroom for our own use, which seemed to be the only one with an en suite bathroom, hardly surprising as we discovered just how 'original' the house was. On the ground floor, besides the entrance foyer, from which the stairs went up to the first floor, there was a morning room, dining room, a smaller sitting room, the library and the kitchens and sculleries. On the first floor were all the bedrooms and bathrooms and in one part of the roof were the tanks and bedrooms which had originally been for live in staff, and several box rooms filled with trunks and boxes containing who knows what. We ended up in the library. HL decided that we needed to look for the safe.

"It'll be behind a picture," I told her, "they always are."

We lifted each picture. It wasn't. It didn't form part of the desk, or any other piece of furniture. And none of the considerable range of bookcases appeared to move.

"We don't have a key or a combination," said HL. "I think we should call Mr Potter."

"Good idea," I said. And did so.

Mr Potter told me that as far as he knew it was in the library, because Lady Anne, we had now discovered that it was short for Angelica, had told him so. No, he didn't have a key or a combination. Odd.

We sat there. I rang for Mrs Johnson. No, she had no idea, in fact she said, she didn't even know there was a safe. Strange.

But she would bring us some tea. Not strange, just English.

HL started to prowl about the room, whilst I sat looking at it. The room was largely panelled, with built in bookcases, I had already spotted some books that I knew to be worth a considerable sum. The fireplace on the chimney breast was somewhat off centre and the panelling slightly odd. There was a considerable amount of carving. One of the bosses on the fireplace might just have a slight amount of wear. I went to look at it. I tried to move it sideways, left then right. Nothing. I tried to twist it, and then to pull it. Nothing. In frustration I thumped it. There was a slight inward movement and then it hinged to one side revealing a small recess in which there was a key.

"Look what I've found."

HL was by my side in almost one bound.

"Well, who's a clever boy then? All you've got to do now is find somewhere to put it."

Be very careful, my dear, it's quite spiky.

I examined the recess, and as I pressed against one side an area of panelling slid aside. It was so quiet that we almost didn't notice it happening, but there was the safe. I had noticed a small sound coming from the region of the library door too, and thinking that we were perhaps being observed, I strode quietly, but quickly across the room and grasped the door handle, intending to whip the door open. The handle turned, but the door refused to open. A thought struck.