Betrayal at Blackcrest by Jennifer Wilde

bedrooms and the main rooms downstairs in shape. All the rest of the house is shambles, just shambles, sheets over the furniture and dust an inch thick on the chandeliers. But we’ve held on—taxes are abominable. Thieves in the government. Why should I pay for planes and missiles? Don’t you agree?”
    â€œIndubitably.”
    â€œWe’ve held on. Remarkable, in this day and age. I would die before I’d open the place to tourists. So many of our best families—for half a crown they think they can litter the place with orange peels and paper cups and stick wads of chewing gum on William Morris paper. Not in my house, thank you!”
    â€œIt’s a fascinating place,” I told her rather breathlessly. We were practically running down the corridor.
    â€œNaturally. The tales these walls could tell! You’ll learn a lot when you type up the memoirs, of course. I do adore your hair, child. It’s the color of sunset over the desert. Now we turn here. Watch your step. Do you like towers?”
    â€œI’ve never been in one.”
    â€œThat’s ridiculous. Not even in London? All that talk about the little princes. Rot! He didn’t do it. Not with those eyes—”
    â€œI adored Olivier,” I said.
    Andrea Hawke stopped abruptly, so abruptly that I almost ran into her. She whirled around to face me. There was a curious twinkle in her blue eyes. A strange little smile played on her bright pink lips.
    â€œYou are sharp, aren’t you?” she said. “Not many people are able to follow me. They say I’m scatterbrained—”
    â€œNot at all,” I replied soberly. “Towers, the little princes, Sir Laurence as Richard the Third. It’s a matter of mental reflex, wouldn’t you say? I suppose most people are rather slow—”
    â€œRemarkable,” she said, “absolutely remarkable. You and I are going to get along famously. Why didn’t Derek want you to work for me? I would think he’d be delighted to have a gorgeous creature like you about the place.”
    â€œI don’t think he trusts me,” I replied.
    â€œOh, well, he doesn’t trust anyone. Ever since—but that’s in the past, yet one would think—”
    I waited, curious to learn what had happened to cause Derek Hawke to be so wary of everyone. Andrea merely shook her head, privately reflecting on the incident and clearly not intending to discuss it with me at the moment. I curbed an impulse to question her about it. It would not be wise to be too pressing just yet. I was going to stay at Blackcrest, and there would be plenty of time to uncover all the family secrets. I expected Betty to be a great help.
    â€œTowers? Yes, I was going to tell you about the tower. It’s mine. I mean, of course all of Blackcrest is mine, naturally, and will be until Derek takes over, but the tower is particularly mine. The cats, you understand. Betty and Agnes won’t abide them, and Jessie would toss a grand fit if one of them pranced into the kitchen. I have to keep them away, and the tower is ideal. It’s a ruin, but cozy. I think you’ll like your room.”
    â€œIn the tower?” I asked.
    â€œYes, over the cats and the study. I have the master bedroom. It’s Regency and rather dull, but I have to stay there. I couldn’t sleep in the tower. People would think me peculiar.”
    I remained discreetly silent on this point.
    â€œBut I spend most of my time there,” she continued. “Come, I’ll show you.”
    We walked down a dark, narrow little hall and came to a flight of flimsy wooden stairs that led down to what I assumed was the basement. I felt drafts of cold air swirling up to meet us as we descended. I understood the fur coat now. We reached the concrete floor. I could barely see the damp walls with pipes running along them. We seemed to be in a vast subterranean dungeon.
    Andrea Hawke fumbled along