"So Billy is related to Ezekiel?" said Tancred, with a frown.
"Distantly," Paton agreed. "Billy is descended from Maybelle, who married a Raven. Ezekiel is descended from Maybelle's brother, Bertram, who inherited Septimus's fabulous wealth. But Sally believes that Septimus left his fortune to Maybelle and her heirs. And his original and true will is hidden in that beautiful box. The box she gave to Rufus. The box she believes Rufus entrusted to his dearest friend. And he was Lyell Bone."
Tancred and Emma peered closer at the family tree. There were notes scrawled across the bottom.
Maybelle gave the mother-of-pearl inlaid box to Evangeline. Evangeline gave it to Hugh and Sally on their wedding day. Hugh aud Sally gave it to Rufus and Ellen on their wedding day. Rufus gave it to Lyell Bone for safekeeping.
Daniel Raven's first wife, Niamh, died in childbirth. He then, married Jane Hill.
Tancred gave a low whistle. "What a tangle." He was about to hand back the family tree when Emma restrained him. She was scrutinizing the paper intently.
"There's a line that goes nowhere," she said, pointing to a name on the far left side of the tree. "N-I-A-something, and then Ita, and then Eamon."
"Irish," said Paton. "I intend to follow it up, but it may be impossible.
Sally told me that her husband had a half sister who lived in Ireland with her grandparents. Her mother died when she was born. But we're only interested in the line that ends with Billy. If Sally is right, then Billy Raven is the heir to Septimus Bloor's fortune."
Tancred rolled his eyes. "No wonder they want to get rid of him. Does Charlie know about this, Mr. Yewbeam?"
Paton nodded. "I managed to fill him in before he left for school on Monday."
The telephone on Miss Ingledew's desk suddenly gave a sharp ring and everyone jumped. Miss Ingledew picked up the receiver. The voice at the other end could be heard quite clearly and Tancred leaped off the sofa, crying, "It's Dad. Oh, no, I forgot to call him."
Miss Ingledew had to hold the receiver well away from her ear as Mr.
Torsson's voice thundered into the room, sending pens and papers flying off
her desk. Paton took the receiver from her and shouted "Torsson!" into the phone. "Tancred's here, as you no doubt suspected. He's quite safe, but he'd better spend the night in the bookstore. There's a lot going on. We'll talk about it later."
Mr. Torsson's reply was loud but reasonable. He'd managed to get his thunder under control. Tancred took over from Paton and told his father he would be home in the morning. He replaced the receiver with a sigh of exhaustion.
"It's all right to stay the night?" he asked Miss Ingledew, darting a look at Emma.
"We'll make up a bed on the sofa," Mss Ingledew said with a smile.
Paton decided it was time for him to leave. He wished everyone a good night and reminded Miss Ingledew to lock and bolt the door as soon as he had left.
He waited outside the shop while she did this, and then she waved at him through the glass in the door, and he set off.
When he left Cathedral Square, Paton heard a low muttering of voices that grew louder as he approached the turn to Piminy Street. A group of people were coming up the road toward him. They were an odd bunch, with their long coats, their furs, their leathers, and their strangely dated hats. One of them wore a white undershirt. Paton backed up a few steps and slid into the shadows behind a narrow porch. He watched as they all turned onto Piminy Street. There must have been at least a dozen of them. When they had passed the first few houses, Paton felt confident enough to step quietly into the street, but one of the group turned, suddenly, and stared at him, her eyes glinting in the dark; she was very small, her face ancient in the streetlight, her hair a deep red. Paton averted his eyes and hurried on.
Not for the first time he wished that Julia Ingledew didn't live so close to Piminy Street. "On the doorstep of another world," he said to himself as he walked briskly through the city, avoiding streetlamps where he could. The salty tang on his lips reminded him that Lord Grimwald was in the city once again. At Ezekiei's invitation, no doubt. And Paton thought of Lyell Bone, out on the wild ocean.
As Paton strode down Filbert Street, a black car rolled past him and stopped outside number nine. Grizelda Bone got out of the car and climbed the steps to the door.
"I'll wager she's up to her neck in all this skulduggery," Paton said to himself.
4. GABRIELS SECRET
Gabriel Silk had a secret. He wanted to tell Charlie about it, but there was never an opportunity. They were in different dormitories now, and different classes. The cafeteria was too public, and out in the grounds they were never alone. There might, however, be a chance when Charlie was on his way to a music lesson.
Gabriel had been waiting in the corridor of portraits, hoping to catch Charlie as he crossed the hall. He had intended to stand just inside the hallway but found himself wandering farther down, studying the portraits on the wall. He passed them every day but had never really studied them. The subjects were mostly stern-looking men and women, though occasionally you could find a smiling person. If you knew your history well enough, you could tell by their clothes what century they had lived in. Gabriel had been told that every one of them was descended from the Red King. There was even a Silvio Silk in a black velvet suit and a white curled wig. He might have been Gabriel's ancestor, but he bore no resemblance to him.
If Gabriel wore someone else's clothes, he immediately knew what sort of person had worn them before. He could sometimes picture them, see what they had done, and even hear their voices. But portraits could tell him nothing.
"If I was Charlie, I could go right in and talk to you," Gabriel whispered to Silvio Silk. "And you could talk to me."
Silvio Silk didn't bat an eyelid. He wore the same resigned expression that he had worn when the artist painted him, two hundred years before.
Gabriel wandered farther down the hallway. He passed men in sober black suits, in rich red jackets and glittering gold waistcoats; he passed women whose necks were hung with diamonds and pearls, whose hair was garlanded with flowers, and whose shoulders were draped in velvet and fur. And then he stopped before a full-length portrait of a cavalier. Gabriel's eye was drawn to the sword at the man's side. It had a delicately wrought golden hilt, and the man's gloved fingers rested on it almost lovingly. As Gabriel stared at the intricate gold curves, they glinted suddenly, as though the sun had caught them. And then Gabriel found his gaze lifting to the face above the wide lace collar. The man had shoulder-length black hair, and between the black mustache and pointed beard, his fleshy lips held an unpleasant grin.
Gabriel stepped back to get a better view, and now he noticed that the eyes seemed wrong. There was no light in them. It was as if the man's spirit had left the painted face.
A cold shudder ran down Gabriel's spine. It was dark in the hallway. There were no lights, no sunlit window. Had he imagined the sudden bright glint on the gold sword hilt? Was the lack of light in the man's eyes or merely Gabriel's own shadow? No. There was something different about this painting.
The name on the bronze plaque at the base of the frame read: Ashkelan Kapaldi. The plaque had come loose; it hung at an angle and there were fingerprints on the shiny surface of the paint. Someone had touched the portrait very recently, pressed and prodded it repeatedly.
"Gabriel Silk, what are you doing?" Manfred's voice came ringing down the corridor of portraits.
Gabriel turned guiltily, although, as far as he knew, he had nothing to feel guilty about. He must make sure that Manfred didn't guess what was on his mind. The talents master had been using hypnotism a great deal recently.
"What are you doing here?" Manfred came up to Gabriel and stared at him.