From habit, Darwin patted the medical chest at his side. He might indeed need the contents for Jacob Pole, using them to treat the colonel’s agues from tropical service; he was more and more convinced that any standard pharmacopeia would be useless in dealing with Helen Solborne.
Thomas Solborne was waiting as the coach rattled up the Newlands gravel drive.
“Quickly now,” he said, helping Darwin down the double step. “There will never be a better time. What delayed you?”
The sun was setting, and a thick fog was creeping in from the sea.
“Broken traces, just beyond Wyke Regis.” Darwin was already surveying the house and shoreline. “Where is Colonel Pole?”
Solborne pointed to a narrow road leading to the left. “Helen went for her afternoon walk and rendezvous. Jacob again agreed to follow her—discreetly—while I waited for you.”
“What is her condition?”
“Deteriorating, at least to my eye. But Helen is of indomitable will. She admits only to a slight fatigue. Let us hurry. We have perhaps twenty minutes.”
He led the way through the double doors at the front of the house. The entrance hall was long and wide, furnished with massive oriental standing vases and gloomy suits of old armor.
Darwin peered down at the polished floor. “Purbeck marble? I have never seen it before except in churches.”
“It is mined locally. It is beautiful, wears forever—and is diabolically cold in winter. Were it not for Helen’s strong views and preferences, I would cover everything with carpets.”
Solborne was walking to the left, where a long curved staircase led upward to the next level. Darwin, still motionless in the entrance, saw an identical stair at the other end. He was forming in his mind a picture of the house layout and dimensions. Beyond the stairs must lie another room, and then the towers.
“Newlands was built with a high degree of symmetry.” Solborne had turned, aware that Darwin was not following. “The north and south ends of the main building form a matched pair. But it is better if you see the tower containing Helen’s suite of rooms.”
“It is best if I see everything.” Darwin, moving after the other man, ran his hand along the smooth curve of the banister. It was polished and free of dust.
The staircase brought them to an antechamber with two doors. One, open, led to a dining room, thirty-five feet long and with a log fire blazing on the seaward side. A huge table of gleaming mahogany and eighteen chairs dominated the middle of the room. The other door of the antechamber was closed. Solborne opened it without knocking and went through.
“Joan Rowland’s bedroom.” He pointed to the left, where still another door stood ajar. “Joan spends every night here.”
“What is her relationship to Helen?”
“I thought of that also. It is respectful, but not close. There is no way that Joan would jeopardize her future at Newlands by serving as Helen’s accomplice.” Solborne was at a door in a blank wall of white stone, no more than five feet away from Joan Rowland’s room. “And this provides the only inside entrance to the south tower.”
Darwin examined the door as they passed through. It was panelled and not particularly thick. It would not muffle sounds from its other side. He bent low and looked at the latch with special care, checking that it had no lock.
Beyond lay a large chamber, its octagonal shape matching the outside figure of the stone tower. A tight spiral staircase of iron filigree led down to the tower’s outside entrance. Darwin did not attempt a descent—with his bulk it would have been a tight fit—but asked, “Is the outer lock still in position?”
“In position, and according to Colonel Pole, untouched. He inserted a dab of candle grease into the padlock. It remains undisturbed.”
The two men began their ascent of the wider stair that followed the outer wall of the tower. One level brought them to Helen Solborne’s sitting room and study, with its own fireplace and south-facing window. Darwin tried to open it, and grunted.
“As you see.” Solborne came to his side, and pushed hard on the casement. “A couple of inches of travel, no more. Not an entrance or an exit.”
“For a human.” Darwin was lingering over the many books. Solborne gave him an uneasy glance, and dragged him away. Ten minutes had passed since the arrival of the coach.
The next floor was a plain bedroom, above it a sewing room. Packets of furniture covering materials sat on every available surface.
“One more.” Solborne had noticed that Darwin was breathing heavily. “And the only one with a window that can open wide. Up we go.”
Full-length mirrors stood on all walls of the last story, throwing multiple reflections of both men. “As you see, Helen’s dressing room. The morning light is excellent, because the window faces southeast.”
He went across and threw it open. The thick-curtained window looked out over the sea. The fog was thickening, and a curl of mist drifted in. Darwin joined him and leaned out over a sheer drop. After a few moments he leaned one shoulder out and turned to peer upward. A gutter ran around the top of the tower, about eight feet above his head. He craned to look to the right, but the roof of the house itself was hidden around the curve of the tower.
“Fifteen minutes,” Solborne said nervously. “Do you see anything?”
“Enough.”
“Then we’d best be getting down again.” He led the way, only to have Darwin pause near the door and bend down to examine a pair of heavy brass oil lamps.
“For dressing here after dark.” Solborne waited impatiently. “On the occasions when Helen can be persuaded to attend a social evening gathering—which is rare indeed.”
He breathed more easily once they were out of the tower and in the long dining room. “Is there anything else you would wish to see in the house itself, before Helen returns?”
“The roof of this part of Newlands.” And, when Solborne stared. “It would, I think, be impossible for mortal human to ascend that sheer stone face. But it might be easy indeed to descend it.”
“Ah!” Solborne’s face lit with sudden understanding. “From the tower top, with the assistance of a rope. There is roof access through the attic.”
He was already running for the stairs, and by the time that Darwin had negotiated three flights and reached the attic level, Solborne had opened a dusty roof skylight. He stood outside, in approaching darkness.
One glance was sufficient for both men. Solborne turned to his visitor and shook his head. The tower top stood a full fifteen feet above them. There was no sign of a ladder, or anything else that might assist in scaling the tower.
“What now?”
“We think again.” Darwin, if anything, seemed pleased, as though some less interesting alternative had been disposed of. He led the way back down. When they emerged into the dining room a middle-aged woman with a thin, tight-lipped face was waiting for them. She examined Darwin, grimy and covered with cobwebs, with plenty of curiosity, but spoke at once to Solborne.
“It’s happened again, sir. We had eight gallons or more, now we have less than two. Someone is pilfering—and it isn’t me nor Joan nor Liza.”
“I am sure it isn’t. I trust all of you completely.” Solborne frowned, and muttered as though to himself, “As if I did not have enough on my mind!” And then, to the indignant woman, “There’s only one thing for it, Dolly. Have Walter carry the barrels inside, and set them in the scullery. That way no one can wander along the road and steal our oil.”
He turned to Darwin. “Mineral oil is in short supply this year, and winter prices are high. But never before have I found it necessary to guard our house reserves.”