"Er… Meg?"
"You'll think me very foolish," she interjected, "but I can never remember which of you is which." She paused, obviously giving the matter some thought, before continuing. "No, it's no use. You'll just have to tell me." She gave an attractive little-old-lady giggle. "Which one of you is James?"
"Er… well actually, Meg, Neither of us is James. My name is Charles, and this is Matthew. We've come to ask you about your old room in the manor?"
No response.
"The one with the hidden door in the panelling?"
"Go easy on James," she said. Then she leaned forward and whispered, "He has alzheimer's, you know."
"Meg, I know it might be difficult for you to remember, but can you recall what happened to the key to your old room?"
"The key?"
"Yes. At the moment, the door is locked and we can't find the key. Can you think where it might be?"
"James was always such a nice fellow. He looked after me very well."
"Meg, do you know where the key is? We need to get into your old room. It's really very important."
"Is Mrs Gillcarey still there?"
"Meg, please!"
"Hmm?"
"Where is the key?"
"Oh yes, the key, yes. Erm… now let me see. Oh, I'm not sure I can remember. Which key do you mean?" She giggled again. "Oh, I know it must be round here somewhere."
Matthew, who was becoming increasingly impatient, stood up and walked over to a Welsh dresser that was really too large for this small room. With a glance in Charles' direction he began to open the drawers and started rummaging through them. Charles was both shocked and embarrassed and opened his mouth to say- he knew not what. But, since Meg didn't seem to mind this rather intrusive behaviour, he remained quiet. He sat and watched her as she sipped her tea, demurely, lifting both the cup and saucer in the way proper ladies would, while Matthew rifled through all those over-full drawers, as proper gentlemen wouldn't. Meg might not know where the key is, he thought, but it's just as unlikely that she would know where anything else is either, in all this jumble of ancient clutter.
"Aha!"
With a look of satisfaction, Matthew extracted a bunch of keys from one of the drawer's nethermost recesses and held them up. All manner of sizes, and some of them looked very old and rusty. He crossed to Meg, who was still staring impassively into her teacup.
"Meg, is one of these the key to your old room?"
She took the bunch in her delicate hand and, with a small sigh, gazed at the conglomeration before her.
Oh… yes, I think so… probably. But I can't remember which one it would be. No, wait… I think perhaps this one seems familiar."
She held up an iron key which was quite long and obviously old.
Gently, Charles said, "Thank you, Meg. You've been very helpful. Would it be alright if we took these keys away with us for a short time? We'll return them to you as soon as we have the door open."
She gave another of her small smiles and nodded. Matthew was already heading for the door. Charles paused and looked back.
"Thank you for the tea, Meg."
"You're welcome. Please ask James to come and see me. I do miss him so."
He nodded and left, quietly closing the front door behind him.
Meg sat for a long time after that, staring into the middle distance and continuing to sip her tea even after it had gone cold.
Charles had to run to catch up with Matthew who was already some distance along the driveway, holding the keys in his hand and heading towards the house with renewed determination.
"How could you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Just start picking through an old lady's personal things?"
"Come on, give me a break. It was obvious that she's senile; and it wasn't as though I was stealing from her."
"Still, I think you should have waited for her permission."
Matthew stopped walking and turned to face Charles. "Ok, you're right. You want me to take the keys back?"
Charles looked at the ground and felt awkward. "No, but-"
"Thought not." He started walking again, then turned to look back to where Charles was still standing. "Are you coming?"
Charles heaved a sigh of resignation and followed. The sky continued to darken as they approached the house and rumblings of thunder could be heard in the distance.
A few minutes later found the two of them back in the gloomy corridor outside the secret room. Charles held the torch while Matthew selected the key which Meg had pointed out. As he moved it towards the keyhole it was immediately apparent that it was far too large. In exasperation he tried one of the other keys, then another, and still another. None of them worked. Then he tried every one of them again, just in case. Despite his perseverance, however, the door remained decidedly locked. With a cry of frustration he gave the door a hefty kick. That didn't work either. Obviously angry now, he began to use some words that Charles hadn't heard before.
"Perhaps Meg might have some other keys?" he suggested, when he was able to get a word in.
"Yeah, maybe. Stupid old biddy."
"Shall we go back and ask her?"
"I suppose so."
As they left the house for the second time they found that the rain was now falling heavily and the thunder was louder. This time, they decided to take the car. Charles unlocked his Jaguar and they both climbed in. The engine roared and the vehicle pulled out of the courtyard.
"Oh, how lovely to see you again!" said Meg, as she answered the door. "It really doesn't seem like a week since you were last here. My goodness, doesn't time fly! Well, come in out of the rain and I'll put the kettle on."
"Actually, Meg," said Charles, calling after her as he followed her into the tiny hallway, "we don't really have time for tea on this occasion. What we really need is some more of your help."
"Oh?" She paused and turned back to face him. "Well, what can I do for you?"
Charles held up the keys.
"Oh, I was wondering where they had got to. Someone was asking about these quite recently."
He didn't bother to explain, but continued, "Meg, we still need the key to your old room in the manor. None of these fit the lock."
"But I did tell you, this is the one you need." She again indicated the old iron key.
"We've tried it, Meg. It doesn't work."
"Doesn't it? I'm sure it was alright the last time I used it."
Matthew was starting to get impatient again.
Charles shot him a glance. "Meg, do you have any other keys?"
"I don't think so. This is the one you need."
Now Charles was becoming frustrated too. "Meg, this key does not open the door to your room."
"I know that."
"What?" Matthew was incredulous. Charles was puzzled.
"I thought I'd explained it all to you… or maybe I didn't… ah well, I can't remember. Anyway, follow me."
As she turned away Matthew whispered, "We don't have time for this. Let's get back to the house. Maybe we can find some other clues in the map book or on the film."
"Down here." Meg was holding open a door which revealed a flight of wooden steps descending into a cellar.
"Let's humour her for a moment," said Charles, under his breath, "then we'll be on our way."
Meg reached inside the door, pulled a string and a low-wattage naked light bulb flickered into life. They followed her down the stairs into the low-ceilinged cellar filled with wooden packing cases.
"These are all my things that I didn't have room to unpack after I came here from the manor," she explained, a little sadly. She gestured towards some others. "These belong to His Lordship, and these others belong to James. He said he would visit me, you know."
She led them further into the cellar which was proving to be quite extensive. The light from the one bulb didn't quite reach into these furthermost recesses and they had to pick their way carefully. Passing row after row of packing cases, they eventually turned a corner and reached a dead end.