"Can I help you, sir?"
The deep voice spoke right next to him. With a cry of surprise, Matthew spun round and, as he did so, the sphinx slipped from his grip. As it slid away he tried to grasp it again but it fell and hit the wooden floor with a loud crack, shattering into several pieces with tiny shards of white plaster flying in all directions.
"Oh, I am sorry, sir. It was not my intention to startle you."
"That's ok, James. Er… I couldn't sleep. Here, let me help you clean up the mess."
"Please don't trouble yourself, sir. I can manage. Would you like me to bring you a cup of warm milk? They say that it's really most helpful if you're having difficulty sleeping."
"Thanks, but you don't need to worry. I'm sure I'll drop off eventually." He tried to inject a jaunty tone into his voice, though without much success. "Well, goodnight."
"Goodnight, sir."
With a furrowed brow, James watched as Matthew left the room and disappeared into the darkness. Then he turned and, with the storm beyond the window still at full force, began to collect up the broken pieces of the sphinx.
Chapter 14
Although the rain had stopped it was still very windy and the sky was grey and overcast as Charles and Matthew breakfasted together the following morning.
Charles wasn't sure, but thought he detected a slight tension in the air whenever James and Matthew exchanged any conversation. He did not really give it much thought, however — his mind was far too occupied with trying to discover the significance of the new poem.
"Well," he began, "I was hoping that sleeping on the problem would yield some answers, or at least some sort of idea as to how we might proceed, but I'm afraid I've come up blank; and we now have one day less in which to reach the end of this riddle." He paused as he chewed a mouthful of seeded granary toast topped with a generous spoonful of well-textured homemade gooseberry preserve. "Have you had any new thoughts, Matthew?"
He nodded as James offered to refill his cup and watched as the rich, steaming beverage bubbled forth from the silver coffee pot.
"Erm… no, not really." Matthew seemed slightly distant this morning, thought Charles.
"Is everything alright?" he asked.
With the briefest of glances in James' direction, Matthew leaned forward and said, "Actually, I have a confession to make."
"Oh?" Charles raised an eyebrow.
"Well…er…did you sleep ok last night? Did anything disturb you?"
"I slept like a log. Didn't you?"
"Yes… no. Well… I couldn't sleep at first, so I went down into the dining room to find the sphinx. I thought that looking at it again might give me some inspiration or something. Since I was still wide awake I thought I might as well try and do something useful."
"Ok, and…?"
"Well, I managed to break it, didn't I? I dropped it on the wooden floor. It would probably have been alright if it had fallen on the carpet, but I had to be standing on the bare floorboards by the window just at that moment."
"Meg especially asked us to take care of it."
"I know that!" he snapped. Then, more quietly, "Sorry."
"If I may, gentlemen?"
"Yes, James?"
"When I collected the broken pieces, instead of throwing them away I took the liberty of taking them back to my room where I laid them out and, with a little care and patience, I think I could make a reasonably good attempt at repairing the model, if you'd like me to try."
"I suppose it would be better than nothing," said Charles, "but it'll still be rather embarassing when we give it back to Meg."
"There's always the chance she might just have forgotten all about it?" suggested Matthew.
"Well, you never know how some people are going to react in certain circumstances do you, sir?"
The ever-so-slightly pointed tone of the butler's remark was not lost on Matthew who shot a dark knowing look at James; but Charles didn't seem to notice.
"Well, we shall just have to hope," he said, "that our little sphinx was not concealing any further clues. If it was, we might now be really sunk."
Matthew decided to change the subject. "I did have a thought about those two poems, though."
"Yes?"
"Well, since they both focus on the theme of death or, more specifically, graves, maybe we should go and take another look at the cemetery in the grounds. I did explore it once already but that was before we had unravelled some of the clues. Perhaps now, with two of us, we might spot something important."
James interjected again, "Forgive me gentlemen but, if I may say so, I find it most encouraging that you have opted to work together to solve this mystery. The spirit of co-operation between you is really very heart-warming."
Matthew glanced at him. "Thank you, James. Do you have any duties to attend to?"
"Yes, sir. Very good, sir." He turned and left.
"That was a little harsh, wasn't it?" asked Charles.
Matthew shrugged. "Yeah, right. Shall we go and look at some graves?"
With coats firmly fastened and collars turned up to protect themselves from the biting wind they set out towards the cemetery. As they neared their destination, Charles became aware that although they were walking in the direction of the sea the sound of the waves appeared to actually diminish as they neared the white fence with its small gate. The phenomenon became even more remarkable as they entered the graveyard itself; once inside, the noise vanished altogether.
"How extraordinary," he commented, "that these tall hedges and trees manage to block out the sound so completely."
Matthew just gave another of his trademark shrugs.
"When I was here the first time," he said, "I thought that perhaps the poem was referring to that large grave at the far end. It has cypress trees, and the flat white slab on top could be described as a sun-bleached stone. I didn't find anything useful though." Inwardly, he was still smarting at the caustic note that he had found waiting for him, but he wasn't going to mention that to Charles.
"Actually," said Charles, "virtually all the trees in here seem to be cypresses. Anyway, let's look round and see if we can find anything helpful."
They separated and began picking their way over the once well-kept but now overgrown and uneven terrain. They peered at tombstones and tried to make out the inscriptions. They looked at the cypress trees and wondered whether it was to a particular one or two that the poem was referring. They trudged back and forth, looking for something — anything — that might give some sort of pointer. At length, all they found was cold and disappointment.
"There's nothing here," said Charles, eventually. "Even if there was something, we're not going to find it by just traipsing about randomly. We need something more precise and specific to go on."
"And it's cold," added Matthew, stating the obvious. "Let's go get some tea."
Back in the library, with their circulation gradually returning, they nibbled on some of Mrs Gillcarey's oaty flapjacks and drank from large mugs of lapsang souchong tea, the rich flavour bringing a re-assuring, comforting feeling, albeit an illusory one, to the situation.