“This has to be where the old duke damaged the wall while they argued.”
“It has a certain poetic justice.”
“I still hate to ruin this mural,” Meg said even as excitement thrummed through her. “Even if Dahlia did such a poor job with the plaster.”
“You’ll fix it,” he said. “We’ll buy you an entire paint shop if we have to. And have Mr. Atkins in to supervise the plastering.”
She tossed him a grateful smile as he reached for the iron fire poker.
“And you need to add poisonous flowers anyway,” Charlie added.
“And a unicorn,” George agreed. “With blood on his horn, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
Meg had never really understood what it was to have your heart feel like it might burst from joy. “And Lady Beatrice with her spear.”
“Definitely,” Dougal said before bringing the poker down in the circle of stars. Paint and plaster flew as the gauge became a proper opening. The ragged plaster gave way to dust and darkness.
“You found it,” George said reverently. “A real historical treasure.”
“Is that….” Meg lifted up a candle. “It is.”
Dougal laughed as he gently pulled scrolls of parchment out of the hole. “Art. Your treasure is art, Your Grace.”
Lord Pendleton hadn’t just said that to secure her help. There really was priceless art hidden in the walls.
They unrolled the scrolls carefully, revealing late-medieval and early-Tudor illuminated letters, fanciful creatures, monks in robes, more gilded stars catching the light. There were pages and pages, along with old bibles inscribed with spider handwriting, journals, a compendium of sea monsters, Celtic knots decorating legends of the area. There were even old letters, one signed by Henry the Eighth himself. The blues were made with lapis lazuli, the rich greens with verdigris.
Meg was stunned, then disgruntled. “I’m going to have start my own museum collection.”
“It looks that way.”
“Pendleton will never let me live it down.”
Dougal kissed the top of her head. “I still have a statue or two that he desperately wants,” he murmured.
“Leverage,” she sighed. “Good.”
Colin poked his head into the room. He was cheerful and wind-tousled. “Have I missed dinner?” He noticed George’s eye, the gaping hole in the wall, Dougal’s grim hold on the poker. “Something else apparently.”
“We found the treasure!” Charlie crowed.
“Really? Let’s have a look—what happened to your neck?” He nearly shouted.
She shrugged. “A madwoman tried to strangle me.”
Colin’s face changed expression so quickly Meg wondered he didn’t make himself dizzy. “What?”
“I’m fine now,” she patted his arm. “Beatrice poked her with a spear.”
“I think I need a drink.”
“You already smell like a distillery.”
“Well, I was told the country life of the landed gentry was a dull and tedious affair.” He hugged his sister, keeping his arm protectively over her shoulders. She acted nonchalant but was clearly shaken up enough not to shove him away. “Apparently not.” He glanced at the scrolls. “Not much gold.”
“Thank God,” Dougal muttered. “No one is likely to come steal it.”