Damian and I were halfway up the main staircase before he finished his sentence. We weren’t interested in fresh clothes.We wanted explanations.
Sir Percy was standing before the fire when we reached the library, but he wasn’t the only one waiting for us. Cassie sat in the chair Kate had occupied earlier, looking far more serene than she had the last time I’d seen her. The reason for her composure wasn’t hard to understand. In the chair next to hers, clad in red silk pajamas, a paisley dressing gown, and deerskin bedroom slippers that were slightly too large for him—and sipping what I assumed to be an extremely large brandy—was the long-lost Peter.
He set his glass aside and crossed hurriedly to meet us in the doorway, his slippers flapping against his bare feet.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It’s my fault, my fault entirely. If I’d known—”
“All in good time, young man. First things first.” Sir Percy intercepted Peter before he reached the doorway and guided him back to the chair, then turned to beam amiably at us. “Quite an adventurous night for all concerned. Off with your jackets, you two.You won’t be going out again. Can I get you a drink?”
“Yes,” I said, and moved closer to the fire. “I want a great big pot of hot cocoa and a huge pile of sandwiches, because if I don’t eat something, I’ll get drowsy as soon as I thaw out. Damian and I have been stuck in a freezer for the past—” I turned to Damian. “How long were we down there?”
He consulted his watch. “Almost two hours.”
“Is that all?” I stared at him, nonplussed. “It seemed like ages.”
“How time drags when you’re not having fun,” boomed Sir Percy, chuckling.
Mrs. Gammidge entered the library in our wake, as if summoned telepathically. She placed a pile of woolen blankets on the couch, looked askance at our sandy boots, relieved us of our jackets and caps, took Sir Percy’s order for cocoa and sandwiches, and departed.
“Are you sure you don’t want to change into something more comfortable?” Sir Percy asked solicitously. “You seem rather rumpled.”
I subjected him to a glare that should have scorched his eyebrows. “I am perfectly comfortable, thank you, but if you don’t tell us what’s going on, Percy, I am going to scream.”
“Now, now . . .” Sir Percy clucked his tongue like a disapproving nanny, led me to the sofa, and tucked a blanket around my lap. “We’ve all had a bite to eat, but you missed dinner, my poor poppet. You’ll feel better when you have some food in you.At ease, Damian,” he added over his shoulder. “You’re among friends.”
Damian took a seat at the other end of the sofa and declined Sir Percy’s offer of a blanket. He crossed one leg over the other and regarded Peter speculatively. He seemed thoughtful rather than incensed.
“We’ll wait for the comestibles, I think,” said Sir Percy, taking a seat in the chair on my right. “It’s a wonderful story—you’ll laugh about it in years to come, I promise you—and it would be a pity to spoil it with interruptions.”
Fortunately for Sir Percy, Mrs. Gammidge’s efficient household was clicking on all cylinders, and we didn’t have long to wait. In less than twenty minutes, she returned with a selection of Cook’s hearty sandwiches, an insulated pot of hot cocoa, and thick slices of moist chocolate cake topped with whipped cream.While Sir Percy helped himself to a piece of cake, I swooped down on the sandwiches like a ravening vulture and proved him right. I felt much better with food in my stomach.
When the worst pangs of our hunger had been assuaged, Sir Percy gave Peter an encouraging nod.
“The floor is yours, you young noodle,” he said. “Tell Lori and Damian all about it.”
Peter gave us a profoundly apologetic look, fortified himself with a drop of brandy, cradled the glass in his hands, and began to tell his tale.
“It’s my damnable curiosity,” he said. “I couldn’t resist investigating the legend of the screaming monks. As you know, most legends are founded in fact, so I went up to the ruins to see if a natural phenomenon created the noise people mistook for screaming.” He paused for another sip of brandy, then went on. “I was there for only a few minutes when I heard the most god-awful howls. They made my skin crawl, I can tell you, particularly since they seemed to be coming from beneath the old memorial tablet. It sounded like a dozen souls crying out to be released.”
I shivered involuntarily and fortified myself with a swig of cocoa.
“I knew there had to be a rational explanation for the howls,” Peter went on, “so I went over the tablet inch by inch, and what do you think I found?”
“Latches,” Damian replied laconically. “Elliot told us. How many did you find?”