Agnes glanced at Arsov but the old man’s eyes were closed. She maneuvered Petit behind the screen nearer the door. “You checked the tunnel?”
“Carnet and I did. The entire length. Nothing. Monsieur Mulholland is probably the only person to walk that tunnel in a half century. In a few places his footsteps were clear enough in the dust.”
The nurse entered and motioned for them to step out of the room. “Monsieur needs his rest. Come back later if you want to visit. He will be better by the hour.”
Agnes followed Petit. “I think it is time we worried about Mimi.”
They were halfway across the lawn before she remembered that she still had Arsov’s book. There was time later to return it.
Twenty-eight
Everyone in the household had their assignment. Carnet and Madame Puguet were in charge and the chateau and the grounds had been divided into areas to search, vast dark areas. Cabinets were to be opened, shelves studied, no inch overlooked in their attempt to find Mimi’s hiding place. This time she couldn’t stay one step ahead of them even if she tried. They would flush her out. The sense of worry was pervasive, although they were still divided about the seriousness of her disappearance.
“Is this the longest she has been missing?” Agnes asked, wishing she’d not been lost in her own preoccupation earlier. They should have explored every nook and cranny hours ago, in broad daylight.
“No, she hid in a trunk in the attic for a day and a half one time. Nanny almost threatened to quit,” said Madame Puguet. “Should have been fired.”
Agnes glanced around the assembled group; their faces were serious and, she admitted, tired. Three days of cold, and now it was already growing dark. The lack of electric light made their task more difficult.
Only Daniel Vallotton was staying behind. The marquise was teamed with Marie-Chantal. Carnet and Petit volunteered to check the outbuildings again. The household staff partnered amongst themselves and with Doctor Blanchard, Nick Graves, Ralph Mulholland, and Frédéric Estanguet. Julien Vallotton had offered to accompany Agnes.
The groups broke off and she followed Vallotton. They didn’t speak until he stopped at the top of a stairway. “Our assignment,” he said, motioning to the dark hall and handing her a flashlight. Slowly and methodically they started going room to room.
“Remember, she’s tiny,” Vallotton said, looking behind and under an enormous Spanish chest, before opening it to look inside. “She hid in my aunt’s bed one time. Right there in plain sight under a thick blanket so it appeared wrinkled from a distance. I think sometimes she doesn’t hide on purpose, but we pass by her and she likes the idea and stays until she’s noticed. When her parents first died no one wanted to upset her. Bad habits caught hold.”
Agnes turned toward the next room. “How many more?”
“Five on this level, upstairs is the same, then downstairs.”
Agnes checked behind long drapes, then ran her light under the bed, marveling that even bedrooms no one occupied were kept in a state of perfect readiness. “Downstairs? We are downstairs.”
“Euphemism for dungeon.” She started and Vallotton laughed. “Mostly a wine cellar now.”
They finished the last room on that floor and Vallotton pointed up then down with a questioning look.
“Down first,” she said, thinking a dungeon sounded more appealing as a hiding place to a little girl. Besides, she was curious to see what it looked like.
Vallotton led her to a door that looked heavy but swung aside on well-oiled hinges. Agnes could imagine a little girl doing the same, then sneaking into the forbidden depths. She had a suspicion that her boys would mark a dungeon high on their list of places to visit and claim as a private getaway. She wasn’t certain little girls felt the same; however, by all accounts Mimi was adventurous.
The stairs were steep and narrow. At the bottom of the flight was a wide arched opening through a thick stone wall. She paused as Vallotton changed the angle of his flashlight.
“It’s not a real dungeon,” Vallotton repeated. Before she could respond he flicked his light forward. The room was a marvel. Arches sprang from fat pillars and created domes that supported the enormous weight of the structure above. The floor was covered with fine white stones that Agnes knew would crunch pleasantly underfoot. But that wasn’t what was most impressive.
“Wine cellar,” she said matter-of-factly. She aimed her light alongside Vallotton’s, peering into the depths of the space, making a rough calculation. There had to be thousands of wine bottles. Maybe ten thousand. Or more. The long central corridor fed between rows of wooden shelves stacked with bottles.