Part 5

“Now that you mention it, it is strange. How is that?”

“Why don’t you tell us, Henry?” Bellamy gently smacked the back of Henry’s head. The boy stared at his shoes and sniffled.

“Oh, Henry,” said Lady Pembroke. “You are not in trouble, I promise. I’m a little disappointed, but we need to know.”

“I overheard the maid speaking to the mailman when the letter came.” Henry sniffled. “He said it was a long-lost letter from his lordship. ‘Forty years in Brazil,’ he said. I thought a forty-year-old stamp from Brazil must be worth a fortune. When the maid left the mail on the table, I took the letter and quickly tried to remove the stamp. I planned to give it back, but I tore the envelope. Then I thought there was no harm in reading the letter. And then I read it, and…”

“Stop right there, Henry,” instructed Bellamy.

“Why won’t you let the boy finish?”

“I want to see whether I got it right.”

“I see. May I have my letter, please?” Lady Pembroke held out her hand.

“Lady Pembroke, I would ask you not to read the letter just yet, please,” Bellamy replied, withholding the letter.

“Excuse me?”

“I think I’ve solved the Pembroke puzzle without reading the letter. Would you indulge me?”

“You really want to keep me from my late husband’s final words, after forty years of grief, merely to satisfy your own vanity? That is quite astonishing, Mr. Bellamy.” Lady Pembroke scoffed.

“Please, your Ladyship. I promise it will be worth your while. I believe there is more here than just the letter.”

“Proceed, then,” she said with indignation.

“So,” Bellamy continued, “Henry read the letter and he decided to keep the part about the secret of the Pembroke dower house to himself.” He held up the sheets of the letter.

“Secret? What Secret?”

“Please, follow me,” said Bellamy and opened the door to the hallway. He stopped at the staircase, turned the switch, and the chandelier light flooded the foyer.

“We have a moment before midnight. Let me tell you a story.”

“Please,” said Lady Pembroke.

The clock ticked loudly.

“You said the noise started a few weeks ago. Was that around the time your husband’s letter arrived?”

“Now that you mention it…”

“You sleep on the ground floor, so you heard the noise from above. Having always slept in the bedroom on the first floor, you assumed it must have come from the attic. Well, it wasn’t coming from the attic. The noise came from right here.” Bellamy placed his hand on the clock.

“The clock? What about the clock?”

“The boy kept the part of the letter that I believe explains how to open the clock. He has been trying every night since.” Bellamy showed her the black pebble. “When Mr. Fletcher and I stopped beside the clock, I found this on the carpet. At first, I thought nothing of it. I took it for a piece of dirt and slipped it into my pocket alongside my notebook and pen. Later, I noticed it had left black marks on the paper.” Bellamy pulled out his notebook. “It isn’t a stone at all. It’s anthracite.”

“Anthracite?”

“The highest-quality coal. Shiny like black onyx, but nonetheless still brittle as a sugar cube.” He crushed the pebble between his fingers, and the black dust fell into Lady Pembroke’s open palm.

“But what about the clock?” she asked impatiently, brushing the dust from her hand. At that moment, Henry’s mother, Mary, Zelda the maid, and Mr. Fletcher rushed into the foyer, looking bewildered.

“What on God’s green earth is going on?” Mr. Fletcher demanded as they hurried up the stairs in their pyjamas.

“You are just in time. Mr. Bellamy takes an awful-long time to explain himself. Go on, Mr. Bellamy, you have the floor,” said Lady Pembroke and gave him a mocking smile.

“Thank you.” Bellamy smiled. “Now, back to our mystery. Mr. Fletcher told me the story of this clock,” Bellamy placed his hand on it. “First, he said that it was a wedding gift from your husband and that it had been delivered and placed here at the top of the staircase. Second, he told me about the time the house was being painted, when the painters discovered they could not move it.”

“Yes. So?”

“Well, how did the workers manage to get the clock up here in the first place, and why couldn’t the painters move it?”

Lady Pembroke pointed to the staircase. “I…” she said, and stopped with a puzzled expression. “How?”

“When the clock was installed, it was lighter.” Bellamy smiled.

“Lighter? What do you mean, lighter?”