The Storyteller's Muse

  ‘No doubt of that.’ Gabrielle peered through the first open door. ‘Lovely sitting room.’

  ‘I’m guessing the library is down here somewhere.’ Peter proceeded past the grand stairway on the opposite side of the foyer. ‘If that’s the sitting room, next to it is probably the dining room.’ Peter pointed to the next doorway on Gabrielle’s side of the foyer. ‘So on this side, I’d say first door is the lounge . . .’ He peered in the first door to find he was correct. ‘So this door —’ he moved to the next door along on his side of the foyer ‘— will lead to the . . .’ He opened the door as Gabrielle caught him up. ‘Library,’ he announced as they entered the room, its walls lined with shelves of books on three sides. On the free wall were two large bay windows with French doors in between that led outside. One of the bay windows had a cushioned seat and in the other was a desk and chair.

  ‘This must be where Penelope wrote all her novels.’ Gabrielle moved to the French doors, which opened onto a covered patio with a large pool, bar area and garden. ‘Wow!’

  ‘Wow indeed!’ Peter followed her outside.

  Wilfred and his wife obviously took great care of this property; the place was immaculate, and a spectacular sight at sunset.

  ‘No wonder Penelope mourned leaving this place.’ Peter gazed around, taking a deep breath of air that was filled with floral scents. ‘I’d never leave!’

  ‘I like that it has a very old-world feel about it.’ Gabrielle wandered over and placed her hand on a large stone gargoyle water feature. ‘It’s like stepping back in time into an opulent fairy tale. I’d rather expected something that was kind of retro fifties chic. But this is just magical!’

  ‘Considering Penelope’s taste in cars, I thought her house would not be too clichéd.’ Peter smiled, impressed by the decor.

  ‘I can’t wait to see the bathroom!’ Gabrielle said.

  ‘The bathroom?’ Peter thought the comment rather odd.

  ‘My favourite room in any house,’ Gabrielle enlightened him. ‘Is there anything better than a long soak in a beautiful tub?’

  Peter raised both eyebrows and grinned as he considered. ‘I can think of a few things.’

  ‘One does not have to soak alone,’ Gabrielle retorted, in a manner that sounded rather like an invitation. ‘But first things first.’ She handed the envelope back to Peter. ‘You should do the honours.’

  Peter was stunned for a second — it had been an invitation. ‘Okay, let’s do this.’ He tore open the envelope, and retrieved the missive, which again was very minimalist.

  ‘What does it say?’ Gabrielle queried upon noting his scowl.

  ‘It says, H-one-o-seven, A-four-seven, S-two-one. Then she’s written, safe — my one true love.’

  ‘And that’s it?’ Gabrielle accepted the note from him to check for herself as Peter wandered back into the library.

  Upon closer inspection of the shelves, he noted the books were indexed in sections and coded. ‘Give me that first code again.’

  ‘H-one-o-seven.’ Gabrielle approached, intrigued.

  ‘H for . . .’ He inspected the titles of each section. ‘History.’ He followed the numbers on the book spines, until he came to H-107. ‘Life between the Wars — A Social History.’ He pulled the said book from the shelf, and as he did, he heard the sound of a metal click inside the end wall. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Gabrielle nodded. ‘Maybe there’s a rat in the stud wall?’

  ‘That didn’t sound like a rat . . . more like a mechanism.’ Peter reached into the void from where he’d drawn the book to find a little lever. When he pressed the lever he heard another click, and when he let it go the click repeated. ‘Interesting,’ Peter smiled, looking to Gabrielle.

  ‘Maybe finding the books unlocks the safe,’ they both concluded at once, rather inspired by the prospect.

  ‘I was wondering how we were going to find the safe.’ Peter placed the first book on the central coffee table. ‘I don’t know that Wilfred would feel at liberty to direct us.’

  ‘The books may have nothing to do with the project,’ Gabrielle posed.

  ‘I wouldn’t assume anything at this point. Very little about Penelope is random,’ Peter advised. ‘Next number?’

  ‘A-four-seven,’ she read.

  ‘A for Art.’ Peter considered that one was easy, and moved to the Art section to find A-47. ‘Art Adrift: A Crisis in Painting, 1920–1940 and Beyond.’ He pulled the book and once again a metal clicking sound resonated from within the end wall, although in a different spot.

  ‘Goodness, I think you’re right, we’re unlocking something.’ Gabrielle was very excited.

  Peter placed the second book by the first, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He was eager to see what happened when he pulled out the last reference book, but noted a common thread between the two on the table. ‘These books are both about the same era.’

  ‘Well, Penelope would have been a little girl then . . . perhaps they have sentimental value?’

  Peter wasn’t too sure about that. ‘These are not really the kind of books a little girl would be reading. If you ask me, she’s picked the most boring books she could think of to ensure they were never pulled from the shelf by accident.’

  ‘Maybe the last one will shed some more light on her choices?’ Gabrielle referred to the missive. ‘S-two-one. S for Science.’ She had already guessed this one.

  Happily, Peter needed to employ the sliding ladder to reach this book, and was delighted to push off and ride it along the wall to the science section.

  ‘I don’t think it was built for sport.’

  ‘I’ve always wanted to do that,’ Peter justified. ‘It actually has really good rollers.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Gabrielle wore an unimpressed grin. ‘S-two-one?’ She encouraged him to get on with it.

  Peter climbed to the top to read the title. ‘How Many Sexes Are There?’ Both he and Gabrielle burst out laughing at once.

  ‘And you said she wasn’t random.’

  Peter shrugged, feeling this book had no clear connection to the first two. ‘I stand corrected.’ He pulled out the book in question, and the click was succeeded by the sound of a mechanism engaging. Peter slid down the ladder and backed away from the wall to watch what was happening.

  An entire section of the bookcase retracted back into the wall and then slid behind the bookcase alongside it to reveal the safe.

  ‘Oh my God! This is awesome!’ Gabrielle approached and grabbed Peter’s arm. ‘Now I really do feel like a character in one of Penelope’s books.’

  Peter noted the safe lock appeared rather unusual and approached to investigate further. ‘It’s an alphabetical lock.’

  ‘So obviously the name of Penelope’s one true love is the key to the combination,’ Gabrielle assumed. ‘Penelope didn’t talk about her love life much. Perhaps she meant her husband, what was his name?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Peter scratched his head. ‘She assumed I’d know this.’ His stomach grumbled and he realised he was starving.

  ‘Goodness!’ Gabrielle acknowledged it too.

  ‘I haven’t eaten much in the last twenty-four hours.’ And he had to admit it was starting to affect his brain function.

  ‘Thelma said there’s food in the kitchen, shall we go and investigate? It’s not like we’re on a time schedule here.’

  It was a good call. Peter retreated to place the third book on the coffee table with the others, and then followed Gabrielle to the door.

  ‘There must be some photo albums or something around here somewhere. I don’t think she would have given us the clue without knowing we could solve it.’

  ‘If this treasure hunt had gone as planned, we could have just called her for a clue,’ Gabrielle pointed out. ‘Maybe that’s what she envisioned?’

  ‘Hold on.’ Peter did an about-face to head back into the library, and Gabrielle waylaid him. ‘Maybe she left a clue in one of the books?’

  ‘A good tho
ught,’ Gabrielle awarded, but did not release him. ‘Food first,’ she instructed.

  As his stomach again rumbled in agreement, Peter allowed Gabrielle to guide him deeper into the house.

  The kitchen was fully stocked, and they were spoilt for choice — it appeared as if Penelope had expected them to have an extended stay in the house. To Peter’s mind this was typical of the scheming, presumptuous and extremely sweet lady that Penelope had been. She really had been rooting for him on the romance front, and Peter was a little sorry that he did not live up to the seductive standards of Penelope’s usual leading men. Still, Gabrielle hadn’t given up on him, so perhaps there was hope yet?

  Peter felt he might devour his own hand, if forced to wait for food to heat up, so they opted for sandwiches, which they ate in the kitchen so as not to make work for Mrs Eddington.

  ‘If my phone wasn’t out of charge, I could look up Penelope’s romantic history online,’ Peter considered as they strolled back towards the library.

  ‘It’s a good thing mine’s fully charged and I have my charger in my bag,’ Gabrielle confessed with a grin.

  Peter was thrilled to hear it. ‘Seriously?’

  She nodded.

  He was about to say ‘I could kiss you’, but decided to just go right ahead and do that.

  Although taken by surprise, Gabrielle melted against him, welcoming his advances, and the kiss was longer and steamier than expected.

  ‘Now,’ said Peter, in the wake of the blissful side-track. ‘What were we doing again . . . looking for the bathroom?’

  Gabrielle smiled at the implication. ‘I was saving the day.’ She held up her phone.

  ‘Ah yes.’ He let her go and, taking the device from her, proceeded into the library. ‘Let’s research!’

  After they had tried the name of Penelope’s husband, all her known boyfriends, her children, some of her lead characters and a few of her pets, Peter felt in his gut they were heading in the wrong direction. ‘She expected I would know this, without any research.’

  ‘What about Fabrizia?’ Gabrielle suggested and the answer dawned on Peter, compelling him to rise from the lounge where they were brainstorming.

  ‘I must be daft! Or possibly very tired.’ He approached the safe once more. ‘It’s that simple! I’ve got this.’

  ‘You’ve got what?’

  ‘W, R, I, T, I, N, G,’ he spelt out the combination, and the safe clicked open. ‘Ha-ha!’ Peter laughed with glee, as Gabrielle ran over to crash hug him and kiss his cheek.

  ‘Well done! Of course!’

  Inside the safe was a stack of cash, jewellery and papers in files, but it was the two old books that held Peter’s attention. ‘No titles on the spines,’ he noted as he pulled them from their place of safekeeping, and feeling these were the treasure he was here for, he closed and locked the safe once more.

  ‘I’m getting chills.’ Gabrielle crossed her arms and hugged herself. ‘It’s like we are just picking up where the story left off.’

  That observation was giving Peter chills too.

  Just as described in Penelope’s tale, the books were finely bound in leather, and locked closed.

  ‘I’m just waiting for the keys to fall from the roof,’ Peter joked.

  ‘I believe they already did,’ Gabrielle said, moving to retrieve Penelope’s set of keys from the coffee table as Peter followed with the books. ‘There are a couple of tiny old ones here, I thought they must be for a jewellery box or something.’ She detached the keys in question and handed them to Peter as they both took a seat.

  Peter refrained from trying the keys to take in the surreal moment. ‘Do you think this is what they mean when they say put yourself in the character’s shoes?’

  Gabrielle noted his delay to unlock the treasure. ‘Do you think these belong to Em?’

  Peter was getting chills in waves now, and an especially large wave rushed over him when one of the keys fit into the tidier of the two volumes. ‘We’re about to find out,’ he quoted Tyme’s last words in the tale and turned the key in the lock to open it.

  It was an old journal, penned by a fellow by the name of Henry Chesterfield, who introduced himself in the first entry as the butler to a grand household around the turn of last century.

  ‘Well, that’s a little anti-climactic.’ Gabrielle was deflated. ‘What does this guy have to do with anything?’

  ‘It’s from around the same time period as the first two books we pulled from the shelf.’ Peter glanced quickly over the rather unremarkable first page, and then closed it carefully and placed it aside. The other untitled journal did not have beautiful even gold-bordered pages like the first, and when unlocked it disclosed a collection of correspondence that had been bound together into one volume. ‘June 4 1927. Dearest brother, all goes well for us on tour, we have received standing ovations in every city.’

  ‘But whose letters are they?’ Gabrielle was eager to cut to the punchline.

  ‘Wait.’ Peter turned the pages carefully until he found the signatory. ‘Your loving sister, Emeline.’ He looked to Gabrielle, stunned.

  ‘Em,’ she concurred. ‘So Em was a woman!’

  ‘It seems so,’ he nodded, flicking through the mass of letters. ‘Hold on. Here is one. To my dear sister,’ he turned the page to read, ‘from Emanuel.’

  ‘Another Em! There were two of them?’ Gabrielle felt that explained a great deal. ‘Maybe that’s why the housemates couldn’t tell whether their ghost was male or female?’

  ‘I won’t know for sure until I sit down and read this lot.’ Peter was dying to do just that.

  ‘I can take a hint.’ Gabrielle rose, sounding a little put off.

  ‘It can wait,’ Peter reluctantly closed the book.

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Gabrielle assured him. ‘You go ahead and read. I’ll go and find that bathroom.’ She smiled sweetly, turned and left the room.

  That was definitely an invitation, which unlike his reading quest, would be open for a short time only. Peter stood and pursued Gabrielle out into the foyer, and she was halfway up the staircase by the time he got there. ‘Come to think of it, I am mighty curious to see what that bathroom looks like myself.’

  Gabrielle laughed, delighted by his pursuit, and she sped up her ascent.

  A voice, like an angel, singing harmonies with no words. The haunting tone of the cello beckons from a long hallway of closed doors. Closer now to the source of the music, the door at the end of the corridor opens and there a young woman sits playing her alluring composition. The free-spirited mastery of her instrument inspires, transporting the psyche to the transcendental realm of pure creation. So confident, so beautiful, she plays her final stroke and looking up whispers. ‘Inwards, we move closer.’

  Peter awoke with a start, a cold sweat of panic upon him as he gasped for breath. It took a moment to realise he was in one of Penelope’s guest rooms, and looking aside he found Gabrielle fast asleep. The sight of her was calming and solidified him in his present reality. Just a dream. The fact he hadn’t woken his new companion came as something of a relief as well. He eased out of bed quietly and tip-toed across the hallway towards the main bathroom that had helped facilitate their budding romance.

  Some cold water to his face delivered Peter to a fully conscious state. He didn’t normally remember much of his dreams, but the one he’d just had was crystal clear in his mind and he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d just met the female Em. He was disturbed by the encounter as dreaming of this particular female had caused both the males in Penelope’s story to end up estranged from their lovers — this was why he was pleased that he’d not woken Gabrielle. He certainly didn’t want his first promising relationship in years being affected by his pursuit of this story. Best to keep such dreams to himself — provided Gabrielle’s grandmother didn’t disclose his predicament.

  ‘Inwards, we move closer.’

  His recall of Em’s message gave him chills as he wondered at its meaning. ‘It doesn’t me
an anything. It’s psychosomatic.’

  The sun had yet to rise, but Peter doubted he’d be able to get back to sleep. So, retrieving his clothes quietly from the bedroom, he dressed in the hallway and headed down to the library.

  Although they had locked the safe, it was still exposed to the room. Hence, in reverse order, Peter went about replacing whatever book was next to those he’d removed, onto vacated spaces to re-engage the levers. Upon deactivating all three switches, the protective bookcase came out of hiding and slid back in between the others to hide the vault behind a solid wall of books once more. ‘That’s just too cool.’

  Dying though he was to sit down and read through the journals, Peter felt there was little point in getting engrossed as the funeral was today. He wanted to wait for a day when he could give the research his fullest attention — at least that’s what he told himself. The truth was his dream was still giving him shivers and not in a good way. Gabrielle’s grandmother had described Em’s spirit as malignant, but perhaps she was referring to the brother, Emanuel? The woman he’d seen in his dream seemed anything but malefic. Grandma Valdez had also warned that he’d have to step out of his comfort zone to find his story, and this scenario was certainly that. Another chill ran through him. Gabrielle’s psychic link with her deceased ancestor was proving remarkably accurate, but it warmed him to consider that they had also predicted great success with his first novel.

  ‘Not if I don’t make the time to seriously sit down and sink into this.’ He gazed at the pile of books with ravenous need. In his gut, excitement welled as the notion to quit nursing and pursue this story full-time fast turned into a resolution. ‘I have to do this.’ He had never felt so compelled. He had some savings and a little inheritance from his parents; there would probably never be a better time for him to chase his goal and he was ecstatically excited about the revelation. ‘If I want to be a full-time writer, I had bloody well better start writing.’

  Tears welled in his eyes, as his joy and relief were overwhelming. ‘I get it, Penelope,’ he uttered, feeling as if his heart was going to implode in his chest. ‘I have found my passion.’ A tear escaped his eye and Peter brushed it from his cheek, the moment was really too celebratory for tears. The decision sat well with him. There was no doubt in Peter’s mind that he would look back on this moment as the defining choice that changed his life. If he had to move into a bedsit to do it, it didn’t matter, all he needed was his computer and a kettle, and life would be sweet.