Page 86 of A Very Bellamy Christmas

“It seems rather ornate for a priest.”

He laughed. “Indeed, whoever hid here must have enjoyed his creature comforts.” He gestured toward the fire. “With that blaze going they must have been expecting visitors.” Andrew had to stay toward the center of the room as the rest sloped from ceiling to floor as in most attics.

“What is all this?” Miss Martin asked, looking around at the piles of blankets, cushions, food hampers, a case of wine, corked clay jugs, and two ancient-looking trunks.

“I don’t know,” Andrew admitted. “And where is the next clue?”

“Perhaps on that table?” She pointed to a small console table on the other side of the fireplace.

Andrew took a step toward it but stopped and pivoted when he heard the distinctive sound of the heavy wooden slab sliding shut.

He hesitated only a moment before shouting, “Wait!” and breaking into a run, a sick feeling blossoming in his belly as the gap between the door and thick timber frame disappeared.

“We are inside!” he shouted, skidding to a stop and pounding on the door.

There was no handle or knob on the inside of the door, nothing but a smooth wooden panel. A thick wooden panel.

Miss Martin joined him, and they battered the wood together.

“Hello! Hello!” she yelled, hysteria coloring her voice. “You’ve locked us in! Please, let us out!”

Andrew stepped back, but she kept pounding.

He stared at the door. No. This could not be happening.

Miss Martin stopped and turned. Her wide eyes fixed on him, horror spreading across her face.

“You!” she shouted.

Andrew bristled. “Me, what?”

She flung her arms out. “You planned all this, didn’t you?”

Andrew stared at her in disbelief.

And then he laughed.