Page 30 of The Dare Before Christmas

Barnaby peered at the label. “Shouldn’t try it if I were you,” he said, deadpan.

Victoria snorted. “I wasn’t about to.”

Once they had removed all the jars, they lifted the shelves to one side. Victoria stared at the wall with a sigh.

“Nothing.”

Barnaby ran a hand through his hair, his frustration apparent. Oh Lord, this was all her fault. If she’d not been so eager to have an adventure, they could have returned to the house for the lantern, as Barnaby had suggested, and actually told someone what they were up to. But she’d wanted to find something first. It had been their discovery, not something she wanted everyone else involved in, and she’d wanted to keep it that way, just for a little while, but now look. She sighed and glared at the wall as if it was the fault of the thick stone and… That was odd.

“What’s… Oh, Barnaby look.” She hurried over and slid her hand over the flat surface at the base of the wall. “It’s fake!” she exclaimed.

Barnaby stared at her hand, laid on the smooth insert, not on the rough, uneven texture of a stone wall. He shook his head. “How?”

“It’s a trompe l’oeil painting. An optical illusion,” she said, so excited now she could hardly speak. “Look, it’s just a section of wood fitted into the wall. They painted it to look like the rest of the stone wall, and behind the shelves it was perfect, but from the side you can see it’s flat, not bumpy like the wall.”

“Well, would you look at that,” Barnaby said, astonished as he turned to Victoria, and they both burst out laughing. “This really is turning into a Gothic adventure. Are you happy?”

“So, so happy!” she said, clapping her hands together with glee.

Barnaby snorted. “Come on then, let’s see if we can pry it off. Because people don’t go to all that trouble to hide nothing.”

It took a good hour to prise the painted section of wood from the wall, but finally the fixings loosened. Barnaby got his fingers around the back, having eased it forward just enough to get hold of it, and tugged. It shifted another inch and Barnaby took a breath and tugged again. The wood came free with a shower of debris, and they scrambled back, coughing, until the dust had settled enough to investigate.

“Oh. Oh, no it… it can’t be,” Victoria said in dismay.

“More jam,” Barnaby said, staring at the wax sealed glass jars with confusion. He picked one up and stared at the label. “Strawberry this time. I mean, I enjoy strawberry jam as much as the next fellow, but why on earth go to so much trouble to hide it?”

“Is there anything behind the jars?” Victoria asked hopefully.

Barnaby took each jar out until there were twenty assorted shapes and designs, some glass, some earthenware, on the floor beside them. “There’s a wooden back,” he said, tapping the back of the square hole they’d uncovered, which was only two feet wide by two high. “But the sides and the floor are solid, no hidden panels.”

Victoria gave a huff of disappointment. “Well, that’s so frustrating.”

“Well, hold on.” Barnaby’s muffled voice came from inside the hole. “Because if I just….”

She heard a solid thudding sound and guessed he was hitting the wooden back of the opening. A moment later, he crawled out again, turning himself around.

“It’s well fixed and there’s no room to move. But I think perhaps I can kick it out.”

Victoria watched, an odd fluttery feeling in her stomach as she observed him turn onto his back, laying on the floor with his feet in the hole. He was dirty and thoroughly dishevelled now, his white shirt smudged and grubby, his hair all awry and thick with dust, and… and she had never wanted him more. How odd, to feel this desperate desire to put her hands on him when he was sweaty and dirty. Victoria jumped as Barnaby’s boot slammed against the wooden back and she fought to concentrate on what he was doing, instead of the lewd imaginings of what might lie beneath his clothes.

“There!” he said, grinning at her a moment later as he scrambled to his knees and peered into the hole. “Bring the lamp.”

He paused a moment, undoing his cravat with deft fingers and wiping his sweaty, dust coated face with it. Victoria froze, lamp in hand, staring at the triangle of skin exposed at the base of his throat. She could hear her own heart beating.

“Victoria, illuminate the opening, please, not me,” he said, giving her an odd look.

She jumped, blushing. “Oh, yes, of course. Silly of me. Here.” Mortified, she got to her knees and pushed the lamp into the opening, peering through. “There’s another room, a big one,” she said, excitement coursing through her again.

Barnaby knelt beside her and looked. “So it is.”

They turned their heads at the same time, grinning madly, to discover their faces so close they almost touched.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Barnaby,” she whispered, hoping he felt at least a little the same way.

He looked at her for a long moment before his mouth quirked, the corner twitching upwards. “I’m glad too, Victoria.”

She let out a breath, relieved and happy at the admission.