Disclaimers: as before.

Thanks to everybody for the reviews. Just a warning: this chapter is a bit darker than the previous ones.

Once the suspects had been removed, all the other guests and staff agreed that they should shut themselves in their rooms as soon as possible. However, when Mr Bob finally came to close-up the library with the body in it, he discovered that Nigel was still crouching behind the large Grecian urn.

'What are you doing there?' he exclaimed.

………………..

In truth, there were two reasons why Nigel had remained where he was. The first was because Ms Macduff had now done him a 'favour.' He was rather apprehensive of what she might expect from him in return and was doing his best to stay out of her way. The second reason was the more compelling. He had discovered a very interesting inscription on the back of the Urn. Once the room was empty he'd retrieved his glasses from his trouser pocket, thankfully still in one piece after the evening's events, and proceeded to read.

Although Grecian in style, Nigel soon realised that it was actually an early 19th century replica. The words engraved on the back, on the other hand, were in Ancient Greek. Once translated, however, he could tell that the prose was clearly of the English 'Romantic' era, indicating that it too was no older than the vase it was written on. Nigel was not terribly surprised by this; he knew that most educated people in the early 19th century were well versed in the classics, much as he was.

The poem did not have the style or substance of a Shelley or a Blake, and was the work of an amateur poet. Its theme was the release of a beautiful woman, who had been locked away by some kind of evil monster, scarred with bad memories and years of unpleasant deeds. The name of the monster was difficult to discern; the writer seemed not to have known the real ancient Greek word to use. Nigel roughly worked it out to be an equivalent of vrykolakas, a relatively modern Greek word for…vampire. Nigel shuddered. Those Regency decadents had been into some weird, kinky stuff! The final line particularly attracted his attention. It translated roughly as: 'to release the beauty, blood must spill, and darkness must meet light.'

'To release beauty?' wondered Nigel. 'Surely this may give us some clues to releasing the statue of the Goddess?' He was just thinking how he didn't like the sound of the 'blood spilling' bit, when he was interrupted by the return of Mr Bob and his urgent inquiry as to what Nigel was up to.

'Nothing!' exclaimed Nigel, in an overly cheery tone. 'Well…not nothing, of course… I was err, admiring the books. I am history student, you know! I love books… can't get enough of 'em.' Nigel grinned awkwardly. Mr Bob could see that he was floundering for good explanation.

'You love books so much that you're happy to read in a library with a corpse in it?'

Nigel's fixed grin faded slightly. He had been trying not to think about that. Fortunately, Mr Bob didn't think that Nigel was the sort to murder anybody, or even to be conspiring to steal a statue. In fact, he just assumed that the 'stableboy' was acting strangely because he was traumatised by the events of the evening.

'Never mind,' said Mr Bob kindly. 'You'd better get upstairs to bed. And lock the door! I only feel slightly safer with those two women locked away.'

Nigel agreed, and followed Mr Bob out of the room. Mr Bob turned the key in the lock, and then asked Nigel if he'd like to wait a few minutes. He and Mrs Bob could then join him on his journey up to the servants' bedrooms in the attic. The couple had thought it was safer to be with all the other staff, rather than alone in their little cottage when murderers might be on the loose. 'Safety in numbers, eh?' said Mr Bob.

Nigel declined the offer. He said he'd be fine.

'Are you sure?' asked Bob and then said earnestly, 'Between you and me, I'm not sure we've got the right people locked away. I don't trust that...that TV star.'

Nigel looked serious and nodded as if in agreement, but said nothing. He had shared Mr Bob's suspicions for some time. The Baron had been out of the room for ages when he went to clean his clothes. Okay, so it looked like an accident, but what if he had made Nigel spill the wine deliberately? In Nigel's mind, and obviously that of Mr Bob, it had to be either him, or Pansy, who had killed Lord Bannockburgh.

Mr Bob concluded that he 'wouldn't want to confront that man about it. Some things are best left to the police.'

Nigel said he'd be on his guard, but maintained that he would rather go up to bed alone.

………………..

Nigel crossed the hall and let himself out through the door that led to the servants' staircase. As soon as he heard Bob's footsteps fade away down to the kitchens, where he had gone to retrieve his wife, he crept straight back out. This time he lightly padded up the wide, carpeted, main staircase that led to the guests' first-floor landing. Up there, the lights were out and it was dark. He sat down on the floor in a murky, concealed corner, and pondered his next move.

In all honesty, he wasn't entirely sure what Sydney meant him to do. Maybe she wanted him just to do nothing and wait till morning, when she could prove her innocence? This was appealing. He really did just want to go to bed and curl up with a good book. However, he expected she really wanted him to get her out somehow, especially now that he may have a lead on the relic. Besides, he hated the thought of her stuck at the top of that horrid, and rather precarious looking tower. Mr Bob had said it might not be safe. What if the wind, which he could hear wailing outside, was to bring the spire down?

His mind made up, the next thing he needed to do was look for the key to Sydney's cell. He had a hunch that in houses like this, sets of keys would be kept in a cabinet somewhere in the kitchens and utility rooms. That was where he would start.

He waited a few minutes until he heard Mr and Mrs Bob crossing the main hall on their way to the servants' staircase. Then the lights went out, the door latch clicked, and all was black.

………………………..

The basement level of the great house was like a labyrinth. In his quest for keys, Nigel soon realised there was the least a dozen kitchen rooms, and then countless numbers of smaller pantries and storage rooms, each one of which seemed to lead to numerous others. With few, high windows, he had no choice but to turn on the lights, gambling that no one else was down there to see. Most of the rooms were empty, containing nothing but crumbling white tiles and bare wooden work surfaces and shelves. This was not a good thing: however quiet Nigel tried to be, his footsteps, which sounded on the stone flagged floors, were amplified by echoes.

After nearly twenty minutes of increasing frustration, Nigel opened a large wooden door, in the corner of a vacant pantry, which turned out to be a large cupboard. Mounted upon the wall inside, was a sizeable glass case, full of bunches of keys. It was locked, but it was not hard to pick open. Several years under Sydney's tutelage had certainly taught him the basics of breaking and entry.

The major problem was that there were, literally, hundreds of keys. He could not take them all. He needed to make an educated guess about which ones were most likely to open a large, re-enforced door to an early 19th century safe-room. Most of the keys were small, but he imagined what he was looking for was large and chunky. There were only around a dozen keys that fitted that description, all of which were lumped together in one large bunch. He took them off the hook.

'Nigel! What are you doing?'

Nigel jumped and swung around to find himself face-to-face with Moira. Not only had she entered the chamber, but she had crossed the room to be standing just inches away without him even noticing. Her waitress's outfit was now concealed by a large, black cape.

'I'm… I'm lost?' For the second time in barely over an hour, Nigel grinned awkwardly to cover a lie. This time he was even less convincing.

'No you're not,' said Moira sharply, but not too crossly. You were looking for the keys to release the prisoners from the tower. Why?'

Nigel made an executive decision. It would be neither gentlemanly or, he hoped necessary, to lie to such an intelligent and perceptive young woman. He resolved to tell her the truth, and as concisely as possible he conveyed to her the whole story.

Moira listened intently, showing little emotion. When he reached the end of the saga, pleading that he really had to rescue Sydney at this point rather than waiting for the police, she nodded, as if in agreement. After a moment's pause, she pointed to the clunky bunch of keys in his hand.

'They're not the right keys for the tower.' She took them from his hand, reached up, and placed them back on the hook. She then picked off a ring from which dangled several much smaller, more delicate, modern keys. 'It's one of these,' she said, passing them to him.

Nigel, who was a little surprised by her easy acceptance of the truth, thanked her and then scrutinised the keys. They didn't seem right for a large, safe door. Moira read the doubt on his face.

'You can trust me,' she said. Before he had time to reply, she leaned in and kissed him chastely on the lips. Nigel wasn't expecting this, but he registered that her lips felt strangely cold.

Moira drew her face away a little, ascertaining his startled reaction. Then, grasping the back of his hair with her hand, she pulled his head forward and plunged back in for a deep, sensual kiss. Nigel could not help but respond. At its conclusion, he found that her other hand was thrust up the back of his shirt, caressing the curve of his back. His own had somehow wandered under her cape and were cupped around her pert, miniskirted backside. His glasses, which he had put back on to examine the keys, were askew and they had tumbled back against the key cabinet, which had clicked shut.

When his faculties returned to him, he swiftly removed his hands from their mischievous resting place. 'Sorry! I…I…' Nigel was nigh speechless. Not that he entirely objected, but he was not sure he was quite ready, or willing, to have an erotic entanglement with this girl. Moira, mainly to his relief, did not seem to be interested in taking their little affair any further.

'Trust me,' she said breathlessly, and left the room as hurriedly as she must have entered it.

Nigel stood motionless for a minute, and then removed his glasses and readjusted his hair, admiring his reflection in the key cabinet. He was starting to feel like a bit of a stud. Nobody around here seemed to be able to resist him! However, he wasn't sure that he could trust this woman who suddenly thrown herself at him, out of the blue. Moira seemed rather, well, strange. He decided that he should take both sets of keys up to the tower.

Unfortunately, when he attempted to open the key cabinet again, he discovered that it was jammed firmly shut. He knew he would have to break the glass, but was worried this would make a lot of noise. He resolved that he should try to make it up to the cell, and attempt to free Sydney with Moira's keys, before taking such drastic action.

…………………….

Nigel was entering one of the last kitchen rooms when his progress was abruptly checked. Somebody or something emerged from behind the door and seized him roughly by the shirt collar. Before he had time to react, a second hand laid itself firmly upon his shoulder.

'Where are you off to, Nigel?' The Baron's voice was low and sinister.

'I'm…I'm going to bed?' replied Nigel, uncertainly. He wondered desperately: where had Moira got to? He hoped it wasn't just him and the Baron left down in the servants' quarters. What did this obnoxious actor want…and who gave him the right to manhandle him? Nigel tried to jerk himself away from the Baron's grip, his eyes scanning hopefully for some prop to fight back with. Unfortunately, even though the kitchen was used a little, there was little on the shelves and certainly no fortuitously placed bottle of olive oil to pour across the floor. Mrs Bob was a rather old-fashioned cook, and preferred to use butter or lard.

Nigel never got far enough to seize even the smallest weapon. As he pulled away, the Baron grabbed the sleeve of his shirt, and pulled Nigel back into his grip, twisting his arms painfully behind him.

'Ow! You're hurting me! What are you playing at?'

The Baron leant down so Nigel could feel his breathing against the side of his neck. Like Moira's lips, it felt strangely cold, sending a shiver down his spine.

'You should have locked yourself in you room like a good boy, hours ago, Nigel. You were told it wasn't safe wandering around this house after dark with murderers on the loose. I wonder, were you off to rescue your 'damsel in distress'?'

'I don't know what you're talking about. Let me go!' How could the Baron know about him and Sydney? He had only told…Moira. Nigel began to struggle, but to little avail. The Baron may have been the wrong side of forty, but he obviously pumped iron regularly. He was a very big guy. Nigel tried kicking back at him, striking his shins. The Baron responded likewise, landing a blow that temporarily knocked Nigel's feet from under him. All of this just gave the increasingly villainous-seeming TV star a chance to tighten his hold on his captive.

'There's no point struggling, Nigel. You're Sydney Fox's teaching assistant, and you were going up to the tower to release her. I'm afraid I can't let you do that.'

'But she's innocent…ow! My arm!' Nigel grimaced as he felt his elbow wrench.

The Baron was taking obvious pleasure in causing Nigel pain, and chuckled. He leaned in close again, his mouth hovering inches from Nigel's neck. Nigel momentarily froze. God, this guy was creepy!

The Baron began to whisper in his ear: 'Innocent or not, by the morning, the murdered corpse of Lord Bannockburgh will have been joined by that of your friend, who will plummet to her death in a daring, but doomed, escape attempt.'

Nigel was horrified. Sydney was in more danger than he had ever realised. He began to struggle harder than ever.

'You bastard! You won't lay a finger on Sydney…ow! Stop it!' The Baron laughed again, tightening the armlock. Nigel took a sharp intake of breath. Exerting himself didn't seem to be helping his escape; this man seemed supernaturally strong. He stopped struggling, hoping that his brawny assailant might let his guard down.

Unfortunately, the Baron seemed remarkably composed. He lightened the pressure on Nigel's arm, but still kept a powerful hold on him. 'I suppose you're wondering why?'

'Not really,' replied Nigel, deadpan, 'You're obviously barking…' Then it struck him that, if this diabolical fool was willing to talk, he might learn something useful. 'Why do you need Sydney dead?' he ventured. 'Do you want it to look like she committed the murder, to cover up that you did it?'

The baron leant forward and whispered creepily in his ear again. 'No. That silly bit of blonde fluff covers all of that. I want the lovely Professor dead because she's after the same thing as me. And I can't let her take it away... but enough of that,' he gave Nigel's arm a fresh twist, causing him to gasp in pain again. 'The only question which remains for me now is what I do with the 'stableboy'.'

'Lock me in the stables?' said Nigel hopefully. Anywhere out of the house had to be an improvement, and there had to be a chance of escape.

'Why would I do that when I'm in a castle with some perfectly good dungeons?'

Nigel gulped but then pondered what the silly man was on about. 'I'm afraid that you won't find a dungeon in a place like this,' he retorted. 'It was built in 1819! You'll find it's just got kitchens, storerooms, and maybe a wine cellar. The stable will have to do.' Nigel wondered if he was pushing his luck.

'Ah!' said the Baron, knowingly. 'I'm afraid you will find that the late Lord's ancestor had some special features built into this little place. You know, for the full 'Gothic' experience?'

'Oh,' said Nigel, and then thought: 'damn those Regency decadents!'

Next thing he knew, the Baron had given him a violent shove in the direction of a slim, wooden door in the corner of the room. It was unlocked, and before he could regroup, the Baron had seized him by the collar again and pushed him through. He tumbled down an uneven, stone staircase, landing unceremoniously on his hands and knees at the bottom.

As he gathered himself into a sitting position, bruised, battered, and none too happy, he heard a key click in the lock at the top of the stairs.

'I'll be back!' said the Baron from the other side, in a mock Austrian accent.

'Bugger off!' shouted Nigel. There were suitable times and places for stupid movie quotes. This was not one of them. He leaned his head forward into his hands, and tried to think. Now, not only did he have to rescue Sydney, he had to escape himself before this lunatic had a chance to act.

Thanks for reading. Please review.

Apologies again for making this so much 'darker.' This chapter has caused me many 'nightmares' and I'm still not sure I'm quite happy with it… I also still promise that Nigel will get his revenge on everybody! Katy