"Tha'art up early!"

Echoing footsteps halted my search for a new topic, and Sir Walter strode through the door a moment later, far too lively for this early in the day. A wide smile greeted us as he served himself a little of everything and plopped into the seat across from me.

"And you have been up for a while already," he continued with a perceptiveness I had not expected. A moment scanned both of us but directed his question at Holmes. "Find anything in the stables this morning?"

"Horses," Holmes answered, amusement twitching his mouth when the blatant reply produced feigned irritation. "Entirely too much hay, and a tunnel." Keen eyes studied Sir Walter's reaction. "Did you know of the tunnel going from the stables to the cellar?"

"Aye, 'tis one of several. All the estates 'ave 'em somewhere." He paused for a bite. "Another starts in the courtyard, forks somewhere near the great hall, and ends in either corridor. The manor has others, I'm sure, but I leave 'em to t'staff. I've never liked the dark overmuch."

That look announced Holmes would probably spend at least part of the day looking for them—perhaps with either Raynolds' or Milton's aid—but a just as subtle shake of his head refused to let me come along. I focused on our host.

"How similar are the tunnels from manor to manor?"

"Only in that they exist." Yolk dripped down his chin to prompt a hasty grab for a napkin. "Rossenthwaite and Thrombak both have the one from the stables, but Nara mentioned that only two or three of the inside ones remain the same. I do not know which ones, but there is one from Greyson's preferred guest bedroom that ducks underground long enough to emerge in one of the gardens. Gideon found it one day and decided to cause trouble."

Holmes leaned forward, inexplicably interested. "Where in the room does it start?"

"Behind a tapestry on the east wall. A loose stone serves as a latch in the bedroom, then a trapdoor hides beneath a bush in the garden. His groundskeeper buried it once only for Gideon to get himself stuck. We had to dig t'door free, then dig 'im out when some of the dirt fell around the door."

I could not resist a faint smirk. "Sounds like Gideon has found more than his share of trouble over the years."

"Just like any young boy," he agreed. "Even without a brother to grow ideas, Gideon found every way to frustrate his father and then some. He did calm quite a bit as he got older, though. I'm more likely to find him reading a book than trying to climb a wall now."

Trying to climb a wall. Young Gideon had apparently not been allowed to wander the grounds as Harry and I had.

"As for t'rest of the manor," he returned to the original question, "Rossenthwaite and Thrombak both 'ave three floors, a tower, an' a handful of gables, but the internal layout is closer to mirrored than copied. Greyson's and Gideon's rooms are on the third floor on the west end. Greyson puts the occasional guest on the first floor in the east end, close t'where your rooms are here. He has a larger ballroom than mine that takes up the west wing's entire ground floor, and in the absence of Rossenthwaite's hill, a portion of the east wing dives underground several feet to make a cellar more easily accessible in winter. Was 'e wantin' ye t'go wi' 'im?"

Caught up listening to his description—and decoding the occasional thick Yorkshire—I followed his gesture only just in time to spy Holmes disappear through the far door. Concentrated effort refused to react as I looked back at Sir Walter. At least he had given me a way to help instead of simply waiting on him.

"No, he had something else he wanted to research and frequently forgets his manners in his interest."

A chuckle waved my indirect apology away. "No offense taken. The first Thrombak, centuries ago, put a courtyard in the manor's center and both walled and unwalled gardens around the estate, but Greyson's great grandfather removed the bricks and cobblestones to make the middle a thriving garden, albeit on the second storey. That's where 'e grows those flowers I told ye about."

"When was the manor built?"

"Fifteen hundreds or so," he said with a shrug. "Probably a bit earlier than mine, but no one really knows. 'Twas obviously built by one person, though. Gideon insisted I help him explore it one winter, and the entire building is one style, with no indication of additions or even true renovations over the centuries. Sure, different furniture and decorations depending on current fashions at the time the room was last used, but the biggest difference I could find was that old courtyard. Greyson certainly did not change much after his parents died."

"When was that?"

One last bite let him push his depleted plate away, though a barely noticeable frown prevented answer for a moment. "About the time he married, I believe. Maybe a bit after. He traveled for his education, as most young men do, and he mentioned meeting his wife abroad. When she accepted his offer of courtship, they each lived in separate wings for the months between her following him to England and their marriage. His mother was already ill, and his father passed about the time Gideon was born, but I do not know the exact dates. Or even whether the senior Thrombak met his grandson—either one of them."

"Was the other boy older or younger?"

"I have no idea. Greyson only acknowledged his existence, his grief still too painful at the time to tell me anything more. I do not even know his name."

I could understand that. Over ten years did not make discussing my own wife and child any easier. My next question chose a different tangent.

"If a visitor arrived unexpectedly, who is it most likely to be?"

"One of 'is property managers," was the immediate reply. "He puts trusted locals in charge of 'is larger businesses. They handle most of the day-to-day work, but one of them might come to the estate for 'elp with a problem."

"Does he have a good relationship with all of them?"

"Oh, yes." No hesitation lay behind those words. "I have seen him go through the hiring process, and that position only accepts men—and women—he has known for many years and who have worked for him before. The last manager for the tailor was a friend of his wife's who had worked under the previous manager for close to a decade. The job went to one of her employees when family forced her to move."

Holmes would want me to explore all possibilities. "What about his household staff?"

"Just as good as my own," he said firmly. "Gideon has accidentally called Cook 'Mother' a few times, both Brent and Stewardson—their butler and groundskeeper—join them for holidays, and all had a part in Gideon's lessons. He and Greyson treat everyone more like paid family than true servants. Greyson's jolly manner and instant friendship with everyone he meets is part of why the local police could find so few leads. We have nowhere to start, no possible culprits, and no idea even where he went last. You probably know better than I how difficult random muggings are to track."

Yes, I did, just as I knew that such an occurrence in the town we had seen would not have gone unnoticed—nor probably unanswered. An attack in broad daylight should have pulled onlookers from all directions, and some of them should have recognized Lord Thrombak enough to jump in and help.

My job did not lay in possibilities, however. Another moment found one last question.

"How far is Thrombak Manor from here?"

"About ten miles." He pointed north, then frowned, checked the walls, and pointed west. "His grandfather slightly rerouted a stream and planted a small orchard, so now it rests in the largest patch of trees for miles. It's open moor between, though. While Greyson and I have worn a narrow path over the years, I still intend t'give thee a map of th' area. 'Tis far too easy t'lose thisen on th' moor."

Concern for his friend mixed with the duty of ensuring we did not "lose ourselves" to degrade the last sentence into the broader Yorkshire he obviously used when he did not have guests. If Holmes had not already professed an intention to borrow a horse and wagon for the journey, Sir Walter probably would have willingly delivered us to Thrombak Manor. Perhaps I would prod Holmes into considering that option. I had no interest in wandering miles of wasteland, no matter how beautiful.

Such a topic was better left for Holmes, though. He dictated our schedule, not me, and when Sir Walter stood to take his plate to the kitchen, I followed silently.

"I know very little about investigating," he said once Nara had shooed us from her domain. "What does tha need from me?"

"Nothing, at the moment." I had already found everything Holmes had asked, and another of Sir Walter's comments had made me want to check something. "I do not believe Holmes will want to go to Thrombak until tomorrow, but if he does decide to leave today, where can we find you?"

"Until midday, in my office." One hand referenced the west wing, tilted as if to go upstairs. "Second level overlooking the main walk. Ask Nara, if you need to. Goodness knows she has dragged me away from my work often enough."

Amusement escaped in a huffed laugh—Nara reminded me of Mrs. Hudson in far too many ways—but a nod answered as he turned away. I waited only for him to disappear around the corner before retracing my steps back to the dining room, then to Holmes' and my rooms.

That Holmes did not occupy, naturally, but I had not expected to find him. Curiosity drew me back to that colorful tapestry, to where the frayed threads aligned with an unusually straight line through the stones. Had I stumbled on one of Rossenthwaite's many tunnels?

Yes. The third stone up from the floor, one fully hidden behind the tapestry, shifted with the slightest pressure. A faint click revealed a narrow gap between my room and the next.

Which sparked a question that made me hesitate in the tunnel's entrance. Did I want to explore it now? Or did I want to find Holmes because this would undoubtedly interest him?

Holmes, pointedly moving away when I wandered closer. Starting work without me. "But how…escape…—son."

Now, I decided. Holmes could always see for himself if I found something worth noting, but a tunnel wandering a manor not directly part of our case did not warrant his immediate attention. Three steps backtracked to retrieve two candles and a box of matches, then careful pressure shut the door without making it latch. I would find my friend later.

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