Amanderella and the Ppockingstull Treasure Chapter 6

Chapter 6.

 

The Map.

 

“That map does not look like a modern one to me,” Amanderella observed, studying the parchment.

Maudline grinned. “It certainly isn’t. As I said, the roof leaks. I climbed up into the roof space to see what damage the water was doing. It was not very nice up there, I can tell you. There are enough holes in the roof for a whole army of bats to get in,, and they have. They were dangling from every possible place.”

Amanderella’s mother shivered and emitted a small squeak that sounded remarkably like one of the bats.

“No problem,” Maudline said cheerfully. “I quite like bats. There were lots of spiders as well. Their webs hung down all over the place, full of dust like… like…” She glanced around the parlour, searching for inspiration. Her eyes landed on the curtains. “Old curtains,” she finished.

Amanderella’s mother blushed and tugged at the nearest drape.

“Anyway,” Maudline continued, warming to her tale, “tucked away in a corner, under,”

She paused.

Amanderella leaned forward. “Under what?”

Maudline’s grin widened. “Under me, as it turned out.”

The Gottsnobblers stared.

“I put one foot on a beam that wasn’t a beam at all. The whole thing gave way.”

The room fell silent. Even the faux fox, collapsed on the carpet, seemed to be listening.

Maudline leaned back in the wingback chair, clearly relishing the memory. “So, there I was,” she said, “dangling halfway through the ceiling like a badly hung chandelier. When I finally landed thump, I found myself in a room no one had seen for at least two hundred years.”

Amanderella’s father swallowed. “A hidden room? I should write a letter about hidden rooms, perhaps to the Society for the Prevention of Architectural Surprises. This sort of thing cannot be allowed.”

His nose stiffened into its familiar quill‑pen point, already twitching as if searching for ink.

Lady Gottsnobbler gasped. “Hidden rooms! Oh, Amanderella, what if we have one? What if we have several? What if they’re full of dust and bats and… and unexpected furniture?”

Lord Gottsnobbler nodded gravely. “I shall write two letters. One to the Society, and one to the council. They ought to warn respectable households about concealed chambers. It’s only polite.”

“Completely sealed up,”  Maudline confirmed. “Dust thick enough to plant potatoes in. Bats flapping about in a state of great indignation. And right in the middle of the floor, a locked metal chest.”

Amanderella’s mother clasped her hands. “How dreadful.”

“Oh, not dreadful,” Maudline said cheerfully. “Quite exciting. The dreadful part was realising I had absolutely no way of getting back up again.”

The Gottsnobblers stared.

Maudline nodded solemnly. “The hole I fell through was far too high to reach. The beams were rotten. The walls were smooth. And the bats were no help whatsoever. I tried asking.”

Amanderella bit her lip. “So, you were trapped.”

“Temporarily,” Maudline said, with the air of someone who considers being trapped in a forgotten room with a chest and a colony of bats a minor inconvenience. “I had to improvise. Fortunately, the Ppockingstulls have always been resourceful.”

She paused, letting the suspense settle like dust in the hidden room.

The Gottsnobblers held their collective breath. Mr Gottsnobbler looked as though he were mentally calculating the cost of repairing a ceiling Maudline had fallen through, while his wife seemed to be imagining the sheer volume of dust such a catastrophe would produce.

Maudline leaned forward, the wingback chair groaning under the shift of her formidable weight.

“There was a window,” she whispered, though her whisper still had the carrying power of a drill sergeant. “But it had been bricked up since the Window Tax of 1789. Solid Georgian masonry. And the door? Bolted from the other side two centuries ago, then plastered over during the Great Redecoration of 1812.”

Amanderella leaned in further, eyes wide. “So how did you get out, Maudline? You didn’t… you didn’t eat the bats, did you?”

“Good heavens, no! Stringy things,” Maudline scoffed. “No. I had a good ferret round and realised that, like the roof space, water had been getting in and part of the floor was quite soft. So, I rescued a reasonable piece of wood from where I’d come through the ceiling and used it like a club to make a hole in the floor.”

Mrs Gottsnobbler turned a shade of grey usually reserved for unwashed linen. “Another hole?”

“Unfortunately, my piece of wood broke. So, I used the chest as a battering ram. I tilted it, heaved it, and dropped it repeatedly until, CRACK!, I went through the floor again.”

Lord Gottsnobbler’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead and disappeared into his hair.

“Straight into the Still Room!” Maudline declared triumphantly. “Landed right in a vat of pickling onions. Smelt like a vinegar factory for a week.”

 Amanderella winced. “And the chest?”

“Still upstairs,” Maudline said, with the faintest hint of annoyance. “Sitting in the hidden room like a smug metal toad. I, however, was downstairs. Covered in onions. And with no way back up.”

Lord Gottsnobbler’s nose stiffened into its quill‑pen point. “This is a structural nightmare. I shall write a letter to the National Trust. And possibly the Fire Brigade.”

Maudline continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “So, I needed to get back into the hidden room. Fortunately, the Still Room is very well equipped. I found a sledgehammer behind a barrel of chutney.”

Amanderella’s mother covered her eyes. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Maudline said cheerfully. “I tucked it under my arm and marched straight upstairs. Left a trail of onions behind me, but one can’t worry about housekeeping at a time like that.”

Lord Gottsnobbler made a faint choking noise. “Upstairs? With a hammer? Indoors? I shall have to write a letter to the Home Office.”

Maudline pressed on. “I went back to the landing above the Still Room and listened at the walls. You can always tell a hollow one if you give it a good thump.”

She demonstrated with a hearty knock on the arm of the chair. The chair whimpered.

“So, I thumped every wall on the landing. One was solid. Another was very solid. The third one was a linen cupboard pretending to be a wall. But the fourth, ah!, that one gave a lovely hollow boonk.”

“So, I took the sledgehammer,” Maudline said, “and gave it a proper swing.”

Lady Gottsnobbler squealed. “Indoors?”

“Of course, indoors,” Maudline said. “The hidden room was indoors. It would have been silly to go outside.”

Lord Gottsnobbler’s nose stiffened into its quill‑pen point. “I shall write to the architect. And the builder. And possibly the bishop.”

Maudline continued, “The plaster flew everywhere. Very dramatic. Then the old door appeared,, bolted, locked, and sulking behind two centuries of dust. So, I hit that as well.”

Amanderella winced. “Did it open?”

“Eventually,” Maudline said proudly. “It took three swings, two kicks, and one very determined shoulder. But it gave in. Doors always do if you’re patient and enthusiastic.”

Lady Gottsnobbler fanned herself. “I feel faint.”

“And then,” Maudline said, warming to her tale, “I climbed back into the hidden room. There was the chest, sitting exactly where I’d left it, looking smugger than ever.”

Amanderella leaned forward. “Still locked?”

“Oh yes. Locked in the way things are when someone three hundred years ago was determined that no one should ever open them again.”

Amanderella’s father groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

Maudline beamed. “The sledgehammer.”

She mimed another swing. The faux fox slid off the sideboard in fright.

“I gave it a few taps, well, enthusiastic taps,, and the lid popped open like a startled oyster.”

She slapped her hand down on the parchment again. It crackled under her touch.

“And inside that chest, wrapped in a moth‑eaten velvet waistcoat, was this.”

She slapped her hand down on the parchment again. It crackled under her touch.

Amanderella leaned closer, studying the faded ink with a thoughtful frown. “This isn’t just old,” she said slowly. “It’s very old. Look at the ink, it’s iron gall. And the lettering… that’s seventeenth‑century script. And the paper isn’t paper at all, it’s vellum.”

Maudline beamed. “Knew you’d spot it!”

Amanderella traced one of the tiny drawings with her fingertip. “And these buildings… they’re drawn as if they were new. Not restored. Not altered. As they were originally.”

She looked up, eyes bright. “Maudline, this map was made at the time the treasure was buried.”

The Gottsnobblers froze.

Maudline thumped the table, making the teaspoons jump. “Exactly! It shows the estate as it was then. Every hedge, every tree, every wall, every landmark Sir Barnabull used in his clues.”

Amanderella sat back, excitement fizzing through her. “So, the clues aren’t impossible. People have just been using the wrong maps.”

“Precisely!” Maudline boomed. “With this map, we can finally match the clues to their original positions.”

The faux fox, still collapsed on the carpet, seemed to quiver with anticipation.

Amanderella lifted the vellum with great care. The room fell quiet, as though even the furniture were leaning in.

Her father’s nose stiffened into its quill‑pen point. “I shall write a letter,” he murmured, though he did not specify to whom.

Her mother dabbed her forehead. “Amanderella, dear… please tell me this does not involve more holes.”

Amanderella smiled. “That depends entirely on what we find next.”

Her boots gave a quiet, eager squeak.

Maudline grinned. “Excellent! Then tomorrow we begin properly.”

Amanderella nodded, folding the map with reverence. “Tomorrow,” she said, “we examine this in full.”