Page 15 of The Secret Christmas Library

They snuck in through a side door Mirren hadn’t noticed before. It was barely warmer inside than out. They were in an older side of the castle, the corridors here rough-hewn and painted in a strange shiny industrial paint, in a dirty cream. Jamie caught her looking at it.

‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘From when it was requisitioned in the war. They painted the walls for us. We haven’t quite got round to the touch-up.’

Mirren blinked. ‘And I thought I was late getting my boiler serviced.’ She frowned as she looked at the pipes. ‘Where do they discharge to?’

‘I was only kidding about hiring a surveyor,’ said Jamie, and Mirren smiled. ‘Also, never mention the B-word in this house. I think the boiler works by prayer.’

Back in the kitchen, Mirren instantly went in and tried to get some warmth back into her fingers from the stove.

‘Don’t do that,’ said Jamie. ‘You just have to let your body adjust.’

‘You’re telling me I have to activate Penguin Mode?’ said Mirren. ‘I don’t think so. We’re only here for three days.’

The size of the job suddenly struck her. This house was a town. It went on forever. Every surface of it was covered in books, and none of them in any kind of order.

Theo was no longer in the kitchen; his phone lay abandoned on the table.

They found him slumped in the laundry room on the other side of the corridor from the vast kitchen.

This was equally vast; there was a mangle, a twin tub that looked older than Mirren’s mother, and, in the high ceiling, a great long drying rack that was worked by some kind of odd pulley system, as well as various sinks, cupboards and ominous-looking pipes.

The door at the far end led to something which must, once upon a time, have been a store room for sheets – there were shelves covered in very faded paper, with neat labels in copperplate on each one – East Wing Blue, East Wing Red, and so on, shelf after shelf.

Except, unsurprisingly, only the bottom of one far shelf sported fresh linen sheets.

The rest were filled instead with books, pushed all the way back, piled four lanes deep in every conceivable nook and cranny.

Theo was sitting on the hard stone floor already among a discarded pile, his handsome face looking distraught.

‘What?’ said Mirren.

‘There’s . . . ’ He held up his hands in a gesture of futility. ‘Who buys three hundred books about frogs?’

Jamie picked up the nearest one. It was an ancient hardback by a reverend, entitled Frogs and Amphibians of the Norfolk Broads, with many various illustrations therein.

‘I didn’t think the Norfolk Broads had so many different amphibians,’ he said, leafing through it.

He glanced up. ‘I doubt this is the one we’re looking for,’ he said, showing them a rather crudely drawn sketch of an unusually large and badly proportioned toad.

‘But why?’ said Theo. ‘I have done some house clearances, but this is pathologically insane.’

There was a silence.

‘Although I’m sure he was a very nice man and whatnot.’

Jamie shrugged. ‘Oh, he’d buy anything, really. Auction lots. Charity shops. I think he was always . . . he loved books. I think he wanted to own every book in the world. It was a mission. While everything else fell down around his ears.’

‘I’ve got a lot of books about dragons,’ said Mirren, trying to be supportive. Both men looked at her. ‘What? You shut up.’

Theo took down another handful and flicked through them.

‘No . . . no . . . lizards . . . no, no . . . ’ He stood up and dusted off his hands. ‘Laird McKinnon—’

‘Jamie, please. People only use my title when I’m in trouble,’ said Jamie.

‘Okay. Well, you know, I handle a lot of antiquarian books,’ he said.

‘I kind of hoped you did,’ said Jamie.

‘I have to say . . . a lot of these . . . they’re old, but they’re just . . . ’ Theo rubbed the back of his neck. ‘They’re just old toot.’

Jamie nodded.

‘How many miles of corridor are there in this place? How many rooms?’

‘Um. About two miles. And, I think, about sixty rooms?’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Mirren.

‘Plus . . . ’

‘Attics and cellars,’ said Theo. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but to do this properly would take . . . ’

None of the three said anything.

‘Well, then, let’s get a move on,’ said Mirren, as cheerily as she could. She was worried Theo was just going to turn around and leave. She didn’t want her trip to end as soon as it began. ‘Show me that poem again.’