Aldrich led them to his private quarters and through a locked door to a corner stairway. Down the steps, they reached a dimly lit basement, which was little more than a broad corridor that extended beneath a fraction of the whole residence. Aged wooden crates and dust-covered furniture were stacked high along both walls.
“Much of this old furniture was the Earl’s,” Aldrich explained as he led them down the corridor. “I really must arrange for another auction one of these days.”
At the end of the corridor, they reached a heavy door sealed with a dead bolt.
“This was originally a surplus pantry,” he said, reaching for the bolt before realizing it had already been pulled aside. “They sealed it up tight to keep out the rats.”
He flicked on an exterior light switch, then grabbed a pull handle and yanked the heavy door aside, revealing a ten-foot-long compartment lined with shelves on either side and a wooden cabinet at the far end. The shelves were jam-packed with cardboard boxes, mostly filled with documents and estate records.
“Emily’s things should be right down here,” he said, stepping to the rear and pointing at a waist-high shelf where three boxes were marked “E.J. Kitchener.”
“Emily Jane Kitchener,” Aldrich said. “Might be easiest for you to simply look through the boxes in here. Will you need an escort back upstairs?”
“Thank you, Aldrich, but that won’t be necessary,” Julie replied. “We’ll lock things up and find our way out.”
“I hope you both can join us for dinner tonight. We’re having a fish fry in the garden.” The old caretaker then turned and shuffled out of the pantry.
Summer smiled as she watched him leave. “He is the cutest little fellow,” she said.
“An old-fashioned gentleman,” Julie agreed, pulling two of the boxes to the front of the shelf. “Here you go, one for you and one for me.”
Summer stepped over and flipped open the top of the box, which she noted was not sealed shut. The contents were a disheveled mess, as if someone had hastily thrown the items in the box or it had subsequently been rifled through. She smiled to herself as she pulled out a baby blanket and laid it on an empty shelf. Next to that she laid some children’s dress
es, a large doll, and several porcelain figurines. At the bottom of the box, she found some costume jewelry and a book of nursery rhymes.
“Box number one is filled with childhood memories,” she said, carefully repacking the items. “Nothing of relevance, I’m afraid.”
“I’m not faring much better,” Julie replied, setting a pair of sequined boots on the shelf. “Mostly shoes, sweaters, and a few evening gowns here.” From the bottom, she pulled out a flat tray of dinnerware. “And some tarnished silverware,” she added.
The women replaced the two boxes, then jointly opened the third box.
“This looks more promising,” Julie said, retrieving a thin packet of letters.
As she began scanning the letters, Summer inventoried the rest of the box. Most of the contents were prized books of Emily’s, along with a few framed photos of herself and her husband. At the bottom of the box, Summer found a large envelope that was stuffed with old photographs.
“No luck here,” Julie said, finishing the last letter and inserting it back into its envelope. “These are all old letters from her husband. No mention of our mystery girl. I guess the secret of Sally just isn’t meant to be revealed.”
“It was an admitted long shot,” Summer replied, pulling the photographs out of the envelope and spreading them across the shelf for Julie to see. They were all sepia-tinted images from nearly a century before. Julie held up one photo of a young woman in a riding outfit, holding the reins of a horse.
“She was a pretty young woman,” Summer remarked, noting a delicate face set with penetrating eyes similar to her famous uncle.
“Here’s one with Kitchener,” Julie said, pointing to an earlier photo in a garden setting. Kitchener stood in his uniform next to a couple with their young daughter, clutching a large doll, between them. Summer recognized the toddler as a younger version of Emily from the horse picture.
“She looks about four years old there,” Summer said, picking up the photo and flipping it over to see if a date was written on the back. She nearly choked when she read the inscription.
“April, 1916. Uncle Henry and Emily with Sally at Broome Park.”
She shoved the photo in Julie’s face. Julie read the inscription, then flipped it over and studied the image with a wrinkled brow.
“But that’s Emily with her parents. Her mother’s name was Margaret, I believe.”
Summer looked at her and smiled. “Sally is the doll.”
By the time the lightbulb clicked on in Julie’s head, Summer was already tearing through the first box of Emily Kitchener’s possessions. In an instant, she pulled out a porcelain-faced blond doll that was dressed in a checkerboard apron. Holding the doll up in the air, Summer compared it to the one in the photograph.
It was the same doll.
“He said the Manifest was safeguarded with Sally,” Julie muttered. “And Sally is a doll?”