The 100-Year-Old Secret by Tracy Barrett Read Free Book Online Page A

it was nice to be out of the noise and hurry of London. The road was narrow, and at times it was bordered by such high, thick hedges that it seemed as if they were driving through a tunnel.
    â€œThe next left,” Mrs. Holmes said, checking the map and glancing up at the street sign. “Then right, then we should be in front of the mansion.”
    As they turned the final corner, Henry the Eighth's mansion appeared before them, and Xena's jaw dropped at the sight. The house was not only huge but graceful and noble-looking, sitting atop a lush green lawn. It was bigger than any house she had ever seen before, with two tall towers soaring above each side of the house. It was made of reddish brown stone, with windows that reached at least ten feet high. The windows were framed by the same white stone that made up the front steps.
    â€œNothing like this in the States, is there?” Andrew asked.
    â€œWell, we do have the White House—” Xena started, but then she shrugged. “No,” she said. “Nothing like this. Can we take a tour, Mom?”
    Xena quickly lost count of how many rooms there were. Some had ceilings elaborately painted with fat little angels holding back painted curtains to show scenes of gods and goddesses. In other rooms, enormous fireplaces were topped by stone mantels covered with carvings of people hunting in the woods. They explored the grand staircase, the stained-glass windows in the private chapel, the portraits of grim-faced men and women lining the lofty corridors. The guide threw open a door. “This is where the future King Henry the Eighth played when he was a boy,” she said.
    â€œImagine trying to play in here,” Xander whispered to Xena. The room was huge and cold, with tapestries on the wall and hard-looking furniture.
    â€œHe probably had toys and things,” Xena whispered back, but she couldn't help feeling a pang of sympathy for the little boy who'd tried to amuse himself in this formal hall, even though he'd lived and died centuries ago.
    The tour ended in the same room where it had started.
    â€œLet's go through the gardens now,” Mrs. Holmes said. “They look lovely.”
    Xander grimaced. How could he and Xena get away to do some investigating?
    â€œNow, don't make that face, Xander—” their mother began.
    â€œWhy don't we go into the village, and you can meet us there after the tour?” Andrew broke in. Xena looked at him in surprise. Did he actually want to spend time with them?
    â€œI've been here on a school trip,” Andrew explained. “There's a bus to the village at the gate.”
    â€œGreat idea,” Mr. Holmes said.
    â€œWhy don't you guys take the new phone, Xena,” their mother said, handing it to her. “Call your dad's cell when you're ready to be picked up.”
    â€œOr we'll call you,” their father said. “Or—”
    â€œDear, the garden tour's leaving,” their mother said.
    Mr. Holmes fished in his pockets and gave Xena a handful of bills. “Here, get yourselves something to eat.”
    On the bus Xena whispered to Xander, “While we're eating, make an excuse to leave the table and go find a phone book so we can check if any Bathesons still live in town.”
    â€œGot it,” Xander whispered back.
    The village was as quaint as their mother had said it would be—if “quaint” meant “reallysmall and with not much to do.” There was a narrow road with shops, some little houses, and lots of gardens. That was it.
    They stopped in a tea shop where Xander ordered scones and clotted cream. Any food with clotted in its name didn't sound too appetizing, but that didn't stop him from eating the biscuits spread with soft cream until he thought he would burst. Andrew ordered something called bangers and mash, and even though she didn't know what it was, Xena ordered it too. I hope it's nothing weird, she thought, but fortunately it