The Passion of the Purple Plumeria Read Free Page B

nodded vehemently to show I understood. “All warranties and disclaimers acknowledged. Go on.”
    Colin stuck his toothbrush in a chipped old mug and leaned back against the sink, resting his elbows against the marble countertop. “It’s complete rubbish,” he said warningly, “but . . .”
    “Yes?” The suspense was killing me. So was the edge of the tub, which was distinctly uncomfortable. I shifted forward a bit.
    Colin held out a hand to help me up. “According to my father, the story was that the jewels were brought by the Carnation from India to Selwick Hall.”
    I felt absurdly disappointed. “But we know that the Carnation wasn’t
in
India.”
    My research had turned up the true story of the Carnation’s supposed Indian exploits. Yes, a French plot to rouse the country against the British had been routed, but it had been accomplished by a junior political officer named Alex Reid, not by the Carnation herself. The Carnation had been busy in France at the time, watching Bonaparte crown himself emperor.
    “Exactly,” said Colin. “It’s just a story. There was even a bit of doggerel verse—something something Plumeria’s tower.”
    I wrinkled my nose. “That sounds like a Whittlesby poem.”
    Colin waved that aside. “No,” he said slowly, “it wasn’t. It was just the three lines, and it went something like this:
Hard by Plumeria’s bower / Underneath the brooding tower / The Moon awaits its hard-won hour
.”
    “Tower?” My ears pricked up like a spaniel’s. “As in your tower?”
    Behind the house loomed the original Norman keep, or the remains thereof, built by Fulke de Selwick to keep those pesky Saxons down. Now semiruined, it was the perfect location for a lost treasure—at least, in theory. In practice, it would be like putting up a neon sign that said, “Get Your Treasures Here!” The place was like a beacon for treasure seekers.
    “Is that why you keep it locked?” I asked, tagging along after Colin into the bedroom.
    “No. It really is just because of the farm equipment,” he said apologetically. As I had discovered on an earlier, unauthorized foray, the most exciting thing that the tower appeared to be housing was rusty farm equipment. “But we can take a look around if you like.”
    “You’ve searched it already, haven’t you?” I said accusingly.
    “And my father, and his father before him. Everyone and his mother’s had a go.”
    “All his sisters and his cousins whom he reckons by the dozens,” I murmured. “But Jeremy still thinks it’s here.”
    Colin spread his hands in silent acknowledgment.
    “He’ll go on pestering you until you find it,” I said seriously. “You do realize that.”
    “You can’t find what isn’t there to be found,” said Colin.
    “Hmm.” I wasn’t ready to admit defeat that easily. “Who was Plumeria?”
    Colin’s eyes crinkled. “You know my family tree better than I do.”
    “Only the early-nineteenth-century bits of it.” I sank down on the edge of the bed, which made a faint creaking noise in protest. Okay, fine, I had done a bit of poking around into the more recent bits of Colin’s family tree, purely recreationally, but I didn’t want him to know that. It was like admitting you had Googled someone before a first date. “The name does sound oddly familiar, though. . . .”
    “Yes?” There was no mistaking the eagerness in Colin’s voice.
    Where had I heard that name before? For a moment, I thought I had it, but the wisp of memory drifted away like smoke, nothing to hold on to. Plumeria . . .
    “No. It’s gone.” I looked up at Colin, who had busied himself buckling his watch. “Why not ask your aunt Arabella?”
    He shook his head. “She won’t give us a straight answer. She doesn’t believe such things are meant to be found.”
    “Direct quote?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “Let’s go anyway.” I liked Colin’s great-aunt, not least because she was the one responsible for setting us up. All