The Bertie Mansion

I

Jeremy the Third shoved more boxes out of the way, breaking from the task at hand only to wipe sweat off his brow. The attic was full of junk, but there were specific pieces of junk he needed to find. And finding them was like finding a set of loose needles dumped in a haystack.

The building's roof sloped to its climax several meters overhead, reducing the space but not by much. Antique chests, cabinets, and more modern cardboard boxes were squished in as close as possible to the slanted walls and were pushed into positions that maximized the floor space of the attic, roughly the size of the floors below, leaving narrow access paths running through the entirety of this level. Barred windows were built into the roof on an even interval, letting in some natural light, although the naked lightbulbs overhead glowed with energy as well. The lightbulbs had been a necessary addition during renovations.

The Bertie Mansion was known for its valuables; wartime pieces preserved in dust were scattered throughout the entire building and were every collector's dream. Jeremy the Second, the eldest child, had passed away in recent years, leaving his small family behind. His siblings thought they had a new chance to get their hands on the artefacts, no doubt to sell them for money. When Jeremy the First, Jeremy the Second's father, had died, the world watched with held breath to see who would inherit the mansion and what it contained.

The will ended up giving over possession of the mansion, its furnishings, and any holdings, to Jeremy the Second's family, causing a large groan among the collectors who had spent months planning what to place a high bid for. Jeremy the Second had married a noble wife; Jade was a woman who would rather work hard to restore the mansion than sell it away in chunks. That's the way Jeremy the First wanted it, and so that's the way he orchestrated it to be, though right now it seemed like he didn't want anyone in the attic, not even his heir, by the messy state he left it in.

Over the last couple months the cobwebs had been cleared, dust removed, and furniture restored to its former glory in the mansion proper. Together, Jade and her two sons had made the mansion livable again. It was this very morning that the building was deemed up to code and a real home instead of a haunted showpiece. Life was again breathing in the Bertie Mansion in a way it hadn't in almost a century.

Living in the city was way different than here. The city was noisy, busy, and it always felt like someone was watching. Taking a shot at country life seemed the best option to start over, especially when there happened to be a home waiting for them. As they had suspected, owning a giant mansion in the middle of nowhere was extremely relaxing. The friends they had made were happy to host dinner parties that included the residents of the Bertie Mansion on the guest list, and the mansion would once more have its own dinners.

What Jeremy was searching for now had more symbolic meaning than a priceless bullet casing from the Battle for Downing Heath, a battle that took place nearly eighty years ago. His grandfather had painted for years following the war and had made enough art to fill a large gallery.

The paintings could not be called masterpieces or even good, but there was an intrinsic beauty to them. They had been hung on the walls of Jeremy the First's home in the city, a retreat of sorts where he could be near family in old age. Following his death they had been moved back into the Bertie Mansion but instead of being hung on the walls, the movers dumped them up in the attic with many other boxes that truly were filled with junk.

Currently Jeremy's bedroom walls were bare and in need of decoration. Memory told him of his grandfather's artwork and when he explained to his mother the plan to rescue them, she had wholeheartedly agreed. The walls of the house could still use some color, for the wallpaper and paint had faded after more than a century of use.

He didn't remember the sun being close to setting, but the shadows lengthened and then the light faded anyway, leaving him dependent on the new lighting system. The paintings had vanished into thin air. If he was inclined to believe in the paranormal, he would assume a ghost took them. But that was ridiculous, he told himself, frowning at the room.