the pirate's hoard 5

 

5

 

Henry brought the gig round and helped Arabella in, and they set off at a spanking pace. They came to the junction with the main road, with two other roads off it, on the other side, slightly staggered, as Arabella described it, and as it was known locally as ‘Fiveways.’ Henry tossed the reins to Arabella, and got out.

“What are you doing?” asked Arabella.

“Looking for signs of the passage of a carriage – and there’s a rut in the light snow and frost that goes across the main road, which I think must be who we are looking for; and fresh horse dung, too, cold enough to have stopped steaming, but not yet covered in frost,” said Henry. “We’re half an hour behind them, and that’s three or four miles start they have, and Feathers capable of catching up, but any number of lanes off the one they’ve taken, and we’ll need to check each one for signs of them turning. And if they come back, and recognise you, we might be in trouble.”

“Pass me up the bag of oats we keep for Feathers, and I will take off my outer shawl, and nurse it like a baby, and slouch like a tired farmer’s wife,” said Arabella. “It is market day in Fenwick, I believe; a good day for us to visit, of course, but also ensuring that any local possible witnesses are out of the way.”

“Well, I’m dressed appropriately for that, and your brown pelisse does not scream quality,” said Henry.  “Feathers is a quality horse, but more a heavy horse than a traditional carriage horse, and the curricle is shabby enough. An independent couple out for a good time more than needing the market, which is going to be most at this time of year.”

“As I recall, there’s an old woman who makes barley sugar twists, and gingerbread men for Christmas,” said Arabella. “She does most of her trade for the year with those sweetmeats, and others, and ekes it out over the year. Lucy always visited her stall.”

“Good,” said Henry, who was only half listening as he concentrated.

 

oOoOo

 

      Lucy strode out briskly without pushing the pace too hard. She found a stout stick pulled from a tree by some high vehicle, and trimmed it with her pen knife to give her an extra hold on the often slippery ground, using a notch at the top as a thumb stick.  It made life easier, and she felt more confident. She wanted to move briskly enough to avoid cooling down too much, but not sufficiently briskly to start sweating, which would freeze on her and prove fatal. And would risk her footing.

The glutinous dark mud of the district was slippery when wet, and as slippery when frozen. And perilous as the sun rose far enough to effect something of a thaw, since the pressure on ice was enough to move the mobile mud beneath, for an even more treacherous footing.   But Lucy knew the conditions, and was careful. She might not expect to cover more than three miles in an hour by such care, but that was better than fetching up wounded from hurrying. She doubted that she could rely on anyone to rescue her; for how would they know where to go?  Therefore, her efforts must be her own. She set herself targets of three bends in the road, and then stopped to get her breath, and rest her legs, unaccustomed to the country roads and poor conditions, to drink from the bottle she had filled with water, and eat a little bread and cheese to keep her alert. By these efforts she reached the end of the meandering lane on which the cottage stood, and came onto a wider, if not better, road. She thought she had come about a mile and a half. The next mile and a half would be easier, for being a better road, but after that, her legs would be on fire from trying not to slide, and the second half of the journey would be agony. Lucy grimaced, but set off, steadily.

 

oOoOo

 

“There’s a carriage coming the other way which looks like the one which snatched up Lucy,” said Arabella, bending over her shawl-wrapped bundle.

They closed quickly on the carriage to their right, whose driver sang out jocularly, in the unlovely tones of Bermondsey.

“That’s a dandy pace, Farmer, afraid the missus will wet the seat?”

“Dew yew go mount a corporal an’ fower, yew Beau nasty,[1]” replied Henry, in a mix of the local vernacular and cant. Then they were past.

“What did you say to him?” asked Arabella.

“I ain’t about to tell you, ma’am,” said Henry, going dull red. “It was lewd , but I thought I ought to let him know my disapprobation in suitably low terms.”

“So long as they do not think us suspicious and turn, I do not care,” said Arabella.

They spent time stopping and starting, checking for signs that the carriage had turned off.

“And now that short shower of snow’s stopped, and the sun is melting the frost, the sign is less clear,” said Henry, grimly.

“Where is Luke likely to direct them? Where does he know best?” asked Arabella, when they came to a stop at a staggered crossroads, with arms to the hamlets Gossey, Chetwath, and Fulreth.

Henry considered.

“He had a pet of the fancy down here to box the local champion,” he said. “And made an old servant of his father’s put the man up; the old man had a cottage in Chetwath.”

“It’s as good a way to make the decision as any,” said Arabella.

They turned for Chetwath; and had not been going long when Henry gave a shout.

“There! That’s Lucy trudging along, bless her! She’s escaped!

Arabella opened her mouth to say that Lucy wore a blue cape and hood trimmed with white fur, not a shapeless grey-brown cloak, but a riffle of wind blew the blanket Lucy had added to her apparel and the blue was visible underneath.  Feathers picked up the pace.

“Good morning, ma’am, would you like a lift?” asked Henry, raising his hat.

“Henry! Arabella! Oh, I am glad to see you,” said Lucy,  in relief. “I had just calculated I could manage another mile before I would have to fight fatigue and pain.”

“Well, you shall go to the house, Cendrillon, in style, and not a pompion in sight. And Feathers offended at being called a mouse,” laughed Henry.

“There isn’t room for me,” said Lucy.

“No, but Miss Bellington will drive, I am sure, and I will walk home,” said Henry.

“There’s a kind of rumble seat at the back, I use it for parcels,” said Lucy. “If you can hang on there, we can all go together. I am unharmed but angrier than a nest of hornets poked with a stick.”

“Of course you are, my love,” said Arabella, helping Lucy up as Henry got down. “Mr. Jermyn, will you lead Feathers in a turn before climbing up? He can make a tight turn but he needs to be led, or he assumes he’s pulling a gun limber in an obstacle race and starts to run.”

“Of course,” said Henry.

The turn accomplished, he squeezed himself onto the small rumble seat and thought it a better proposition than walking back.

  “Can we smuggle me in quietly?” asked Lucy. “There’s a back entrance for delivery carts, if we go in that way, any watchers won’t see me, and Luke will think I am still sitting it out in that nasty little cottage. And if we then go onto the porch roof   now the sun has come out again, it’s a day short, but I want to risk that, and see if we can find the treasure before Luke goes looking.”

“If you ask me, it should be easy enough,” said Arabella. “We are looking for a singular depression to take a circular key.”

“And to my mind, and taking into account that the sundial is out of alignment, the wards, if extended, would make a figure nine, IX, in Roman numerals, which would mean it would fit into the eleven, XI, for being backward,” said Lucy.

“You always could readily see things in mirror image, my love,” said Arabella. “I remember you writing in mirror writing as a rebellion when made to thank that awful aunt of yours for a gift of her underlinen as her contribution to your clothes chest for the two years you did at school.”

“Ugh, yes, and so old it had washed grey with a few suspicious stains,” shuddered Lucy. “Papa was wrong to make me thank her, I think; but I suspect he did not properly understand the insult it constituted. And he hoped she would leave me her money, an expectation I never had, so was not disappointed when she left it all to her companion, who probably deserved it for putting up with the old woman.”

“Yes, that poor woman makes me appreciate all the more the excellent situation in which I find myself, especially if you do have a husband indulgent enough to permit me to stay in the household.”

“I would,” said Henry. “Er, I mean, I haven’t asked, Lucy, but you are resourceful and sweet natured and clever, and I would like to marry you.”

“That has to be one of the strangest proposals ever given, and yes, I’d love to marry you, Henry, and you can kiss me later,” said Lucy.

“My heart filled to see you trudging along, pluck to the backbone,” said Henry. “Turn right here, Miss Bellington, that will bring us round to the back way, rather than going straight across Fiveways.”

 

 

Lucy cried out in pain as she dismounted from the curricle, having stiffened up.

“My love, you need a hot bath!” said Arabella.

“No, I need to find Pirate treasure, and then I need a hot bath,” said Lucy, grimly. “I want to make sure to cheat Luke of his scheming.”

“Quite right, too,” agreed Henry. “I’m stiff myself from that rumble seat, but eager to find treasure.”

“I want to divest myself of the extra blanket petticoat, which makes moving awkward, but I was afraid of getting cold walking,” said Lucy.

“I’ll see to Feathers while you do that; meet on the landing?” said Henry.

“That makes sense,” said Arabella.

 

Half an hour later, as noon approached, the three met by the figurehead, and Lucy revealed the secret of the snake, hiding in the carving of the panel. They all stepped out onto the porch roof.

“Glassed in, it would make an excellent forcing house, for things like flowers out of season or cucumbers,” said Henry.

“If the roof will take the weight of dirt in pots,” said Arabella.

“Have you never looked at those massive beams in the ceiling of the porch?” scoffed Henry. “Old Lucifer could have balanced his ship on it. Well, a considerable weight, anyway,” he amended.   “Not that this is germane to the point, sorry.”

“I’m aiming to keep the house; so thinking of the future is germane to me,” said Lucy. “If you would be happy to move here, that is.”

Henry possessed himself of one hand, and kissed her fingers.

“To my mind, there can be no question; I always loved staying here,” he said. “It’s larger than my family’s house, as well as having more character. The lands march with mine, and together make a useful little estate, something we have to consider. Uncle Lucius let the land fall into disuse, but it could be opened up.”

“Especially with some pirate treasure to invest,” said Lucy, whose heart hammered from the admiring look he gave her almost as much as the thought of pirate treasure.

“Don’t get your hopes up too much,” said Henry. “It may have been found by some previous ancestor who just did not mention it; and it may not be worth much, even if not found before.”

“I know,” said Lucy.  “Oh, Henry, are we going to have to have a coroner rule on whether or not it is treasure trove?”

“No, because there is a clear intent, as I understand it from  Uncle Lucius, in the old pirate’s commonplace book, to hide it as part of his willed goods for whichever of his descendents was clever enough to find it.”

“Yes, I looked at the commonplace book, and Arabella said I would have to ask a husband about what the poems mean,” said Lucy. “But it did say, ‘I storeth up treasure on earth and knoweth not who may find it, but zounds! Thou, who art my descendent, who hath wit and will, deserveth it, as my son, who hath neither pluck nor cods, doth not.’”  

“Harsh,” murmured Henry. “And it is reiterated in Uncle Lucius’s will where he says you shall have the house and its contents. And that plainly refers to the treasure.”  He looked at Lucy.

“Midday; and you were right in your guess, it’s close to being on the eleven. And I see some deeper shadows.”

Lucy gasped, and retrieved the false piece of eight from her reticule; and examined it, in order to line it up with the carven figure eleven, with the now visible deeper grooves. She pushed it home, and turned the key.

With a grinding sound, the stone which was the sundial swung open like a door.

“I... I think there are three chests in there,” said Lucy.

“I will retrieve them; you can rescue me if the door shuts,” said Henry. “It’s a funny shape in here,” he added, and then gasped. “Why, I do believe this is inside the figurehead on the prow, mounted inside! So it does go right through!” He dragged out the three small, but heavy chests. “Shall we shut up the door and take these inside to examine?”

“Yes,” said Lucy, decisively. “Although we cannot readily carry them downstairs.”

“My love, if we take them onto the mezzanine of the library, which opens off the gallery, and we sew industriously to make covers for them, they can look like footstools for the chairs there for reading,” said Arabella. “That should hide them in plain sight from Luke and from Mrs. Henderson.”

“But we will look at them first,” said Lucy.

It took some effort to carry the chests, two being needed to carry each, and Lucy pointed out that their locks used the same key.

“I will unlock each and we will each open a lid,” she said.

She unlocked them and then counted down.

They flung open the lids.

“By Jove!” said Henry.                     

 

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[1] Nowadays it would translate to the equally coarse ‘Go jerk yourself off, you punk.’