by Sahara Kelly
“Footprints.” He nodded at them. “Clearer at the top in the shade. Almost invisible down here where the sun has already melted the snow.”
“Can’t be Trick or Jane’s,” said Gabriel. “This is fresh snow.”
“Last night, d’you think?” Gwyneth frowned. “Is someone here?”
The gig secured, Royce carefully picked his way up the concrete staircase, keeping to one side so as not to disturb the rapidly fading footprints. “I think…” he muttered, his eyes glued to the ground. “I think whoever was here has left.” He pointed. “Look, these prints are facing toward the door. But here…” He pointed to another spot. “They’re pointing the other way.”
“Leaving,” nodded Gabriel.
“I can’t say I like this,” Gwyneth admitted. “Thieves?”
“I don’t like it either,” agreed Royce. “Best we go inside and see if anything’s been stolen or damaged.” He approached the front door and turned the latch. It opened.
“Not good,” murmured Gwyneth.
“Let us go first, love,” advised Gabriel, his words kind but his tone unusually firm.
She wasn’t about to argue. “By all means.”
The men preceded her, the darkness of the Fivetrees hallway swallowing them up, leaving her alone on the steps.
But within moments, Gabriel returned. “It’s dead quiet,” he reported, holding out his hand. “Empty. I think we’ll be all right.”
She sighed with relief and let him lead her inside, shutting the door behind her.
It was, as he said, empty.
So empty you could feel the silence like a heavy weight. The sunlight barely penetrated, so she kept close to the others, trying to recall where Trick had said he and Jane were staying.
Royce opened a door and a little light flooded into the hall from the tall narrow windows he’d revealed. “This must be a parlour,” he looked around.
She peered inside. The furniture sat shrouded in holland covers, lumps of dusty linen, making the room seem more like a mausoleum. She expected to find such things, but didn’t realise how depressing it would be.
“And undisturbed,” said Gabriel, running fingers over the linen, then looking at them. “We’d know if someone had moved any of these covers.”
“Agreed.” Royce nodded. “We move on, then.”
So for the next hour or so, they entered every room, only to find the same covers, or in some places nothing at all but rolled up carpets lying along the walls.
“I believe Giles mentioned that Miss Fairhurst had taken all she wanted from here,” noted Gwyneth as she peered into what would have been the master bedroom.
“I haven’t seen anything I’d consider stealing, for certain,” remarked Gabriel, peering beneath a cover and shuddering. “Urgh. Horrid taste in furniture.”
Gwyneth couldn’t help grinning, but she turned to Royce. “Is it worth going through the servants’ quarters, d’you think?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Not at the moment, no. I confess I’m confused. Perhaps we missed something downstairs.”
“Well, I’d be happy to head back down,” Gabriel turned to the corridor. “It’s so depressing up here.”
“The whole house is depressing,” commented Gwyneth. “A lot of fancy bits and bobs, and very expensive furnishings, but no heart.”
“Good point.” Royce nodded, then led them downstairs again.
“The kitchens?” Gabriel asked.
“Might as well. Should be this way.” Royce headed down the hall toward a small door at the back, one that customarily would have admitted the servants into the upper regions of the house.
But oddly enough, it opened onto another corridor. “Hmm.”
Royce’s murmur reached Gwyneth’s ears. “What?”
“Another room.”
Gabriel stood close to Gwyneth. “Not the kitchen, then?”
Royce opened the door. “Oh no. Definitely not the kitchen.” He entered with the other two close behind him.
Gwyneth’s gasp escaped as she stared around her at what could only be described as chaos. “My heavens,” she mumbled.
It must have once been a study, but now it was a shambles of paper, drawers upturned and several chairs torn apart. Books lay everywhere, and not a single item lay untouched. Even the rugs had been raised and thrown in a pile.
“So this is where our intruders were headed?” She voiced the question even though she guessed the answer.
“What on earth were they looking for?” Gabriel’s tone was distressed. “This is…inexcusable. Look at this…” He pulled a small rug loose from the pile. “A lovely Axminster. Treating it like this…well, it’s unpardonable.”
“What would that be worth, Gabriel?” Royce raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, let me see…” Gabriel shook it out. “I’d guess several hundred pounds?”
“That tells us something,” Royce narrowed his eyes.
“They weren’t thieves,” said Gwyneth.
“Exactly.” Royce nodded. “If they were, they’d have taken the rugs at the very least.” He looked at the other two. “There are also some crystal fixtures. Those tiles in the fireplace. There is a lot here in this house that would bring in coin, but it hasn’t been touched.”
“So what were they looking for?” she asked.
“That is indeed a good question.”
Gabriel moved to the window and peered out, then turned back. “And why did they expect to find it in here? They knew where to come, Royce,” he looked at the other man. “They came straight here, didn’t they?”
“Yes, they did.” Royce acknowledged Gabriel’s comment with a nod. “They knew where to come and what they were looking for…but I’d guess from this chaos that they didn’t find it.”
Gwyneth carefully stepped over a drawer, resting her hand against the wall for balance. But a broken table leg snagged her skirts and she tripped, falling against the panelling and bumping her shoulder.
She was quite surprised to find that the wood she hit caved inward with ease.
“My God,” breathed Royce, hurrying to her side. “I’ll be damned.” He untangled her skirts, picked her up and set her to one side. “Clever girl, Gwyneth. Look what we have here…”
Under the fascinated and silent gaze of both Gwyneth and Gabriel, he removed the broken wood to reveal a hidden cupboard.
Everything stilled as he peered into the cavity, a dark void in the panelling.
“Ooof…” He groaned as he stretched and reached downward, his jacket taut as he awkwardly grappled for something. “Got it.”
Gabriel and Gwyneth released simultaneous puffs of air. “What is it?” She asked first.
“I don’t know,” he answered. “A bag of something. Quite heavy.”
A noise from somewhere else in the house made them all jump.
“I think I’d like to leave now,” said Gabriel.
“A very good idea,” Royce nodded. “I don’t believe anyone is still here, but there’s no point in staying on the off chance we’ll come across anything else. This was clearly where the thieves thought they’d find something.”
“And they didn’t.” Gwyneth motioned to the ancient and filthy bag Royce carried.
“Assuming this is what they were after, then yes. I agree.”
“Time to leave.” Gabriel made haste to the door and beyond. “This house is making me feel most uncomfortable.”
Since that sentiment was shared by his fellows, Gabriel got his wish and less than five minutes later all three were tucked into the gig and leaving Fivetrees. Royce had locked the front door, hoping to dissuade any other unwanted visitors.
“You know,” said Gwyneth, “I can’t help but be thankful that whoever it was didn’t show up while Trick and Jane were here.”
“I agree,” said Royce, “although the smoke from their fires and the lights and so on would have made it clear that someone was in residence. That’s probably what put off the thieves until now.”
>
Gwyneth nodded, wrapped up once more and on Gabriel’s lap. “You’re quiet. Any thoughts?” she asked him.
He shivered a little. “That is not a happy house.” He chuckled. “I know. That sounds quite fanciful. But truly, when I took that first step inside, it was as if cold fingers walked down my spine. There’s no welcome, no greeting. No urge to enter.”
“I can’t argue that,” she agreed. “But perhaps with the right people in residence…a happy family, a large staff, that sort of thing…”
“Maybe.” He stared off into the distance. “But I would rather not return there if I don’t have to.”
“You don’t,” Royce said, his voice flat. “None of us do. And to be very honest, I agree with Gabriel. That is not a happy house.”
Gwyneth’s mind darted back to Kilham Abbey, and she shivered too. “I know what you mean.”
*~~*~~*
Of course their return brought the other three men to the hall, eager to welcome them back and hear the details of their trip to Fivetrees.
Ben had been summoned and was disappearing down the small lane to the barn on the gig as Jeremy closed the front door.
“Tell us all,” he demanded, taking Gwyneth’s coat and bonnet.
“Let’s get warm first. I’m still chilled from that awful mausoleum.” Gabriel shuddered.
“That bad?” Evan loaded up with jackets and mufflers, walking to the hooks and hanging them up.
“Every bit that bad and more,” said Gwyneth. “But we did find something.” She glanced at the bag Royce was just picking up after removing his coat. “And I can’t wait to see what’s in it.”
Within moments they were all near the roaring fire in the parlour, watching as Royce set his burden down on the floor. He sat down next to it, wrinkling his nose.
“It’s old. I can tell you that much.” He stared at the faded fabric. “Hand sewn, I’d guess.” Gently he untied the brown cord that held the ruched gathers together and secured the top. It was not unlike a lady’s reticule, but much larger. The material looked as if it might have been decorated at one point, and as his hands moved, dust fell away revealing some faded flowers and a couple of fleur-de-lys designs.
Gwyneth leaned forward. “And hand-embroidered too, if I’m not mistaken.”
He nodded. “Could be.”
The fact it was heavy was obvious, since it barely moved as Royce unwrapped the cord and the opening fell free. He reached inside and pulled out a leather pouch, followed by two more smaller ones.
The silence in the room was profound as he delved inside once again, producing a small sheaf of papers tied with a ribbon, a delicately sewn piece of fine linen edged with lace, a small box, and lastly a large book.
Gwyneth saw the crucifix on the cover and knew it to be a Bible.
“That’s what weighed so much,” he said, dusting it gently. “A miracle it didn’t tear through the bag itself, given the time it must have been in there.”
The others pulled their chairs close as Jeremy brought over a side table. “Put that stuff up here so that we can see what’s in those packets.”
Carefully, Royce did so. “All right, then. Let’s have a look at what we’ve discovered.”
“Well, a Bible, to start with,” said Harry. “And an old one by the looks of it.”
“A family Bible perhaps?” Evan looked at Royce.
“Possibly.” Royce looked at it. “But I’d rather open it, and those papers, last. I don’t want anything to fall apart while I’m touching it and we’re all too eager at the moment.”
“Good idea.”
“How about the pouches? They have to be jewellery, don’t they?”
Gwyneth’s suggestion made Gabriel chuckle. “Supposing we’ve discovered the Fivetrees treasure?”
“Let’s not go that far.” Royce handed Gwyneth the pouches. “But yes, I think jewellery of some kind would be a good guess.”
She held her breath as she teased the largest pouch open and tipped it up into her hand. A stream of brilliance fell out, laying coldly across her palm.
She gasped. “Oh my. How beautiful.” She looked up at Gabriel. “The colour of your eyes.”
Jeremy chuckled. “She’s right.”
It was a necklace, not too large, with a strand of sparkling blue stones interspersed with diamonds. Or so she hoped.
“Anyone familiar with jewels?” She looked around.
“I’ve seen a few,” said Harry, holding out his hand. “May I?”
She tipped the necklace into his palm and watched as he pushed it around and held it up to catch the sunlight.
Finally, he nodded. “Very pretty. Aquamarines, I’m guessing, and diamonds. A lovely bauble. But I wouldn’t say it was worth a fortune. Certainly not enough to save a place like Fivetrees if it was in financial trouble.” He looked over. “Are there more in the other two pouches?”
Indeed there were. Gwyneth opened them to reveal earbobs and a delightful aigrette which would have completed the ensemble when lodged in a lady’s hair.
“So we have a bag containing jewels, a handkerchief, some letters and a Bible.” Harry leaned back in his chair. “I have to wonder what was so important that someone would break into Fivetrees looking for any of this?”
Jeremy glanced at him. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” He turned to the table with the assorted findings laid out. “Perhaps we’ll find the answer somewhere in there…”
Chapter Fourteen
Although everyone would have liked to spend the rest of the day poring over the little pile of treasure, it wasn’t to be.
Royce found himself closeted away with two of the tenants, discussing crops and farming for the coming year with himself and Harry. He’d asked for this meeting, knew the men were well-informed and willing to listen, and at the end they all shook hands, satisfied and pleased that spring would bring the possibility of a good season, both for crops and livestock.
Jeremy and Gabriel found themselves with their hands full when little Darcy discovered a nest of mice in one of the guest room closets and set up a yapping that rattled the windows. Unfortunately, it was the closet where they had stored some of the unused bed linens.
Gwyneth bit her lip and tried not to laugh as the two men and the tiny dog jumped, squealed and ran all over the place chasing mice. Then she retreated. She didn’t mind the little creatures, but didn’t want to actually catch any of them herself.
Evan, sensible man that he was, simply walked over to the barn, picked up a barn cat, and brought it back to the house, giving it to Jeremy. It promptly hunted down and disposed of more than a few tiny rodents.
Then he returned to the kitchen, muttering to himself, and closed the door.
Smiling at his practical brilliance, Gwyneth returned alone to the parlour and stood next to the table holding the odd assortment of things they’d discovered.
She picked up the necklace and moved to the mirror, holding it up to her neck. It glittered fiercely, a beautiful testament to some long-ago jeweller’s talents. Delicate, yet quite heavy, the round blue stones seemed to light from within as the sun shone weakly on them through the window. It was truly a beautiful piece, and some lucky woman from times long gone must have enjoyed wearing it.
Returning it to its pouch, she lowered herself into the chair by the table. The earbobs and aigrette would be secured with the necklace, she supposed, until Royce could ask Giles to inform the Withersbys of their discoveries.
The handkerchief was definitely linen, although aged. Clean and surprisingly unwrinkled, given the time it must have spent in its hiding place, she smoothed it out, admiring the intricate lace edging and the larger decoration over almost one entire corner.
It looked like somebody had cleverly intertwined leaves and flowers, and the closer she looked, she managed to distinguish two letters worked into the design.
“Hmm.” She leaned back, puzzled. “It looks like a P and possibly a W?”
Evan poked his head around
the door. “Tea?”
She looked up. “Oh yes, yes please. And can you take a little time to share it with me, if you can? I’d like another pair of eyes to look at this.” She touched the fabric on the table.
Evan nodded. “Five minutes. The kettle’s already on the boil.” He vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.
Turning the handkerchief over, she stared at it once again, moving it around against the light from the window. Gazing through it, the initials could have been half a B and an M, which made no sense at all.
It was all most puzzling, and Evan’s reappearance with a tray was very welcome indeed. He’d brought biscuits as well. Smiling, he put the tray on another table and poured her tea just as she liked it.
A lump rose in her throat, and she stood, walking to his side and looking up at him. “You spoil me, Evan. You all do.”
“Of course,” he grinned back. “It’s what we do best.”
She couldn’t resist his smile, and reached up, pulling his head to hers for a kiss that turned slow and heated.
Finally, they moved apart, both breathing a little faster.
“Tonight,” whispered Gwyneth.
“I might bring friends…” his eyebrow lifted wickedly.
“Please do,” she answered, knowing that heat was already unfurling low in her body at the thought.
“Now.” He pointed at the handkerchief. “What about this?”
Gathering her thoughts, she turned back to the table. “I’ve been examining the lace. Beautiful work, and so fragile. But I think I can see initials worked into the design. Or perhaps it’s just me hoping to find something…”
“Let me take a look.” Evan carefully picked up the square of linen and carried it to the window, bending over it as he turned it in the light.
“I have to agree, Gwyneth, this is exquisite work.” He moved his hand again, catching the weak sun. “And…perhaps, yes. I think I see a P…and definitely a W.”
“That’s what I thought as well,” she grinned, happy to have her assumptions confirmed. “Not that it helps, of course, since the house belonged to the Fairhurst family.”
He returned to the table and laid the handkerchief next to the scroll of letters. “True, but before they purchase it, there were other owners. Perhaps one of them had those initials?”