by Kate Ryder
I thanked her. What good timing, having just arranged with Caro to visit her in London. We chatted about my plans for the garden and my vegetable plot and she promised to give me some seedlings from her greenhouse to get started.
‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Tomkins. Is there anything I can do for you?’
‘Well, I don’t know, dear.’ She turned and looked towards her cottage. ‘I am having trouble with my back door. It’s become swollen over the winter months and I find it difficult to open, what with my arthritis. Do you know anyone trustworthy who could have a look at it? I don’t like to use tradesmen without recommendation.’
‘I know someone very trustworthy. I’ll get his number for you this minute.’
I ran to the cottage and jotted down Nick’s mobile on a Post-it note. By the time I returned, Storm was in my neighbour’s arms.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ Mrs Tomkins asked, her eyes shining brightly.
‘Not at all. It’s good to know he has so many friends,’ I said, realising she must be feeling very raw at the loss of Rex. ‘I do wonder where Storm came from, though. Nobody’s ever claimed him and he’s such a handsome cat. It seems unlikely he hasn’t a home of his own.’
She agreed. Purring on cue, Storm nestled against her neck. I left them to it and walked back to the kitchen. I made a sandwich and was halfway through eating it when the phone rang.
‘Professor Stephens here. I have some interesting news for you. Your treasure has proven very exciting indeed!’ I held my breath. ‘Philip has emailed his report and confirmed my earlier findings. If you’d care to furnish me with your email address I will forward it to you.’
I gave him the address.
‘You can pick up the jewellery at any time, but I would be most intrigued to see where you found it.’
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘When would you like to come over?’
‘I’m free this Thursday morning, if that suits?’
I checked the calendar. ‘Come in time for coffee,’ I suggested, smiling at the thought of the gossip it would create in the village when he rolled up in his Porsche.
I opened the laptop, logged on, and finished the sandwich as I waited. Within five minutes the email arrived. It read:
Observations on Jewellery for Ms Madeleine O’Brien:
Pendant – Maker unknown.
Charming 3D Heart ornament of interwoven polished cut steel.
Not fashioned by a professional jeweller (more likely a skilled craftsman).
Dimensions: 4cm x 3.5cm.
During the 17th century and up to circa 1940, brightly polished steel studs fastened to a steel backplate were fashioned into all sorts of jewellery. The studs were riveted or screwed into place. Highly polished cut steel gave the impression of diamonds. Silver later replaced cut steel as the preferred metal in jewellery making.
From 1620 to 1640 fashionable women in Western Europe wore a single large jewel on their bodice, simply stitched to the fabric of the gown. This particular pendant is cleverly crafted to be worn as such, or to accommodate a ribbon necklace, which would originally have been of silk.
Note: Hearts were popular in jewellery design during the 1600s and the heart motif continued to evolve throughout the century and into the next.
Ring – Maker unknown.
Copy based on a German gimmel ring.
Circa 1600–1650.
Enamelled gold set with a ruby.
Diameter: 2cm.
A gimmel ring is made of three interlocking hoops. When worn, the ruby heart at the front of the ring is encircled by a pair of clasped hands. This intricate wedding ring is decorated with symbols of love and quotations from the marriage ceremony. The central motif comes from the Italian ‘mani in fede’ (hands clasped in faith), which was a popular symbol of love. The three connecting hoops, each with an attached hand or heart, fit together and appear as one band when worn. In this gimmel ring, the ruby symbolises love and the clasped hands fidelity.
The inscriptions can only be read when the hoops of the ring are opened out.
Inscribed: My beginning and my end; Let no man put asunder; NC & MO, 8 May 1635.
Note: Hearts were popular motifs for engagement and wedding rings during the 17th and 18th centuries. Such rings often combined rubies (signifying love) and/or diamonds (signifying eternity).
I stared at the screen, my gut instinct telling me this was an important clue: a waymarker to solving the riddle. I read the report half a dozen times. So, Professor Stephens had been correct. The jewellery did date back to the mid-1600s. But I wasn’t any closer to finding out whom the pieces belonged to or why they had been concealed in the bread oven.
19
The following day I drove into Bridport and purchased a lawnmower. I was eager to start on the garden and wanted to be well prepared for the spring. I parked alongside the village green, as close to the cottage as possible, and was grappling with the mower in the back of the car when I heard a familiar voice.
‘Do you want some help with that, Maddie?’
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach and a dull ache settled on my heart. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Nick wearing an amused expression. I swallowed hard.
‘It went in OK so it must come out!’
He smiled. ‘Here, let me.’
I stood back and watched as he manoeuvred the lawnmower out of the car.
‘Where do you want it? Round the back?’
I nodded and shut the boot. As I followed him up the path I noticed how easily he carried the mower, though his straining biceps confirmed its weight. We walked around the side of the cottage and into the courtyard where he set it down outside the potting shed.
‘Why are you here?’ I asked.
He was about to say something, but stopped himself.
‘I’ve come to fix your neighbour’s door. Thanks for suggesting me, by the way.’
He looked at me with such compassion that I felt my fragile heart crack a little further.
‘No trouble,’ I mumbled, the lump in my throat causing my voice to distort.
‘So, you’re going to start clearing the garden?’ He gazed up the pathway leading to the wilderness beyond.
‘Can’t put it off much longer. I’ve got to cut that grass before the growing season starts.’
He laughed. ‘Like cleaning the house before the cleaner arrives?’
I acknowledged my irrational logic.
‘It’s probably a good idea to tackle it with a strimmer first,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to knacker the mower before it’s had a chance to show what it can do!’
I agreed. It felt so right being with Nick and I found myself smiling, despite the ache in my heart.
Observing the outbuildings that created the courtyard, he peered through the window of the one attached to the cottage. Taking a step back, he squinted up at the roofline.
‘These look interesting. The outside privy is a later addition but I would say this building is probably the same age as the cottage.’ He slapped the outhouse wall.
I held my breath. This was important. ‘Would it have been a dwelling?’
He shook his head. ‘More likely animal housing.’
‘Do you think there would have been a doorway connecting it to the cottage?’
‘Possibly. Is there any evidence of one inside?’
I said I wasn’t sure. Opening the door, he walked into the outhouse. It was well built with thick stone walls and ancient, gnarled A-frame roof timbers that had seen better days. I watched as Nick examined the building, pointing out various features I hadn’t noticed before.
‘That doorway is relatively new,’ he said, referring to the door we had just entered through, ‘but look at the arch above it, Maddie. It extends half the length of the building. I’d say this was originally a cart shed, or possibly the forge.’
He walked to the wall adjoining the cottage and, peering closely, roughly brushed away the cobwebs. The flaking render came away easily at his tou
ch.
‘I think this answers your question. This area’s been filled in. Someone’s bricked it up at some point.’
Moving closer, I saw the outline of a doorway and my heart began to race.
‘This would lead straight into the kitchen,’ I said excitedly, recalling Nat disappearing through an invisible doorway.
‘And I think you’ll find the original front door would have been bang opposite,’ Nick said.
I visualised it and realised that each time I’d witnessed Nat walking from the front to the rear of the cottage he was on that very route.
‘Oh, Nick!’
In the excitement of this discovery, I forgot what had transpired between us and I hugged him. His arms instantly held me and I melted. Then I remembered. Quickly I turned away before he could see my despair.
‘I’m going to check it out.’
I rushed from the building and across the courtyard to the back door and was about to enter the kitchen when an urgent voice halted me in my tracks.
‘Mary!’ I turned slowly. ‘Mary, I must speak with you.’
A curtain of mist hung in the air and the scene before me had altered. He stood in an open archway and where the outside privy and potting shed should have been there was now a stone water trough. At once, I became aware of an acrid smell. Behind him, in the far corner, a blacksmith’s furnace was alight smithing with several horseshoes laid out on the red-hot embers. Tied to the outside wall, a chestnut horse patiently waited.
Nick, though I could now see it was Nat, stood looking at me. He wore a dirty leather apron over rough work clothes and his hair was tied back in a ponytail. Sweating from the heat of the furnace, he wiped a hand over his brow and his long fringe stuck to his forehead. I walked towards him.
‘Elisabeth and you must go to the Hall,’ he insisted. ‘It’s not safe here.’
‘But I don’t want to leave you,’ I pleaded.
‘Do as I say. For our daughter’s sake.’ He gently stroked my cheek and I closed my eyes, savouring his touch.
‘When?’ I asked.
‘Tonight. I’ve had word Cromwell’s men will be back before daybreak.’
‘Will you come with us?’ I asked, my heart heavy, already knowing the answer.
‘I will accompany you on the journey, but I must return.’
‘Nat, what’s to become of us?’ I was suddenly filled with the dread of premonition.
He shook his head, deep sadness clouding his eyes. ‘Make haste, Mary.’ As I started walking towards the cottage I heard him whisper, ‘My love, my life.’
I turned back, wanting one last look. The courtyard was, once again, clear of mist and Nick stared at me from the outhouse door. The look on his face was the same as on the day we’d discovered the jewellery; wonder and disbelief.
‘Maddie?’
‘Yes.’
‘What just happened?’
‘Did you see them, Nick?’ I asked quietly.
Slowly, incredulously, he said, ‘The horse was here!’ He indicated the wall beside him. Quickly covering the distance between us, he took my hands in his and looked searchingly into my eyes, his forehead creased in a frown. ‘Does this happen often?’
‘Yes, but not as vivid. Normally I only see the man, Nat, in dreams.’ I was aware he stroked my hands; his touch so familiar. ‘But do you remember when we found the jewellery? The children were there and you saw them too.’
He nodded. ‘Cromwell… The English Civil War,’ he said quietly, as if to himself.
‘And this cottage is seventeenth century,’ I added.
Through narrowed eyes he observed me. ‘Something happened here, or to the people who lived here. That’s what all this is about.’ He checked his watch. ‘I must go next door – your neighbour is expecting me – but, Maddie, I mean it, if you’re ever frightened by anything that happens here, phone me… day or night.’
‘Well, thanks, Nick, but I’m sure Sarah wouldn’t be best pleased if I rang in the wee small hours,’ I said in an amused voice.
He looked at me in confusion. Slowly his eyes cleared, as if only now remembering Sarah.
‘This is important,’ he said, his voice serious. ‘She would have to accept it.’ His fingers still stroked my hands.
I smiled up at him. He bent towards me, and for one glorious moment I thought he was going to kiss me. Suddenly the stroking stopped. With a troubled expression, Nick dropped my hands.
‘I mean it Maddie,’ he said, as he walked away.
20
On the Thursday, Professor Stephens roared up in his Porsche. I had added the most recent visitation to the ‘Happenings’ file and on rereading my diary of events, realised a story was, indeed, taking shape. The professor looked windswept and wild, as he entered the cottage carrying a large leather and tapestry holdall. I noticed he was even taller than Dan and was on the point of warning him about the low beams in the dining room when he cracked his head on one. Sitting down at the table, he brusquely rubbed his skull and cursed in that plummy, cut-glass voice of his. It sounded so much more effective than when I swore.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked. ‘That was one hell of a crack.’
He grimaced. ‘Silly old fool! I’ve probably shaken the very foundations of the building.’
I wondered what else he might have disturbed in the process.
‘Now, here’s your jewellery, young lady.’ Still rubbing his head, he produced the wooden casket from the depths of his holdall. ‘By the way, did you notice the initials carved into the lid?’
I shook my head and tried not to snatch the box out of his hands.
‘They’re much worn but if you look closely you can make out the initials “M” and “C”.’
I gazed down at the lid and ran my fingertips over the characters, knowing I’d done this a thousand times before. Opening the casket, I saw the magnificently restored wedding ring and heart pendant, which shimmered like diamonds. I let out a sigh of relief. They were in my possession once more.
‘Allow me to demonstrate how the ring works.’
Professor Stephens reached into the casket. He picked up the ring and, in one swift movement, untwisted it into three separate hoops, each bearing an inscription. He held the ring out to me.
Carefully, I took it from him and read aloud each hoop. ‘My beginning and my end; Let no man put asunder; NC & MO, 8 May 1635.’ As I spoke the words, a shiver ran up the full length of my spine and when I closed the three interlocking hoops to make the complete band, automatically I slipped it onto my wedding finger. It was a perfect fit.
‘Well would you credit it,’ the professor said. ‘Obviously made for you!’
I admired the ring on my hand and experienced the strongest sense of déjà vu. NC and MO – I knew who I’d like that to be. But who was the man that had originally given this ring, and who was MO? Reluctantly, I removed the ring from my finger and carefully placed it back in the casket.
‘I’ll get some coffee on the go,’ I said, rising to my feet.
While I filled the kettle and spooned ground coffee into the cafetière, the professor told me that Philip Harcourt-Jones had informed him a German gimmel ring, not dissimilar to the one in my possession, was on display at the Victoria and Albert Museum. I poured boiling water onto the coffee and placed the cafetière on a tray together with two mugs and a jug of milk. Then, adding a plate of biscuits, I carried the tray through to the sitting room. The professor sat on my IKEA sofa and, randomly, it occurred to me he had probably never visited the store. I placed the tray on the coffee table and sat down opposite him.
‘Help yourself to biscuits.’
‘So, you found the jewels in the inglenook,’ he said, selecting a chocolate Hobnob. ‘A rather unusual sequestered place.’ He popped the whole biscuit into his ample mouth.
I depressed the plunger. ‘When I first moved in the bread oven was sealed up,’ I explained. ‘I wonder if the jewellery was placed there for safekeeping.’
I p
oured coffee into the mugs and passed one to him. Taking a gulp, he helped himself to another biscuit and chewed, deep in thought.
‘Safekeeping, possibly, but to seal up the oven afterwards…? That’s more like a hiding place or locking away a memory.’
Locking away a memory… The words seemed to hang in the air. But what memory and who had locked them away? And why?
‘Well, this is a mystery,’ the professor said, eyeing the plate of biscuits again.
‘Try the flapjacks. I bought them at Bridport Farmers’ Market. They’re very good.’ I held out the plate to him.
‘Well, if you insist.’ Selecting a fat, moist flapjack, he bit into it with relish. Eventually he swallowed and then loudly cleared his throat. ‘How’s that dear boy who accompanied you the other day?’
I smiled to myself. It hadn’t taken him long to bring Dan into the conversation.
‘He’s OK but I haven’t seen him since. Dan lives in London.’
‘He seemed very appreciative and had enthusiasm. I like that in a young man. Tell him he’s welcome to visit any time. I would love to take Dan for a spin.’
I bet he would! There was no denying this man’s gender preference.
I didn’t want to disappoint the professor but I knew his message would have Dan bolting for the hills. I also wondered how Lucy would react to a rival for her man being male…
My attention returned to the jewellery. ‘I wonder how I can find out more,’ I said, half to myself.
‘Have you tried Bridport Museum?’ Professor Stephens asked.
I said I had and explained that although I’d uncovered some interesting facts about Walditch over the centuries, there was nothing specific about The Olde Smithy.
‘What about a visit to the local graveyard?’
‘I’ve already been to St Martin’s,’ I said, thinking of the day I’d seen Nat distraught at the graveside.
‘No, not Shipton Gorge. Here in Walditch.’
‘The village doesn’t have a church,’ I replied.
‘Oh yes it does,’ he countered. ‘Formerly St Mary’s. I believe it was deconsecrated and is now a comfortable family home.’ He drained his mug. ‘You can learn a lot from graveyards and you may find there are still a few headstones in the grounds.’