“Come on. Let’s check this place out.”
45
The house was very habitable; judging by its condition, it had been lived in recently. It was different to what Ben had expected. All of the bedrooms had modern features, some mixed with traditional. He took a room with dark cyan walls, a modern double bed with an antique mirror hanging above the original fireplace and a circular portrait of a past resident directly above the bed. Valeria had also been spoilt, occupying a room immaculately painted in sky blue with an original four-poster bed resting on an oak floor and illuminated by chandeliers. Further along, Colts also plumped for a room with a four-poster bed, the original oak frame standing on a maroon rug. Set into the white walls, hung with portraits of the former governors, was a grand fireplace.
Colts had chosen the finest of the rooms.
The kitchen was also modern. Cutlery hung from a sky-blue-coloured cabinet, a rare original feature, while the original range fire had been filled with an AGA cooker situated near a four-seater table and work surface. As promised by the owner, the cupboards were stocked with food of all kinds, while meat, dairy and many other products lined every rack of a near full fridge; a wide selection of cheeses took up much of the space in the pantry, and vegetables hung from shelves or occupied wooden cabinets. A smell of freshness pervaded the kitchen that Valeria immediately took to.
Valeria and Ben were in the dining room when Colts returned from filling in forms. As in most stately homes, an ornate dining table was the centrepiece of the room, this one surrounded by eight wooden chairs including two, one at either end, that were large and throne-like. Within the main wall was an impressive original fireplace flanked by oak panelling that had been freshly varnished.
“I always liked it here,” Colts said, admiring the room as he returned. “Reminds me of the one I used to work in.”
Ben and Valeria were sitting at the table. “Now that you’re finished filling in forms, you mind telling us what you’ve got planned?”
“Planned? Ben, you were the one who figured it out.”
True enough. “Okay. Let me rephrase…”
“The village of Godolphin Cross was never meant to be anything more than a crossover,” Colts explained, “but, during the time these things were made,” he picked up one of the replica emeralds, “there was even less here. Back then, this was owned by the same family. Now, maybe you’ll disagree, but it strikes me there’s only one such place the stones could be referring to.”
Ben exhaled, tired, frustrated. Obviously enough, the family estate of the former governors was the sensible place to begin looking.
“I take it you’ve been here before?” Ben replied.
“Been here, lived here, searched here.” He took a seat opposite Ben and adjacent Valeria, removed his hat and sighed. “What you must understand, Ben, the Duchy of Cornwall has been looking for this for a long time. I, Ben, have been looking for this a long time.” He looked at Ben, detecting a hint of surprise. “You think I hadn’t already considered this place?”
“Actually, I never considered that…you find anything?”
Colts was prepared for further sarcasm. “You think I’d be wasting my time babysitting you two screw-ups if I’d found what it was I was looking for?” He pointed his finger at Ben, clearly in no mood for mishaps. “I suggest we make use of the time. We only have a few days.”
“You have a better suggestion?”
“You two take a look around. In the meantime, I’d rather like to read that photocopy of Mr Thomas’s diary.”
Ben removed the photocopied diary from his side bag; during the storm, the paper had become wet. Colts took it, disgruntled, and began shaking water away.
Ben got to his feet and examined the room, particularly the paintings. Among others was a large painting of a fine stallion, apparently named ‘Godolphin Arabian’, once owned and bred by the second earl.
Ben and Valeria moved into the entrance hall, where a fine original 16th century chimney was the crowning glory. Like the other rooms, the walls were lavishly adorned with paintings, mostly portraits.
“Who are these people?” Valeria asked, following Ben.
“My old band mates,” Colts said, paying no attention to the no-smoking policy that was supposedly in force. “You two ever do anything sensible?”
“Hey, neither of us asked to be part of this,” Ben barked, waving his finger in Colts’s face. “I never came here for any treasure.”
Colts laughed, almost heckled. “Professor Maloney, you may find it fun trying to kid yourself, but this ‘I didn’t come here for treasure’ bullplop, it doesn’t work on the rest of us. You came here for the exact same reason we all do. Human greed. Passion. Excitement. Now you might like to fool yourself with your stupid use of English. But deep down inside you came here for the same reason–”
“I came to find my ancestor. And now my cousin.”
“And what did he come here for?” Colts raised his eyebrows, his caramel eyes centred on Ben. “It runs in your blood. Just like it does for everyone else. History repeats itself.”
Ben straightened his back and gave Colts a piercing stare. “Check the diary all you want. There’s nothing there. I’ve read everything already.”
Again Ben left the dining room and headed for the entrance hall. He found Valeria standing by one of the walls, studying a painting, subject and artist unknown.
Ben looked at it. “What is that?”
Colts looked over his shoulder. “That’s what they call Tregonning Hill.”
The name meant nothing. “Tre–”
Colts joined them in the entrance hall. “Tregonning Hill is just out over there.” He pointed through the nearest window. Several trees in the area outside the window cast long shadows across much of the floor, protecting the room from the glare of the sun. In the distance, Ben and Valeria could see a large hill, its grass a rich and vibrant green. “The place offers some of the best views in Cornwall.”
“Of what?” Ben asked flippantly.
“Everything: St Ives to the north, coast of St Michael’s Mount to the west, some say on a clear day you can even see St Mary’s. Though that would depend on who you talk to.”
Ben laughed. “That would be pretty impressive. Seeing as it’s over sixty miles away.”
Colts pointed again to the painting. “Back when the estate was in its prime, many people in the area found work in one of the tin mines. We have the Great Work Mine to the south near the hill, West Godolphin Mine to the east,” he joked ironically, “and then just plain Godolphin to the north.” He looked at Ben, cockeyed. “You’re not going to tell me you don’t know what a mine is?”
Ben fought the urge to retaliate. “What happened to them?”
“Closed down in the early 1800s. Prior to that, they must’ve got more tin out of the ground than the Eskimos did ice. That’s how the family made their money.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t they used to mine tin at St Lide’s?”
“Tried. Tried on all of them. Unlike here, there was nothing there.” He returned to the dining room, about to sit down. Directly in front of him the four replica emeralds were placed in order, the absence of the trumpet particularly noticeable.
“Would you look at that?”
Ben detected a change in Colts’s voice. “Pardon me?”
Colts was too shocked to respond as he stared, dazed, at the four stones in front of him.
Valeria stepped forward, followed by Ben. Neither of them were clear what Colts was looking at.
“Colts?” Ben said.
“Look.” He pointed at the stones, his finger trembling with excitement. “Look, dammit, can you not see what’s directly in front of you?”
Ben leaned in for a closer look. He focused on the individual features, the rim of the bell, the eyes of the fish, the petals of the rose.
He saw nothing other than what he had seen already. His head shaking, he moved away, heading toward the window. The nearby G
odolphin Hill towered above them, its elegant shape baffling.
In its own way, it looked like a small Aztec pyramid.
Ben turned and looked at Colts; his attention returned to the four objects. What wasn’t clear before, when they stood apart, was suddenly as clear as day, though he would never have noticed had he not come to Godolphin himself.
“Here?”
Colts looked at Ben and smiled, only this time something had changed. It was genuine. Pleased. Unforced. Colts fished through his outer pockets, removed a guide map, and spread it out across the table.
For the first time things made sense to Ben. The shapes of the individual objects when standing alone illustrated only the exact features of the items they were meant to represent. Yet when they stood together, the effect was different. The bell alone appeared much smoother, its outline showing evidence of contours, like the lines of a hill. The cup was greater, like a hole in the landscape, surrounded on every side by ridges. The rose was a dense forest, lined by hills, shaped by the neck and back of the fish. There was something missing, something he could now see. The trumpet, when viewed from above, perfectly illustrated the features of the nearby tin mine, its flat surface interrupted by three large outlines that looked like houses or chimneys.
Just as together the five formed the name of the location, on the top they showed the physical features, a precise map known only to those who knew where they were going.
“Put your jacket on, boy. We’re going mining.”
46
The Great Work Mine was located south of the house, in the southernmost part of the estate. Once upon a time it had been the fulcrum of the estate: the family business.
Originally it had been one of three mines located nearby. West Godolphin some five miles west, once leased out to a cost book company. Godolphin Mine to the north, a copper mine in use until the 1840s.
Across the estate, there were an estimated 140 mine shafts.
The Great Work Mine was undoubtedly the largest of the nearby mines. Employing an estimated 3,000 people, it was celebrated not only as among the finest in Cornwall but Britain. By 1715, rapidly increasing production saw the family add a steam engine, its furnaces repaired using the clays of Tregonning Hill, which rose above the site like a small mountain.
Then come 1780, the mine was in decline. Twenty years later it closed forever.
As was every remaining mine on the estate.
Colts couldn’t believe he’d missed something so blindingly obvious.
“You see that?” he asked Ben as they approached Godolphin Hill across the fields on a golf buggy.
Ben sat alongside Colts while Valeria rode in the back where golf clubs would normally be. Directly in front of him he saw two large hills, their greenery occasionally interrupted by isolated buildings.
“What about it?”
“Back in the 1700s the Great Work Mine was as successful as any in the county, arguably the heart of it. Then in around 1800, they just plain closed it, sold off the equipment, shut it all up. Plenty of room to hide a large treasure.”
As the buggy continued across the field, its wheels rattling, its balance shifting from side to side as it traversed the irregular surface, Ben noticed something else, another building between the areas of greenery. On the other side of a line of trees was a large chimney by a ruined building. A thin giant spout rose into the air like a gigantic funnel; while its upper portion was red, the colour of brick, the lower section was grey, pure granite, the same as the nearby building.
For the first time Ben recognised what it was; even though he had never seen it before, he understood from the layout what was going on.
Tin mining had once been prominent in Cornwall. Even before he’d met Colts, he knew the gist. It was the era of open cast and, more importantly, the use of gunpowder. A single blast could achieve more than a week with pickaxes. As the technology grew more sophisticated, progress came faster.
It was the heart of the Godolphins’ success.
Colts stopped the buggy on reaching the former mine buildings, and everyone quickly got off the vehicle.
The pumping engine house was now a derelict building. Vegetation was growing wildly around the sides, the doors and framework of old windows now largely disappeared. The upper half of the building had also vanished, leaving only an empty void where the roof had once been. Metres away was the chimney, now cold and sombre, a stone skeleton drawing in clean air, the fires of the past long forgotten.
Ben could hear things, not just the sounds of nature. There was a road nearby, connecting a small residential area, judging from the map nothing more than a hamlet.
“Where are we heading?” Ben asked as Colts circled the former pumping station for a second time. The ruined building, probably no more than ten metres in length on either side, and the chimney were the only two stone structures in the near vicinity.
“That all depends,” Colts said, opening the door and entering the station. The inside was effectively a large cavity, offering no evidence of past machinery, no clues…just weeds and grass growing uncontrolled.
It was a total ruin.
“That depends on what the missing piece of the puzzle actually said.”
The helicopter moved overhead, changing direction as it passed over a hill.
“How long?” Cortés asked Pizarro, who was concentrating on an electronic tablet in the next seat.
“Four miles,” he said, his concentration bringing fire to his eyes. “Over the next hill.”
Those two physical reminders were two of only three obvious structures, all of which were now open to the general public. The third was smaller, little more than a hole in the ground. A car park was located less than fifty metres away, presently deserted. Two long footpaths bisected the woodland that surrounded them on every side. The air here was cool. A steady breeze moved in from the south, causing the leaves to rustle and the branches to move. Birds tweeted as if delighting in personal conversation, the sounds of other animals – squirrels, hedgehogs, wild rabbits – moving among them as if playing hide and seek both with each other and the humans. With the weather improving, the woodland possessed a soft dreamlike quality: no matter where they walked, the midday sun seemed caught in a permanent point in the sky, its light dancing on the branches of the trees. To Ben, it felt like being trapped in history, a bygone time. There was no evidence of modern-day facilities, man-made structures…even cars passing along the nearby lane were a rarity. It was as if the Godolphin days had returned, the timeless environment swallowing them up.
Ben was last in the trail, behind Valeria in the middle and Colts at the front. They had left the path several minutes previously; instead Colts was taking them across open ground.
“I hope you have at least some idea what you’re looking for,” Ben yelled.
“You know I don’t. Didn’t you listen?”
The southern part of the Godolphin estate was an even larger wilderness than the rest. Despite the passing of time, its features had stayed the same. For every house or road between the nearby villages, some as far as five miles away, there were a hundred trees, mounts of earth, hills and fields that remained unchanged and unspoiled.
Visually matching the features of the replica emeralds.
Ben knew the missing trumpet was the key.
“Where are we now? Compared to the emeralds?”
Colts stopped as he reached the end of the woodland. They were standing at the side of a field. Godolphin was invisible, hidden in the distance by a mask of trees. A large farm was located to their right; every other feature was natural. Tregonning Hill in the near distance rose into the sky like the side of a triangle, its unusual features cloaking the horizon.
Colts had a thought. “Get those rocks out, boy. Sharp now.”
Ben followed his instruction and removed them from his bag, asking Valeria for help. They held them out in their hands, the trumpet, whose features represented the former Great Work Mine, was the only omission.
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“Would you look at that,” Colts said, comparing the artificial sights in their hands to the real things. “Makes you proud to be alive, don’t it?”
Again Ben had no idea where this was going. “Come again?”
“Tregonning Hill was an important site for the Godolphins. No one really knows how it got to be that shape.”
Ben looked, again seeing nothing out of the ordinary. The hill leaned at a strange angle; it was not smooth or rounded. It seemed incredible that it was a natural phenomenon. “I’m gonna go out on a limb. Mining sometimes alters the landscape.”
The Cortés Enigma Page 29