Rubies Among the Roses

by Vivian Conroy

  She lowered herself onto the floor.

  Dolly pushed herself against her and she hugged the doggy. She hid her face in the fur and tried to turn off her thoughts. To see a blank screen on which nothing happened.

  But her mind wouldn’t stop showing her the images of her first meeting with Max: his smile, his eyes, the shot he had taken of her by the roses, saying she was beautiful, all the things he had told her, what they had in common, the offer he had made her to go on an amazing trip together and see if something could develop.

  The way he had made her feel.

  For the first time since the callous remark about her not being girlfriend material she had felt like maybe somebody would feel different and care for her. That feeling had made the whole world brighter, had filled her head with dreams she had never had before. Now it was all gone again, dashed, broken.

  A knock at the door. Oliver’s voice called, ‘Can I come in? I’m carrying something rather heavy.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He came in, carrying a large plastic bowl full of steaming hot water. ‘Foot bath,’ he announced. ‘You better get your shoes and socks off.’

  He put it down beside her and went to the bed to pull off a blanket. He came over and wrapped it around her shoulders.

  She didn’t look at him as he was at it. Carrying all that hot water up those steep stairs couldn’t have been easy. Why had he done that when she had said she wanted to be alone now?

  Oliver began to untie her shoelaces. ‘I don’t understand why you thought Max might get arrested. The case against Wadencourt seemed pretty solid.’

  He waited a moment. ‘Of course the bottle could have been planted in his room and the ruby in that notebook …’ He made a hmmm-ing sound as he slipped the wet shoes and socks off her feet. ‘LeFevre might have thought it was all too circumstantial.’

  Guinevere stared at the steam forming over the hot water.

  Oliver used a corner of the blanket to rub her feet. They were bluish with the cold. ‘I don’t see how LeFevre got the idea to look in the guy’s camera. He took the lens off and there it was. A thin cloth for wrapping, and the stones in it. I had never guessed there was even room for it inside a camera.’

  ‘Perfect hiding place,’ Guinevere said. Her voice was hoarse, and she had to clear her throat before she could go on. ‘The police searched everything, even his pockets. They slashed up his beanbag, but they didn’t take a second look at the camera.’

  ‘You knew?’ Oliver gave her a probing look. ‘That water might be a touch too hot now, but as soon as you can bear it, you must put your feet in there. I don’t want you to catch your death over a guy like that.’

  ‘You don’t understand any of it.’ Guinevere’s voice caught. ‘It was never about the stones. It wasn’t money that drove him to do it. It wasn’t greed.’ It wasn’t something superficial, but an ache that had run through Max’s entire life. The idea he had not been wanted. The need to prove to his father that he was somebody.

  Wadencourt’s incessant patronizing had to have driven him out of his mind. In his need to get even he had thought up a devious and ingenious plan. And it had almost worked to perfection. If it hadn’t been for Jago. An old fisherman getting in the way.

  Guinevere closed her eyes a moment to keep back tears. Her voice was flat as she said, ‘I didn’t just guess Max would be arrested, Oliver. I turned him in.’

  Oliver stared at her. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I called LeFevre and I told him to look inside the camera. I told him. Max was arrested because of me.’ She looked away. Her throat was raw, and her head seemed to be full of fluff. She knew she had had no choice and Jago deserved justice, but still she wished it hadn’t been Max.

  Oliver’s breathing was the only thing audible: long deep deliberate breaths. ‘I’ll bring you some brandy. Just a sip or two to warm up.’ He walked to the door. ‘I won’t be long.’ He left the room, leaving the door ajar.

  Guinevere shivered in her wet clothes. She had hoped Oliver wouldn’t say anything pointless, like her having done the right thing, but now that he had left, the room felt empty without him.

  ‘I had to do it, for Jago’s sake,’ she said into that emptiness. ‘I had to.’

  Dolly yapped in agreement and pressed herself into her arms.

  But no matter how many times Guinevere repeated it, she kept seeing Max’s smiling face as he had said he thought she was pretty. And the word FREEDOM written in the sand.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Guinevere woke up with a pounding headache. Vaguely she recalled the events of the previous evening, how she had mechanically changed and put her feet in the warm water and then when Oliver had come with the brandy she had drunk that. It had burned down her throat and into her stomach. She had crawled into bed, and Dolly had for once been allowed to sleep on the bed beside her. Her hand on the dog’s warm body had made her feel less alone and cold inside.

  Now bright sunshine penetrated the curtains, and birdsong could be heard. And people’s voices.

  As Guinevere got up and looked out of her window, she saw the causeway was full of tourists, flocking to the island. The article in the gardening magazine had to be out, and even with an addition that the goblet had been found and was no longer on the island, people were still drawn to the buzz that the precious goblet of Rose and Stars had created.

  She washed and dressed and went downstairs, wearing a sweater over her dress as she was still cold with last night’s events and rather feeling like she’d never be warm again.

  Bolingbrooke greeted her with concern in his features but he didn’t ask anything. He started a cheerful conversation about the beautiful day and the people coming out to the island and the good business this would provide to the bakery, the eatery, and Meraud’s bookshop and all the other people on the island. He even praised Mr Vex for his idea of writing about the goblet.

  This was a bit too much for Guinevere who excused herself and with a slice of buttered toast in her hand fled the room. Dolly followed her as she went down the stairs and out the door into the yard.

  The sun was warm, and a blackbird shot away into the brush, chattering excitedly.

  Cador stood at the entry gate looking at the people who were buzzing about the gardens. Guinevere greeted him. Cador said, ‘All the great tit babies have fledged. The nest is empty now.’ He raised his hand as if to indicate she had to listen to the silence. No more little voices calling for food. A sudden change, from one day to the next.

  Guinevere took her leave and automatically chose the route to the beach. She didn’t want to see people now, be asked questions, have to chat.

  Her feet seemed to lead her without her even having a conscious choice to the pier where she had discovered Jago was missing. So much had happened after that.

  She bit her lip as she stood on the warm wood and stared out over the tranquil waters.The police had removed Jago’s boat and the pier was now empty, devoid of life, but for a seagull who had landed to see if she’d give him anything. They were used to people feeding them and they were quite brazen when they figured they might get an easy snack.

  Guinevere’s eyes travelled across the wood. Yes. There it was. A small dent. Something easily overlooked. But significant. It said why Jago had to die.

  A voice behind her said, ‘LeFevre called for you. He said your mobile phone wasn’t on. He sounded worried.’

  Guinevere said without turning, ‘I don’t want to talk to anyone now.’

  Oliver stayed behind her, out of her sight. ‘LeFevre said he had something to tell you about the book you had wrapped in plastic for the police. I guess they looked at it straight away to see how it tied in.’

  Guinevere stood quietly, feeling the breeze on her face. She wanted to know how Max was, if he had confessed, but she didn’t want to ask about it. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t know. ‘Did LeFevre say what he found out about the book?’

 
‘Yes. A page had been cut out of it. Very carefully with a thin blade. Almost invisible if you didn’t look closely. That’s probably what the fisherman saw Jago do. Remove the page before he offered the book to the interested parties. They’re testing Jago’s pocketknife to see if they can prove he cut out the page with that.’

  Oliver came to stand closer behind her. ‘I don’t understand why Jago removed that page. Or why he had to die.’

  ‘Because Jago discovered the goblet,’ Guinevere said.

  ‘What? How?’

  ‘It had something to do with that book, I suppose. With the information on the page he cut out of it. Jago figured out where the goblet was hidden. And before the outsiders as he considered them could get to it, he came here to the island with his boat to take it away. He had carried it out here to the pier. He didn’t want to take it; he wanted to throw it into the sea. He was afraid of the harm it might do. After the historical society’s re-enactment of the Branok trial caused murder and tore the island community apart, Jago was convinced a new treasure hunt for some priceless object would mean the end of Cornisea and the people he loved. He wanted to prevent that.’

  ‘How can you know any of that for sure?’

  ‘I talked to an eyewitness.’

  Oliver sucked in a breath.

  Guinevere said, ‘Max admitted to me that he had been on the pier with Jago before he died. He claims Jago was drunk and stumbled and fell. He claims that he tried to help him by dressing his wound with the handkerchief and even trying to pour whisky into him to bring him around. He claims he ran away because he was afraid he would be blamed for having assaulted Jago, on top of the fight he was embroiled in earlier. The one you told me about.’

  Oliver asked softly, ‘But you didn’t believe him?’

  ‘No. The flask with whisky was wiped clean of fingerprints. That isn’t the act of a panicked person. It was also carefully placed over the dent in the wood. The flask had to conceal that the goblet fell there. Max used the handkerchief to wipe the flask clean. He probably thought his DNA would be rinsed out of it once it was in the water.’

  ‘But the techniques are so good these days that they might find traces anyway.’

  Guinevere nodded. ‘Max doesn’t deny having been here with Jago. He only denies having shoved him into the water. But LeFevre will find proof of that somehow. Like you say, the techniques are good. There might be some trace left on Jago’s clothes or on the goblet.’

  Oliver said, ‘To kill someone for a couple of gemstones …’

  Guinevere said, ‘It was never the stones. Max had made a careful plan to humiliate Wadencourt in front of all of us. He had brought materials to age the goblet and to restore the hiding place with air-drying clay. Wadencourt would uncover a defaced goblet. His moment of glory would turn into a moment of utter disappointment. But Jago got to the goblet first. And Max just couldn’t let him toss it into the water.’

  ‘Why not?’ Oliver asked. ‘Then Wadencourt would have found an empty statue. He would have missed out as well.’

  ‘Yes, but it wouldn’t have been clear that there had ever been a goblet. Max wanted Wadencourt to experience that he had for once been right with his tale of a priceless artefact, only it wasn’t priceless any more. When Max saw Jago about to sink the goblet into the sea, they got into an argument about it. Max claims that Jago fell, but as LeFevre told me there were blood traces on the goblet, I assume Max hit Jago with the goblet. The goblet fell and dented the wood.’

  She pointed to the fresh chafe. ‘That little spot proves the goblet was here. Max planted the bottle with liquid in Wadencourt’s room and the ruby in the spine of his notebook. Clues he hoped the police would find.’

  Oliver made a disbelieving sound. ‘There was tension between them but I don’t see why Max would hate Wadencourt so much as to do all that, risk him being convicted of murder.’

  Guinevere shrugged. ‘Max needed a scapegoat so he would go free. Why not use someone he disliked anyway? Someone who was close to the goblet business and might have killed Jago for that reason. It all fit. At least to Max’s mind.’

  She wasn’t about to tell Oliver that Max was Wadencourt’s son and that he had gone further and further to exact his revenge for the injustice done to his mother and to himself. He had not only wanted his father humiliated and exposed, but also accused and possibly even convicted. Wadencourt’s life ruined as ultimate payment for the old injustice done. For the sake of family.

  Oliver said, ‘Does Max know that you turned him in?’

  ‘He probably guesses.’ Guinevere exhaled slowly. ‘He could have hurt me last night, you know. But he didn’t. I wonder … Max believed that his plan to humiliate Wadencourt would make him happy, would bring him peace. Maybe he had already realized that it wasn’t true? Maybe that is why he didn’t hurt me.’

  ‘You think he realizes what he did? You think he’s sorry for it?’ Oliver sounded sceptical.

  ‘No, I don’t think he’s sorry. I mean, not for Jago. Not for what he did to him.’ Max had seen his drunk stepfather in Jago and had only felt hatred and disgust. In lashing out at him he had lashed out at that spectre from his past. ‘I think he’s sorry for himself. That he didn’t get anything better out of life.’

  Oliver scoffed. ‘What a guy.’

  ‘Don’t …’ Guinevere clenched her hands into fists. ‘Don’t gloat now.’

  ‘I’m not gloating. Jago is dead, all because of some stupid goblet and people squabbling about who should find it. That is a complete waste of a human life.’

  ‘You never liked Max. Why wouldn’t you be happy that he is gone now?’ She knew it was spiteful but she had to say it. See how he responded.

  Oliver said nothing for a few moments. Then he spoke at last. ‘It was never about Max. I didn’t want him to take you away from here.’

  Guinevere held her breath. She wondered how Oliver had guessed that Max would want to take her away. She hadn’t told him what Max had proposed the other night. In fact, she had asked herself if he had merely proposed it to buy time, to delude her and to escape justice. Because he had sensed she was onto him. A proposal for diversion.

  Now it seemed there had been something between Max and her. Something Oliver had sensed and disliked.

  At least Max hadn’t totally used her. Maybe he had even meant it when he had said she was pretty. He had said it before everything else had happened.

  They stood in silence, watching the restless sea. The sea that Jago had loved. The sea that he had often turned to when life got tough. The sea that had caught him in her arms when he had been shoved over the edge of the pier.

  Jago had died near his beloved Cornisea. Having unravelled one of her best-kept secrets: the whereabouts of the rare goblet of Rose and Stars.

  He had probably felt triumphant when he had carried the goblet out here. When he had lifted up his arm to throw it into the sea and let it disappear. He had believed he was protecting the island, the castle, and the people he loved.

  Maybe for the first time since the tragedy earlier that summer Jago had felt happy again, in control of his life. At least he hadn’t died a sad old man, having drunk too much, but someone with a purpose, fighting for a good cause.

  Oliver said, ‘Now that the gemstones are back, we can ask someone to restore the goblet. If you’re sure Jago found it, we should keep the memory of that alive. The goblet should be on display with his name beside it, the story of his family on Cornisea told time and time again.’

  Guinevere nodded. ‘That sounds right. He paid for it with his life.’

  Oliver squatted and touched the dent in the wood with his finger. ‘That something so minimal can give away a killer.’

  ‘Many small things did. A sound that was supposed to be there and wasn’t. Pictures Max took while he put up shots he had taken earlier. Things he told me.’

  She bit her lip. ‘He confided in me about something very personal and in doing so he ha
nded me his motive for the theft and the murder.’

  She looked down at Oliver, who was still on his haunches. ‘I don’t understand why he told me. If he hadn’t, I doubt that I would have worked it out. I wouldn’t have understood why he had to go that far.’

  ‘Maybe that was what he wanted. For you to understand. Maybe he thought you understood and would still care for him in spite of it all?’

  Guinevere took a deep breath of sea air. Had Max really believed she could be with him, build a relationship with him, suspecting he had killed someone?

  Oliver rose to his feet. ‘Don’t blame it on Cornisea.’ His blue eyes surveyed her thoughtfully. ‘Don’t leave a note some day and run off.’

  ‘Why would I run off? I was asked to stay here for the summer and help out. I can’t let Mr Betts down by running off.’ She had even said no to Max’s proposal last night. Mainly because she hadn’t trusted him, but also because there was a job here for her to do.

  ‘That’s good to know.’ Oliver smiled thinly. ‘I was worried about you last night. When you were missing and after you had come back.’

  Guinevere turned her back to him. And on the pier with the dent. The place Jago had died. It would take time to work through this. ‘I need a better breakfast.’

  Dolly ran beside her as she started to walk.

  Oliver’s phone beeped and he accepted the call. He listened for a moment and then handed the phone to her. ‘LeFevre.’

  Guinevere held it to her ear. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I want you to know something.’ LeFevre’s voice was level. ‘Inside Max DeBurgh’s camera we didn’t just find the missing gemstones. We also found the page Jago cut from the book. An ink drawing of the statuette of St Ganoc. Underneath are a few words. Protector of fishermen. Revered by the lady of the roses. Minute traces on the page betray that it was kept, temporarily, in a tobacco pouch.’

  ‘The one Jago had on him when he died?’

  ‘Probably. DeBurgh must have searched his pockets carefully after he struck him unconscious. He found the page and took it along with the gemstones, to hide in his camera so there wouldn’t be any hint that Jago had known where the goblet was hidden. He was very careful.’