Mystery City

by Alistair Lavers

  They would undoubtedly have remained undiscovered and hydden from the worlde for many more years, or possibly forever –were it not for a sudden resolution between my brother, Samuel Gerald Broadhead and I, to inspect the roomes of an old propertie, previously unknown to us. A propertie that has recently passed into the temporary guardianship of oure family’s solicitor, Mr Eldred Garvey of Long Acre. It is to oure advantage, that the propertie in question is also situated on the same street as oure own Mr Garvey. The building owned by the late Mr Clout, and all that remains within, will eventually be sold, to satisfy the requirements of the will in question.

  My brother Samuel and I were the first of oure kin to apply for permission to view the building, and the first to obtain the keys that Friday afternoon. We were allowed four houres by Mr Garvey and set out to find the building without any notion of what we might discover therein. Long Acre, is best described as Whytborough’s Royal Mile and lies upon the olde processional way to the headland used by the Druids, the Anglo Saxons and the Romans in early times. It is not the equal in length, of that famous avenue in a certain Scottish city, to wych I allude, but is its equal in width. The central ribbon of the carriageway is usefully paved with large flagstones, edged with two contrasting courses of flat faced granite bricks –laid to a Flemish bond pattern –abutting the recessed concave guttering stones. The pavements are also generously broad and of the same good quality.

  It is an uncommon privilege, to be able to inspect the home of a deceased stranger to whoome one suddenly finds oneself related. As the late Mr Clout was unfamiliar to us –and we to him, from birth until death, oure visit to his former dwelling place was not the sad inspection it might have been; rather, it was a happy affair and an opportunity for discovery, the only valid emotion one can give into under such circumstances, is a feeling of regret –for it is not healthy to dwell on lost opportunities to make acquaintances and relations such as we have missed in ignorance. One must practice equanimity in the face of all the twists and turns in life that fate and fortune can bestow. It was in this spirit, that we arrived at the propertie and began oure perusal.

  Long Acre is comprised of six separate blocks of towne houses, three are very olde, the last in line are of equal length, butt of the modern era and furthermost from the castle keep. All ascend to three storeys, though the smooth faced modern terraces built in the reign of King George are very much higher, having high ceilings and tall broad windows, replicating the classical proportions of Romano-Grecian proportions. All enjoy a fine view over Victoria Bay and the red tiled roofes of the olde town, beyond the wide lawns and time worn headstones of St Mary’s Cemetery.

  Number Seven, the home of the recently deceased Mr Clout, is part of the older run of buildings and follows the pattern begun by the first built pair of adjoining houses, wych are all accessed by a flight of steps from the pavement. The lower part of the terrace is made of block stone, some being of massive size (undoubtedly rubble stone from the castle’s former structures) whilst the upper storeys are the best example of the cage and infill tradition in the towne. We were pleased to discover, a rich interior – finely kept, with many artefacts and souvenirs from the far lands of the known worlde. It was whilst I was backing up to better observe one of his curiosities, that I accidentally breached one of the plaster and lath infill panels with the press of my rump. Once I had dusted myself down and had suffered the ridicule of my sibling, we inspected the breach. It was there, beneath the cracked plaster where we discovered the file in question. In an aperture hacked out of the lath and horsehair infill, wych had been repaired with a scratch coat of plaster and then thinly skimmed to complete its concealment.

  Whether Mr Clout knew of its existence we shall know not, butt as one of the benefactors of his estate, it is not –I should suppose, improper for me to retain them temporarily for study. As the most learned and able son of the family in matters of commerce, writing and contracts.

  The documents and records, found there, cover the whole period of the trial of seven local men from the borough of Whytborough and contain the compleat sworn testimonies of three defendants, the record of the clerk of the court, two drafts of a speech made by the foreman of the jury and the written record of the summing up by the judge. Together with the aforementioned dockets. The papers are quite olde, butt are otherwise in excellent condition. Most importantly, they enable a comprehensive and fulsome understanding of events from the many perspectives represented therein. I am of the opinion, that it is likely they have never been examined since they were bound and sealed inside theire satchel upon the dismissal of the jury and the closure of the case. The infill recess, in wych they were deposited, has undoubtedly aided the preservation of its contents. The house itself is contemporary with the events detailed in the file.

  The trial was conducted in the autumn of 1645, after the surrender of the garrison of Whytborough Castle. Though the events described bridge the period before and after the surrender. The purpose of these proceedings, seems to have been to decide the fate of two bands of brigands, and theire failed attempt to apprehend a Royalist breakout, independent of the official Parliamentary forces. Theire enterprise seems to have been frown’d upon as much for its secrecy as its calamitous conclusion, in the shadow of the death of a priest “by visitation of a wilde beast, or hell hound.” For nothing was recovered by either of the partees. Rascal adventurers in the mould of Raleigh, even in the bloom of success, are now rarely in favour in oure time, unlucky adventurers even less so. It seems the same mood influenced the conduct of the the judge and jury during the proceedings.

  The assembly of the jury itself, also seems to have been conducted under an atmosphere of bad faith. All butt one of theire number –a Merchant named Troy, were press ganged with some resentment, from the reluctant ranks of commoners. An ill received speech by a seer and fortune teller, one Ethel Penrose broke up the first –she is recorded as being imprison’d in the toll bar for the duration. Though paradoxically the public benches were neare to collapse under the weight of theire audience.

  It is clear, (even from a cursory study of the record) that the real purpose for its conduct was twofold: to put into the public domain, knowledge that might encourage suitable persons to institute a search, to recover the Treasure wych at that juncture was assumed lost. Finally, to inflict a punishment sufficient enough to deter any searches and enquiries outside the jurisdiction of the Alderman’s office.

  It should be noted that certain final testimonies admitted by the defendants contain a supernatural element. In addition, there were irregular but significant references in the court documents to an unusual miasma about the building during the days the trial was held and strange weather effects within. Unusually cold temperatures were recorded that compelled the assembly to remain swaddled in theire hattes and cloakes and comforters. In spite of this, all the public pews were taken –as stated in my previous paragraph, and there seems to have been some competition to get within earshot of the Bench. Within the body of invoices, are delivery notes for extra candles and coal for the brazier and stove. These appear to be in addition to theire fixed purchases. (Note –it must have been a remarkably bitter autumn.) Last amongst these is a request for payment, ‘for oure aforementioned preparatory works, ministries, ceremonies and blessings, conducted by J.B.L., (EXCST) R.C.C rendered to the building and congregation’ from the Bishopric. (Note –this document has caused me great difficulties, in my enquiries, why is its wording so deliberately obscure. Who was J.B.L. What title or occupation is given for this gentleman? For he was undoubtedly a man of rank or position in the Roman Catholic faith or a person of note, worthy of a degree of deference.)

  Alas, there is no building still extant, such as that wych was described for the trial within the borough. I have begun investigations to determine its former setting, though I have only discovered a brief reference to a fire, attributed to a lightning storm in the year 1646 in the part of
the old town, where I suspect the court house may have stood. There are a handful of empty plots left now in places that may have favoured a building of its size or any ruine, prodigiously decayed that may be identified as such.

  (At this point the formal record ends and the thread continues in rough note form, on the rear of a theatre bill poster. Presumably, to conserve the recorder’s own stock of paper.)

  I shall not set down my quill just yet, so early in my investigation. As newes has come to me from several sources in the towne, of persons who may be willing to add to my knowledge of this curious business. This afternoon I am to visit a goode friend of a relative of the trial judge, who may yet be able to shed light on this episode.

  A final paragraph was hurriedly appended as a footnote to this soon afterward.

  In my haste to examine these old documents, I had failed to inspect properly, theire leather coverlet. The sheath is unremarkable at first sight –I had foolishly assumed, it was unworthy of examination until I had cause to seize it up to avoid staining the hide by my clumsiness. There is a small deerskin pocket behind the front containing a gold coin, wrapped in a scrap of parchment. More peculiar still, a strange diagram containing obscure symbols appeared upon the paper –when I had the opportunity to examine it in the light of my window. It was not rendered with any great skill, but was, I imagine, perfectly adequate for its purpose, which I surmise is connected with some occult ritual. The illustration, a line drawing without perspective or shadow, appears thus –a large square encloses a second smaller square –tilted ninety degrees from the vertical, forming the outline of a diamond within. Inside the diamond lies another square in the same positional aspect as the first, enclosing a circle; inside this, lies another circle divided into foure quarters. Each segment contains a word, a symbol, or a letter. I have identified some symbols from an olde paper on astrological symbolism, given to me by my housemaster at Brasenose (a college of Oxford University) many years ago. There is a glyph representing the planet Mars, the Moon and Sun and letters from the Torah. I have decided to take this to my appointment. The sky has become very dark suddenly, so my brother and I have summoned a gig. We should not like to arrive at the house of oure host with new hattes and breeches spotted by rain.

  In my own hand,

  Doctor of Medicine, Bartholomew Broadhead 11th November, 1815.

  ‘Is this it?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Nothing else?’

  ‘No. Dropped off at the front desk when Moyne had his back turned. Somehow, it’s made its way onto mine.’

  ‘What’s the CCTV shown up, sir?’

  ‘You can see for yourself tomorrow. It’s in old Barry’s grotto,’ said Inspector Marshall slowly, name-checking the sergeant in charge of the records and evidence room in the bowels of the station.

  ‘But– you’ve seen it?’

  ‘I have George. There’s something bloody strange about it, though Barry says he checked it and couldn’t find any damage or faults in the tape or the tracking. I can’t say I’m that keen on watching it again. Why don’t you have a look at it?’

  ‘What d’you mean when you say there’s something not right about it?’

  ‘Whoever dropped those papers off had a strange effect, on the recording.’

  ‘Strange effect on the recording?’

  Inspector Marshall shifted in his seat and looked out of the window, looking as if he would rather be somewhere else, then pressed his fist into the fold of skin underneath his chin, stroking his emerging whiskers.

  ‘Everything around this mystery visitor on our tape is clear, but the figure itself is just a blurry, featureless shadow – the way it moves gives me the creeps. He’s copied it and sent the first tape to one of our labs for tests. Outside of the norm…’ mumbled Marshall, shifting his shoulders, as if he was trying to shrug off the cold touch of an invisible hand.

  ‘I seem to remember hearing you saying that before,’ said Broadhead, attempting a smile – as an antidote to offset to his boss’s sour grimace.

  ‘You wouldn’t be going to bed with a smirk like that if you’d watched it,’ said Marshall slowly, with a very serious expression, ‘but let’s forget about it for now. I’ve been through the rest of those papers twice, and there’s nothing more after that date in November. Except for this,’ he said, handing over a photocopy of an old document, with a serious air. ‘It’s Dr Bartholomew Broadhead’s death certificate. This Doctor Broadhead chap was killed on the same day he wrote that last paragraph on the covering letter – November the eleventh. The cause of death is recorded as crushing blow to the head, by a loose stone corbel that fell from the pediment of the Vicarage of St Mary’s, on Long Acre.’

  ‘Pediment?’

  ‘It’s a stone porch. An overhang. Like the one at the front of the market hall.’

  ‘Poor bugger. What’s a corbel?’

  ‘They look like carved bookends George, turned upside down; they’re like a support, they’re not small things– if one of those hit you you’d be dead before you hit the ground. Do you think he could have been a relation of yours? How many Broadheads are there in Whitborough?’

  ‘I suppose it’s possible. To be quite honest, I don’t know how long our family’s been around these parts. I know we’ve been around at least a hundred and fifty years. I suppose I could find out. Do I need to find out?’

  ‘It might be useful, I don’t know yet. Don’t go out of your way just at the moment. Just make some discreet enquiries – inside the family if you like. That should be enough for now.’

  ‘So how is this crap old stack of paperwork relevant, to your, er… our situation?’

  ‘The advantage of being persona non grata, is the amount of spare time I have to really look into things. All the crazy goings on here recently. And one word keeps cropping up again and again – GOLD,’ said Marshall, making an exaggerated ‘O’ shape with his mouth, as he stretched out the second letter.

  ‘Gold. Here in Whitborough… I’ll be damned… is this connected to that throwaway comment you made to Beautimann before we went into his office?’

  ‘Yes George, it is. Do you recall his reaction?’said Marshall, smiling. ‘I should add, the gold coin mentioned in this chap’s notes was in the pouch mentioned in the covering letter with those scraps of paper.’

  ‘You’re kidding…’

  ‘Most of the information I’ve managed to gather suggests it was a large hoard of gold coins and some jewels too. It was originally kept in a single chest and then split into smaller boxes, before it was moved. That would make sense, but no one I’ve spoken to thinks it ever left the district. All the people I’ve spoken to are convinced it was hidden around here, hundreds of years ago. This isn’t just hearsay – it’s historical fact. It disappeared at the end of the siege at the castle during the English Civil War. What if some gang has found it after all this time? Then had a falling out. People do stupid things for money. Reckless things. Dangerous things. This trial was a sham, reading between the lines, a reckoning after the fact. A fortune went missing out from under the noses of the New Model Army and their bosses in London – and they were angry.’

  ‘But how can anyone really be sure it’s still in the area…after all this time?’

  ‘Well, gold – like anything valuable – leaves a trail doesn’t it? It’s very hard for anyone to explain the sudden arrival of conspicuous wealth without any apparent means. Tongues wag, people become greedy and jealous and before long you’ve got murder and corpses, OR CRIMES OF VIOLENCE. And what a lot of that we’ve had, all of a sudden.’

  ‘Mmm. What do you make of the references – or inferences to that supernatural stuff?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give too much credence to it. I think it’s a load of old codswallop,’ said Marshall without much vim.

  ‘Made up to scare people off?’
/>
  ‘That’s what I’d say. It would have been an effective tactic to put off the more nervous and superstitious crooks. I don’t think it would have stopped them all. You can never do that. But the theory is sound enough; I dare say it would work now too, to an extent.’

  ‘Who did you get this information from?’

  ‘Well, funnily enough, the wife’s sister is married to a one of the history teachers at the sixth form. He’s a member of that historical society– the Sealed Knot. The ones that get pissed on mead and charge around castles and fields, clubbing each other with blunt poleaxes. Only Colin doesn’t do any of the rough stuff anymore, since Oliver Cromwell’s shire horse kicked him in the ging gang goolies. I went for a drink in the Stage Door with him a few nights ago to pick his brains. He’s what you might call an English Civil War expert. Filled me in on the siege here and the legend of the Treasure of the Mar del Norte.’

  ‘Mar del Norte?’

  ‘It’s Spanish for “the Treasure of the Northern Sea”, the North Sea in other words.’

  ‘Only you and I know about this piece of gold though. That’s the way I want it to stay for now. I’d like to find out a bit more about the coin.’

  ‘Is that slippery old queen Chipping still at the museum?’

  ‘Yes, he is. I’m sure our paths will cross again in the near future,’ said Marshall very slowly and seriously. There’s a coin expert at York University I’m going to see tomorrow – though he doesn’t know it yet. While I’m freelance I’m going to make the most of it. Just to keep you in the loop, there’s a third party involved. I can’t prove it yet, but I’m working on it…’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Forum

  PUBLIC NOTICE

  ALL RESIDENTS OF KETTLENESS & RUNSWICK BAY.