The Treasure of Stonewycke

by Michael Phillips

  “I must have read about it in Lady Joanna’s journal,” she said, then jammed the key into the lock. “Shall we go in and have a look about?” As she spoke Hilary’s attention was fixed on the insertion of the key into the old gate. She therefore did not see her companion’s reaction to her momentary lapse. He had read more of the truth in her eyes than she would have guessed possible. For the Viscount von Burchardt—like Hilary herself—was no mean judge of character, and was especially well-versed in reading between the lines of the feminine psyche in all its mystifying complexity. When he saw what passed through Hilary’s eyes, over von Burchardt’s face spread a look of resolve. He knew the time to act was drawing near.

  Hilary found the lock troublesome and stubborn, and it took several attempts to persuade its ancient workings to give way. When it finally surrendered, von Burchardt opened the gate, and then followed as Hilary entered. Both were silent for some time in the hushed atmosphere of overgrown willows and birch trees, under whose wings spread out in all directions lawns and hedges, and bordered flowerbeds.

  In the very center stood a gnarled and hoary birch—its great, twisted roots scoring the earth for many feet in all directions, making the ground uneven and rough in its vicinity. In the winter, with its branches barren, the tree took on a mournful air; but Hilary tried to imagine it in summer, covered with greenery, presiding over the lush vegetation on the ground beneath it, with flowers gracing the beds rather than black earth. Even in the garden’s present desolation, Hilary could sense that the place was pregnant with unseen life.

  Had there indeed been mention of such a garden in the journal? There must have been, she thought, for she felt she already knew the spot so well, though something inside told her it had once been even more unkempt than it was now. How mysterious and wild it must have once been! she thought.

  At each end of the enclosed space sat two stone benches, heavily weathered, one displaying a prominent crack. Hilary walked slowly to the far end, the viscount following her silently, and sat down. He joined her.

  “It’s like entering another world,” he said.

  “I think that if I were a young girl growing up here,” said Hilary dreamily, “I would come and sit on this bench every day and gaze at that grand birch, maybe even try to climb it, and dream to my heart’s content.”

  “What would you dream?” asked von Burchardt.

  “I don’t know. When I was a girl I used to fantasize being swept away by dashing young men and sailing away to exotic lands.” She smiled, suddenly feeling silly. “I was quite the romantic in my youth.”

  He laughed. “And now, look at you!” he said. “Here you sit with—well, as to being dashing, I will make no comment! But as to the exotic lands, you have only to say the word, and my vessel waits to spirit you away!”

  Now it was Hilary’s turn to laugh. “In my youth, I dreamed of such things.”

  “But no more?”

  “Such fancies hardly befit a hard-headed magazine editor.”

  “Come now, Hilary. You do not seem the hard-headed type.”

  “You’ve not seen me crack the whip the day before deadline! But you might be right. Perhaps I am still a romantic after all, though I hope by this time in my life it’s tempered with some good sense. And how about you, Emil? You strike me as too much a man of the world to have escaped the clutches of some ravishing beauty this long.”

  “We marry late in my family—something to do with being fully apprised of the field.”

  “And that’s what your travels are for, to scout the ‘field’ of eligible heiresses throughout Europe?”

  “I hate to balk at family tradition,” he replied with a slight laugh.

  “Well, you seem to have landed on your feet here,” said Hilary. “You have two of us to choose from!”

  He laughed, nervously, she thought.

  For a time neither spoke, a palatable silence enveloping them as the peculiar magic of the garden weaved its enchantment. Here one could escape the modern age without so much as leaving the grounds. Emil had commented on its being like another world—it was that, and so much more. Everywhere her gaze fell Hilary sensed history overflowing her, in much the same way she had when reading the journal—personal history, real history . . . the reality of being in a place that was part of her very being . . . her roots—like the roots of the huge tree in front of her.

  Again, as she reflected within the quietness of her own soul, von Burchardt quietly scrutinized her, and again read more of what was passing through her spirit than he let on. It is indeed time to act, he thought. The moment has come.

  “Come,” he said, rising. “Let me take you to town. The yacht is ready to sail, the weather is favorable. If you won’t agree to let me take you back to London, then at least join me for the afternoon.”

  Hilary remained seated. “I hate to leave this place,” she said at length, as if she had not heard him. “I feel as if I am under a spell.”

  “Yes . . . I feel it too. But come,” he added, reaching out and taking her hand, “I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Hilary exhaled a long breath and looked up at him with one last lingering hesitation in her eyes. Then she recalled what had driven her out-of-doors in the first place—the incident with Allison and her irritation with Ashley’s chicanery. At least Emil was what he seemed, she thought—no more nor no less.

  “All right,” she said finally. “You’re on.”

  43

  Aborted Voyage

  It was about two in the afternoon when Ashley entered the sitting room.

  “Has anyone seen Miss Edwards?” he asked. “I must see her.”

  The only ones present were Jo and Logan. Jo did not look up, and Logan replied that he had only a moment earlier come in from outside and had not seen her. He asked if he had tried her room, to which Jameson nodded in the affirmative, adding that he had been throughout the house and no one had seen a trace of her.

  “Has Herr von Burchardt called today?” he asked, divining a measure of what he feared might be the truth.

  Logan had not seen him. Jo said she thought he had planned on dropping by today, but she had seen nothing of him yet.

  Ashley thanked them and left the room.

  Within a few minutes, before he had had time to reason out his actions logically, he was sitting behind the wheel of his car and driving toward Port Strathy. Something told him danger was afoot threatening to thwart his mission.

  ———

  Aboard the viscount’s yacht, everything had been made ready to cast off.

  Von Burchardt had retrieved his crew from the Bluster N’ Blow and from Hamilton’s. They had gone through the preliminaries of a thorough voyage, even though the Captain, as they called the viscount, repeatedly stressed the fact that they were only going out for an hour or two, a little shake-down cruise. While they made their preparations, von Burchardt gave Hilary a more extensive tour of the vessel. They were both standing before the controls at the bridge, waiting for the first mate to cast off, the engine idling in readiness, when Jameson’s car pulled up at the dock and Ashley jumped out. He quickly ran out on the platform.

  “Ahoy,” he called up. “Miss Edwards . . . I must see you!”

  Still irked from the events of the morning, Hilary looked down, debated within herself whether to ignore him or accede to his request, then turned to the viscount and said, “I’ll only be a minute. Don’t leave without me.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it. Just make sure he doesn’t twist your arm for an invitation and wind up joining us.”

  Hilary laughed. “Don’t worry! I wouldn’t think of it! If he goes, I stay!”

  She left von Burchardt standing at the helm, carefully climbed down the steep stairway to the main deck, crossed it, then addressed Ashley from where she stood.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “Please, I must speak with you.”

  “So, here I am. Talk.”

  “I mean down here . . . privately.”r />
  “What is it that’s so important that it can’t wait till we return? I’ll be back to the house in a couple of hours.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “We’re only going out for an hour, then back in.”

  “And you’re certain the viscount doesn’t have anything more extensive in mind?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! At least he plays it straight with me.”

  “I won’t bother to ask you what you mean by that. The point remains that I simply must see you in private immediately.”

  “Well, if you can’t say what you have to say to me here and now, then it will have to wait.”

  She turned and began walking away.

  “Miss Edwards . . . Hilary!” he called after her in an imperative voice. “You are wanted at the house. I’m afraid it can’t wait two hours!”

  She stopped and turned to face him.

  “Wanted? For what?”

  “That I cannot tell you. But you simply must come with me.”

  “Who wants me?”

  “Mr. . . . Mr. Macintyre,” replied Ashley, his voice shaky.

  Convinced at last, Hilary hesitated only another moment, then said, “I’ll go tell Emil and be right down.”

  “Please, Miss Edwards,” Ashley enjoined, “say nothing to him. He must not come up to the castle . . . not today.”

  “Why not?” asked Hilary, her irritation returning.

  “Again, I’m afraid I cannot tell you. But I implore you to climb down and come with me at once.”

  Hilary sighed, obviously not pleased with this turn of events, and even more displeased with Ashley himself, but then waving up at the viscount where he stood watching the proceedings, called out, “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” and then walked down the short gangway to where Ashley stood on the dock. Quickly he began whisking her away, to Hilary’s extreme annoyance, before von Burchardt, who had immediately run off the bridge and down to the deck to protest this interruption to his plans, could get close enough to make his displeasure known.

  Ashley opened the passenger door of his car for Hilary, but did not wait to close it himself. While she was still climbing in, he ran around to his own side, watching out of the corner of his eye as von Burchardt followed down the gangway and onto the dock after them. Scarcely had Hilary pulled her door shut before his BMW had spun around and was heading past the Bluster ’N Blow, leaving a red-faced Burchardt standing in a cloud of dust silently cursing the professor’s untimely interference.

  Inside the automobile the tension between the abductor and abductee was thick enough to cut. Not until Ashley had crested the hill overlooking Port Strathy to one side and Ramsey Head on the other did he abate his speed. Then he pulled off to the side of the road and stopped the car.

  “What is this?” asked Hilary in a piqued tone.

  “I’m afraid we have to have a little talk before we get back to Stonewycke.”

  “What about the urgent message Mr. Macintyre has for me?” she asked, growing more exasperated with this man by the moment.

  “That’s what we have to talk about. I’m afraid Mr. Macintyre didn’t send me after you at all.”

  “What! You lied to me!”

  “I apologize. I’m afraid I’ve never been too good at thinking on my feet. I had to do something to get you away from there, and before I realized what I was doing, out it had come.”

  “How dare you!” snapped Hilary, reaching for the door latch.

  Ashley reached across and held her hand firm.

  “I simply must not allow you to go back down there.”

  “What right do you have—after all that talk about truth? It’s all just hogwash to you! I can’t believe a word you say!”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way. I hope someday I can show you otherwise.”

  “Let me out of here! I will not sit here and listen to you insult my intelligence, or the intentions of my friend Emil. Either you let me go my own way or I’ll—”

  “I will not let you go back to that man,” said Ashley. “I’m sorry if you think me cruel or unreasonable. But I have my reasons.”

  He started the car before she had a chance to protest further, ground it into gear, and sped up the road. In the passenger seat, Hilary sat with face red, silent but inwardly fuming. She would get out of this idiotic place the instant she was packed, she said to herself, and never set foot here again!

  44

  Detour and Diversion

  When they reached the turnoff into the Stonewycke estate, Ashley accelerated right past. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but of one thing he was sure: if Hilary had the chance, in her present mood she would run right back to von Burchardt.

  “Where are we going?” she asked with venom in her tone.

  “I’m not sure,” replied Ashley. “Somewhere you can cool off . . . and where I can think.”

  Thirty minutes later they drove into Fraserburgh. Though the drive of less than twenty miles had been silent and uneventful, by the time they reached the town of some ten thousand, Hilary had calmed considerably, and Ashley thought he might get her safely back to the estate without risk of her running away. He drove to the middle of the small village and stopped.

  “Why don’t you have a bit of a look about?” he said, trying to sound friendly. “I’ve got to make a phone call. There are several rather nice shops within walking distance.”

  “How do you know? I thought you had never been to this part of the country.”

  “I’m very well read,” he said, a small mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  She said nothing in reply, merely grunted and folded her arms across her chest.

  “You may as well make the most of this,” he prompted. “It may not be Carnaby Street or Piccadilly, but who knows, you might find something you like.”

  Hilary opened the door with an exaggerated humph and stepped out.

  “I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” said Ashley. His sentence was punctuated with a forceful closing of Hilary’s door as she walked off in the opposite direction without another word.

  The smile Ashley had been restraining with great difficulty now escaped and spread across his lips. “Well, Professor,” he muttered to himself, “you’ve got yourself in the middle of a fine pickle now!” But the hour by herself should help settle her ruffled emotions and injured pride, he hoped—not to mention giving him time to consider how best to handle this delicate situation once they arrived back at Stonewycke. After all, he had abducted the Macintyre’s guest for no more reason than that his instinct told him trouble was brewing. If an issue were made of it, he could find himself hard pressed to explain his behavior.

  An hour later he was parked back alongside the same curb when Hilary walked up the sidewalk toward him, carrying a package. He jumped out and ran around to open the door for her, which attention she accepted with a nod as she climbed into the passenger seat.

  “I see you found something, after all,” said Ashley cheerfully as they drove away.

  “Nothing much,” said Hilary with a deadpan expression. “A dress.”

  “Well, let’s have a look.”

  “What interest could you possibly have in a woman’s dress?”

  “Actually the fashion industry is quite fascinating. Believe it or not, I’ve even been to a fashion show.”

  The incongruity of a stuffy university professor sitting watching a parade of models sauntering by displaying the latest in outlandish French design caught Hilary so off guard that a smile escaped her lips.

  “You, Professor?”

  “Are you shocked?”

  “Let’s just say . . . amused.”

  “So . . . do I see your new purchase or not?”

  “All right, you win,” consented Hilary with a sigh, opening the box that sat on her lap. “I’m still angry, you understand. What you did was inexcusable, and you have not heard the end of it. But I’ll show you the dress.”

  “A truce,
then?”

  “For the time being.”

  Jameson smiled to himself. The detour to Fraserburgh has been a capital stroke, he thought to himself, even if I didn’t exactly plan it!

  Hilary pulled out the dress and held it up as best she could, unable to avoid the fact that buying it had made her feel better. The man was insufferable, but that was no reason she should not make the best of the situation.

  She had never worn this particular color before—a subdued and subtle mixture of purple, gray, violet, and pink. She had always leaned more toward muted, earthy tones. But the moment she had held this dress—whose label identified the shade as “Heather in Bloom”—in front of her and gazed into the mirror, she had been surprised by the effect.

  “It’s beautiful!” said Ashley, glancing over from his driver’s seat. “Positively stunning!”

  “The clerk kept trying to push off a cream-colored frock on me,” said Hilary, inwardly pleased with his enthusiastic response, yet trying to hide it. “But I loved this immediately.”

  “I can see why. You will look smashing in it . . . just lovely.”

  “Thank you,” replied Hilary with a half smile. “But don’t think you can win me back over with compliments. I have not forgotten what you did.”

  “I was not trying to win you over. I do like the dress.”

  “Fine. Just so long as you know I’m still angry with you.”

  “Understood.” This young woman is really too much, thought Ashley with an inward chuckle. I’ll never be able to live this down!

  But if Ashley’s intended indiscretions were not enough, he soon found himself facing a most unintended one. About three-fourths of the way back, when they could not have been more than five or six miles from the estate, all at once without warning the BMW’s engine began to cough and sputter. Ashley slowed and down-shifted but the automobile did not respond. His gaze fell on the instrument panel and he immediately pulled off the road.