by Jane Ashford
“But not quite,” Ada said.
“Not quite,” he agreed. They shared a look so laden with hope that she could hardly bear it.
He took an aged key ring from his pocket. It looked far older than the one they’d found in Delia’s room and held four keys. He worked one in the lock. It didn’t turn. He tried another with the same result. It seemed at first that the third wouldn’t work either, but then the mechanism turned with a rasping squeak. Peter pulled at the door. He had to shove quite hard before it opened, dragging a trail of ivy behind it.
They squeezed through. Ada didn’t ask again about their destination. He wanted it to be a surprise, and she had no doubt it would be. Also, she wanted to live in hope. She didn’t want anything to interfere with that.
Excitement built in her as they pushed their way along a path that centuries of use had sunk below ground level. Wildly overgrown yew hedges pressed on them from either side, the branches scraping their clothes and hair. Weeds poked through the earth under their feet.
Slowed by the vegetation, they walked for nearly half an hour. Movement kept Ada warm enough, but she felt the chill that permeated the path. Under the arching yews, it must see sun for only a few minutes at high noon.
Their trek ended in a short tunnel that dipped under another wall. There was an iron door at the end, the twin of the first they’d come through. Peter opened it on the second try, and they emerged into an open space dotted with low stones. “Is this the village churchyard?” asked Ada.
“The very back part of it, yes. The oldest.”
Ada waited. “And?” she said finally.
“The Rathbones have an old mausoleum here,” he responded.
“The remains!”
Compton nodded. “That is my thought. The place hasn’t been used for burials for many years. I believe I once heard that it had no more room. My grandparents, and my parents, and Delia were buried in a new plot nearer the church. No one comes here anymore.”
“And so it was forgotten.”
“Yes.”
“Until now.”
He nodded.
“But your ancestor would have known about it.”
“And had a private way to get here,” he replied, indicating the path.
“The remains,” Ada repeated. She clasped her hands to contain the excitement that raced through her.
“Well, let us go and see.”
They waded through long thick grass, past old monuments and weathered gravestones. A row of tall yews bisected the churchyard, screening this part from the newer graves. Another further on hid the church itself. A wall surrounded the whole.
Ada stumbled over a hidden lump. The duke caught her and supported her through the unkempt grass. “Does no one mow here?” she asked. It seemed disrespectful.
“Once a year, I think,” he replied. “These graves are very old. People visit the newer ones, mostly.”
“Forgotten,” she repeated.
He led her to the most overgrown corner. “It’s somewhere here, I think.”
“You don’t know?”
“I haven’t actually seen it. We never came back here when I was a child. And my father stopped attending church after my mother died. He and the vicar had a quarrel about the afterlife.”
“The—?”
“Indeed. They both had strong opinions. Which differed radically. Ah, this may be it.”
They’d come to a mound covered with snaking ivy. Peter led the way around it, raising his feet high and tramping a path through tangled vines and spiky weeds. It looked as if no one had been here in years, he thought. Perhaps they’d given up the annual mowing.
They finished their circuit, finding nothing. This seemed to be a mere lump of earth in a forgotten corner of the graveyard. He walked around again, anxiety rising. Was this to be another disappointment?
“Here,” said Miss Ada. He turned to find her dragging a dead branch nearly twice his height. “We can probe it with this,” she added.
“Good idea.” He set aside the things he’d brought and took hold in the middle. She balanced the far end, and they moved around the mound again pushing the branch into the ivy.
Repeatedly, they hit solid ground. And then, on the far side, the stick lurched into vacancy, overbalancing them. Peter dropped it and caught her before she could fall. She gripped his shoulder, grinning up at him. “Something.”
“Yes.” He didn’t want to let her go. And he wanted to see what was there. Both at once and equally. Which was impossible. Peter stepped away to attack the ivy. The vines resisted, clinging to the earth and each other. He had to brace his legs and yank, scraping skin from his hands.
And then a big swath of ivy came free, revealing an upright slab of stone. Peter redoubled his efforts and uncovered another. He scrabbled and heaved and at last exposed a low stone doorway. Pulling a final strand of ivy from the lintel, he saw the word Rathbone carved there in ornate letters. A gate of iron bars filled the opening.
“It seems that your father and Delia would have thought of this place,” Ada said. “They examined everything.”
“Everything at Alberdene. All their attention was concentrated on the estate, and they rarely left it.”
“Well, they clearly never came here,” she said.
“No.” He pushed at the gate. It rattled but didn’t open.
“Is there a key?”
“Lost long ago,” Peter replied. He retrieved the short metal bar he’d brought—a tool he used to pry up splintered floorboards before replacing them—then paused to light the lantern. Setting the light before the gate, he inserted the bar near the lock and pushed. Ancient metal groaned. He leaned all his weight on the bar. There was a deeper groan, and a snap, and the gate sprang open. Beyond was darkness.
Peter picked up the lantern. Holding it up before him, he moved inside. Miss Ada followed.
They crowded into a dim, cramped space with large niches on three sides. Stone coffins filled them all, the last resting places of his ancestors. He turned, lantern in hand, to survey them. There was barely space to move. The ceiling brushed his head.
Shadows danced in the lantern light. The mound muffled sound. There was, thankfully, no particular scent. Air from the churchyard stirred around them.
“Which shall we try?” he asked. The words settled with the opposite of an echo; the earthen walls seemed to absorb them.
Miss Ada huddled deeper into the cloak. She turned as if uncertain. Finally, she pointed at one of the coffins.
Peter handed her the lantern. As she held it high, he set the bar into the crack between the coffin and its lid. It was a tight fit. He wiggled the bar farther in to get more leverage and pressed as hard as he could. Stone grated. The slab was heavy. Instead of trying to lift it up, he pushed sideways.
The lid moved. Peter thrust the bar deeper and levered. A narrow triangular opening showed, grew wider—a hand’s-breadth, then a foot of blackness. Miss Ada made a small anxious sound.
He set the bar aside, took the lantern back, and held it up over the coffin, braced for the sight of grisly desiccated death.
The light caught on a gleam of some kind. Peter bent over the opening to let the lantern shine in more directly. There was something there, not a pile of bones. He set the lantern on the lid, reached in, gingerly, and grasped at the gleam. There was a tinkling sound as he pulled out a small golden chalice. Jewels sparkled on its sides, ruby and sapphire. Astonishment flooded through him. “It’s actually here,” he said.
He turned to Miss Ada, the chalice held up between them. Their eyes met, wide and wondering. Their faces mirrored incredulous smiles. She threw her arms around him.
Catching her, Peter nearly dropped the first bit of his family’s lost treasure. She pressed against him, hugging him close. He held her, a warm, heady invitation along the length of his body. T
he future expanded before him, longed-for possibilities opening out in triumph. Elation flamed down every nerve.
You are assuming there is more than this one random piece in the tomb, a skeptical inner voice remarked. It might be a solitary offering. He wasn’t home free yet. “We’ll have to look through them all,” he said, scanning the rows of stone coffins.
Miss Ada drew back, her eyes gleaming. “We must let the others help. Charlotte will be over the moon. Sarah too. And if we don’t tell them, they’ll murder us.”
He nodded. He felt a bit dazed as the discovery sank in.
“Let’s fetch them.”
“I’m not leaving here.” Peter imagined going away and returning to find that he’d imagined the chalice. Or the whole tomb. That the contents of the coffins had been swept away by some arcane thief. The fear was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help it. Too much had been lost over the years. He would not leave this place until he’d explored it thoroughly. “You can go. Bring them all back if you like.”
She hesitated.
“I am going to guard whatever of my inheritance lies in here. You won’t convince me otherwise.”
Miss Ada nodded as if she understood. “You won’t look at everything while I’m gone?”
“I’ll wait. I promise. You can take the lane from the churchyard. It’s a little longer but easier walking. And perfectly safe.”
She turned to go.
“Ask Tom to bring some bags,” he added. The lad would surely want to accompany the young ladies. His strong back would be welcome. If there was enough here to require his help. “And more lanterns.”
She nodded again and ran out.
Silence fell inside the mound. The birdsong drifting in from outdoors seemed distant. Solitude settled over Peter and with it a sense of his macabre position. The bodies of his distant ancestors were somewhere here, mute sentinels. They would wish him well, he supposed. But their presence wasn’t comfortable. He pushed this idea aside.
Time passed; he grew chilled. He walked out of the mound, stamped his feet and waved his arms to warm them, went back in, counted the coffins. Fifteen, six on each side and nine along the back.
Surely it had been long enough? But he knew Ada hadn’t had time to gather the others and return. He walked outside again, circled the mound, went back in.
Finally, he couldn’t resist opening another coffin. He strained at the metal bar and shifted the lid, again braced for the sight of a dried-up corpse. But this one contained piles of smaller boxes, the wood cracked and fragile with the weight of years. He had to look inside one. It held an emerald necklace, brilliant even in the dim light.
Peter’s breath huffed out in an astonished sigh. He’d seen the receipt for this necklace pinned to the wall in the treasure room, which had at last earned its name. How his father and Delia would have exulted to see it. He could imagine their triumphant expressions. Delia would have shrieked and danced like a dervish around the mound.
He itched to open other boxes. But his houseguests would never forgive him, and the young ladies were Delia’s representatives here, in a way. He had to allow them the thrill of discovery. He’d promised. He closed the wooden box and replaced it.
After what seemed like hours, Peter heard a babble of voices. He stepped around the mound and saw all of his guests approaching. The four young ladies rushed toward him, a lantern-carrying mob in bright dresses. Miss Julia Grandison came behind them, her hand on Macklin’s arm, holding him to a more stately pace. At the back Tom trundled a wheelbarrow filled with cloth bags over the long grass. Peter moved forward to meet them.
He looked so completely himself, Ada thought. With his slightly odd shirt and worn buckskin breeches, unaware of the streaks of dirt on his coat sleeves. She felt a wave of tender amusement. This discovery would change his life, but she hoped he would never alter. She loved him just as he was.
“You didn’t tell us there was an ancient family tomb,” Charlotte said to him accusingly when they came near.
“I’d forgotten about it,” he replied. “Everyone had forgotten about it.”
“Just as Delia said,” noted Miss Moran.
“Until Miss Ada said remains in a way that made me recall.”
His gaze warmed Ada to the core. “Delia had only just remembered it, too,” she said. “How I wish she was here to see this.”
There was a brief silence. Delia’s death would always be tragic, Ada thought. That could not be mended. But this discovery vindicated her long researches. She would be overjoyed to see her reasoning proved out. Surely she would rest in peace.
“Can we see?” asked Sarah then.
They had to take turns in the mound, which could only hold a few people at a time. There were gasps and exclamations. The golden chalice was handed around and admired, as was a glorious emerald necklace. “There was a receipt for that on the wall,” said Harriet.
“I thought those matched,” replied Compton.
“Now you are convinced!” said Charlotte.
The duke gave her an ironic bow. And then they settled down to work.
Peter and Tom levered off the coffin lids. Ada and her friends formed a human chain to ferry out the contents to the spot where Macklin was sorting them. The earl had been unanimously judged the one best able to gauge the value of each item, and he was obviously enjoying the process. His smiles were brilliant as new finds were placed before him. Aunt Julia, who had thought to bring paper and pencil, compiled a list at his dictation. She seemed bemused by these developments.
They found silver and gold plate; bags of old coins, mostly gold; various precious objects like the chalice; and a duchess’s ransom in jewelry—rings, brooches, more necklaces, earrings, tiaras and a coronet with a missing piece. “That ruby we found came from here,” Charlotte said, pointing out an empty spot in the design. The others bent forward to look.
A shout from within the mound brought them upright. Ada ran to the door. “Is something wrong?”
Compton and Tom stood just inside. “Two coffins at the back have all the skeletons crammed inside,” said the duke. “When we opened them—”
“There was a heap of skulls grinning up at us,” said Tom. “Gave me quite a start.”
“As you say,” agreed Compton.
Ada peered around them. Did she want to see? She wasn’t sure. Perhaps not.
“We’ve emptied all the others,” the duke added. He was dirt-streaked and sheened with sweat despite the crisp autumn air. He also looked wildly elated. “That’s it.” He looked over at Macklin and the piles of booty surrounding him.
“You do indeed have a fortune here,” said the earl. “I can certainly say that much. You will have to consult experts for exact values, and about converting any objects to cash. Should you decide to.”
“I can improve my acres,” said Compton, as if he could scarcely believe it. “And the house. Pay off the mortgages. And—” He turned to Ada.
Speculative looks passed around the group. Ada saw them, and she willed her friends not to speak. She wanted, deserved, a private talk with him first.
“We should have brought champagne,” said Sarah. “This calls for a toast.”
“We can have as many as we please at dinner,” replied Harriet.
The group gathered around the glittering array on the grass.
“How did they get it here?” asked Sarah.
“Bit by bit, I expect,” Compton replied.
“There’s a hidden path from the garden,” Ada said. “If they came at night—”
“That would have been eerie,” said Sarah, looking around the overgrown churchyard.
Ada thought of this place in darkness, of moving the dead from their resting places. She nodded.
“They used a handcart or a wheelbarrow, I wager,” said Tom, indicating the one he’d brought along.
�
�I think perhaps we should take it back the same way,” said Macklin.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“This will cause a sensation when it becomes known,” the earl continued. “And possibly a wave of treasure hunters rushing in to dig up the churchyard.”
“But we’ve found it all,” replied Compton.
“We know that. But rumors will run wild, believe me. Who knows what stories people may tell? We need to get all this into safekeeping before they begin.”
“There’s a strong room off Alberdene’s records chamber, with a good lock,” said the duke. He looked over their haul. “Probably much of this came out of it in the first place.”
“I suggest we take all of this there by your hidden path,” said Macklin. “And keep the discovery private for a time.”
“I can get the wheelbarrow down it if I push hard,” said Tom. “I could take a good load. The plate and all.”
“We can each carry a bag,” said Ada.
Everyone nodded, even Miss Julia Grandison. They all looked pleased for him, Peter realized. He was moved almost to tears. But he smiled first at Ada. He could smile all he wanted now. He could have new tenant cottages and carriage horses and vehicles for them to pull. He could support a family as they deserved. He felt his eyes burn with longing. Ada flushed and looked down. He did the same and turned to organizing the relocation of his astonishing fortune.
Fourteen
Peter had expected that he and Ada would meet for a private talk at breakfast the next morning, as they had on other days of her visit. There had certainly been no opportunity to speak to her the previous evening. Moving the items had taken quite a time, and then everyone had wanted to exclaim about the amazing discovery. People couldn’t stop talking—reviewing each individual item, comparing them with those noted in his family’s researches. The marveling and speculation had raced on through dinner and afterward. Miss Deeping had dropped a number of sniping comments into the conversation. She clearly did not forgive him for solving the mystery himself.
Peter had abandoned hope of talking to Ada then. But he had made careful preparations for a morning encounter. There was no sign of Miss Ada in the breakfast room when he arrived, however. He found Macklin at the table, genial and welcoming but not what he wanted. And when Ada’s friends appeared for the meal they professed ignorance of her whereabouts. His inquiries were met with arch smiles but no information.
