by Gill Jepson
“It’s all beginning to tie in to what we know… brother of Lindisfarne, that’s Cuthbert, John Stell… the scribe with the swan from the museum,” said Rebecca excitedly.
“Go on then, turn over… what’s next?” urged Danny.
The next page showed a very primitive map, showing drawings of the abbey, Piel, Aldingham and all the familiar places.
They found a list of strange names and dates, beginning with John Stell himself. The others numbered monks, abbots and some ordinary looking names too. Alongside names like Willelmus de Dalton and Johannes Tourner was something vaguely familiar.
“Look! It says Robert the Mason of Park Grange!” Rebecca danced up and down excitedly, “Then, you’ve got Laurentius, Thomas Chambre, Brother Clement and look – again Johannes Mason of Crivelton, Thomas Snell, and Master Matthew Masoun of the Cloister School of the Abbaye de Fournes.”
“Do you reckon Mr Mason is the same family as these Masons?” exclaimed George.
“Well, he did say there’s always been Masons around the abbey, didn’t he, Danny?” reminded Megan.
“So, his family has always been around to help… so why did George need to help? And why us?” said Danny.
“I think I get it… Mr Mason is in my time and in this time too. But that can’t be right, can it? He can’t be that old, can he? So how is he in two different places?” George pondered.
“Well, perhaps he’s not the same person! Perhaps the one in your time is his dad or something!”
“No! I know Mr Mason. He’s married, but he never had any kids so far as I know!” revealed George.
“Well, what then?”
“Does it mean that there was always a Mason, until… there wasn’t… till Mr Mason had no kids to pass on the quest?”
“That’s just what I mean! I think he needed someone to pass it on to and I was just handy… at least, the monk must have helped to choose me! But then I messed it up by getting sick and everything!”
“AND they had to find someone to replace you, too! It was probably going to be passed onto you and your family!”
They all agreed it sounded quite logical. However, it still did not solve the quest.
They continued to look at the book. There were a few significant details about past events. At these times the treasure was more at risk. The final page showed a detailed map of the abbey grounds. It was covered in tiny written notes, but some were too hard to read at all, and many places on the map the children had never heard of, not even George.
This was going to take some time to unravel and they did not know how much time they really had. George suggested they made a copy of the map and asked for a pencil and paper. They all laughed.
“It would take you ages to copy that,” said Danny.
“I’m a good artist. I can do it.”
“I daresay you could… but we have a better way. Come on, I’ll show you!” said Danny.
George followed him into the house. When they came back ten minutes later, George was stunned. He held in his hand copies of every page.
“That machine is magic, pure magic! It’s amazing!”
Danny had scanned it and printed it on the computer.
The children decided to hide the book and use the copies. They knew that these too must be guarded carefully.
It was nearly five o’clock and the children were going to get ready for their tea. It was tempting to ask George to stay too, but he said himself it could be risky. Who knew what questions he would be asked by inquisitive parents? So, reluctantly, they decided to walk him back to the field. As they walked along the pavement towards the end of the street, the worst thing happened. Rebecca’s mum called from the front door.
“Rebecca! Tea will be ready soon, don’t go away.”
She continued to stare at them as they walked along, craning her neck to get a better look at George. At one point Rebecca thought she was about to say something and stop them.
They quickened their pace. She watched them closely all the way along the street, peering at the newcomer as they went.
“I’m gonna get all kinds of questions now. She’ll want to know who George is, where he lives, where we met him and all that stuff!”
“Just say she’s seen me before! Make out I’ve been here before… I bet you’ll be able to convince her.”
They reached the old railway bridge and George turned and told them to go back. They tried to argue, but he said he would be fine. He ran down the lane towards the abbey. He turned and waved, disappearing from view.
CHAPTER 17
PROBLEM SOLVED
The map was hard to decipher and match places to the ones they recognised. Days melted into weeks and George had not returned, despite them trying to find him on numerous occasions. Within a short time, they were involved in the new school term and daily tasks which took up their spare time. The nights were drawing in, so their activities were curtailed in the evenings, leaving only weekends to solve the mystery. Each one studied their copy of the map, but to little avail.
The map was proving extremely difficult. The writing was tiny and hard to read and many of the places were totally unidentifiable. It was a problem. One damp, dismal Saturday they met up at Rebecca’s to see if they could push things on further. They studied the book as they had done many times before, but were as frustrated as ever.
The abbey was obvious and the river, they could see the abbey precinct wall, and tried to place where the roads were. The land around the abbey was rural and there were plenty of wooded areas.
They could just make out where the main road would be. Abbey Road was the impressive Victorian main road into Barrow. It was wide, straight as any Roman road and lined with trees. It was of course, not there when the map was drawn. The only identifiable road was the winding lane from the east gate of the abbey. It threaded its way across the new road and split into two, following a route towards the coast and in the other direction towards Dalton. Dalton was an important town when the abbey was at its prime. The abbots built a small castle in front of the market square. At the Dissolution the abbot was given the living of the vicar of Dalton and the church became his responsibility.
They examined the little picture of the church and Danny followed the tiny path past it, running along the steep hill, down the valley. There were a couple of buildings marked, an inn and a large common area, called Goose Green. A tiny paddock was marked as the pinfold, the path ran past this and into a wooded area, roughly parallel to the main road in the present day. Suddenly, Rebecca called out; “Look!” she cried excitedly, “It says Cuffbert’s way! The two “ff’s” stand for “th”, I’m sure. That’s what they used to do in the olden days…”
“Yeah! D’you think it’s a sign? It’s that funny writing. What else can you see?” asked Danny.
They fell quiet, as they looked carefully, trying to tease out the details from the faded manuscript. The path ran straight along the boundary of the road and fell below where the railway embankment cut through the fields to the back of the abbey. They examined the features along the path, around the church and at the abbey. Adjacent to the church was a plan drawing of the small pele tower, known as Dalton Castle.
The tower still existed, though few people realised that you could visit it. The children looked carefully at the picture.
“I’ve been there, it’s amazing. You can see for miles from the top and there are old helmets and stuff. The man let us try them on,” said Danny.
They looked at each other; they had all noticed there were little drawings of statues on the roof. Beside one was a small inscription. It said, simply, “Oswald”, the next was “Our Lady”, then “George” and last of all, “Cuthbert”.
“I think we know what we need to do next…” began Danny.
On Sunday, they set off on their bikes through the lanes. As they reached Bow Bridge, they began to talk about George. They continued up the lane towards Dalton. When they reached the brow of the steep hill, they noticed som
ething else. Along the rim of the hill, where the old abbey wall ran, they caught sight of another figure. It was the monk. They were pleased to see him again, he held little fear for them now, and in fact it was a comfort knowing he was looking out for them. The children locked up their bikes and went to the front of the castle, which faced the church, across a small courtyard.
On the wooden door was pinned a notice.
To visit this monument, please contact Mrs. M. Rogers, 9 The Square, Dalton, between 10a.m. and 4.30p.m. Thursday, Friday, Saturday and on Sunday between 1p.m. and 4.30p.m.
They walked around the small square, examining each door. Eventually, Rebecca shouted the others over to the little white cottage, with number 9 on the gate. The cottage was as pretty as a picture postcard. The paintwork was pale blue and the last of the late summer roses adorned the porch and wall around the squat door. The iron gate squeaked musically as they went through and walked up the shrub lined, tiled path. Danny pointed in excitement to the little metal plaque on the wall. It held a date, 1625, but more interestingly, it sported a little engraving of that familiar icon, a swan.
The door creaked open. A small, neatly packaged lady held open the door and smiled. Her hazel eyes shone like ripe chestnuts, her smile lighting up her whole face.
“Hello dear. How can I help you?”
“Well, we’d like to see in the castle if that’s alright, please?” replied Rebecca politely.
“Of course, I’ll get the key… is it just the four of you?”
“Er… three actually,” answered Rebecca.
“Can’t you count Rebecca? It’s four with me, you dope!” said a familiar voice from behind them.
The children turned round. There by the gate, was George. He stood, hands in pockets, grinning from ear to ear.
Mrs Rogers disappeared into the cottage, reappearing again with a huge bunch of keys, like a jailer. She scuttled past them and led the way back to the castle. They reached the castle and she fiddled with the keys momentarily, finally pushing a huge ornate key into the door. The key turned, unlocking the door with a click. The heavy door swung open easily and they followed her into the entrance.
“Are you sensible children?” she asked.
They nodded vigorously.
“Well, this is as far as I go, my old legs don’t like all those steps. Mr Rogers isn’t here at this time or he would give you a tour. Take as long as you like, but be careful, especially on the top floor. All the information you need is on the cards next to the exhibits. I’m sure you’ll be fine… bring me the key when you’re done. You know what to do… don’t you George?”
She didn’t give them time to answer, but disappeared as quickly as she had at the cottage. The children were left gaping at her little figure as it scurried back to her cottage.
“So she knows you George? How does that work?” asked Megan.
“Well, I’ve been here before… I tried to find out things and I got chatting to her. Gave me tea once…”
“Does she know about you?”
“S’pose so.”
Danny interrupted, “I don’t believe this… she’s trusted us with a whole castle!”
“Well! Let’s get on with it then!”
The first floor was a museum, with old fashioned glass cases and all manner of strange items standing to attention around the edge of the room. They examined the contents of each and read each card to try and find further clues. They continued up the stairs to the top floor. Again each item was examined. Danny seized a Roundhead’s helmet from the shelf and placed it on his head. Their laughter pealed around the tower, masking the distant echo of footsteps down the well of the staircase. By the time they heard, it was too late. The only way out was down the spiral stairs and that would bring them to the person coming up.
George instinctively hid any evidence of the book. They waited nervously, breathing quickly for the intruder to emerge. Megan gasped with horror when saw who it was and hid behind Danny.
Mr Steele smiled at the children, his thin lips pulled tightly across his rodent teeth. The effect was very discomforting and made them shudder. They packed tighter into their little huddle.
“So, we meet again,” he sneered. “I did warn you not to meddle in my concerns.”
“But we aren’t doing anything… we don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Danny, bravely.
“Oh, I think you do. You know exactly what I’m talking about. You may not know what you’re looking for, but you’re trying to find what belongs to me. It would be in your best interests to tell me what you know and leave the searching to me.”
He stared hypnotically, invading their innermost thoughts. Rebecca moved towards the staircase, but Steele blocked the way.
“What do you know? What have you taken from me?” he demanded nastily.
“Nowt! We haven’t taken ‘owt from thee!” shouted George, pushing himself forward in front of the others.
“YOU! I might have known you would be involved. You crossed me before, boy, and I don’t forget when I’m crossed. You will cooperate or you will be sorry!” he snarled. He reached towards Rebecca’s bag, where the book was.
A scuffle broke out and Mr Steele grabbed the bag, pulling it off her shoulder. George jumped in front of him with a roar, to protect Rebecca. Mr Steele stumbled backwards in surprise as George launched himself at him. The others scrambled towards the stairs and raced down the spiral staircase as fast as they could go. They heard George yell behind them, “Go, get out! Run!”
They ran as though Lucifer himself was after them, headlong into a welcome figure.
“Oh Mr Mason, thank God it’s you!” shrieked Megan.
“Steele’s up there… ”yelled Danny, drowning out the others.
Unexpectedly, George flew out of the castle door behind them, almost knocking them down like skittles. Following swiftly behind was Mr Steele. Mason stiffened, increasing in height. He physically blocked the path to the children.
“Mason! What do you think you are doing?” the man snarled, “You can’t stop me! You can’t be there to protect them all the time!”
“I think Mr Steele, you’ll find I can… and I will!”
“You know the prize should be mine! Through the ages it should have been mine to take… John Stell was the guardian and it should fall to his kin to carry on!” he shrieked.
“You gave up that privilege! You and your miserable ancestors! You betrayed the memory of your honoured relative by your greed and avarice. That is why these children will protect the treasure in your stead. My forefather was entrusted long ago as custodian and I will continue until the treasure is safe. Your power is weak, ours is strong because it comes from what is right and just.”
Mr Steele looked as though he would explode and his face was white with fury. Two vivid red spots appeared on his cheeks. His eyes hardened, glittering.
“You can’t stop the inevitable! You’re a fool, your fate is knitted up with mine and you cannot change it. You are trapped inside time just as much as I!”
He turned quickly and strode off down the hill, his coat flying behind him like black wings.
Mason turned, “Go to Mrs Roger’s and wait!” he turned to lock the castle door with the big iron key. The children ran off towards the little cottage. She was waiting at the door and ushered them in briskly.
A short passage led to a cosy room lit by a tiny mullioned window. The room was old fashioned. Instead of a fire or central heating there was a black leaded kitchen range, a huge kettle was suspended above a crackling fire, steaming and whistling as it boiled. In the centre of the room was a table covered with a heavy cloth. It was laden with plates of delicious looking cakes and scones, a huge slab of butter and a crystal dish of homemade jam lay waiting to be spread on the freshly baked scones and teacakes. There were currant squares, sticky, black gingerbread, fruit cake, iced cakes and butterfly cakes. China teacups lay in readiness, with a jug of fresh milk and a matching teapot, with its lid beside it,
waiting to be filled with boiling water. It looked like an afternoon tea Rebecca had once had in a posh hotel, inviting and delicious.
“Well, dears, sit down and tuck in, do you all want tea?” she asked, as if everything was as normal.
The children were too surprised to argue and sat around the table. Mrs Rogers handed them plates and gestured them to eat. As they took scones and cakes from the plates, she poured steaming hot cups of tea.
“I hope you like my good china cups. I always think tea tastes better from bone china.”
The children were bemused. One moment they were in danger and the next they were sitting having afternoon tea with a homely old lady, who could be anybody’s Granny.
The bewilderment continued until Mr Mason arrived. He stooped as he came in through the low door, overpowering the little room with his large frame.
“Sit you down then our Robert, you look as if you could do with a cup of tea, dear.”
He looked kindly at his elderly sister and took the cup and saucer she offered him.
“Very welcome Peggy, thank you. That was a very close shave. Steele is very determined and will not rest until he gets what he wants.”
“Maybe not, but you will discover it soon, I am sure.”
“But we don’t even know what it is that he wants!” answered Rebecca.
“Can’t you tell us?” asked Danny.
“I know little more than you. I don’t know what it is or where it’s hidden… but I know if it falls into the wrong hands that time itself will spin out of control and he will use it for ill.”
Danny and the others frowned, confused.
“You’re closer than you think my dear,” Mrs Rogers said, looking at him steadily with her clear blue eyes.
She knew too!
Mason smiled as if he had read his thoughts.
“Yes, Peggy is one of us. She is my sister; she is a guardian, too.”
They continued their unexpected tea party, thoughtfully and in quiet peacefulness. When they had finished their tea they helped to clear the table. Once cleared, the table was stripped of its cloth and Mason rolled a large parchment out in front of them. He revealed an old map, very similar to the one in their little book.
