by Sawyer North
“But we seek only a pockmarked old man. He should be able to direct us to every pockmarked old man in Coniston. How can we leave the rest to chance if we cannot locate the old man?”
“I don’t know…” The abrupt shuffling of a chair caught Adam’s attention. The elderly man had risen from the corner and was approaching. So wide were his eyes that the whites beamed in the gloom. Something in his purposeful stride kept Adam’s attention affixed. As he neared, the stranger lifted the outstretched palms of his trembling hands toward the group.
“The letters?”
Adam’s head jerked backward. “Pardon me, sir? What did you say?”
The man smiled broadly, showing yellowed teeth, and grabbed Adam’s hand in both of his. “The letters! You speak of the letters! Have you brought them?”
Without thinking, Adam slowly removed the parchment from his coat and presented it to the old man. He took it gently and unfolded it with great care, as if unwrapping a gift of the Magi. His eyes grew wider still as they swept over the words. He glanced up sharply. “What are your names?”
Although the demand for an introduction proved unsettling, Adam obliged. “Mr. Barlow. Mrs. Byrd. Miss Hancock. And I am Mr. Ashford.”
The letter crumpled in the man’s hands as he clenched them together. “Hancock! Ashford! Oh, the joy! You have come at last!”
Adam cocked his head. “You were expecting us?”
“Yes! Of course. My father served your forebearers. He wrote this very letter seven decades past. I remember well, for I was eight years old at the time. I carried it to the post with these very hands, this letter and another.”
Jane produced her letter and held it open. “This one perhaps?”
“Exactly so! And here you are! My father’s employers’…”
“Great-grandchildren,” said Jane.
“Of course. That would be about right.”
“And just who are you?” said Adam.
The old man bowed. “Thomas Chance, at your service, and waiting seventy years to complete my father’s business.”
Adam glanced at Jane to find her staring in wide-eyed wonder. She gave voice to that wonderment. “Trust unto Chance for the rest of the plan. Are you the Chance of which the letter speaks?”
“Not precisely. That was my father. Miss Hancock’s great-grandfather employed him to watch over a specific asset. However, when my father passed some thirty years ago, I accepted the mantle. On this day, then, I am the Chance you seek.”
Jane shook her head, her face the picture of amazement. “Seventy years, Mr. Chance! Why did you never approach our families?”
“I promised my father to wait for you. He said you would come when your families had settled their differences. And here you are. Have you abandoned the conflict, then?”
Jane smiled at Adam. “I believe we have, and then some.”
The old man rubbed his hands together. “Good. Very good.”
Adam, however, remained perplexed by the final lines of the letters. “Mr. Chance.”
“Please call me Thomas.”
“Very well, Thomas. You are at present an elderly fellow; no offense intended.”
“None taken. I am well aware of my ancient status.”
“However, as you were eight years old at the time, and your father was not likely very old, then who is the pockmarked old man to which the letter refers?”
Thomas laughed again, nearly doubling over before the laughter trailed away into a fit of coughing. Adam held him steady until the hacking subsided. Thomas straightened and went to retrieve his hat from the table where he had been sitting. After placing it snugly on his head, he began walking toward the tavern door. “Come, Miss Hancock and Mr. Ashford. I will introduce you to the pockmarked old man.”
Seized by curiosity, Adam mutely followed Thomas through the tavern door and into the street. The others trailed along behind him. When they had gathered around Thomas, their guide lifted an open palm toward the fell overshadowing Coniston.
“Behold, my friends, the great hill of Coniston. Or, as we locals prefer to call it, The Old Man.”
“Of course,” cried Jane. “The mines. The tailings. Those are the pockmarks of the letter.”
“Exactly so. My father was quite proud of that particular riddle.”
Adam was forced to agree. However, the final riddle remained unsolved. As he stared at The Old Man, a startling thought occurred to him. The letters did not mention gold, or treasure, or valuables of any kind. What if the puzzle was not a treasure map at all? What if the gold did not exist? What if the letters were simply a pretense to reunite the warring families? If that were true, then the contract would be void. In short, the worst-case scenario. He and Jane could be together, but only to witness each other’s mutual destruction. Wracked by conflicting emotions, he stepped toward Thomas.
“Mr. Chance, our family lore tells us that the letters lead to a treasure. Gold, to be precise. But the letters do not speak of treasure. Is there no gold after all?”
He held his breath as Thomas gathered a reply. Hope and dismay flared at the prospect of a voided contract with Mr. Rutley. His world would upend, and he might not survive the tumble.
“There is a treasure, sir.”
His surging emotions began to settle. “There is?”
“Yes. Gold guineas, to be more precise. They lie hidden on the face of The Old Man himself.”
“Sixty-four hundred guineas?”
“Every one, as my father promised to Mr. Hancock.”
Adam’s tense shoulders sagged as he turned aside from Thomas. Jane met him, her eyes hollow, and features grim with disappointment. “It is over then, Adam. The contract stands.”
He stepped away, his head hanging low with disgust and guilt over his relief. Meanwhile, Hester gathered Jane into her arms. “There, there, my love. The coin toss yet remains. You may win the gold after all.”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand, Auntie. With the contract still in effect, win or lose, Mr. Ashford is forever lost to me.”
Thomas stood by in puzzlement while Hester consoled Jane. Barlow laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “My condolences, sir.”
Adam mumbled halfhearted gratitude. He rubbed his face and briefly considered the prospect of turning back without the gold. However, Barlow seemed to guess his thoughts.
“My boy, you cannot walk away now.”
Adam lifted his head. “Go on.”
“If you abandon the hunt, I will be forced to testify to that fact. Willful breach of contract would bring legal ramifications. You cannot help Miss Hancock if you are incarcerated or under continuous financial duress from a lawsuit.”
He glanced at Jane to find her nodding slowly. His head fell again, and he sighed heavily, hoping Jane would not perceive his guilt. “Of course, you are right. We must press onward.”
“Very well, then.” Barlow pivoted to address Thomas. “Perhaps you might explain the details of the gold. Where it lies, and how it came to lie there.”
Apparently still befuddled over the morose reaction to finding a fortune, Thomas shrugged. “Certainly.” His eyes went glassy as he reached deep into his storehouse of memory. “My mother died young, leaving Father and me behind. He took me with him to Scotland where his old friend, Mr. Hancock, employed him in various roles. When Father heard the Jacobite rebels were moving on England, we packed our cart to flee. Just before we left, Mr. Hancock brought a strongbox containing sixty-four hundred guineas, ostensibly shared by the Hancocks and Ashfords. He asked my father to cross the border, hide it, and then contact him. My father signed a contract promising to do just that. Mr. Hancock gave us one hundred pounds for expenses, and we left immediately. We crossed at Carlisle only hours ahead of the advancing Jacobites, my father pushing the poor mules beyond their limits.”
He paused for a moment
, shaking his head. Barlow placed a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. “Was your home in Coniston then?”
“No. My father hailed from Cornwall, the length of England from here. It seemed, though, as if the invaders followed our trail. Father veered to the west at Penrith, and then again at Ambleside. As we entered Coniston, he began to smile again for the first time in days. ‘Perfect,’ he said. He deposited me and the box in a room at the Black Bull and left me to guard the gold for several days. A bundle of nerves I was, frightened of every strange noise. When Father returned, we hid the box on The Old Man under cover of darkness. It lies there still… as promised.”
With that, his eyebrows shot upward. “I almost forgot. The contract. I carry it with me always.”
He pulled a pouch from his coat, extracted a worn piece of paper, and offered it to Adam. Adam waved a hand. “We believe you, Mr. Chance. You have discharged your duties well. I am sure your father smiles on you even now.”
Thomas glowed at the remark. “Thank you, sir. It has been my privilege to serve your families. And now, if you don’t mind, we have plenty of daylight in which to retrieve the gold. Shall we?”
Adam wanted to disagree, if only to postpone by another day the end of his astonishing friendship with Jane. He cut his eyes toward Jane to find her looking just as miserable as he felt. However, little time remained to obtain the gold and return it to London before the deadline. An additional day was a luxury they did not possess. He reluctantly surrendered to the suggestion.
“Yes, Thomas. Let us unload our baggage at the Black Bull so our horse might carry whatever we find.”
As he led Beelzebub toward the inn, every step seemed to carry him away from Jane and into a future made suddenly bleak by her inevitable absence.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The Old Man proved a formidable obstacle to Jane’s body and spirit. Still weakened from the fever, she climbed slowly, clutching Beelzebub’s halter for support. Relieved of his burden, the horse seemed pleased to drag her up the steep and uneven slope. More difficult than the challenge to her body, though, was the assault on her very essence. The massive fell loomed before her as Olympus, and its capricious gods threatened to destroy her over the single toss of a coin. Regardless of how the coin landed, they would exact a price from which she might never recover.
“Watch there, Jane. Take care where you step.”
Adam stood some ten feet ahead, marking a particularly rocky section of ground. He held out his hand and guided her across the rugged surface. Afterward, he released his grip but continued to hover. His hollow gaze betrayed an expectation of impending disaster, mirroring hers completely. Every traverse, every step, every labored breath propelled them nearer to a dismal end for one of them. Though they traveled side by side, every moment drove them further apart. Along the way, they passed several abandoned mines, each mute testimony to another’s shattered dreams. She tore her mind from the crushing thoughts by forcing her attention to the conversation among Thomas, Barlow, and Aunt Hester.
“That old, you say?” said Aunt Hester.
“Yes, ma’am.” Thomas nodded and spoke between heavy breaths. “The oldest of the mines stretches back to Roman times, slate mostly. Copper mining came later when German miners learned how to drive deeper shafts.”
“They appear to lie abandoned now,” noted Barlow. “Have all the veins run dry?”
“Mostly, sir. The remaining copper lies deep. The cost to extract it outweighs any profit. When I was young, Macclesfield Copper Company employed half the town. However, the shafts began playing out some twenty years ago. They sold off the last of their assets two years back, leaving agriculture alone to sustain Coniston.”
“I see. Then the failed crops would not have helped.”
“No, sir.” Thomas halted to catch his breath and survey Coniston below, which appeared small and fragile from such a height. “Three failed crops in sequence have done serious harm. In fact, I fear the town will not survive. Families who have lived here for centuries find themselves in dire straits and face the risk of starving should they remain. Many of them plan to leave before winter.”
The low tenor of his voice accentuated a deep sense of loss. Jane understood. Loss seemed the abiding theme of this journey. To climb to the mountaintop only to be thrown down into the pit. She released the horse, lifted her skirt above her shoes, and stepped up to stand before the elderly man.
“You have my sympathies, Mr. Chance. If I could, I would bequeath you the gold so that you might spare the town.” She turned to Barlow. “Is such an action possible?”
The solicitor shook his head sadly. “No, I’m afraid. The contract consigns the full collection of sixty-four hundred coins to Mr. Rutley. Should you give away even one, I’ve no doubt he would work tirelessly to see you in Newgate Prison rather than debtor’s prison.”
She lowered her eyes to study the rough terrain on which she stood. The unyielding rocky surface proved an apt metaphor for her intractable circumstances.
“I am sorry, then,” she said. “It seems nothing noble can be done for any of us.”
She raised her gaze to find Thomas nodding, his eyes shining with emotion. He held her regard for a moment, commiserating, before wiping his eyes and turning away. “Come now, Miss Hancock. The goal lies only a few hundred steps distant.”
The old man began climbing again, dragging the rest of them into reluctant motion. They traversed twice more, gaining altitude with each step. Finally, Thomas halted beside yet another abandoned shaft. Jane once again released the horse’s halter to stand beside the nondescript opening. She looked at Thomas and cocked her head in question.
“The gold lies inside, ma’am.”
Adam peered into the darkness. “Whose mine is this?”
“Yours, sir. And Miss Hancock’s. My father purchased the mining rights of this entire section on behalf of your great-grandfathers. He acquired a ninety-nine-year lease for a pittance. All the slate had been taken, you see, leaving the area worthless. We hid the box inside the mine in a discreet location. For fifty years, we watched the place daily to ensure no one went poking where they weren’t allowed. After the mines began to fail, nobody cared enough to even poke.”
“The box is still there, then.” Adam’s words were a statement of fact rather than question. Thomas nodded.
“Yes. Or, at least it was last time I checked six months ago.”
Adam faced Jane, his features suddenly unreadable. He blinked twice, slowly, before addressing the others. “I wonder, would you be willing to give Miss Hancock and me a moment for private conversation?”
Barlow furrowed his brow. “Private conversation? Whatever for?”
Aunt Hester snatched Barlow’s hand and commandeered Thomas’s elbow. “Come, gentlemen. Perhaps Mr. Chance might tell us something of the surrounding countryside just over that way.”
Without waiting for agreement, she dragged the men some thirty yards away along the slope and proceeded to make an animated spectacle of inquiring about the adjacent fells. She pinned the men tightly, keeping their backs to Jane and Adam. Despite her morose state, Jane could not help but smile. Dear Aunt Hester. The smile faded abruptly when she shifted her attention to Adam. His grave expression raised a tremor that rippled through her.
“Jane.” He paused to inhale a slow, deep breath. “I do not know what we will or will not find below. If the gold does remain, I do not know how the coin will fall. For that reason, I must say something before all comes to light and every motive becomes suspect.”
The tremor magnified when he grasped her hands between his and stepped closer until their hips nearly met. He loomed over her, intense, determined, and forlorn all at once. She dared not utter a word for fear of interrupting the power of his presence. He opened his mouth to speak but halted. A moment of tortured reflection passed over his features before he drew another deep breath.
“Miss Hancock,” he said mournfully, “You have proved the worthiest of adversaries and finest of friends. And though these last days have been a glorious and unexpected gift, they have broken me, I fear. For as long as I live, none will ever measure up to your cherished memory. You have ruined me, Jane, heart and soul, regardless of what happens next.”
His pronouncement lifted her briefly before snuffing all hope. She saw his words for what they were. He was giving up. As he must. She straightened her weary spine, determined to meet surrender with surrender. “Then we are both wrecked, Mr. Ashford. For I will never be whole as long as I live, knowing that we can never again be friends. Regardless of what happens next.”
His breath hitched, and then he fell in to her as a comet from the heavens blazing a trail across starlit skies in a plunge toward the earth. She reflexively tipped up her chin, barely able to muster rational thought. His lips found hers, tender, sorrowful, desperate. She pressed herself to him as a low moan emanated from her well of broken dreams and shattered intentions. When his kiss grew firmer, she slowly capitulated to the massage of his lips with a hungry desperation born of a terrible prospect. This, their first kiss, was destined to be their last. She resisted the throes of that dismal notion by living only for the kiss, only for the moment. Nothing more.
When his lips finally slipped away to gently rest upon her forehead, she immediately mourned their absence. In the clutch of his arms and the mutual silence, she strove to embrace the passing of a brighter world for a darker reality. She flinched when he released her hands to hold her cheeks and brush away her tears with his thumbs.
“Thank you, Jane.”
She inhaled a stuttered breath and forced a smile. “No, Adam. Thank you. For everything.”
He nodded and stepped away. After a grim pause, he called to the others. “Well, then. We’ve only one way to learn if the gold is still there.”
While the others wandered back, Adam unlashed a pair of torches from the horse’s back. Thomas promptly set them alight with flint and steel. Adam handed one to the old man and faced Jane once more, his face blank.
