Dead Ground in Between

by Maureen Jennings

  Tyler had to admit, the idea of not having to go from Nuala’s soft arms and bed into the cold night was quite appealing.

  “I’ll see what Nuala has to say.”

  It turned out she was ecstatic. He agreed to come when the boys were asleep and put his presents underneath the tiny tree that Nuala had decorated.

  “I tried to do a sort of amalgam of traditions. I got a menorah for Hanukkah, and we’re calling Father Christmas Saint Nicholas, which is what he’s called in Holland. I don’t want the boys to lose contact with their Jewish heritage, but they are determined to ‘simulate,’ as Jan calls it. So we’re doing bits and pieces.”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Tyler.

  He’d hemmed and hawed about what to buy for Nuala and finally settled on a silver brooch in the shape of a Celtic knot. He’d bought the boys wooden toys that had been made by the Italian POWS. Jan’s was a beautifully finished tank, and Pim’s was a Viking boat. For both of them to share, he’d included a book on the English Civil War, which actually had a chapter describing coinage of the time. Their Elizabethan coin had been turned over to the local archaeologist, Mr. Reavill. The boys swore they’d found it on the road not far from the barn, and Tyler believed them. It seemed possible that Jasper had unearthed some sort of hoard in the field, but they had no way of knowing where that was. Tyler had shown the piece of paper he’d found in Jasper’s box to the archaeologist, but he couldn’t really help.

  “It does look like directions of some kind but it could refer to absolutely anywhere. Maybe someday we’ll have a way of better detecting these things, but for now we’ll just have to wait around until the land yields up its secrets.”

  Tyler hoped that the boys would feel compensated for the confiscation of the coin by the chocolate medallions wrapped in gold foil that he’d brought them. He’d also been able to find some oranges, one for each child and one for Nuala. Under her instruction, Tyler wrapped the toys and put them underneath the tree. He noticed as he did so that there was a rather large package with his name on it, but he kept his curiosity in check. The sweets he stuffed into two old socks to hang from the mantel.

  “I do want them to have a good Christmas,” said Nuala. She shuddered. “I can hardly bear to think what a close call they had.”

  The problem had indeed been the faulty kerosene heater. There was no doubt the boys would have died from carbon monoxide poisoning if Angelo hadn’t found them when he did. Tyler and Nuala talked about what to tell the boys if things went badly for Angelo, which they might.

  “He’s become their hero, second only to the Captain,” said Nuala.

  “Ah yes, Mr. Wickers.”

  As for Sam himself, after the drama of the boys’ rescue he seemed a different man. He came to see them every day, even delivered some comics “from the Captain.”

  To Tyler’s delight, a romance seemed to be gently developing between Agnes Mortimer, of long-established gentry, and Sam Wickers, of long-established farming stock. An unlikely match, but it reminded Tyler of himself and Clare.

  Angelo Iaquinta was in prison, the civil one in Shrewsbury this time. He had filled in his part of the sequence of events that had been triggered by Jasper Cartwright’s wandering in the night. The old man had come into the barn in the early hours of the morning. Edie had left long before. Jasper was carrying the metal case and started to mutter about hiding it, but he’d stumbled on something and the case had fallen from his grasp. At that point, Jasper turned tail and ran from the barn. Yes, Angelo had looked inside the case, he couldn’t resist the temptation. He saw the gold wedding ring. It felt like a gift from God himself, and he took it.

  Yes, he was very sorry when they found the old man’s body but he hadn’t dared say anything about their encounter. He’d hidden the case until he could sort out what to do. It hadn’t occurred to him that Jasper might be in trouble until the next afternoon, and by then it was already too late to help.

  The part following Angelo’s escape from the camp Tyler already knew. Angelo had immediately made his way back to the farm so he could see Edie. They were embracing in the barn when Ned burst in with a revolver in his hand. Ned fired at him and Edie right away. No warning. Nothing. To Angelo’s mind, Ned looked as if he had lost his mind. The first bullet grazed Angelo’s arm. Edie tried to save her lover, to shield him with her own body. Angelo pushed her aside. Ned fired again and the second bullet struck the post, knocking off a big splinter of wood, which hit Edie directly in the head. When he related this to Tyler, Angelo wept. “I ran at him and tried to get the gun. It went off into his chest. I did not intentionally hurt him, even though he caused the death of my dearest love.”

  As Ned Weaver could neither confirm nor deny Angelo’s version of events, Tyler examined the scene very carefully for as much evidence as he could find. Dr. Murnaghan confirmed that Edie had indeed been killed by a piece from the wooden pillar splintering off. Ned’s wound was also consistent with Angelo’s version of what had happened.

  “What do you think will happen?” Nuala asked Tyler. “Surely they’ll let him go.”

  “I’ll testify for him, and Captain Beattie is prepared to go to bat about his good character, but who knows? We’ll have to see how the prosecutor feels about the Italians.”

  Also working in Angelo’s favour was Tyler’s conviction that Weaver was the one who had stabbed Jasper and taken him to die in the bunker. They’d found a commando knife in his room, which Dr. Murnaghan was certain was the same one that had been used on Jasper. His gun was also army issue. The sad thing was that Ned, like Jasper, had his own stash of treasures. Dozens of toy soldiers.

  It was Wickers who’d told them more about Ned’s history.

  “He seriously hurt his training sergeant. Wasn’t even under enemy action. Apparently the sarge was a right wanker and kept riding Ned. One day, Weaver exploded and picked up a brick and slugged him. All swept under the carpet – didn’t look good for the army. But Weaver was desperate to do his bit for the war effort. Took it hard being chucked out like that. He managed to get accepted by the Auxiliaries. He was healthy enough, physically, lived in the area. But he couldn’t take that training either. Flew off the handle at the least problem. So he was set loose. Bit late, I thought. Weaver already knew the whereabouts of the hideouts.”

  Tyler had delivered the information to the Cartwrights. Once again they had gathered at the kitchen table. It was a painful session. Susan broke down and confessed that, in truth, she had heard her father-in-law leave the house shortly before dawn.

  “I was so angry with him, I thought, ‘Let him go. He’ll soon be back when he realizes what the weather is like.’ ” She halted, swallowing back her tears. John said nothing.

  “Did he come back?” Tyler asked.

  “Yes. He pounded on the door. It wasn’t locked but it stuck sometimes and he must have thought it was.”

  That accounts for the bruises on his knuckles, thought Tyler.

  “I should have got up, I know I should, but I was so tired,” continued Susan, her voice almost inaudible now. “And I knew he could get in if he wanted to.” She stopped, obviously hoping for a response from her husband. None was forthcoming. “I fell asleep again,” she went on. “Then I woke up because I heard somebody coming in. I assumed it was Jasper. My conscience was clear.”

  “But it wasn’t your father-in-law. It was your son.”

  “It must have been,” she whispered.

  “Why do you think he went out at that time of the morning?” Tyler asked.

  Her face was desolate. “I’m guessing he heard the knocking as well. Ned was always on the lookout for an opportunity to prove he was a soldier. He wanted an enemy he could defeat, a damsel he could save. He probably didn’t even realize it was Jasper. I think what he was saying in the kitchen that time was really about himself, not Angelo. Jasper in his madness went to attack him, and my son acted in self-defence.”

  They’d never know for sure, but what she said made sens
e given the nature of Jasper’s wound. Weaver had probably panicked when he realized what he’d done, and he’d taken him to the one place he thought the body wouldn’t be found. At least not for a long time. He hadn’t counted on the boys.

  The “if only”s filled the room. If only Jasper hadn’t gone out to hide his treasure in such a storm. If only Susan had got up to let him in when she heard him knocking. If only John had heard him. If only Ned had got help immediately for the old man he’d only wounded.

  Tyler felt that John Cartwright was also thinking these things. He felt sorry for the couple and the future of their marriage.

  CHRISTMAS MORNING

  IT WAS SHEER BLISS TO STAY IN BED UNTIL SEVEN o’clock, when they were awakened by the boys going downstairs. They were whispering and tiptoeing, a surefire method of waking any sleeping adults. Tyler rolled on his side and looked into Nuala’s sleep-rumpled face.

  “Shall we get up and let the lads open their presents? You can supervise while I light the stove and make the tea.”

  This was in fact quite a procedure given the lack of electricity in the cottage, but Tyler wanted to experience what Nuala experienced every day.

  Nuala kissed him heartily. “Sounds wonderful. Add some toast to that and I’ll be in heaven. You’ll find there are four eggs in the pantry. They’re for us.”

  “Get up when you’re ready. I’ll look after things.”

  He got dressed fully before heading downstairs.

  To preserve coal, Nuala had decided all activity should take place in the kitchen, and she’d stood the little tree in the corner. The boys had festooned it with paper chains. When he came in, they were standing looking at the socks hanging from the mantelpiece, each with their name sewn on them.

  “Thought I’d come and help out,” said Tyler. Not exactly lying but certainly with the intent to evade.

  “Shall I let Mrs. Keogh know you’re here?” asked Jan.

  “No, that’s all right, son, she knows.”

  At that moment, Nuala herself entered and saved him further prevarication. She was wearing her dressing gown. He’d thought of buying her a new one but truth was he liked the old plaid he’d first seen her wearing.

  “Inspector Tyler is going to have breakfast with us this morning, boys. He’s volunteered to get the stove going, then we’ll see what Saint Nicholas brought us.”

  “I heard Saint N-Nicholas arrive, last night,” said Pim in a conspiratorial tone of voice. “I think he’s got a c-cough, though. He was moaning.”

  “Right,” said Nuala, hardly able to keep from laughing. “The inspector will act as Saint Nicholas’ helper and give out the presents.” She picked up a blanket from the back of the chair and waved it at the boys. “Wrap up with this. I don’t want you to catch cold. You can squeeze up together on the armchair.”

  They obeyed with alacrity. Anything to get Christmas moving along.

  Tyler hurried with the lighting of the stove. “All right. Fire’s going. Kettle’s on the hob. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  The boys’ excitement at opening their presents was heartwarming. Nuala had found a spinning top somewhere and given it to them as a Hanukkah gift. Jan said they’d played with one just like it when they were in Holland, the dreidel, they called it. He put it aside politely, and Tyler could see the memories were painful. His presents were well received, especially the sweets. Nuala seemed to like her little brooch and had him pin it on. Whew.

  Finally the only present left was his. The boys watched curiously while he tore off the wrapping. No, not tore off. Peeled off. The paper was too precious and had to be carefully preserved. Inside was a plain box, and inside that a handsome dressing gown of blue wool.

  “Matches your eyes,” said Nuala. She lowered her voice. “You can keep it here if you like.”

  “Great idea,” Tyler whispered back.

  —

  The boiled eggs, the toast with a slather of butter spread on it, the sweets – it was a veritable feast. Tyler felt happier than he had in a long time. He hadn’t always enjoyed Christmas with his own children; there had often been such strain between him and Vera, it was hard to overcome.

  Sometime in the late morning there was a knock at the door. It was Oliver Rowell.

  “Just came to wish everybody a happy Christmas.” He waved at the boys, who were on the floor playing with their new toys. “It’s going to be a proper white one by the look of it. You’ll be able to build a snowman.”

  Nuala greeted him warmly. She knew an ally when she saw one.

  “Come in, Oliver. I’ve got a hot toddy just waiting for you.”

  “Delightful. What an admirable woman,” said Rowell in his best Scrooge voice.

  “The boys will love to show you their presents,” said Tyler. “And I think there’s something underneath the tree with your name on it.”

  In the nick of time, Tyler had remembered Rowell’s wish for fleece slippers, and, with Dorothy’s help, he’d tracked down a fancy pair.

  “Who’s minding the shop, by the way?”

  “Constable Mortimer is on till three. I gave her short hours today. She’s invited Sam Wickers to have dinner with her family.” Rowell chuckled. “The lad seemed more nervous about the prospect of meeting the Mortimers than he would be at having to face a marauding horde.” He handed Tyler an envelope. “Morning post arrived, sir. Don’t want to spoil anything but this is marked urgent, so I thought I’d better bring it over.”

  Tyler stared at the all-too-familiar handwriting. Clare’s. His stomach immediately knotted up. He could see by the franking it was much more recent than the one he’d read a couple of weeks ago. He walked away from the hearth and opened the letter. Rowell chatted with the boys.

  December 19

  Dearest Tom,

  You’ll never guess what has happened. I have been transferred to London so I am at the moment free to come and go. I can be with you! Forget everything I said in my last letter. I was in despair of our ever seeing each other again. I hope you didn’t act on what I said!

  I miss you so much, my dear Tom. If possible, I love you more than ever. I have been lucky to snag a room for us in Ludlow at the Feathers. I can be with you on Christmas Day for sure. I’ll take an early train from London. Should arrive by noon. If you get this in time, meet me at the station. If not, I shall proceed to the hotel and wait for you there.

  With much love,

  Clare

  P.S. Promise we will grow old together.

  Tyler looked up to see that Nuala was watching him.

  “It’s from her, isn’t it? Has she come back?”

  “Yes,” said Tyler. “I’ll have to go. I’m to meet her at the train station.”

  Nuala was holding the new dressing gown over her arm. She held it out to him. “Perhaps you had better take this with you.”

  Tyler caught her hand. “I’m sorry, Nuala.”

  She shrugged, although her face was pale. “I’d meet Paddy at the station too if he came back.”

  He brought her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. She allowed it for a moment, then pulled away.

  “You’ll let me know what you decide, won’t you?”

  “That goes without saying.”

  “Go on then, before I throw myself at your feet and hang on to your legs. I’ll tell the boys you’ve been called away on an important case.”

  Tyler got his coat and stepped out into the cold Christmas morning.

  —

  Up on the east field the snow fell slowly and steadily, blanketing the ground, until the raw patch of earth disappeared from view. Forty paces between the two hawthorn trees, ten paces south from the midway point, with Clee Hill to the north. Floating down the wind came the far-off jingle of a horse’s bridle. The clay pot with its precious contents nestled deeper into the earth until it too vanished.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  I called my good friend Enid one day a couple of years ago. She lives in Bitterley, a small village in Shropshir
e. We grew up together and stay in touch regularly. That day, she said she had a visitor and thought I would enjoy talking to him. On the line came Howard Murphy, a man with a strong Yorkshire accent. He is retired and loves going out with his metal detector to look for treasure, and he told me that in 2011 he had discovered something exciting in a field not too far from the village. In England, with such a depth of history, a Roman coin or a bit of Viking buckle is always being dug up in the fields. What Howard had found, however, was very unusual. It has come to be known as “the Bitterley Hoard,” and it is one of the largest caches of Civil War coins yet found. Howard described it to me: a small clay pot, or tyg, as they are called; inside the pot was a leather pouch, mostly disintegrated by now; and in the pouch were 137 coins, two gold and the rest silver. The dates ranged from the reign of Elizabeth I (1558–1603) to that of Charles I (1625–1649). Not exactly a fortune, but a goodly amount nonetheless.

  Howard asked if I would like him to show me where he’d found it. I jumped at the chance. Nobody really knew for sure where the money had come from or why it was buried in a farmer’s field far from anywhere. There were theories, of course, but basically it was a mystery. Ha! What delicious bait to dangle before me!

  I did some research: the area had been a hotbed of conflict between Cavaliers and Roundheads during the Civil War that had ripped up the country between 1642 and Charles’ execution in 1649. Then, a few months later, I went to England and met up with Howard, who showed me where the treasure had been buried. As I stood in that grassy field on a bright summer’s day, I communed with the long-dead man who had buried the coins, probably in haste, and not been able to return to claim them. I had some answers.

  For the purposes of my story I have fictionalized the treasure ever so slightly: Jasper Cartwright removes one gold coin and two silver coins, reburying the 137 that were discovered nearly seventy years later. That’s all.