by Morgana Best
Now to Paul Whitehead. He had received an important letter, the arrival of which had prompted him to burn all his records and then kill himself. It was easy to find his date of death, December 30, 1774. I googled 1774 to see what was significant about that year. The second entry mentioned the Boston Tea Party, so I googled that. The Wiki entry said that the Boston Tea Party was a direct action by colonists in Boston, which was in Massachusetts, then a British colony, against the British government and the East India Company. The East India Company controlled all the tea coming into the colonies. On December 16, 1773, after officials refused to return three shiploads of taxed tea to Britain, some colonists threw the tea into Boston Harbor.
Okay, I pretty much knew all that, just not the date. A web page said that England did not receive news of the Boston Tea Party until January 1774 due to the time taken by transport in those days, but that the news was not officially announced until March 1774. I couldn't find the date in January, so looked up voyage times from America to Britain in the eighteenth century. This was a difficult search. I finally found one source that said the voyage in the nineteenth century would have taken twenty five to twenty eight days.
Horrors, at that point I realized I had eaten all the cookies. Research makes me hungry. The cupboards revealed a packet of cookies called "chocolate digestives." In Australia, a digestive was something someone would take for an upset stomach. Oh well, the illustration on the packet looked good, so I opened the packet and took out only four biscuits this time, in an attempt at self control.
Back at the laptop and refueled by tea and chocolate digestives, I immediately came across a useful article written by a professor of history. The article mentioned Benjamin Franklin, and said that in those times, voyages across the Atlantic took six to eight weeks.
Whitehead took delivery of the letter on December 23, 1774. If the letter was sent from America, it may have referred to events that happened in November 1771, possibly even in late October 1774. On the other hand, the letter may have been sent from within England.
I sat at the computer for two hours but couldn't find anything to tip me off as to what had upset Whitehead so. Sir Francis Dashwood was championing the case of American independence, and I did find one site that said American revolutionaries were debating whether to break with Britain in November 1774. Of course, I also figured that Paul Whitehead did what he did to prevent something from happening. If he did prevent it, then I'd never be able to find out what it was. It seemed like researching this any further would be pointless.
I got up, stretched my legs and looked out the window for a car. Aunt Beth's lawyer was overdue by five minutes. He had called the day before to make a time with me so he could drop off a package that Aunt Beth had bequeathed to me in her will. I hoped it had something to do with money, and a lot of it.
By the time I got back downstairs, I could see a figure behind the frosted glass of the front door, and made it there just as the doorbell was ringing.
I showed the elderly man into the living room. He looked more like an undertaker than a lawyer.
"Mrs. Sales," he began in a clipped Oxbridge accent.
"Ms.," I interrupted. "I'm not married, and if I were married, I would still be 'Ms.'"
He looked at me like I was an insane and overtly feminist member of the colonies. "Ms. Sales," he said, with emphasis on the 'Ms.', "as I informed you on the phone, I cannot divulge any details of Mrs. Banks' will at this time, but these two packages are for you. The terms of Mrs. Banks' will stipulated that our firm was to hand deliver these packages to you."
He handed me the first one, which was a large, yellow envelope.
"Open it now."
I did as I was told, and pulled out the veterinary records of Diva the cat. There was also one thousand dollars, err, pounds.
"You know own the cat," he said, and one side of his mouth rose in small sneer. "And that money is to fly the cat back to Australia."
My first thought was to wonder how much a flight for a cat would be, and how much the quarantine would cost. I didn’t know if a thousand pounds would cover it. I shrugged. At least it was better than nothing and was at the least, a sizeable contribution. I’d grown attached to the cat and her weird ways.
The lawyer interrupted my thoughts. "I am also asked to have your agreement that you will open the other package in private. The additional terms are that you will agree to keep the jewelry on your person at all times, to keep it out of sight, and you yourself are to agree to bequeath it as an heirloom. It is never to pass out of your ownership. You are not to mention to anyone that you have it. Do you understand and agree?"
"Yes." I reached out for the package, my hopes of bars of gold and stacks of hundred pound notes cruelly dashed.
The lawyer moved the package out of my grasp. "You need to sign these documents first. Sign in all the places so marked, and I will need to see your passport."
I handed over my passport which I had out ready for him, and signed next to the crosses. "What about the house?"
The lawyer glared at me. After what seemed an age, he said, "Your aunt did not own the house."
"She didn’t? Was she renting?"
The lawyer shook his head. "I am not at liberty to divulge that information." His lips pursed into thin sneer again.
The lawyer rose and made for the door, but Diva shot between his legs and he fell heavily. I hurried over to help him up, but he waved me away, and dusted himself down.
No sooner than the lawyer was out the door, than I raced up the stairs two at a time, and leaped onto my bed. My hands were shaking as I opened the package.
I spread out the contents over the bed. A piece of silver jewelry, a silver fob chain. Antique silver to be precise, and it was clear it had another piece added in later to extend the length. My parents had been jewelers and also were collectors of antique jewelry so I was up on antique jewelry, not that I had much of it. I found the hallmark readily enough and recognized the piece immediately as made in London. There was no sovereign head, which meant the chain was made either before 1784 or after 1890. I didn't have a hope of recognizing the year mark or the maker's mark without a book or the net; I'm good with antique silver but I'm not that good. There was also an ornate citrine seal, but it was the keys hanging next to the seal that caught my attention.
These were not the usual watch keys, for they were both larger, far more solid and looked like medieval casket door keys. Each stood out like a sore thumb against the fine silver. Engraved on one key was the symbol XXII. I turned the other key over but found no mark.
Diva jumped up on the bed and sat on my lap, so I gently tried to dislodge her without being scratched. I got up and crossed over to the little desk in the corner of my bedroom for my notes on the poems.
Take twenty steps and rest awhile
Then take a pick and find the stile
Where once I did my love beguile
T’was twenty-two in Dashwood’s time
Perhaps to hide this cell divine
Where lay my love in peace sublime.
At first I had thought it meant that there are twenty steps to the passage but twenty two steps in Dashwood's time; now I realized that the two figures were not related. The XXII on the wall is after the Circle cave, which is directly after the Tool Store where the picks were said to be stored. Churchill's poem said the cave was under the Temple. The caves were under the Temple, but anything under the Caves would also be under the Temple. Churchill's poem said there was one passage which could be found only with a clue.
Charles Churchill's poem also mentioned a maze and tools. I hadn't noticed the mention of tools before as I had taken the reference metaphorically.
Under the Temple lay a cave:
Made by some guilty, coward slave,
Whose actions fear’d rebuke,
A maze of intricate and winding ways,
Not to be found without a clue;
One passage only, known to a few,
In
paths direct led to a cell,
Where Fraud in secret lov’d to dwell,
With all her tools and slaves about her,
Nor feared lest honesty should route her.
If tools were meant literally, then this was a mention of tools in both poems. Both poems also mention a cell. Okay, what did I know about picks? Not much. I pushed a stack of papers out of the way and picked up the booklet, "West Wycombe Caves," by Sir Francis Dashwood, the modern Sir Francis of course. This was illuminating. The first page was headed "Tool Store" and said that picks were used for hacking at the chalk, which is hard and comes away in flakes. I had always thought that picks were for digging. The book mentioned crowbars, hammers, and shovels.
I addressed the cat. "Diva, this must mean that I have to take a pick and hack away at a flake of chalk, presumably a piece of flake in front of a locked door."
Diva simply purred loudly and kneaded my lap, her claws not retracted.
I was getting closer to solving the problem, but I still had no clue where to look.
Consulting the map again, I saw that tools were kept in two places, the Tool Store (duh!) and the Miners' cave. The second poem mentioned "slaves" which may be a reference to miners. However, the key had XXII on it. I pulled out Churchill's whole poem and read it through, but still no clue. I wasn't getting anywhere.
It was then that the thought suddenly struck me. The seal would have to be a clue too. It could hardy be a decorative item. I turned it over in my hand. It looked antique but was a modern reproduction, and was not hallmarked. I poked and pressed it, and found I was able to open it. Inside was something that looked like a remote car door opening device.
Okay, I had to get to the Caves, but I had to go alone, and that meant public transport. I googled and found that Carousel Buses go every hour, thank goodness.
“If animals could speak, the dog would be a blundering outspoken fellow; but the cat would have the rare grace of never saying a word too much.”
(Mark Twain)
Chapter 15.
It was afternoon by the time I arrived at the caves, but I had plenty of time as the caves did not close until at 5.30 p.m.
Luckily for me no one else appeared to be around. I guessed the drizzling rain and gloomy skies had put off the tourists. After paying the entry fee, I walked into the Entrance passage and pressed the button inside the seal, aiming it all around. Nothing. I walked down to the Tool Store and aimed the device in all directions, again to no avail.
I was about to turn left and continue down the tunnel when I noticed a door which appeared to have been blocked up. Just to the left of that was a wall of chalk covered by weird carvings. I hadn't noticed these before. They looked like strange symbols, perhaps alchemic or occult symbols. The figure W appeared a few times, and so did what looked like bottle shapes.
I was about to walk on after my manic button pressing didn't open any doors, when I noticed the hole in the floor. It was at the bottom left of the odd symbols. I crouched down and aimed the button into the hole, pressing several times. Still nothing. Damn, I thought I was onto something there.
It was obvious that I couldn't walk around the whole caves aiming the button in all directions, and my thumb was already getting sore. The only obvious place to try was the XX11 symbol on the wall between the Round Cave and Franklin's Cave. I'd aim the button at that. If that didn't work, I would continue around the whole caves area aiming the button at random, and then come back tomorrow and do so more thoroughly.
Actually, I wasn't really expecting anything when I aimed the button at the XX11 symbol, but to my astonishment, there was a strange sound and the whole panel of wall lifted up, just like on Maxwell Smart before he gets to the phone booth.
The wall opened to reveal an old wooden door with a prominent keyhole. I was so surprised that I fumbled with the key but to my dismay, the lock wouldn't turn. It took me a few seconds to realize I had the wrong key. I had a little trouble with the key marked XX11, but not too much.
As I walked through the door, the wooden door slammed shut behind me. Everything was at once pitch black. Fighting back terror, I fumbled in my bag for my flashlight, hoping the batteries weren't suddenly flat.
My hand had just closed over my flashlight when abruptly, behind me, the whisper came in my ear again, "The page, the page." Hot breath brushed my ear. I was frozen in terror. I held my breath.
The whisper came again, this time more loudly. The page, the page.
I debated turning on the flashlight but I didn't want to see the apparition, or worse still, actual human. I still hadn't decided what to do when for some reason I turned on the flashlight and swung around. To my immense relief, there was no one there.
I swung the flashlight back around away from the direction of the door and could see no one, although it didn't afford much light.
At that instant, the air almost crackled with electricity. A potent sense of presence now shared the space with me. I wanted to run away, screaming, but steeled myself to stand still and look around the room.
There was a tunnel in front of me, and piles of chalk on the floor. The cave I was in was small. In front of me was a small wooden table next to a huge chest. I was terrified, but wanted to try the key in that chest before beating a hasty retreat. I was scared that I wouldn't be able to get back out and no one knew I was here. I was on the very edge of panic but tried to force my mind to concentrate on the chest.
This time the key opened the chest on the first attempt. No doubt having the correct key helped. At the bottom of the chest was a small case. I reached in and carefully picked it up.
The case opened easily, and inside was the sort after page. I caught my breath.
As soon as I touched it, an unearthly scream pierced the air. The air went thick and I had trouble breathing. Panic set in so I swung around and aimed the button at the door. It opened partly, and then shut. I pressed the button a few times then held my finger on it.
To my immense relief, the door opened and I ran out into the Caves tunnel. I put the page back in the case, shoved the case and flashlight in my bag, and hurried down the tunnel.
The presence came up behind me, and instead of whispering, snatched at my clothes. I broke into a run. Ghostly fingers brushed my face. They were like ice.
I sprinted faster, charging though the Circle, past the Tool Store, and out into the merciful open air, then kept running down the hill to the bus stop at West Wycombe. All the while cold breaths wafted across my cheek, but this time the presence did not speak. I was cold inside and out. A chill had passed over and through me.
I burst inside the door at Aunt Beth's and hurried around turning on all the lights in the house. The presence had left when I was on the bus, but I had felt more than uneasy on the walk home. I only started warming up after a long, hot shower.
I had taken the flashlight into the bathroom with me, and throughout my shower had kept looking at it so I would know exactly where it was if the lights went out.
I put the chain back on and then carefully threw clothes over the top. I sure wasn't going to wear this heavy chain at all times. When I got back to Australia I would put it in a bank vault, but here in England I did not dare take it off.
“I believe cats to be spirits come to earth. A cat, I am sure, could walk on a cloud without coming through.”
(Jules Verne)
Chapter 16.
I was relieved to be back in the relative safety of Aunt Beth's house, and intended to make notes that night on her murder. Surely there was something I was missing. I wasn’t as clear headed as usual; the combination of jet lag and then a full schedule since I’d arrived had left no time for thought.
I poured a generous helping of Aunt Beth's geranium bubble bath into the running bath water and swished my hand around the water for good measure. For some reason I felt somewhat guilty using Aunt Beth's stuff - she wouldn’t need it, but still…
As I lay with my eyes shut, trying to relax in the soothing water,
I had the feeling I was being watched. I opened my eyes and saw the enormous eyes of Diva peering over the rim of the bath tub at me. I was safe from her swipes, but found it hard to relax when I was under such close scrutiny, albeit from a cat, so gave up and climbed out the bath. Diva ran out of the room as soon as she saw the water dripping from me.
I dressed in jeans and a tee, thinking that I hadn't been prepared for just how hot England was at this time of year. I’d always imagined the English in perpetual winter.
I sat at my laptop and, after brushing cat hair off it, typed the heading Suspects. That was as far as I got. There were no suspects. I deleted the word, and then typed in the names of everyone I knew in England:
Douglas Brown
Jamie Smith
Cassandra - what was her last name?
Dr. Spence.
I googled all four of them, and came up with nothing at all. I tried Facebook - again. Nothing. I thought it a little strange that neither Jamie nor Douglas had Facebook, or LinkedIn for that matter. I would have to find out Cassandra's last name, not that I expected that she would have Facebook, but then again, you never know.
I wasn't getting anywhere, so I decided to get the clothes off the washing line and then have a glass of wine.
Just as I reached up for a sock, I heard a loud yowl. I looked around for Diva, but there was no sign of her. As I reached up for the sock again, to my horror, I saw Diva in one of Cassandra's lower windows. Cassandra had made no secret that she despised the cat; whatever would she do if she came home and found her in her house? And how did Diva get in there in the first place? There was a tree at the back of the house on Cassandra's side, and the upstairs window near it was open; I could only assume that Diva had made her way into the house that way.
I ran around to Cassandra's front door, but her car was not parked out the front in its parking space, so I hurried around to the back of the house where Diva was still sitting on the window sill looking quite pleased with herself. The window appeared to be jammed in a slightly open position, but not enough for Diva to squeeze out.
