‘Let’s have it.’ Bolingbrooke smiled at her and gestured to give him a cup.
She poured the coffee and put in the two spoons of sugar he took. Bolingbrooke sighed in satisfaction. ‘You know how a man likes his brew.’ He gestured at Max. ‘Black for you?’
Max nodded.
Guinevere handed him his cup. Just the smell of coffee made her slightly nauseous. She didn’t want anything right now, but she had to look chipper for the sake of the others present.
Max asked softly, ‘Better now?’
‘Better? How come?’ Bolingbrooke perked up.
‘I had a headache earlier,’ Guinevere said quickly. ‘But I took a walk, and it’s gone now.’ She shook her head ever so slightly at Max to indicate he couldn’t say any more about the accident at the pier.
Max half shrugged and sat on a chair, cradling his camera in his elbow while he drank his coffee.
‘Will Wadencourt show us the hiding place of the goblet today?’ Bolingbrooke asked Max, nodding at the camera.
‘Don’t look at me. He won’t let me in on anything.’
‘Maybe he has it already,’ Bolingbrooke said. ‘I saw him out and about last night, from my window. It was already dark. He was wrapped in a big coat and carrying a torch.’
Guinevere froze. A woman – possibly Lady Serena – out and about with her binoculars, now the news Wadencourt had been out with a torch.
She looked at Bolingbrooke. ‘How did Mr Wadencourt get out of the gate after dark? Cador locks it, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, the main gate, but there’s another door. A small one that has a bolt on the inside. No one from the outside can get in when it’s bolted, but from the inside one can open it and get out. As long as no one bolts it again, while you’re away …’ Bolingbrooke fell silent and chuckled to himself.
‘So someone can get out during the night without anybody else knowing about it,’ Guinevere said slowly.
Bolingbrooke stretched before reaching for his coffee again. ‘It wasn’t a very good night for being out of doors. Lots of wind.’
Rough water too. Poor Jago. Guinevere swallowed hard.
‘Good morning.’ Wadencourt appeared in the doorway. He was freshly shaven, his damp hair combed back, his shirt pristine. Under his arm he carried the notebook he had also had with him the previous night.
Lord Bolingbrooke seemed rather shocked at seeing him crisp like that. He started up from his chair, then sank back on it.
‘Ah, coffee,’ Wadencourt said, rubbing his hands together. ‘Can I trouble you for a cup, little lady?’
Guinevere poured for him, ignoring the cutesy address that was apparently Wadencourt’s way of being friendly to her.
Max grimaced and said, ‘Are you all set to find your precious goblet?’ It sounded a bit taunting.
Wadencourt glanced at him. ‘Oh, I’ll find it. I know exactly where it is.’ He took a sip of coffee and continued, ‘I’ve reread all my notes now that I’m here, on the site, and there’s no doubt about it. The cup will be there in the exact spot where I picture it.’
Max exhaled with a scoffing sound.
Bolingbrooke sat back in his chair. ‘If you know where it is, why keep us in suspense?’
‘Fine.’ Wadencourt put his cup on the table with a clang. ‘I’ll show you right now.’ He turned to the door, waving them along.
Bolingbrooke hitched a brow at Guinevere. ‘It would be something if he really made a spectacular find here in my house when he has never managed before.’
Max had already left the room, saying something to Wadencourt about snapping his picture in the great hall to begin with.
As Bolingbrooke also walked out, Guinevere quickly picked up the newspaper he had been reading and looked at the headlines on the first few pages. On page three it said: Local lore or valuable treasure?
The short article mentioned a big gardening publication being about to lift a tip of the veil about a rare artefact supposedly hidden in the rose beds at Cornisea Castle.
Who had tipped off the newspaper? The source at the gardening magazine who had also leaked to the interested parties? Was Max right that someone was trying to create a sensation here? What for?
Guinevere lowered the newspaper into the same place where Bolingbrooke had dropped it. Nero was watching her with a pensive look as if he was trying to make out what she was looking into.
‘Things are heating up, boy,’ Guinevere said to him. ‘I just hope we won’t be facing an army of treasure hunters.’
The Great Dane snorted, then yawned as if he couldn’t care less about such an invasion.
Dolly was already in the corridor calling for her with impatient barking.
‘Coming, girl!’ Guinevere rushed out to her dog to go down and meet the others.
***
In the hallway they gathered. Wadencourt held up his leather-bound notebook as if it were a rare artefact in itself. ‘I have it all here,’ he said weightily. ‘Perhaps the wedding ceremony in which the goblet was last used took place in this very hallway where we are standing now. In the Middle Ages it was used for all major occasions. There was a fireplace there …’ He pointed. ‘The great hall it was, not some place where you quickly shrug off your coat.’
Bolingbrooke scoffed at Wadencourt’s implied criticism of changes to the castle, but Wadencourt had already pushed on. ‘Tragically they couldn’t enjoy their wedded bliss for very long. Lady Rose’s family raised an army to support the man she had been promised to. Forty archers, sources say, and a battering ram. They put up camp in what is now the harbour area. The houses that are there now weren’t there at the time.’
Bolingbrooke frowned. ‘Wouldn’t it have been too close to the castle for a campsite? Wouldn’t the castle’s archers have been able to shoot from the towers?’
Wadencourt waved a dismissive hand. ‘The lord of the keep didn’t expect a siege. He had some men here but nothing comparable to forty archers on their side. He didn’t believe they would attack him. He thought he could negotiate with them. But the only way they were leaving again was with the wedding goblet and Lady Rose. Her husband didn’t want to hand her over to them so they attacked. In the night when shooting from the towers was little use. During that siege Lady Rose must have decided to hide the goblet. There are of course lots of excellent places for such an action. The cellars would come to mind, or the tower perhaps. But they decided on something more ingenious. The gardens –’
‘I can’t say,’ Bolingbrooke snorted, ‘that hiding a goblet in the gardens when you’re called Lady Rose is very ingenious.’
‘Not the gardens per se, my dear fellow.’ Wadencourt opened his notebook with a flourish. ‘Vex filled his article with complete nonsense about garden patterning at the time. That pattern would be the vital clue. But he was so wrong. The vital clue is the reference in an old source about Cornisea to a niche in the wall where a statuette of Saint Ganoc was kept, the old patron of the fishermen. This niche was supposed to be in the outside wall of the castle protected by plants.’
Guinevere shook her head. ‘I know where St Ganoc is. There’s a loose low wall that runs along the path to the B&B. It’s not part of the castle. And there isn’t a statue either but a likeness of the saint, very worn, in the back of the niche, more like a headstone.’
Wadencourt pointed at her. ‘There you have it. Ganoc is all over the island. That’s why the reference isn’t clear at first sight. But I worked out that it has to be a statuette, and hidden in a niche in the outside wall of the castle. Lady Rose choosing a spot outside of the castle was brilliance on her part, considering the besiegers were certain Lady Rose hid it inside the castle, under a flagstone or in a secret hiding place behind a double wall. But they were overcomplicating matters. Lady Rose chose a place in the open so to speak, a small alcove, perhaps just a hollow of two stones deep, with the statuette of the saint placed inside it. Lady Rose hid her goblet there. To have the saint’s prote
ction until she could retrieve it.’
‘Well, it didn’t keep her from being executed if your tale has any truth in it,’ Bolingbrooke said in a grim tone.
Wadencourt waved impatiently. ‘The thing is, can we find this niche in the castle wall? I think we can. We can because there are clues that tell us where it was.’
‘What clues?’ Bolingbrooke asked. ‘How do you know all of this?’
Wadencourt ignored him, opened his notebook, leafed, read, and nodded. ‘We have to leave the gate and go around the keep to the side of the land, taking a full grown man’s paces.’ He strode away.
Bolingbrooke hitched a brow. ‘I must be mad to take these dramatics seriously.’ He looked at Max. ‘If he believed he would find something, there’d be a herd of press here right now.’
Max shook his head. ‘I’ll take photos of the find. Then we do a press release. And Wadencourt will do interviews and all later.’ He lowered his voice so Wadencourt couldn’t overhear. ‘I think he’s afraid he won’t find anything and look the fool.’
Bolingbrooke huffed. ‘Most likely.’ But still he followed Wadencourt outside.
They all did.
Dolly walked with her head down, sniffing as if she followed a trail.
Despite her sadness over Jago, Guinevere felt a little spark of excitement that they might really find something. Had Lady Rose been here at Cornisea Castle? Had she hidden her family’s precious goblet and had she left clues as to its whereabouts? Deceiving her own family and the army who had come to take her back …
Wadencourt was measuring paces and counting under his breath. ‘And twenty. Now …’
He looked at the castle wall that was completely covered with clematis at this point. ‘I’m sure you don’t mind if I try and find my hollow behind this wilderness?’
Without waiting for the answer, he put his notebook between his knees and started to poke into the dense foliage with his hands. The whole bush swayed, and the invigorating scent of plant juices filled the air, suggesting stems were snapping or leaves crushing.
Dolly wanted to close in and explore, but Guinevere held her back.
‘Any plants you damage you pay for,’ Bolingbrooke groused.
Wadencourt huffed. ‘The goblet is worth ten thousand clematis plants. Think of the historical significance of this, man.’
‘And the boost to my career,’ Max whispered to Guinevere. He had come to stand right beside her. ‘How did you like the portrait of your dog?’
Guinevere couldn’t deny it was a good photo, but his search in the library the other night still bothered her. Maybe she should have asked him outright what he had been looking for? The story about the library being ideal for a photo shoot had sounded a little fishy. You didn’t need to climb up a ladder and rummage through books to assess its suitability for a shoot.
Max whispered, ‘I just wanted to show you that I can be good. I’m impulsive and then I do things people blame me for. But I don’t mean any harm. Honestly.’ His big brown eyes held her gaze. ‘Just give me a chance to prove myself to you.’
‘Here!’ Wadencourt called. He had inserted his arm into the clematis to the elbow. ‘I think I’ve got it. There’s definitely a hollow here and something in it made of stone. It’s cold to the touch.’
‘Like he is,’ Max whispered again.
Guinevere looked at his expression as he studied Wadencourt. Max seemed to be excited for the moment, eager to see what was about to appear. At the same time he judged and ridiculed his employer as if he didn’t believe in his abilities.
The stocky historian turned red with exertion as he tried to wriggle something free from the hollow he had detected behind the curtain of green. ‘Here it is.’ With a grunt he pulled something out.
It was a completely worn stone figure of a man, about two feet in height.
Dolly squeaked and jumped forward. Guinevere pulled her back again, sitting on her haunches and patting her to calm her down.
‘The saint!’ Wadencourt called with flair. ‘Now the figure is hollow, and the goblet is inside.’
‘That thing is old and …’ Bolingbrooke protested, but he fell silent when Wadencourt turned it over and there seemed to be a loose bit in the bottom that had been secured with a sealing substance.
The substance had hardened, and Wadencourt had to break it away with his pocketknife. He was on his knees on the earth now, not caring for his clean clothes, his expression fixed on the statuette, his hands shaking as he worked the knife.
Max circled him, taking pictures from various angles.
Bolingbrooke looked at Guinevere and made a face as if he wasn’t sure what to expect. The historian’s tension seemed to be real, not some kind of act for their sake.
‘Aha!’ Wadencourt dropped the knife and peeled the stone bottom out. ‘Now in here is the cup!’ He held the statuette upright again, and something slipped out. The foot of a silver goblet. With an engraving.
Wadencourt exclaimed, ‘This is it! The wording on the base is right. Look. Look what I’ve found now.’
‘But it’s mine,’ Bolingbrooke said quickly, his eyes on what was exposed of the silver goblet.
It slipped out further, then completely and …
Guinevere gasped. The sound seemed too loud in the sudden silence.
The goblet was all silver, with lower-lying patches where possibly precious gemstones could have been attached. But they were no longer there.
All the rubies and the diamonds that had once graced the goblet of Rose and Stars were gone.
Chapter Six
‘This cannot be,’ Wadencourt said in an agonized whisper. ‘This cannot be. I found it, I found something at last and now … No. No!’ With his fists he beat the earth in front of him.
Bolingbrooke leaned over to him. ‘Are you sure it is the goblet that …’
‘Yes, man, look: the silver, the engraving … It’s the right goblet but the stones are gone.’
‘They must have been stolen in earlier times,’ Max said. ‘Someone knew it was hidden here and he removed the stones and put back the goblet.’
‘Isn’t that odd?’ Guinevere pondered. ‘If you’ve taken out the goblet, why not take the whole thing?’
‘The gemstones might have been easier to sell off on their own, without them being attached to such a distinctive goblet,’ Max said with a shrug. ‘The engraving would give away where it came from.’
‘But if somebody had the statuette and found the goblet, wouldn’t he have run with the whole lot?’ Guinevere insisted. ‘Taking off the stones without damaging them must have taken time. Why do it here on the spot and hide the whole thing again in the same place?’
‘Maybe to fool pompous researchers who thought they made the find of their lives?’ Max whispered to Guinevere.
His flippant remark seemed inappropriate in light of the devastated historian at their feet, and again she wondered why Max disliked Wadencourt so much. It seemed more than just feeling bossed about by a stern man with a temper. It had to be personal somehow.
Wadencourt looked up. ‘I want an investigation into this,’ he said in a croak. ‘I want to know what happened here.’
‘Well, if you hadn’t said it, I would have,’ Bolingbrooke boomed. ‘After all, this is my castle wall, the statuette of my patron saint, and also the goblet of my ancestors.’
‘Not quite,’ an agitated, female voice said behind them.
They all turned to see Lady Serena standing there with a tall, well-dressed man beside her.
Guinevere blinked at him. ‘Inspector LeFevre?’
She had met him before and even sort of worked with him during the earlier murder investigation. He had proven to be a very sharp man with an eye for detail and an open mind. He had looked into possibilities Oliver and she had pointed out to him and he had even done extra speedy laboratory analysis at their request. Seeing him made her feel suddenly better about this whole mess.
The policeman nodded at her. ‘Miss Evans. Lady Serena here asked me to look into a matter of ownership. She claims …’
‘What she claims, I don’t know,’ Bolingbrooke said, ‘but I do know that the goblet there on the ground is not hers. It’s mine, and I demand to know where the precious stones that were once in it have vanished to.’
LeFevre looked at the damaged goblet. ‘That thing is worth something?’ he asked incredulously.
‘That,’ Wadencourt cried, ‘is a rare and valuable object of art. At least, it was until someone defaced it in a terrible way.’ He hid his face in his hands.
LeFevre said, ‘Yes, well, I’ll take it along and have a look at it.’ He studied the scene. ‘I’m also taking that statuette and those loose bits that came from it.’
‘What on earth for?’ Max asked. He held LeFevre’s gaze. ‘Do you think a crime was committed here?’
LeFevre shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ His eyes wandered across the clematis and what was visible of the castle wall as if he was already investigating.
How much had Lady Serena told him?
How much had she known? Judging by the newspaper article there were rumours circulating about the whereabouts of the goblet.
If it had been her on the beach last night, with the binoculars, what had she been looking for?
Max scoffed at LeFevre. ‘If you think those gemstones have been removed recently, think again. There’s rust in the places where they have been. It must have happened ages ago.’
LeFevre gave him an appreciative smile. ‘A sharp observation. But you can’t see everything with the naked eye. We have lab staff who can do an in-depth analysis.’ He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket and began to fill it.
Wadencourt scrambled to his feet, clutching his notebook. ‘I’ll go with you to the police station. I want to file charges.’
‘Against whom?’ LeFevre asked, slightly perplexed. ‘You don’t know who defaced this goblet, or do you?’
‘Bolingbrooke knew I was coming and I would look for the goblet and he defaced it. He stole my glory!’
Rubies Among the Roses Page 7
