“Listen to me, Shaw,” he reasoned. “Whitehall is mad. First off, he murdered your man. I didn’t lay a finger on him.”
“And, of course, you did your best to stop him, right?”
“I just said he’s mad, as in insane,” Wellington repeated. “Most likely, he’d have killed me, too. I can tell you what he’s after, but that won’t help you now. Whitehall probably has a plan in place to kill you, once you’ve discovered the mansion’s location.”
“I assumed that was your job.” Jim held up the pistol they had discovered in Wellington’s jacket.
“Bollocks, you know well and good I’d be no match for you in a gunfight, let alone with three other men at your back,” the dangling man argued. “I came here because Whitehall wanted to know your status, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.” Shaw remained noncommittal. “So, it wasn’t to finish us off then? Keep us from running to the cops with your names?”
“No. Well, maybe, but he never told me to shoot you.” Wellington maintained his position. “He’d be a fool to send me out here alone for that sort of work, wouldn’t he?”
“I suppose.” Jim relinquished the point. “Still haven’t answered my question, though. What is he really after? I know he’s not killing folks over a lost building. What the hell is so important?”
“Let me down, and I’ll tell you.” Bernard crossed his arms, unwilling to give up his last ace in the hole before being set free or, at least, on his own two feet.
“Fine, Wellington, have it your way.” Jim nodded to Carver, who swiftly pulled a pocketknife from his jacket and slashed the rope, dropping the spindly businessman unceremoniously to the ground.
After much huffing and mumbling, Bernard regained a semblance of his former dignity from where he remained seated, then straightened his collar and glasses before clearing his throat. “Seeing as I have little choice in the matter, it seems that Whitehall is after a trinket of sorts - a bauble, a gem, a bit of finery known as the…”
“Portuguese Diamond Cross,” Carver finished.
Bernard, Jim, and the other two men looked at Pendleton in an amusing mixture of curiosity, astonishment, and anger.
“What do you know of the Cross, Mister Pendleton?” Bernard asked, an edge to his voice.
“I’d like to know that as well.” Jim took a step closer to the old sailor. “I assume this trinket is what you’ve been after, too?”
“It bloody well is.” Carver stood firm. “The Portuguese Diamond Cross belongs to me and my family. It was stolen by that woman, Bower, and I aim to get it back.”
“Stolen indeed! That cross belonged to one Bartholomew Roberts, and you’ve no claim to it,” Bernard corrected.
Carver puffed out his chest and stalked towards the scrawny man, balling up his fists as he walked, but Jim moved between them before things could get ugly. “Is that true?”
“Is it true, he asks! Of course, it isn’t true!” At that the old sailor turned his attention to the cowering Bernard.
“For your information, little man, it’s Bartholomew Carver Roberts. Pendleton was my mother’s maiden name, and I don’t go by my full name for obvious reasons. Besides, I would never have given anything that valuable away for a simple meal. It was stolen, I say, right out from under me while I was…” Carver trailed off.
“While you were drunk?” Wellington ventured.
“You shut your yap, Wellington. I have half a mind to let him pummel you, just for being a monumental prick,” Jim warned, before turning back to Pendleton who looked rather embarrassed, or was he angry? Shaw wasn’t sure.
“Yeah, so I may have had a few pints in me by that time, but there’s no way on God’s green earth that I gave that necklace away. It must’ve been my old mate Eddie. He knew I had it,” Pendleton muttered.
“Wait a minute. Hang on.” Shaw shook his head. “All this has been for a necklace?”
“It’s not just any necklace, Jim,” Carver explained. “It’s the Portuguese Diamond Cross. It’s invaluable.”
Bernard snorted. “Quite the contrary, it has an exact and very high value. Despite all of that, if we’re going by true ownership, then technically the cross belongs to the people of Portugal, doesn’t it?” he asked, his lip curled. “But since we aren’t going by those rules, the next logical thing is to ask where it is. Obviously, it’s on the Manor’s grounds, making it the property of the City of Gloucestershire.”
“And, naturally, you have the proper paperwork that says you can claim ownership of it,” Jim responded. “Is that right?”
“I-I never said that.” Bernard cleared his throat and re-adjusted his collar yet again.
“I knew it.” Albert chimed in from behind them. “This whole expedition has been one massive fraud after another. Whitehall never intended to pay us, did he?”
“My guess, he was planning to pay you all right – in lead,” Carver said gruffly.
After a pause, Jim nodded. “Alright, here’s what’s going to happen.”
He turned and placed a finger on Bernard’s nose. “You return to Whitehall’s estate, where you’re going to convince him that everything’s fine and the man he murdered was hallucinating from eating something he picked up in these woods. You’ll also tell him that we’re right on schedule, we don’t suspect a thing, and we’re all here.”
“You must be joking,” Bernard scoffed. “Whitehall’s no fool. He’ll know something is off. Besides, I’m a terrible liar.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Jim snarled. “You lied through your crooked, yellow teeth to get us all to this point, didn’t you?”
“Uh, not to interrupt, but could I have a word?” Carver pulled on Jim’s good arm, walking a few feet away from their ‘guest.’
“I know what you’re going to say…,” Jim started, but Pendleton held up a hand and cut him off.
“No, you don’t,” the older man disagreed. “This plan is brilliant, with the one exception. How do we know that, if we let him go, he’ll do as we say? How do we ensure he doesn’t double-cross us?”
“I’m going back with him.”
“You’re what?”
“I’m going back to Whitehall’s estate with Bernard.” Shaw surprised him further.
“I’ll have my gun, and honestly, with this arm, I’m not much good out here,” Jim continued. “You’ll lead the men the rest of the way and, hopefully, find what you’re looking for. If what you’re after and what Whitehall’s after are the same thing, then you’ll have the upper hand if you find it first, which will never happen if Whitehall knows that we know he’s a snake in the grass.”
“I see, and you’re going to say the bullet wound in your shoulder was what? An industrial accident?”
“I’ll think of something, but that’s my problem,” Jim pointed out. “Yours will be getting Albert and John to the Manor, finding your lost trinket, and getting the hell out of Dodge before Whitehall knows the gig’s up.”
“Sure, simple as that.” Pendleton shrugged. “Has it occurred to you that we’ve stumbled across precisely what the spirit has been warning us about?”
Jim looked around. “What, Bernard?”
Carver rolled his eyes. “The traps, Shaw. She was warning us about the traps.”
“Or whomever set them,” Jim added. “They could still be here, too, you know.”
“Possibly, but the state of that rope suggests it’s been here for a long time,” Pendleton pointed out. “I’ve always thought someone murdered everyone in the manor and then hid the bodies in the forest. It’s possible they trapped the forest to keep inquisitive minds from finding the remains before they escaped.”
“The more I know about this, the more I believe that necklace of yours is the cause of everything,” Shaw stated. “If someone, other than you, knew the value of that necklace, then it’s possible they tried to rob the place and it got out of hand.”
“That’s a theory.” Carver pondered it a moment, before shaking his head. “But that’s
all it is, and theorizing about the Manor mystery is pointless. If you’re going to set Whitehall off our scent, you’d better do it fast.”
“Oh, and watch that slimy bastard.” The old sailor nodded towards Bernard, who was trying his best not to look like he was eavesdropping on their conversation. “He’ll stab you in the back and pick your pockets at the same time.”
“Will do.” Shaw sent him a salute. “Al and John are two of my best. Get them where they need to go, and they’ll handle the rest.”
The two covertly shook hands, and then Jim pulled his pistol and waved it at Bernard, who reluctantly rose and began trudging north.
Carver motioned for Albert and John to follow him, and the company parted ways in tense silence.
“You do know that Whitehall probably already suspects that you know what’s going on,” Bernard growled, not favoring a trudge through a cold forest with a pistol-wielding Yank at his back. “He’s a madman, and he’ll kill us both just to amuse himself.”
“He’s welcome to try, but you’re a better liar than that,” Jim replied. “I’m betting you could convince the Queen to part with her crown, if it would save your hide.”
“You don’t know me,” Bernard contradicted. “Whitehall may be insane, but his true nature is as much a mystery to me as the disappearances at Bower Manor. I watched him kill your man in cold blood. What’s to say he won’t shoot you on sight?”
“Nothing, except for the fact that he appears to enjoy playing games.” Jim frowned, remembering a face from his past. “If this whole thing is one giant strategy for him, he’ll enjoy navigating the twists. I’ve met a few like him in my day.”
“So it would seem.” Bernard scowled and shut his mouth. It was a difficult enough hike without carrying on an unpleasant conversation.
Meanwhile, to the small group of men heading the other way, the sound of work boots crunching through frostbitten underbrush was deafening, compared to the silence of the forest around them.
As a former sailor, Carver was used to the noise of crashing waves and yelling deckhands from dawn ’til dusk, but the nature of their mission, here in this place, made him cringe with each step. Besides, combining speed and stealth wasn’t an easy thing to accomplish.
Still, the area of the forest through which the three men were now traipsing was uncharted territory for them all, and the threat of traps kept his eyes glued to ground in front of him.
“Step exactly where I have, boys,” he said, and the others were more than happy to comply. The last position any of them wanted to be in was strung up by the heels in the middle of this God forsaken place.
Twice Carver stopped them in their tracks to examine tripwires, and once Albert stumbled on a root and narrowly avoided catching his ankle in a bear trap. If there were small mercies to be had, Carver thought, it was that, so far, there was no evidence of land mines.
As they progressed, he was sure he saw the apparition out of the corner of his left eye, every now and again, and he soon realized she was guiding them. Adjusting his course ever so slightly, depending on where he saw a flash of her, he was thankful she was the only one taking an interest in their progress.
Hours later, just as John breathlessly suggested they make camp, Carver stumbled on a stone in his path, and the other two fell over him, the three of them tumbling headlong into a huge clearing.
Here the forest floor was covered with dead leaves, moss, and some snow in the shadowed parts, but that was all secondary to what lay at the center. There, covered in twisted vines and crumbling under the weight of its own decay, resided the mansion in all its ghostly splendor.
Snow dripped from the edges, and Carver mused that the structure appeared to be crying.
The vast columns had cracked and crumbled, the steps had sunk into the earth, and none other than the ghostly visage of the teenage girl glowed in front of the entrance, now barricaded by forest growth.
Letting out a mournful moan, she disappeared inside.
Albert and John exchanged a dubious glance, but dutifully began unpacking their equipment, carefully approaching the entrance in order to clear the way for their guide.
Carver remained where he had fallen, happy just to take in the sight of the long lost building.
Despite the fact that the forest had grown and the structure itself had changed, memories of his last visit rushed back, and he stared at it with younger eyes, as though seeing it again for the first time.
His treasure was within reach. It had to be. The girl wouldn’t have led him here for any other reason.
As the others hacked away at the twisted vines and roots that covered the entrance, Carver felt overwhelmed by the sense that his heirloom, his treasure, his last vestige of honor, lay just beyond their efforts.
It was almost too much to stand still, but he forced himself to be patient. After all, he had waited years for this moment. What were a few more minutes compared to that?
From inside the mansion, she watched them work. They were slow, but then, she had an eternity.
Still, it was agonizing. They were so close to the truth.
She hadn’t been sure these were the ones to find it, but there was something relentless about the man she now observed from the shadows. He’d made the attempt many times before.
The echo of this place was carved into his soul, as only she could see it, but it was more than that.
The cross was the key to unlocking this long kept secret. It had been a terrible burden to bear, but it was now almost over.
This man would set her free, once and for all. She knew there was another, who was coming and could ruin it all.
He had before.
Chapter XIV
Shaw would have sworn that the pistol in his hand was growing heavier with every step.
Perhaps, it was fatigue. Perhaps, it was blood loss. Perhaps, it was both. It didn’t matter. The issue of the snake in the grass would be resolved soon.
As they marched on and the trees thinned to a sparse few, Whitehall’s estate came into view over the rise. Their destination in sight.
There was a mystery begging to be solved, and the key to it remained in that forest. With any luck, flimsy story or no, he would buy Pendleton enough time to find it.
Bernard had been marching in silence for the last hour, and it was no wonder.
A madman to the north, a determined man with a gun to the south, and Wellington was caught in the middle – no less than Wellington deserved as far as Jim was concerned. After all, the other man had gotten himself into this.
As smart as Bernard thought he was, he should’ve seen Whitehall for what he was long before now, or, perhaps, he had and just hadn’t cared. Then again, maybe he thought Whitehall would never turn on him, not that he had – not yet anyway.
It was only a matter of time with people like that, Jim knew all too well.
The estate loomed closer, and Shaw could’ve sworn it grew colder with every breath.
The black car waited in the driveway, signifying that Whitehall was home. It was a small relief, but at least, their supposed employer wasn’t out murdering any more of his men.
Still, the prospect of trying to fool a madman, while keeping Wellington in check, was daunting. His time in Chicago had given him a unique perspective on how to control situations, especially violent ones – a skill he rarely used, but a handy one to have up his sleeve.
Bernard hesitated as they walked up the stairs to the massive double doors, turning slightly and catching Jim’s glance. “You know, we could still both walk away. After all, this is between Whitehall and Pendleton now. If we disappeared, he might never give us a second thought.”
“You’re forgetting a few things, like the fact that you were in on this from the beginning,” Shaw pointed out. “If Whitehall’s ship starts sinking, you can bet he’ll drag you down with him, and frankly, you deserve it. Now, ring the doorbell.”
As Bernard turned, Jim discreetly hid his weapon inside the makeshift sling
over his right arm, knowing Whitehall wouldn’t buy any story, if he marched Wellington inside at gunpoint. He would have to play the game smarter than that.
Thomas answered the door and turned a sickly shade of pale, when he saw the two men standing together.
Shaw gave the butler a slight nod, hoping that was enough to let him know that his secret remained safe, and Thomas bowed at the waist and let them inside.
“Come in. Come…“ Whitehall stopped mid-greeting, when he saw Jim step over the threshold behind his partner, unsure what to make of his presence, but recognizing that things had just gotten more interesting. “Why, Mr. Shaw, what a pleasant surprise! It appears you’ve been wounded.”
“Yeah, it was my own stupid fault,” Jim started his story. “Cook offered to clean the guns, and I let him. Won’t make that mistake again.”
“Ah, I see. So, nothing to do with forest pests?” Whitehall pressed, eying Wellington who avoided his gaze.
“Nah, the biggest thing we saw out there was a rabbit.” Jim smiled as convincingly as he could.
“Glad to hear it’s going well.” Whitehall turned and motioned the other two to follow, understanding someone was getting played, just not sure who was playing whom. “Mind if I ask why you’ve come back with Bernard?”
“You sent Mr. Wellington to get a status report, didn’t you?” Jim continued to spin his yarn. “I decided I’d better let you know in person how things were going. More accurate that way, cutting out the middle man.” He cocked his head at Bernard, who took it to mean that he should walk ahead of him.
Bernard frowned, realizing that Shaw must still have a weapon trained on him somehow.
“Is this true, Welly?” Whitehall threw the doors to his study open, walked briskly to his desk, and sat down behind it, smiling when he saw Bernard start as though he had expected to see a man’s dead body still lying on the floor. “You’ve let Mr. Shaw accompany you for accuracy’s sake?”
“Uh, yes, quite so.” Bernard chose a wingback chair near the fireplace, sitting down calmly and sliding back on the cushion. He doubted Jim would shoot him here, but the smaller target he made, the safer he’d be. “Mr. Shaw thought he could deliver a more concise report than I could, set your mind at ease a bit faster, I suppose, especially considering his wounded shoulder and the three dead men at his camp.”
The Ghost of Christmas Present and Other Stories Page 5
