by Ann Michaels
Chapter 7.
What Lies Beneath
Early the next morning, Polly, Cogwhistle and I, were crammed into Uncle Crispy’s, Bond Minicar, roaring along on three wheels, with Uncle Crispy driving. For the occasion, Uncle Crispy was decked out in an ancient motoring coat, gloves and goggles and I noted that, we were attracting many strange and surprised looks, as we tooled along.
The car didn’t have a radio, so we sang songs, like Row, Row, Row Your Boat and One Man Went to Mow. And before we knew it, we were driving down a bumpy road, surrounded by overhanging trees, which locked out the sky. Then, a tall, black wrought iron gate was upon us, and we stopped. Uncle Crispy hopped out and waved his hand for Cogwhistle to get out too.
‘You better do the old chitchat Cogwhistle. I’m not too popular around here.’
‘Okie dokie, that I will’, replied Cogwhistle, blowing up like a puffer fish with pride.
Cogwhistle’s long and bony finger pressed a button on an intercom and we waited, until a softly accented voice, blared out with an ear splitting crackle, ‘hello, hello, who is there?’
‘Hello me old china, it’s me Cogwhistle, wots here….and a few other bodies’.
‘’Well, come in then’, Millie’s disembodied voice, piped out from the speaker.
The gates began to grind and grate, as they slowly opened and we drove through, along a bumpy roadway, surrounded by trees pushing in from all sides.
‘Ah! it is wonderful to see all the vegetation that I planted all those years ago. It’s all come along grandly.’ Uncle Crispy sighed, with something between pride and sadness.
After we had been driving along for some minutes, the trees thinned out and we could see a great expanse of lush green parkland, with red deer feeding, and a pond, where ducks and swans seemed to chug along in slow motion. I rolled down the car window, and as the cold air rushed in; we were rewarded with the music of bird song and the delightful sight of small birds hopping about, and twittering on tree branches. It was really quite magical, until a rushing thought came into my mind that, my father should have inherited this place, which meant that, one day; this all could have been mine. I felt an inner hot feeling of intensity and pain, perhaps mixed with greed. Suddenly, I could understand, to a small extent, why people do unconscionable acts, in their desire for land.
We rounded a bend in the road, and suddenly, the imposing bulk of Blackstock Hall loomed over us; its Georgian exterior was cold and impassive, but as I became aware of the dark void of the windows, which gave the impression of eyes observing us, I felt like a powerless insect, at the mercy of a great and tremendous beast. But, perhaps, on reflection, my feelings may have stemmed from, the sudden awareness, of the beast that, might just reside within me.
All business, Cogwhistle rocketed out of the car and tore toward the formidable front door and thumped the hefty lion’s head, brass knocker. As we waited, behind Cogwhistle, in the warm sunshine, I spied the pointed face and black nose of a hedgehog, as it appeared from a hedgerow, and disappeared again. Then, a small, red squirrel moved like an electric current, up the trunk of a graceful Elm tree; I turned, and watched Uncle Crispy, smiling in delight.
The door creaked opened and a bloodless, thin man, who would have made an excellent, old- timey, film vampire, materialised. He nodded his head, curtly as Cogwhistle spluttered, ‘Rupert Bloodworth!’ Uncle Crispy appeared to stagger backwards. Without another word, Bloodworth, clicked his ankles, and turned like a wind-up toy. We followed him along a dark hallway of black and white checkerboard tiles, and incongruous purple and yellow walls. Although, Uncle Crispy was at my rear, I could feel his discomfort.
A short time later, we entered a sun-filled room, filled with soft, floral lounges and lurid, yellow curtains. As my eyes adjusted, I became aware of a woman in a motorised wheelchair, speeding toward us. This was Millie!
With long, black hair, a slash of red lips and flowing chiffon robes, Millie, had a striking old time, movie-star glamour. But as she zoomed closer, I could see that she was as old as Uncle Crispy. And while Uncle Crispy looked soft and gentle, Mille looked hard, with tight leathery skin, stretched over the jutting bones of her skull. Then, she smiled.
When Mille smiled, that shrunken, taut face became bewitching. Suddenly you could see her character and strength and confidence come up to meet you. And her eyes flashed with a quick intelligence, and humour. But I also felt that, she was laughing at us, in some indefinable way.
‘Welcome’, Millie said, ‘It’s been a long time Crispin. I hope you have forgiven me for this house’ she spread her delicate hands wide, and then continued. ‘So much time has passed, why carry old grudges?’
Uncle Crispy merely bowed slightly and then glanced over to Cogwhistle. Taking his cue, Cogwhistle, stepped boldly forward, and cut straight to the heart of the matter.
‘Good to see ya, Millie me gal. The thing is, as I told ya, the ankle biter here, found himself two of the lion’s vault keys. My thought is that, one of ‘em is likely yours, and the other, as might be Phiny’s. Wot you say to that?’
The room hummed with silence for a moment. Then, Millie spoke. ‘You say the second key was found in a chocolate box, which held a selection of ancient Greek writings?’
‘That be so, eh, Benny me boy?’ Cogwhistle asked, as he twisted around like a garden hose, to look at me.
‘Yes, ma’am’, I answered, as my brain fought a war with itself. It felt somehow traitorous to be dealing with this woman. And yet, I also felt the strength of this ancient queen bee, who sat before me, defying, with every ounce of her being, the decay of her earthly body, as she sought a stake in the future.
‘The chocolate box and the poems actually belonged to Clementine, your grandmother’, she said thoughtfully, as she nodded slowly toward me. ‘Clementine was the classical scholar. That is how Phineas and Clementine first began their passion; through the ancient words of Euripides, Sophocles and Ovid.’
Forgetting my fine scruples, I blurted, ‘And yet, you, Madame, were already married to my grandfather? Did you just stand aside and say nothing?
Millie eyeballed me intensely for a moment, and then, sighed heavily. ‘Well, I suppose that I must admit it. The thing is: the marriage was one of mere convenience, a fake one in fact; part of our cover as intelligence operatives during the war. Phineas did not think that this marriage had any real legal weight. I am sure he thought no more about it after I returned to France in 1945, and when he courted and married your grandmother, Clementine’.
Again, I felt struggles within. One part of me was relieved that my grandfather was not the cad that, he had at first appeared. However, Millie’s actions appeared devious and despicable. She had deprived my grandmother of a home and my grandfather, and especially, Uncle Crispy, of their dream to rewild this land, so that she could use this house, and work on her military technology.
However, Millie continued.
‘It was your grandmother who wrote to me when your grandfather disappeared in Africa. It was she who wanted me to inherit this house and continue working on future military technologies. There was a catch of course. I had to will this place to you after my demise, Benedict, and I had to track down the lost shipment from Australia. And, of course, clear your grandfather’s name in the process.’
Millie stared in to space for a while, as we waited for her to continue.
‘We were good friends, your grandmother and I; we were both part of Operation Double-cross, you know, and so we spent many days and nights in the underground citadel, where we had time to talk and laugh about the fake marriage between Phineas and I. It was when Clementine returned to England from India, when your father was a baby that, she learned that the supposed fake marriage between Phineas and me was in fact legal. Realising that a scandal may erupt, however, she choose to remain tight-lipped…it was a different time, you know’
‘But from what I have heard, this loot has never been found’, I said somewhat defiantly, i
gnoring Millie’s reasonable explanation.
‘No. I will admit that I have been immersed in my work. I am close to creating an invisibly cloak, which can be used in combat. Such things as this have consumed me. However, now, it seems that we have all the keys, and so, we are somewhat closer to our target.’
‘We have all the keys, but, we do not know where the vault is located?’ I spluttered.
Your grandmother, Clementine, told me that your grandfather left her a poem, in his will. A single poem, by Lord Byron, called, The Siege of Corinth. She believed that this poem, contained clues to the where-a-bouts of the vault.’
‘I was starting to become confused again.
But, why did my grandfather not reveal where the loot was hidden?’ I demanded ‘And why did he allow his reputation to be besmirched and risk going to jail if he knew where the shipment was hidden all the time?’
‘Because, mon petit garcon, did you perhaps consider that, this loot was not gold, or money at all, but something else entirely?
Now I was really befuddled and bewildered.
Millie turned away and called out, ‘Bloodworth, please call the kitchen and tell Françoise that, we are ready for the refreshments’. The silent and wraith-like, Bloodworth, who had been floating around like smoke, inclined his head slightly and left the room.
‘Bloodworth has been such a great help to me, in my work’, Millie stated, and then she turned back to me, but did not say anything immediately. Finally, she said slowly:
‘Clementine mentioned certain things to me, when she contacted me in 1989: things that she believed were true, but which she could not prove. These beliefs were based on certain conversations that, she had had with Phineas and from putting two and two together’.
There was a loud eruption from Uncle Crispy, who had thus far been quiet and as meek, as a new born lamb. He launched into his diatribe. ‘I have been listening to this fictional tale with great interest. Do you really expect us all to suspend our reason and logic, and accept this febrile fantasy from your imagination?
Millie did not move; she simply glared at Uncle Crispy with acute distaste, ‘if you will allow me to finish, Monsieur’.
‘Pray, please do, Madame’.
But the windows of the room were wide open and a sudden breeze whipped up and slapped the eye-watering, yellow curtains about in a sort of disco dance, as we waited. Then, the smell of crumpets and honey, mingling with the aroma of coffee, bloomed into the room, as the door opened and closed, accompanied by the squeak of wheels. And we waited. Finally, Millie continued.
‘As I was saying, Clementine suspected that it was not gold that had been carried on that ship from Australia in 1944. She believed that it was uranium, which, as you know, can be used in the production of nuclear weapons.
An audible gasp filled the room. Cogwhistle stepped forward, ‘I reckon you’re right on the money, Millie. As I remember it, these backdoor bobby types, were sent out to rake Phiny over the coals, and all he kept saying, over and over, was, “I have no knowledge”’. I didn’t swallow the line he woz throwing, but I thought he had his reasons’.
Millie nodded toward Cogwhistle, and then continued explaining. ‘In essence, Clementine wanted this suspected uranium to be found and safely disposed of, and for Phineas to be cleared of any wrong doing. Clementine, you see, believed that Phineas and others were trying to save the world from ruin, when they hid the uranium, during the war. And, of course, Clementine had a great belief in my work, even though she knew that, in the wrong hands, these technologies could be used for evil. She believed that I was working for peace.’
Rupert Bloodworth floated about handing out cups of tea and crumpets. I was just biting into a scrumptious crumpet, spread with butter and oozing with heather honey, when I heard old Polly pipe up.
‘Forgive me for butting in people, but I can’t help wondering why, this Clementine person, who seemed to be a clever woman, didn’t track down these keys herself. After all, her key was in her chocolate box, and surely, her husband had told her where he kept his key?’
The motorised wheel chair carrying Millie, suddenly zipped across the room and she closed the windows. Immediately, the curtains lost their life, and the room became unnaturally still.
‘The reason, Madam, is related to a strange family history. You see, Clementine’s mother, and her mother before her, had developed the same very strange and odd affliction, which began to take root when they were in their second decade of life. From what Clementine told me, this affliction involved collecting newspapers. However, this variety of newspaper collecting, would become an obsessive activity, almost to the exclusion of all else. It took Clementine a great deal of mental energy, to wrest her thoughts away from her newspaper piles, and do other things; like, collect her grandson from the other side of the world; or, apply her neurons to clearing her husband’s name, and finding some hidden uranium. This is why she needed me.’
‘So what do we do then?’ asked Uncle Crispy, simply and directly. Although, I could see from his face that, he felt as confused and topsy-turvy inside, as I was.
‘For a start’, voiced the dirge like tones of Rupert Bloodworth, we can read and examine the poem, The Siege of Corinth, by Lord Byron, as it seems that, Phineas made a point of leaving a copy of it in his will. Within it, we will, perhaps, find a clue’.
‘Of course’, interjected Millie, ‘there is an obvious clue, as you will soon see; the various references to lions, within the poem. However, this has not helped me, and it did not help Clementine, either. We searched everything in this house and your house, Crispin’, she said, nodding toward him with a wry smile, ‘which displayed a lion in any form’.
I watched Uncle Crispy, as he looked around at this room, in this house, where he had lived as a child, with a mournful, hangdog look. And then, he said, almost to himself:
‘Oh the things that we do not know, that we do not know’.
Then, it was time to leave.
