The Cortés Trilogy: Enigma Revenge Revelation

by John Paul Davis

  But the past was the past. Though parts of the house had been modernised, still the history lingered, like a continuous echo trapped in a cave. Memory of past inhabitants was everywhere: its large portraits, wooden furniture, beds slept in by those long since departed. This was the true history of the estate, a property owned by one family. They were the family who possessed not only the property but the history itself.

  Locally it was known simply as the Godolphin Estate.

  Its importance was self-explanatory.

  *

  Colts drove north on reaching the crossroads and followed the deserted road for three-quarters of a mile. The satnav suggested a left turn, an innocuous unclassified side road heading into acre upon acre of heavy woodland. Colts turned and followed it, the purpose of the road soon becoming obvious.

  They were heading along the driveway leading to the main house.

  What Ben saw left him speechless. Thick ancient woodland restricted the view on either side before a 16th century mansion appeared out of nowhere. Well-manicured lawns flanked the building both front and side: the first an immaculate circle decorated by a small stone ornament, the central feature of the grass before the grand façade, while behind the house the grounds continued seemingly indefinitely.

  The front of the house was unlike anything Ben had ever seen in real life. Eleven single, quartered windows faced out from the front of the building at equal intervals, the dark glass giving nothing away of the inside. Unlike most houses of its type, the centre of the second storey, an imposing thick block of grey granite, overhung the lower by at least five metres and was supported by six large pillars. Two windows on either side of the pillars matched those of the upper storey in both size and appearance. A gently sloping roof was at the centre between two minor triangles that crowned matching towers on both sides.

  Ben looked at it, speechless. Though this was his first visit, he had seen the façade, and recently.

  In the later pages of TF’s diary.

  Colts slowed the van on reaching the main lawn, where he was met by a serious-looking woman, plump body, dyed red hair and aged somewhere in her early sixties. Colts wound down the window.

  “Mr Colts?”

  Colts smiled. “Good morning. Thank you so much for agreeing to this at such short notice.”

  The woman’s expression didn’t warm as she handed over the keys. “When you’ve unpacked, perhaps you would be so kind as to come to the main office. We have some forms for you to sign.”

  “Much obliged.”

  *

  Colts parked around the right side of the property and immediately stretched on getting out from the driver’s seat. “Feels mighty good to stretch one’s legs.”

  Ben was still at a loss to comprehend what had just happened. While the scenery was delightful, a luxurious estate in the middle of a forest, he still had no idea what they were doing. “Where the hell are we?”

  “Godolphin Cross,” Colts replied, smoking his pipe for the first time in thirty minutes. “Or, to be more precise, as this place is known, Godolphin.”

  Ben folded his arms as he looked at Valeria. Despite the long journey in the back of the van, on top of a night of broken sleep sailing in a storm, her appearance was still incredible.

  “Care to elaborate?” Ben asked.

  “The Duke of Leeds sold the property in 1929. However, before that time they owned the estate here. You understand what I’m saying, Ben? They were the real bigwigs in the community.”

  “What happened after 1929?”

  “Nothing happened. Not of relevance. For a while it was taken over by a family called the Schofields. In 2007, this old place was taken on by the National Trust.”

  “You mean it’s open to the public?”

  “Not today. You see, it just so happens three weeks out of every four, this old house is used as a holiday let.”

  “So that’s why that kind old lady gave you her keys,” Valeria said.

  That hadn’t struck Ben until now. “You mean you leased it?”

  Colts removed his bag from the back of the van, extended the strap and pulled. He laughed, knowing from Ben’s reaction that, not for the first time, he was having an effect.

  “Come on. Let’s check this place out.”

  45

  The house was very habitable; judging by its condition, it had been lived in recently. It was different to what Ben had expected. All of the bedrooms had modern features, some mixed with traditional. He chose a room with dark-cyan walls, a modern double bed with an antique mirror hanging above the original fireplace and a circular portrait of a past resident directly above the bed. Valeria had also been spoilt, occupying a room immaculately painted in sky blue with an original four-poster bed resting on an oak floor and illuminated by chandeliers. Further along, Colts also plumped for a room with a four-poster bed, the original oak frame standing on a maroon rug. Set into the white walls, hung with portraits of the former governors, was a grand fireplace.

  Colts had chosen the finest of the rooms.

  The kitchen was also modern. Cutlery hung from a sky-blue cabinet, a rare original feature, while the original range fire had been filled with an AGA cooker situated near a four-seater table and work surface. As promised by the owner, the cupboards were stocked with food of all kinds, while meat, dairy and many other products lined every rack of a near full fridge; a wide selection of cheeses took up much of the space in the pantry, and vegetables hung from shelves or occupied wooden cabinets. A smell of freshness pervaded the kitchen that Valeria immediately took to.

  Valeria and Ben were in the dining room when Colts returned from filling in forms. As in most stately homes, an ornate dining table was the centrepiece of the room, this one surrounded by eight wooden chairs including two, one at either end, that were large and throne-like. Within the main wall was an impressive original fireplace flanked by oak panelling that had been freshly varnished.

  “I always liked it here,” Colts said, admiring the room as he returned. “Reminds me of the one I used to work in.”

  Ben and Valeria were sitting at the table. “Now that you’re finished filling in forms, you mind telling us what you’ve got planned?”

  “Planned? Ben, you were the one who figured it out.”

  True enough. “Okay. Let me rephrase . . .”

  “The village of Godolphin Cross was never meant to be anything more than a crossover,” Colts explained, “but, during the time these things were made,” he picked up one of the replica emeralds, “there was even less here. Back then, this was owned by the same family. Now, maybe you’ll disagree, but it strikes me there’s only one such place the stones could be referring to.”

  Ben exhaled, tired, frustrated. Obviously enough, the family estate of the former governors was the sensible place to begin looking.

  “I take it you’ve been here before?” Ben replied.

  “Been here, lived here, searched here.” He took a seat opposite Ben and adjacent Valeria, removed his hat and sighed. “What you must understand, Ben, the Duchy of Cornwall has been looking for this for a long time. I, Ben, have been looking for this a long time.” He looked at Ben, detecting a hint of surprise. “You think I hadn’t already considered this place?”

  “Actually, I never considered that. You find anything?”

  Colts was prepared for further sarcasm. “You think I’d be wasting my time babysitting you two screw-ups if I’d found what it was I was looking for?” He pointed his finger at Ben, clearly in no mood for mishaps. “I suggest we make use of the time. We only have a few days.”

  “You have a better suggestion?”

  “You two take a look around. In the meantime, I’d rather like to read that photocopy of Mr Thomas’s diary.”

  Ben removed the photocopied diary from his side bag; during the storm, the paper had become wet. Colts took it, disgruntled, and began shaking water away.

  Ben got to his feet and examined the room, particularly the paintings. Among oth
ers was a large painting of a fine stallion, apparently named ‘Godolphin Arabian’, once owned and bred by the second earl.

  Ben and Valeria moved into the entrance hall, where a fine original 16th century chimney was the crowning glory. Like the other rooms, the walls were lavishly adorned with paintings, mostly portraits.

  “Who are these people?” Valeria asked, following Ben.

  “My old band mates,” Colts said, paying no attention to the no-smoking policy that was supposedly in force. “You two ever do anything sensible?”

  “Hey, neither of us asked to be part of this,” Ben barked, waving his finger in Colts’s face. “I never came here for any treasure.”

  Colts laughed, almost heckled. “Dr Maloney, you may find it fun trying to kid yourself, but this ‘I didn’t come here for treasure’ bullplop, it doesn’t work on the rest of us. You came here for the exact same reason we all do. Human greed. Passion. Excitement. Now you might like to fool yourself with your stupid use of English, but deep down inside you came here for the same reason—”

  “I came to find my ancestor. And now my cousin.”

  “And what did he come here for?” Colts raised his eyebrows, his caramel eyes centred on Ben. “It runs in your blood. Just like it does for everyone else. History repeats itself.”

  Ben straightened his back and gave Colts a piercing stare. “Check the diary all you want. There’s nothing there. I’ve read everything already.”

  Again Ben left the dining room and headed for the entrance hall. He found Valeria standing by one of the walls, studying a painting, subject and artist unknown.

  Ben looked at it. “What is that?”

  Colts looked over his shoulder. “That’s what they call Tregonning Hill.”

  The name meant nothing. “Tre—”

  Colts joined them in the entrance hall. “Tregonning Hill is just out over there.” He pointed through the nearest window. Several trees in the area outside the window cast long shadows across much of the floor, protecting the room from the glare of the sun. In the distance, Ben and Valeria could see a large hill, its grass a rich and vibrant green. “The place offers some of the best views in Cornwall.”

  “Of what?” Ben asked flippantly.

  “Everything: St Ives to the north, coast of St Michael’s Mount to the west, some say on a clear day you can even see St Mary’s. Though that would depend on who you talk to.”

  Ben laughed. “That would be pretty impressive. Seeing as it’s over sixty miles away.”

  Colts pointed again to the painting. “Back when the estate was in its prime, many people in the area found work in one of the tin mines. We have the Great Work Mine to the south near the hill, West Godolphin Mine to the east,” he joked ironically, “and then just plain Godolphin to the north.” He looked at Ben, cockeyed. “You’re not going to tell me you don’t know what a mine is?”

  Ben fought the urge to retaliate. “What happened to them?”

  “Closed down in the early 1800s. Prior to that, they must’ve got more tin out of the ground than the Eskimos did ice. That’s how the family made their money.”

  Ben raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t they used to mine tin at St Lide’s?”

  “Tried. Tried on all of them. Unlike here, there was nothing there.” He returned to the dining room, about to sit down. Directly in front of him the four replica emeralds were placed in order, the absence of the trumpet particularly noticeable.

  “Would you look at that?”

  Ben detected a change in Colts’s voice. “Pardon me?”

  Colts was too shocked to respond as he stared, dazed, at the four stones in front of him.

  Valeria stepped forward, followed by Ben. Neither of them were clear what Colts was looking at.

  “Colts?” Ben said.

  “Look.” He pointed at the stones, his finger trembling with excitement. “Look, dammit, can you not see what’s directly in front of you?”

  Ben leaned in for a closer look. He focused on the individual features, the rim of the bell, the eyes of the fish, the petals of the rose.

  He saw nothing other than what he had seen already. His head shaking, he moved away, heading over to the window. The nearby Godolphin Hill towered above them, its elegant shape baffling.

  In its own way, it looked like a small Aztec pyramid.

  Ben turned and looked at Colts; his attention returned to the four objects. What wasn’t clear before, when they stood apart, was suddenly as clear as day, though he would never have noticed had he not come to Godolphin himself.

  “Here?”

  Colts looked at Ben and smiled, only this time something had changed. It was genuine. Pleased. Unforced. Colts fished through his outer pockets, removed a guide map, and spread it out across the table.

  For the first time things made sense to Ben. The shapes of the individual objects when standing alone illustrated only the exact features of the items they were meant to represent. Yet when they stood together on their backs, the effect was different.

  The bell alone appeared much smoother, its outline showing evidence of contours, like the lines of a hill.

  The cup was greater, like a hole in the landscape, surrounded on every side by ridges.

  The rose was a dense forest, lined by hills, shaped by the neck and back of the fish. There was something missing, something he could only imagine. The trumpet, when viewed from above, would have perfectly illustrated the features of the nearby tin mine, its flat surface interrupted by three large outlines that looked like houses or chimneys.

  Just as together the five formed the name of the location, together their shapes also showed the physical features of the area, a precise map known only to those who knew where they were going.

  “Put your jacket on, boy. We’re going mining.”

  46

  The Great Work Mine was located south of the house, in the southernmost part of the grounds. Once upon a time it had been the fulcrum of the estate: the family business.

  Originally it had been one of three mines located nearby. West Godolphin some five miles west, once leased out to a cost book company. Godolphin Mine to the north, a copper mine in use until the 1840s.

  Across the estate, there were an estimated 140 mine shafts.

  The Great Work Mine was undoubtedly the largest of the nearby mines. Employing an estimated 3,000 people at its height, it was celebrated not only as among the finest in Cornwall but Britain. By 1715, rapidly increasing production saw the family add a steam engine, its furnaces repaired using the clays of Tregonning Hill, which rose above the site like a small mountain.

  Then come 1780, the mine was in decline. Twenty years later it was closed forever.

  As was every remaining mine on the estate.

  *

  Colts couldn’t believe he had missed something so blindingly obvious.

  “You see that?” he asked Ben as they approached Godolphin Hill across the fields on a golf buggy.

  Ben sat alongside Colts while Valeria rode in the back where golf clubs would normally be. Directly in front of him he saw two large hills, their greenery occasionally interrupted by isolated buildings.

  “What about it?”

  “Back in the 1700s the Great Work Mine was as successful as any in the county, arguably the heart of it. Then in around 1800, they just plain closed it, sold off the equipment, shut it all up. Plenty of room to hide a large treasure.”

  As the buggy continued across the field, its wheels rattling, its balance shifting from side to side as it traversed the irregular surface, Ben noticed something else, another building between the areas of greenery. On the other side of a line of trees was a large chimney by a ruined building. A thin giant spout rose into the air like a gigantic funnel; while its upper portion was red, the colour of brick, the lower section was grey, pure granite, the same as the nearby building.

  For the first time Ben recognised what it was; even though he had never seen it before, he understood from the layout what was going on. Tin m
ining had once been prominent in Cornwall. Even before he had met Colts, he knew the gist. It was the era of open cast and, more importantly, the use of gunpowder. A single blast could achieve more than a week with pickaxes. As the technology grew more sophisticated, progress came faster.

  It was the heart of the Godolphins’ success.

  Colts stopped the buggy on reaching the former mine buildings, and everyone quickly got off the vehicle.

  The pumping engine house was now a derelict building. Vegetation was growing wildly around the sides, the doors and framework of old windows now largely disappeared. The upper half of the building had also vanished, leaving only an empty void where the roof had once been. Metres away was the chimney, now cold and sombre, a stone skeleton drawing in clean air, the fires of the past long forgotten.

  Ben could hear things, not just the sounds of nature. There was a road nearby, connecting a small residential area. Judging from the map, nothing more than a hamlet.

  “Where are we heading?” Ben asked as Colts circled the former pumping station for a second time. The ruined building, probably no more than ten metres in length on either side, and the chimney were the only two stone structures he saw in the near vicinity.

  “That all depends,” Colts said, opening the door and entering the station. The inside was effectively a large cavity, offering no evidence of past machinery, no clues . . . just weeds and grass growing uncontrolled.

  “Depends on what?”

  “On what the missing piece of the puzzle actually said.”

  *

  The helicopter moved overhead, changing direction as it passed over a hill.