‘So, now you know about the Knight’s treasure,’ Dover said.
‘We do,’ Bethany confirmed. She gave a significant glance at the door.
Dover leaned back. ‘I estimate that Bonaparte only removed about a third of what was concealed. I believe there is a much larger amount still hidden.’
Despite himself, Jack looked to Bethany and grinned. ‘Imagine what we could do with that, Beth! We could buy Annis Yat and half of Hereford besides.’
‘And furnish it in the most modish taste!’ Bethany looked away, as she realised she was falling into Mr Dover’s trap. ‘So the Little Corporal did not get all the treasure, Mr Dover. But how is this of interest to us?’
‘I think you already know the answer,’ Dover mused. ‘Indeed, I think you know a great deal more about that treasure than you are admitting.’
‘Is that why you were sent here?’ Jack asked. ‘To find the treasure?’
‘That is one reason,’ Dover said slowly. ‘But others are also searching, including Adam Kaskrin. He was on the Russian brig your Lieutenant Cockburn saved from the French.’
Jack and Bethany exchanged glances. ‘Was that the man who attacked Jack?’ Bethany asked; then, swallowing her pride, enquired, ‘The man you saved him from?’
‘It was.’ Dover touched a hand to the hilt of the sword he had hung up beside the door. ‘Kaskrin is a Russian Pole.’
‘A what?’ Jack asked.
‘The Russians rule over Poland,’ Bethany explained. ‘But many of the people think of themselves as more Polish than Russian.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Tarver. Kaskrin was a Knight here until Bonaparte conquered the island. He managed to escape to Russia, but now he has returned to search for the treasure.’
‘If he was a Knight, Mr Dover, then surely he has no need to search,’ Bethany pointed out, seeing a flaw in Dover’s story. ‘He will know exactly where it is.’
‘Oh, he does know,’ Dover said. ‘We all do, but there is a slight snag.’
‘Which you, no doubt, are about to reveal?’ Only Bethany could inject such sarcasm into so few words.
‘Of course.’ Dover was silent for a few moments, allowing the tension to build. ‘The treasure is locked away and it needs two keys to open it.’
Bethany looked at Jack and laughed. ‘Locked away? How strange. Can you not just kick down the door, Mr Dover? Or employ a skilled lock-picker? I hear there are plenty in London – Newgate is full of them.’
‘There are … complications,’ Dover said, ‘about which I cannot yet elaborate. However, I will say that you two have a part to play.’
‘What sort of part?’ Jack felt himself slide into dismay at the prospect of becoming involved in Dover’s intrigues. ‘I am an engineer and my wife will not be caught up in anything as sordid as spying!’
‘And I do think the charming Mrs Tarver would be a great loss to the country,’ Dover offered, giving a small, conspiratorial smile. Leaning close to Jack, he urged, ‘So tell me, pray – where have you put it?’
Jack had anticipated the question. ‘Where have we put the treasure? I am afraid I have not found it. Nor do I expect to, unless it is hidden under the line of my road.’
Dover sighed, his facade altering from amiable comrade to angry government agent. ‘Don’t play games with me, Mr Tarver. Adam Kaskrin would not have confronted you unless you had the key.’
‘I do not have his key,’ said Jack, looking at Bethany. ‘Nor does Mrs Tarver.’
Dover’s voice developed a distinct edge. ‘I warn you two that you are involved in affairs of state.’ It was significant that he then leaned closer to Bethany than Jack. ‘Even if you happen to find the treasure, Mrs Tarver, you could not keep it.’
‘I am here to build a road,’ Jack said, as he stood up. ‘Bethany is here as my wife. There is no more to be said, Mr Dover, so if you would care to leave our house now …’ He indicated the door. ‘We have no knowledge of the key you claim you are searching for.’
Lingering to finish the wine he had affected to dislike, Dover rose and took hold of his hat. ‘As you wish, Mr Tarver, but I warn you that you will undoubtedly require my aid again. You are alone here in a foreign country and you are not exactly a warrior, if your reaction to my Russian friend is anything to judge you by.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Dover,’ said Bethany, as she held the door open. ‘Thank you for stopping by, but as my husband has indicated we have no interest in searching for treasure.’ She curtseyed briefly as Dover left, without looking back.
‘My,’ Bethany said, closing the door and smiling, ‘how assertive you were, Jack. If you care to leave our house now,’ she mimicked, deepening her voice. She smiled. ‘You got me all a-shiver! Whatever happened to the shy young boy from Wolvington?’ She widened her eyes and looked him up and down. ‘He’s grown into quite the man, hasn’t he?’
On another occasion Jack would have turned that remark to his advantage, but he still felt weak and his head continued to thump abominably, so he merely slumped into one of the wickerwork chairs. ‘Sweet heavens, Bethany, what have we got ourselves into here? We are stuck in a foreign country, being hunted by Russian Poles, with the odious Mr Dover as a neighbour.’ He shook his head. ‘Why us, Bethany?’
Her smile surprised him. ‘Why, Jack, apart from Mr Dover and the attack on you, I fear that I am quite enjoying myself. It’s like a story, is it not? We have knights in armour, hidden treasure and intrigue.’ She laughed. ‘You must admit, Jack, that it is much more exciting than Herefordshire. Back in England, the most interesting thing that people talk about is the possible state of the apple harvest!’
‘I swear you are in a perfect fever of happiness, madam.’ Jack looked at her, unsmiling. ‘My, what a queer little vixen you are, to be sure.’
‘And married to a queer engineer,’ she retorted, and thrust out her tongue.
Jack sighed, remembering Dover’s scornful remarks. ‘Well, it seems that we have something that the omniscient Mr Dover requires, Mrs Vixen.’
‘Indeed,’ Bethany gloated, ‘but indulge me for a moment, Jacko.’ At this, she swiftly ran off to close the windows and doors. ‘I do not trust Mr Dover,’ she explained. ‘For all I know, he may be hiding somewhere.’ Her smile was unfeigned. ‘Is this not exactly like the games we played as a child?’
Jack was about to tell her that his childhood had been bleak and unhappy, but he saw the animation in her face and replied, ‘Exactly so.’
After a moment, Jack spoke again. ‘So, Beth, I presume Kaskrin and Mr Dover both seek the knife you keep so secure, but pray tell me where you disposed of all the old clothing we pulled from the cistern.’
A furrow momentarily appeared on Bethany’s brow. ‘That pile of rags? Why, Jack, I threw that onto the ash pit. I swear there was neither a key nor any treasure among it.’ Deliberately brushing against him, Bethany walked out to the courtyard. ‘It’s still out here, Jack, but far too dirty to bring into the house.’
‘I think we should search them, Bethany.’
‘I already have, Jack,’ Bethany sighed. ‘But if you are determined on the matter …’
Great moths fluttered around the lamps, as Bethany spread out the clothing that Jack had recovered from the cistern. There was a full set, from an extremely gaudy red coat with an embroidered black cross to a silk undershirt and even a pair of silk hose.
‘Very fancy,’ Bethany commented, holding up the hose. ‘I can’t see you prancing around in those along Merrington-on-Wye High Street.’ She grinned, ‘I can just imagine Robert’s face!’
Ignoring his wife’s playful comments, Jack lifted the coat. ‘Mr Dover said they were looking for keys. Maybe there’s something in the pockets.’
‘Don’t you think I would have tried them?’ Bethany shook her head. ‘I assure you that there’s nothing there.’
‘Maybe in the lining, then?’ Jack patted the coat, adjusting the light from the lantern. ‘I can’t see anything.’
‘Nor could
I. There’s nix! This is a coggeshall job, Jacko. We’ll never find these keys.’ She shrugged. ‘Unless there’s something else hidden in the cistern or the well, I can swear that there is not a single key in this house. My goodness, Jacko, I cleaned the place thoroughly enough to get rid of the lizards and spiders. I’ve never seen the like.’
Growing impatient, Jack lifted the bundle of damp rags and threw them into a corner of the yard. ‘We’re just wasting our time, Bethany.’
Bethany nodded. ‘Maybe so, but I swear that if there’s nothing here, then either it’s still in the cistern or the dagger is somehow the key.’ She raised her eyebrows mockingly. ‘Do you have the bottom to go back?’
‘Are you dicked in the nob?’ Jack retaliated. ‘I’m not going back down there now!’
‘If not now, then when?’ Bethany asked. ‘You’re at work by dawn and come back in a foul temper after dark. Come along, Jack. I’ll fetch more lanterns.’ Her smile taunted him further. ‘And you’d better take your breeches off. There’s no sense in getting them wet, too.’
Even with Bethany holding two lanterns, the cistern was darker than Jack remembered, with cool water rippling to an unknown depth and the slightly sinister drip of the outflow into the well. ‘I can’t see anything,’ he shouted.
‘Go into the water,’ Bethany advised. ‘Here!’ she dropped a length of cord. ‘Tie this around you and give an end to me, just in case.’
‘Just in case of what?’ Jack asked, but Bethany did not reply. Sighing, he tied the cord around his waist, wondering how he could deny a government agent but meekly obey his wife in this madcap adventure. Was it love? Or was it because he was afraid he might lose her?
Oh God, I wish I knew who I am! The thought came unbidden and unwelcome to further unsettle his fragile self-esteem, but he shook it away to concentrate on his present task.
Stepping gingerly from the ledge, he found that the water did not extend much above his knees. He bent forward, scouring the bottom of the cistern for a key. It would probably be old, and if it was iron it would be rusty and therefore not much use anyway, but he had promised Bethany he would look, and so he would. The base of the cistern was of hardened clay, very smooth and quite devoid of any objects.
‘Take your time, Jack,’ Bethany shouted down, sounding cheerful. ‘I am quite happy standing here, watching you.’ Her laugh echoed around the cistern, as Jack wondered again what sort of woman he had married.
‘That was a waste of an hour, then,’ Jack said as he dried himself in the main room of the house. Luckily, Malta was warm even at night, so he could not catch a cold to add to the discomfort of his aching head.
‘Not entirely,’ Bethany said. ‘You entertained me with your antics, and you proved that this key is not there, so it must be that knife that so excited Mr Egerton.’
Removing the dagger from its hiding place against her thigh, Bethany placed it in the middle of the table, where a pool of lantern light highlighted the T-shaped hilt and the ornate metalwork with the embossed Maltese cross on the upper blade. They both examined it, searching for anything unusual, any hidden catch, but found nothing.
‘Well,’ Bethany said. ‘Maybe there’s a key there, and maybe there’s not, but one thing is certain: Mr Dover is not getting his hands on our dagger.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s the correct decision,’ Jack spoke slowly. ‘Maybe it’s our duty to the country to help find this treasure.’ He faced Bethany, whose chin was set most determinedly.
‘Oh, hang you men and your duty!’ Bethany shook her head. ‘Don’t forget that Mr Dover’s adherence to his duty nearly cost him his life. I have not forgotten, Jack. Nor have I forgotten how the amiable Sir Alexander is quite happy to use us to attract assassins and Knights. He said nothing to us about a key, or government agents, or Adam Kaskrin. When he decides to tell us the whole truth, then we can give him this.’ She held up the knife. ‘And not a second before.’
As they faced each other across the table, Jack nodded in defeat. If he argued with her too much, then she might run away with somebody more dashing. The memory of Lieutenant Cockburn still niggled.
Jack awoke in the black of a Mediterranean night, knowing that something was wrong, but unsure what it was. He looked at Bethany, who was sleeping gently at his side, one arm under her head and the other thrown over his stomach. Something had wakened him, but he did not know what. He lay for a while, listening for any unusual sounds, but the house was quiet as ever.
Moving carefully, Jack removed his wife’s arm and eased from the bed, pulling on his breeches and wishing that he had brought a weapon to this island. He still could hear nothing, but he normally slept soundly: there must have been some reason for him to awake. Padding in his bare feet, he pondered lighting a lantern but decided that to do so might waken Bethany, so he moved on in the dark.
There was no sound in the bedroom, and nothing in the passageway save a slight glimmer from the brilliant moon above. Yet there was something wrong. Jack paused to consider what it might be. Then he heard the scraping, as if some animal was digging. He smiled – perhaps that was all he had heard, a stray goat from the surrounding fields or one of the neighbours’ cats prowling after rats.
Relaxing, he leaned against the wall, shaking his head at his own foolishness, just as the back door opened and a man slipped in from the yard.
They saw each other at the same time and moved together, the intruder grabbing at Jack’s throat just as Jack adopted the boxing position he had learned at Wolvington. He thrust out a jab, catching the man a sharp blow on the shoulder, and then they closed, with the intruder’s hands around his throat.
The man was strong and lithe, and Jack stared into bright blue eyes, wide and completely expressionless. He felt his head swirl, moved backwards and came hard against the wall.
‘Jack!’ Bethany’s voice was shrill, but it distracted the intruder for a second, long enough for Jack to thrust up his arms, breaking free of the man’s grip. He punched out, putting all his fear and anger into the blow, and saw the intruder staggering backwards. For a moment, the man was vulnerable, standing with his guard down, and Jack landed two quick left jabs to his face, poised his right and swore as the man recovered far too quickly and kicked upwards. Aimed for Jack’s groin, the boot landed on his thigh with enough force to knock him back and numb the muscle, and then Bethany was swinging the unlit lantern that she was carrying and the man was backing away, hands up defensively.
Swearing at the pain in his leg, Jack lifted the spade that he had placed in the passageway, ready for tomorrow’s work, and followed, swinging wildly. The blade clattered uselessly from the wall, but the intruder continued to back off.
‘Get him, Jack! Use the point!’
That was good advice. Changing his grip, Jack thrust with the point of the spade, catching the intruder in the stomach. The man gasped, and dropped something, and as he stooped to pick it up Bethany slipped under the swing of the spade and skiffed it away with her foot.
A shaft of moonlight caught the man’s face as he looked up and Jack again saw the bright blue eyes. This time he also saw a thin moustache on the upper lip of a pale face. It was Adam Kaskrin.
‘Get him, Jack!’ Bethany repeated, but with his thigh hampering him Jack was slow, and Kaskrin darted back into the yard and scrabbled over the far wall. Jack followed, hauling himself over the low perimeter and scrambling onto the rocky ground outside. He heard the man running, footsteps hollow in the night, and had a glimpse of his figure momentarily silhouetted against the low moon.
‘Murder!’ Jack yelled. ‘Stop thief!’
His shouts woke a dog somewhere, and its frantic barking alerted others, so that all over Mtarfa there were querulous voices, and the flicker of candles and lanterns among the closely packed houses.
Somebody began to shout, the Maltese words unintelligible to Jack, but the meaning clear. People began to appear at their doorways, lanterns held high, and Jack shouted as he passed, aware that th
ere were a host of villagers behind him, with a gaggle of dogs baying all around.
‘There’s a thief! Somebody in our house!’
After a few moments blundering around in the dark, Jack knew that he had lost Kaskrin. With so many stone walls behind which to hide, and a plethora of tiny fields for concealment, the man was either lying low or had long gone. He waved to the villagers, but only the priest responded. The remainder watched him return to Ta Rena, their faces expressionless.
‘We showed him, robbing our house!’ Bethany gloated. ‘Honestly, Jacko, I’ve never known a place to be so full of footpads and thieves. It’s worse than Hampstead Heath!’
‘The same footpad and thief,’ Jack said, rubbing his leg. ‘That was Adam Kaskrin, the Russian Pole who was once a Knight.’
‘I suspected as much,’ Bethany said, suddenly sober, as she showed the object the intruder had dropped. Lamplight glinted on the Knight’s dagger.
‘He came right into our bedroom, Jack, and lifted the knife. It must be the key.’
Jack examined the dagger again and, looking intently at it, asked, ‘What is your secret? What lock can you open, and how do you work?’ The blade was triangular, with the Maltese cross inscribed, a device that was duplicated with more elaboration on the hilt, which ended in a simple bar. ‘Maybe we should just hand it over to Mr Dover,’ he said.
‘I will hand it to that man when the devil is blind, Jack!’ Bethany rounded on him. ‘I wouldn’t give Mr Dover the time of day, yet alone the key to a treasure. No, no. I’ll just keep hold of this and put it somewhere secure.’
‘You be careful, Bethany,’ Jack warned. If he had married any other woman, Jack suspected, he could have ordered her to obey, but Bethany was too independent-minded to command. Sometimes, he thought gloomily, there were disadvantages in her unconventional attitude.
Bethany nodded, so her uncontrolled hair bobbed around her face. ‘I will, Jacko.’
‘I think I’ll buy a pistol,’ Jack said. He put a hand on Bethany’s shoulder. ‘I’m due to give Sir Alexander a report on the progress of the road, anyway, so I’ll combine both and I dare say that you won’t mind looking at the Valletta shops?’
Tarver's Treasure Page 11
