Only three possibilities remained after eliminating obviously irrelevant material. Not only the wording, but the locations, of these references is significant, I believe. The first is a letter in poetic form with the broken seal of the first earl which had no direction on it. This was found not with the other documents relating to the first earl, but with my grandfather’s papers. The occasion of this juxtaposition in time is unexplained, with the probability that it has been handed down from generation to generation as an (obviously obscure) clue to the location and meaning of the mystery. It must be borne in mind that the first earl did not live at Charton Court but at Seagrave Manor near Bicknoller, which has since burned down. The first earl’s letter is attached.
The second item is part of a letter written by the seventh earl when a young man to his father. After discussing various estate matters and the condition of his equally youthful bride (who was apparently increasing), he asked: "Have you determined to remove the treasure from its resting place? I would caution you in doing so, as it has been safe these many years and any change is likely to arouse curiosity. Your fears that someone has guessed the secret are, I feel sure, simply the anxieties of your advancing age. Be content that I share this responsibility and shall do so to the minute of my death. Pray leave the treasure where it is, or if you must move it, summon me to undertake the task. If you should—God forbid!—be struck down before I have a chance to learn of its new location (which cannot, of course, be transmitted other than by your own voice in my ear) there would be a chance of its being lost forever. Your devoted son, etc.”
It was this same man, it will be noted, who managed to lose our treasure, possibly forever!
The third article is entirely different from these communications, but seems to have a great deal in common with the first. This is the bronze plaque, undated but of unquestionable antiquity, which has apparently been through a fire at some point (making it probable that it was brought to Charton Court from Seagrave Hall). The plaque is not entirely legible, but the Latin inscription appears to be Keepers of the Trust. The figure of an animal (possibly a dog, a boor, a bear, a lion?) has been largely eradicated by the heat of the fire. This plaque is located on the tower wall of the chapel at such an unusual height—only a foot from the ground—that my father was certain it was highly significant. He had the wall there removed and the stone floor beneath, but found nothing.
One particular must be kept in mind when searching for the treasure, which is that the Heythrop family has moved from Seagrave Manor to Charton Court. It is entirely possible that the item for which we search is still located in the vicinity of Bicknoller rather than Channock. The sixth earl may have considered moving it to Charton Court, or he may simply have considered changing its location here. There is absolutely no evidence to show that he did anything at all, though it is a fact that he died several years after his son’s letter, giving him sufficient time to take any action he wished. On the other hand, the seventh earl might well have returned the treasure to its original location (if it was moved) when he came into the title and lands.
My own search for the treasure has been devoid of any tangible success and yet I have confidence that one day it will be restored to the family, through the efforts of a future generation. I cannot and I will not believe that through the petty quarreling of my father and grandfather a special trust has been lost forever. So I wish the coming generations well and hope that the evidence here contained will somehow shed enough light to lead to the restoration of our family inheritance.
Edward set down the last sheet and stared out the window for some time. Really, it was a hopeless tangle and there was no chance at all that Miss Tremere and the children would find the treasure; no one else had. He should not have made such a fuss when his mother allowed the governess to take the papers. Still, he had every intention of keeping an eye on the situation. Come to that, Miss Tremere might yet need his help.
Chapter Seven
As Steyne had expected, it was past eleven before he and James left Charton Court for Fairlight, on horses borrowed with Lady Eastwick’s permission. Amy had long since left him to join her sisters and Miss Tremere in the schoolroom, and the viscount had taken the opportunity to observe the inscriptions on the mantels. So the Heythrops had lost an "illustrious treasure,” and Doe intended to help them find it again. How enterprising of her, he decided ruefully, and just the sort of thing she would do to distract the children from their grief. Not a trace of her discomposure of the previous evening had been apparent at breakfast. He thought it would be very interesting to hear her explanation of where kittens came from.
When he arrived at the stables James was wearing his own version of country clothes: not the leather breeches Steyne wore, but an expensive and well-cut doeskin, and a brass-buttoned coat rather than the loose one his companion sported. His narrow-brimmed, straight-crowned hat contrasted also with the soft, low-crowned felt hat considered most appropriate by Steyne for such an excursion, and an exaggerated version of the town Hessian boot replaced the more usual mahogany-colored top boot. James made no concessions to country living so far as his dress was concerned; he had no intention of being taken for a country bumpkin by anyone he chanced to meet, and it bothered him not one jot to appropriate Edward’s valet for an hour at a time, despite his disparaging remarks on that lad’s abilities.
The countryside through which they passed held no fascination for him and it was only with an effort that Steyne urged him to point out the local landmarks. He had, after all, been raised at Charton Court, but his continual residence in London seemed to have blanked out his memory for the local scenery. His standard reply was, “Oh, there’s a beacon there, all right, but I don’t remember what it’s called.” The subtleties of combe and moor eluded him, and he exhibited no acquaintance with anyone they passed on the road, though several of the local people raised their hats to him.
Fairlight was approached through an avenue of unkempt oaks and the house itself showed signs of neglect. One of the chimneys was crumbling and the door frame paint was peeling, while the lawns straggled into what had been flower borders and the hedges were so overgrown that one could no longer see above them to the outbuildings. The house itself, though well designed, was depressingly dusty inside with most of the furniture in holland covers and the draperies drawn and faded from the sunlight.
If Steyne was appalled by the condition of Fairlight, he showed no sign of it. James merely said off-handedly, “I rarely come here so it’s a waste of time and money to keep the place manicured and polished. I’d rent it out if I could find someone to take it as it is, but no one will pay the price I ask.”
Although a due deference was shown James by his tenant-farmers as they rode around his holding, Steyne was not impressed by the condition of any of the farms, either. Five minutes’ conversation with James’ estate manager was all he needed to take that man’s measure, and he sat down over the estate books with a feeling of mingled anger and loathing. Steyne spent a good deal of time on his own estate and knew precisely how much one could expect to reap from good husbandry. James had managed to almost double that figure, and, though it obviously served as a source of pride to Fairlight’s owner, Steyne was disgusted. But no sign of his antipathy was allowed to surface. He contented himself with a rigorous questioning of the estate manager, keeping his opinions of that fellow’s greedy practices to himself.
James was well content with the visit. “Well, what do you think, Steyne? It’s a handsome income for a property its size, isn’t it?”
"I'm surprised you haven’t invested in more modern equipment, and your rotation isn’t regular enough to replenish the land. You’re working the soil to uselessness."
“Nonsense! Harding is very clever in choosing the crops that will bring the most profit in any year. If we let a field lay fallow there’s no income from it at all.” James cast a superior glance at his companion. “I dare say you haven’t nearly the profit per acre at Kingswood.”
Knowing the viscount’s pique to be mere jealousy of his own clever management, James was conciliating. “If Ruth wishes to live here, I will certainly see that the place is put in prime condition. But I don’t think she’ll wish to, you know. She’s been stuck out in the country long enough and is enjoying the civilization of London. I don’t blame her! There’s not a decent entertainment down here from one year’s end to the next, even when my sister-in-law decides to do the pretty. All you get is a lot of rustics discussing the price of corn and country misses who don’t even know the latest dance steps. Not that you could find the musicians to play for them! I promise you, this is the middle of nowhere. You’re fortunate Kingswood is within such easy reach of London. Which reminds me—you won’t mind staying a few days, will you? There are some matters to attend now I’m here.”
It was the first thing James had said in the three days they spent together with which Steyne could feel in charity. Why he should suddenly wish to remain an uninvited guest at Charton Court he did not wish to consider, but he knew that he was not ready to return to London. The journey to Somerset had not been particularly tiring and he had often enough traveled for days on end with perfect equanimity. But the Heythrops were a congenial family and one he would like to know better. A few days’ observance would ascertain whether they offered the suitably genteel position for a governess which they appeared to. Steyne turned to James to say, "No, I won’t mind staying, so long as Lady Eastwick can tolerate my presence. I’d like to have a look at the area.”
“She won’t mind. It’s not often they have company with Eastwick in America. I’m afraid you’ll have to amuse yourself, though, since I shall mostly be out and about. I'm sure you can appreciate the demands on my time made by a property such as Fairlight.”
Now what the devil was he up to, Steyne wondered. He did not for a moment believe that James had the least intention of attending to matters at Fairlight, and it would be foolish beyond permission for him to conduct any sort of liaison with Steyne in the neighborhood, considering the ostensible purpose of their journey.
“Feel free to see to your business,” he said dryly. “I’m sure I can find sufficient entertainment.”
* * * *
While Lord Steyne and James Heythrop made their tour of Fairlight, Theodosia and the children decided to explore the church at Bicknoller, on the theory that when the Heythrops were burned out of Seagrave Manor and before Charton Court was built, they must have needed a safe place to hide the treasure. The drive took them along the edges of Fairlight land. A hot sun beat down on the ragged lawns and fields beyond where there could be seen broken tubs and troughs, duck baskets and trussels. They caught no glimpse of James or Steyne, but watched men lopping branches from a felled tree and a traveler with a loaded donkey.
The small village of Bicknoller they entered had a lone dog wandering the dusty street but there was no one about. On a hot summer’s afternoon the small cottages provided a cool place to spin and rest. In the churchyard stood the shaft of an ancient cross and the building itself dated from Norman times. After the glare and heat outside, the interior felt dark and almost chill. Before Theodosia’s eyes accustomed themselves to the dimness, she was startled by a voice, seemingly disembodied, which declared, "Welcome to God’s house!”
Eleanor gave a little shriek and Charlotte tittered nervously; Thomas and John stepped forward to protect their female entourage. From the gloom emerged a gentleman dressed in clerical garb, smiling.
"Forgive me! I had no intention of frightening you. Having been in here for some time, I am perfectly accustomed to the light and forgot that you wouldn’t be. May I introduce myself? Robert Oldbury, your most obedient servant.”
Since he addressed himself to Theodosia, but included her charges in a wide-ranging glance, she made him known to each of the children. "And I am the girls’ governess, Miss Tremere. We had in mind to inspect the church, if you’ve no objection.”
"None whatsoever. May I offer myself as guide?”
Theodosia caught the dismayed looks of the children and made a small, restraining gesture to them. "If you would be so kind. You won’t mind if the children sketch items of interest and wander about on their own, will you? And I do think we might purchase a few candles to light their exploration.”
She allowed herself to be led through the interior while the young people went about their tasks with single-minded purpose. Theodosia had no difficulty inducing Mr. Oldbury to comment on the fine old screen (from 1500) with its beautiful fan tracery, nor on the capitals in the North arcade with their bands of Devonshire foliage. The cleric was further encouraged by the interest she took in the monument to John Sweeting of Thornecombe (died 1688) and the squint in the chancel pier, as well as the piscina and some of the good seat-ends. By the conclusion of their tour the children had finished their own work and escaped into the churchyard.
Not until they emerged into the sunlight was Theodosia able to obtain a reasonable view of her guide, and she found then that he was rather older than she had expected perhaps thirty, with wavy blond hair and frank blue eyes. He stood only slightly taller than she and had a square-jawed, open face.
“Thank you for the tour,” Theodosia said, extending her hand. “I never meant to take so much of your time.”
"It was my pleasure, Miss Tremere. Have you lost your students?”
“No, they’ll be rooting amongst the tombstones, looking for anything of interest.”
“Are they Lord Eastwick’s children?” Mr. Oldbury asked, not eager for her to leave.
“Yes, we’re just over near Channock at Charton Court. We plan to make an excursion to see Fairlight, their uncle’s home.”
Mr. Oldbury frowned momentarily. “I hadn’t heard that Mr. Heythrop was in residence.”
“He’s not, actually. He’s staying at Charton Court.”
“I haven’t seen Mr. Heythrop but twice in the two years I’ve been here.”
Theodosia laughed. “I understand he’s not fond of country living. Did you know him before you came?”
“No, the parish living is in the hands of my college at Oxford. It’s a peaceful spot and I enjoy hiking in the Quontocks, so I couldn’t ask for better. Perhaps you would consider attending a service here some Sunday. Dr. Trainer is a fine speaker, of course, and I could not hope to compete with him, but the young folks might enjoy a change once in awhile.”
Dr. Trainer, the vicar at Channock, was a prosy old man who frequently fell asleep while the choir sang. He tended to address his congregation as though he were preaching at St. Paul’s, with a finely dramatic and piercingly loud voice. Theodosia’s lips twitched. “I shall suggest it to Lady Eastwick, Mr. Oldbury.”
He read the amusement in her eyes and smiled. “Channock is rather a small congregation for the use of his powers, I fear. He really should have been made a Prebend at Salisbury Cathedral. Too many men with country livings are overlooked when a more prestigious position opens. I am not speaking of myself! I haven’t Dr. Trainer’s years of experience nor the tenth part of his knowledge And one’s political persuasion often carries weight as well. I’m sure you know he’s a staunch old Whig and though there were hopes that the Prince Regent would bring that party to power . . . . Listen to me rattle on! I’m sorry! I’m keeping you from the children.”
“Not at all. They’ll keep quite busy until the barouche returns. In fact, I’ll probably have to drag them away. But perhaps I should keep them in sight.”
Mr. Oldbury walked with her into the churchyard where they could see Charlotte and Eleanor tracing letters on a marble stone while Thomas transcribed the words. Not far away John was doing a somersault in the grass while Amy delightedly clapped her hands.
Theodosia sighed. “I hope you won’t think them sacrilegious, Mr. Oldbury. They’re only children.”
“They act exactly as I would expect on an outing
. The younger ones, at least. The others are rather industrious for a pleasure jaunt.”
“Oh, they enjoy finding the oldest tombstone.”
“But writing down the information on it?” he asked quizzingly.
In order to divert his attention from this odd behavior, Theodosia said, “My father was the vicar at Chipstable. I don’t think he’d have allowed children to cavort among the tombstones.”
“Is your father no longer there?”
“No, he died several years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
“Thank you. It was a great loss.” Theodosia did not add, “to me,” as she might have three years ago. She had had sufficient time since to obtain the distance necessary to see her father in a less prejudicial light than she had then. Not that she hadn’t been aware that he was a selfish, sanctimonious man, but one had to stand by one’s parents, one’s family, or so she had always been taught. If one lives in a family such as the Heythrops it would not be so hard. Except, perhaps, for the Honorable James, she recalled. It was difficult when one was young, to know where one’s duty lay. Theodosia realized that Mr. Oldbury was speaking to her. “I beg your pardon. My mind was wandering.”
“I was just saying that Dr. Trainer is planning a trip to Scotland soon and has asked me if I would serve his church for him. My own service is at half after ten and his not until one, and I was considering the possibility. There’s really no one else close enough to do it.”
In My Lady's Chamber Page 8
