The Carlswick Treasure (The Carlswick Mysteries Book 2)

by SL Beaumont

  They left the Crown Jewels exhibition and walked across to the imposing White Tower which was home to the Royal Armoury. Stephanie felt a sudden chill as though she were being watched. She turned around, but apart from a group of tourists crowded around another Beefeater, there were few people about and none seemed interested in her. As she swung her jacket back on she collided with a man standing behind her and dropped her handbag, its contents spilling onto the ground.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said.

  “That’s okay, I wasn’t looking where I was walking,” the man replied, crouching with her to retrieve her belongings. He was a little older than her, wearing jeans, boots and a dark blue wool jacket. But instead of picking up her bag, he tipped it over again so that all of its contents poured onto the ground—her mobile phone, wallet, notebook, cosmetics, and pens.

  “Sorry, I am so clumsy today,” the man said, helping her to collect her belongings. He opened the bag wide to allow her to drop everything inside.

  “Thanks,” she said, as she gathered her composure and slipped the long strap over her head and across her body.

  Stephanie smiled at Toby and held his hand as he chattered excitedly about knights and swords and fighting. She glanced over her shoulder as they entered the White Tower and frowned as she registered that the man was still looking in her direction as he spoke into his mobile phone.

  Over an hour later they managed to drag Toby away from the Tower and wandered back towards the entrance and down to the river. They paused to take photos of one another with Tower Bridge in the background. It was busier now and she studied the crowd. She scowled at a man in a dark overcoat with a shaved head who caught her gaze and hastily looked away.

  Toby skipped between them as they followed the path to Tower Pier. They relished the warmth inside the riverboat and sat back listening to the sometimes humorous, but mostly cheesy, commentary as they cruised along the Thames. Marie pointed out various buildings and landmarks from her days living in London twenty years earlier. They alighted at the London Eye Millennium Pier where there was only a small queue for tickets to the London Eye.

  “Look. There’s Andy,” Toby exclaimed.

  Stephanie followed Toby’s arm pointing to a large round concrete column. Andy, James and the rest of The Fury member’s faces stared back from a poster advertising the previous two nights’ gigs at the Roundhouse. The guys were posing, almost glaring at the camera, looking every inch the stars that they were becoming. Stephanie’s chest knotted. She stared back at James. She knew him better than anyone, except maybe Andy, and yet she’d fallen into the trap of seeing only the muso front—the girls, the attitude—when in reality she knew that there was so much more to him than that. Behind his walls, he was a sensitive guy trying to deal with his father’s death and his family’s betrayals. And now she had let him down by not believing him.

  She fumbled in her pocket for her mobile. The screen saver was a ‘selfie’ that James had taken of them a couple of months earlier. They had been looking straight at the camera laughing, when he had turned his head and surprised her with a kiss, pressing the shutter and capturing her delight and surprise. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she tapped a message to him, which simply said, James. I’m sorry.

  Tickets purchased, they made their way to the giant wheel. It stood over a hundred and thirty-five metres high on the South Bank of the Thames beside Westminster Bridge, in front of the impressive County Hall building which nowadays housed a hotel and the London Aquarium. The massive Ferris wheel had thirty-two closed capsules, each capable of holding up to twenty-five people. Toby was dancing from one foot to the other with excitement as they reached the front of the line.

  “Keep walking as the doors open,” the attendant instructed.

  Marie and Stephanie took up a position on either side of Toby to ensure that he got on safely. Once inside, the doors closed and their capsule began to rise.

  “This is so cool,” Toby shouted.

  “I brought you here when you were a little girl, not long after it opened,” Marie said quietly, smiling at the old memory. Stephanie hugged her mother. “And look at you now. I am so proud of you.”

  “Aw, Mum, you’ll make me cry,” Stephanie murmured.

  They were distracted by Toby’s excitable squeals as they rose higher and higher, the sights of London spread out beneath them. Westminster—the Houses of Parliament and the Elizabeth Tower, home to Big Ben, looked magnificent on the opposite bank of the river. The white bell towers of Westminster Abbey rose behind it and the four round chimneys of Battersea Power Station could be seen further down the river. Some of the many bridges that crisscrossed the Thames—Charing Cross, Chelsea and Westminster sat in the distance. The river itself wound and twisted and turned as it had done for millennia, in parts blue, others a muddy brown, but continually moving. The Thames was the one constant in a city that was always changing, always growing.

  As they came to the top of the wheel, and began their descent, Stephanie glanced into the capsule behind them and did a double-take. The man had turned his back to her, but the shaved head and dark overcoat stood out. She shivered and canvassed her fellow passengers. An Asian family, two overweight Americans sitting on the centre bench and several young travellers speaking with European accents—no one unusual.

  She looked back at the capsule. It was now above them and she could only see its base. Marie was busy pointing out the sights to Toby. As the capsule finished its descent, they lined up ready to alight. Stephanie tried to wait on the walkway to see who came out of the next capsule, but the attendant moved her on. She followed Marie and Toby down the ramp, glancing over her shoulder, but there didn’t appear to be any bald-headed men wearing dark overcoats among the people alighting.

  It wasn’t until they were wandering slowly towards the steps leading to Westminster Bridge that she caught sight of him sprinting up the steps ahead of them, two at a time. He disappeared into a black cab which merged into the sea of traffic crossing the bridge.

  Stephanie’s mobile phone rang at that moment. She quickly retrieved it and saw from the caller ID that it was her father.

  “How quickly can you get back here?” he asked.

  “Hello to you too,” Stephanie replied.

  “Sorry. It’s just that there’s been a break-in at Mum’s and I want to get back down to Carlswick ASAP,” he replied.

  “Oh no. Is she okay?”

  “Yes, she was out, but got a fright when she arrived home. The police are there now. Your room has been turned over, apparently,” he said.

  “Okay. We’ll jump in cab. I’ll text you when we’re underway,” Stephanie replied, ending the call.

  * * *

  Ellie was quite calm and composed when they arrived back in Carlswick. Her friend had stayed with her while the police were there and Matt had arrived as soon as the news reached him. Nothing appeared to have been stolen. The burglars had targeted Stephanie’s room. Her bed had been stripped and the mattress tipped off its base, drawers emptied and all her clothes pulled off their hangers in the little walk-in wardrobe. The contents of the bathroom cabinet were strewn across the floor. But strangely, her laptop and iPad sat untouched on the desk.

  Max had dispatched his firm’s security specialist to Carlswick the minute that Ellie had called. Vince Burgess had a military background and although Stephanie didn’t particularly like him, he had earned her father’s trust over their years of working together. By the time they arrived Vince had secured all the windows and doors and reset all of the alarms.

  “What do you think they were looking for?” Ellie asked.

  Max and Stephanie exchanged glances. “Probably half of a treasure map that I found hidden in the back of a photo frame,” Stephanie replied. “Sorry, Grandma, I should have told you, but at the time I thought it was just a bit of fun.”

  “And why do you think someone is after that?” Ellie asked.

  “I know Alex Knox wants it. He phoned me
to ask for it,” Stephanie replied.

  Ellie gasped and put a hand to her throat. “That man.”

  “Do you know if they found the map?” Max asked.

  “Not unless they looked down here,” Stephanie said, walking over to the grand piano and selecting a pre-war photo of Ellie and her siblings, David and Sophie. She carefully removed the backing and slipped the torn parchment out and handed it to her father.

  “Let me see,” Ellie insisted.

  Max handed her the map. She smiled. “I’ve seen this before,” she said. “Remember, I told you about David, Sophie and Edward Knox spending a lot of time together during the year before the war, Stephanie?”

  Stephanie nodded.

  “Well, David and Edward would set up elaborate picnics, games and treasure hunts for our friends whenever they were home on leave. The last time, August 1939 if my memory serves me correctly, there was to be a grand treasure hunt, complete with a real treasure map that our fathers had found when they were teenagers. I believe that David made changes to the map. This poem is his handwriting,” she said, glancing at it. “But they were called back from leave before we had time to do the treasure hunt. Then the war began and Sophie died, and well, you know the rest.”

  “So it’s possible, Dad, that Charles Knox did use this map to hide his jewellery. No wonder Alex wants it. This poem is the key,” Stephanie said.

  Chapter 23

  Morning, New Year’s Eve

  “I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Stephanie moaned as Michael turned his old remodelled MG into the driveway of Knox Manor. “Can we just turn around and go home?”

  Michael shot her a grin. “Nope. He’s expecting us.”

  “Who? Not James? I thought he was still up in London,” she said.

  “Nope, he came back this morning,” Michael replied.

  Stephanie groaned. “This just gets worse. Are you sure he knew you were bringing me?” she asked. He hadn’t replied to either of her text messages, so he was clearly still mad with her.

  Michael nodded.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  Michael laughed.

  They continued up the winding driveway that was framed with massive oak trees. Knox Manor always took her breath away. It was an impressive sight—a beautiful two-storeyed pale brick 17th Century manor house with tall chimneys rising skyward, set amongst lush, manicured gardens. A long sweeping lawn ran from the house down to a lake.

  As Michael pulled to a stop in front of the house, the door opened and James slowly walked out, hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. His hair flopped over his forehead and he flicked his head slightly to move it out of his eyes.

  “Hey,” he greeted Michael. “Steph.” His voice cooled noticeably and he didn’t look her way.

  “Right then, let’s get this over with,” she said. Michael shot her a warning glance. James turned and glared at her.

  “Of course, we don’t have to do this,” he said. “I rather thought that I was doing you a favour.”

  “Ah come on,” Michael said, walking towards the house. “I am sure that you two can be civil to each other for a short time. Show James the key, Steph.”

  Stephanie pulled the key from her pocket and dropped it into James’s outstretched hand. He turned it over. “Where did you say you found this?”

  “I didn’t,” she replied.

  “Then why do you think it opens something here?”

  “Because your brother’s looking for it. Seemed like a logical place to start.” She spoke carefully and evenly, but in reality she was shaking.

  “There are no doors with locks that would fit a large key like this,” he said. “Let’s look in the studies and library, there are a few old trunks and things, but this looks really old or else just a badly made copy.”

  Stephanie followed him to the door and he stood aside, letting her walk inside. She was always struck by the magnificence of the marble foyer, with its high ceiling from which an enormous crystal chandelier dangled precariously. In the centre a grand sweeping staircase led to the first floor. James brushed past her and led them into his brother’s office.

  The room was dominated by a huge polished antique mahogany desk. On one wall was a row of bookshelves and opposite, a glass fronted cabinet containing collectible rare volumes. A large chesterfield sofa had several mismatched antique chairs clustered around it. Under a window on the far side of the room stood several stacks of cardboard boxes all sealed with tape and carefully labelled with Alex’s name and a number.

  Walking behind the sofa, James crouched down. Stephanie and Michael followed and watched as he tried the key in each of two wooden trunks. It was too big to fit the locks on either. Stephanie looked around the room. The drawers on the desk had small locks, as did the cabinets. She frowned. The last time she had been in this room she’d just escaped from her captors. She gave an involuntary shiver. James straightened and looked over at her.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. This room doesn’t hold the greatest memories for me.” She gave a wry smile.

  “Me neither,” he replied, his expression softening. “Let’s try my grandfather’s study.”

  James’s grandfather Charles was sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, staring out of the window.

  “Grandpa, I’ve brought a couple of people to say hi,” James called across the room to him in a loud voice.

  Shaken from his reverie, Charles looked up. Stephanie was shocked. He had aged in the three months since she had last seen him and looked frail. His thick white hair had thinned noticeably. The previously dapper gentleman was now a confused looking man, a shadow of himself. She looked at James, who ignored her. Charles noticed Stephanie standing in the doorway and started to push out of his chair with his arms. Realising that he was about to stand up because a woman had walked into the room, she hurried over to his chair and crouched beside it.

  “Hi, Mr Knox. Don’t get up. It’s just me, Stephanie,” she said, smiling at him.

  Charles relaxed and looked into her face, studying it. “Ah, yes, so it is. You look so like your Aunt Sophie.” He reached out with a shaky hand, his skin paper thin, almost transparent, and grasped hers. “How nice of you to come and see me. It gets so quiet here. James, get Stephanie a chair. Shall we have tea?”

  “Yes, please,” she said after a moment’s hesitation. “Thanks, James,” she said as he moved a chair in beside his grandfather.

  “Chair, tea, anything else that I can get you?” James asked under his breath, but loud enough that she heard.

  “Shall we have biscuits with our tea, Mr Knox?” Stephanie asked

  “Good idea, my dear,” Charles replied.

  James scowled at her and after handing the key to Michael, he left the room in search of Grace, their housekeeper.

  The old man continued to pat her hand. They chatted about Oxford. She told him that her mother and little brother were visiting from New Zealand and about the team of archaeologists working up at Carlswick Castle. He nodded, studying her face intently as she spoke. Every so often he would interrupt with a question, more often than not calling her Sophie. After a while he looked away and once again gazed out of the window, slipping back into his own thoughts.

  Michael surreptitiously scouted the room, looking for any locks that might be missing a key. As Charles went quiet, he looked over and shook his head at her.

  James walked back into the room carrying a tray and set it down on a low coffee table under the window. He looked at his grandfather’s hand in Stephanie’s and frowned.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  Stephanie nodded. “Mr Knox, would you like your tea now?” she asked, touching his arm.

  Charles looked at her with rheumy eyes and smiled. “Please, Sophie dear, that would be lovely.” He released her hand.

  James stood very still by the window as she poured the tea from the floral Royal Doulton teapot into matching cups. She placed a cup on a small table next to Charles�
�s chair and handed one to Michael, who had propped himself up on the edge of the desk. She poured two more and straightened, handing one to James.

  “Sorry about this,” he murmured, taking it from her.

  “No. Don’t be. I’m sorry that I didn’t realise he’d deteriorated so much. What can I do to help?” she asked.

  “It’s not your problem,” James said, his mouth set in a firm hard line.

  “Maybe not, but I want to help,” she said.

  James shook his head and looked away. “No.”

  She winced.

  She sat back down next to Charles and continued chatting to him; about the snow and her first ever white Christmas. She told him how proud he would be of James and the band and that they were doing so well. At one point Charles looked over at James and asked, “Are you still playing that blessed thing, Harry?”

  “Harry?” Stephanie mouthed to James.

  “My father,” he replied.

  They finished their drinks, bade farewell to Mr Knox and headed towards the front door.

  “I’m sorry that you had to see that,” James said.

  “Not at all. Are you getting some help?” Stephanie asked.

  “It’s fine, Steph. I mean it. We’re okay,” James replied.

  “I didn’t know that your old man was a guitarist,” Michael said.

  “Yeah. A good one too,” James replied. “Not that my grandfather approved of such pursuits, as you may have gathered.”

  “So no other keyholes that you can think of? Any of the outbuildings?” Michael asked.

  James shook his head. “No, that key must be for something else. It’s kinda roughly made. I’m guessing it’s old, so maybe whatever it opened doesn’t exist anymore,” he suggested.

  * * *

  “Did you know that James’s grandfather had deteriorated so much?” she asked Michael as he pulled up at her house a short while later.