Cornelius was a talented and busy man. Aside from being an actuary, he became a barrister and was recognized as an expert in all aspects of the insurance field. He wrote a little tome called, Famines of the World, Past and Present, and another book entitled, A Statistical Chronology of Plagues and Pestilences, published in 1884. Light reading for bedtime, Duncan thought. He'd also penned an insurance handbook, a wild success in America, where it was published without the author's permission. The Scotsman kept digging.
He found what he was seeking when he discovered another work by Mr. Walford. It seems Duncan's counterpart wrote a volume documenting all known insurance claims throughout history in Great Britain. After searching for various catastrophes by region, the investigator came upon the great storm of 24 April 1803 documented in Walford's book. Wind, hail, rain, and an exceptionally high surf hit the coast of northeast England, hammering Holy Island. The book listed no minute details, but Duncan's eyes caught the words Norcroft Manor as if they were printed in red bold type. Reggie's house sustained some sort of damage in that squall.
Duncan now realized he'd come full circle with Cornelius Walford. He rested his chin in the palms of his hand and gazed through the glass towards Lindisfarne Castle. A few white puff clouds rolled over the island, but the castle gleamed like gold in the afternoon sun. Cornelius documented a storm that damaged the house in his book. Somehow, David Norcroft discovered this.
As the Scotsman pondered how this might affect his case, he got the sudden impression he was not alone. He stopped breathing and held still, hoping to convince himself it was just the wind outside, forcing itself through cracks in the old house and stirring the air in the archives. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect, one at a time, like the hackles on one of Reginald's wildfowl. The atmosphere in the room became so close, Duncan almost couldn't bear it. He felt pressure build, like the humidity that foretells a summer storm in the States, and sensed that the presence would make itself known. It did. Something grabbed his ankle.
The investigator sprang from the chair and bolted for the door, already ajar. Yanking it open, he halted, one leg in the hall, one still in the records room. The air in the hall felt cool, and he welcomed the escape from the oppressive atmosphere of the cubbyhole. He inhaled the chill air deep into his lungs before turning around to examine the area. A creature with a vile look in his eye sat on the desk, facing him, its mouth partly open.
"Viking! What are you doing up here?"
The investigator approached the feline with the idea of carrying the brute from the room, but with one step in that direction received a hiss from the cat. Duncan laughed out loud, the irony of his situation hitting him full force.
"You're in my spot, Viking," he addressed the cat.
Viking closed his mouth and leapt from the desk as if he understood the investigator. The cat's languid movements stood in sharp contrast with the warning he'd just issued the Scotsman. Duncan passed the animal, took his seat, and reached for a ledger from 1803. He opened the large, leather-bound volume and thumbed to April, the month of the storm. Once again, he felt something around his ankle. He glanced down without moving, his eyes met by two glowing green orbs. Viking raised his head to meet Duncan's gaze as his tail wrapped around the Scotsman's ankle. The feline kept his ears pinned back, creating an odd silhouette and issuing a subtle warning. He tried to ignore the vicious creature.
He flipped the tri-fold ledger paper open. A notation on 27 April mentioned the damages sustained from the storm. A tree fell, breaking a window in the great hall. Another blocked the lane to the house. The well was spoiled by seawater. A weather vane was missing from a turret. The roof of a garden shed ruined. A window shattered by hail in the petite hall. Duncan guessed this was what they now understood to be the original chapel.
May reflected pecuniary outlays for the repairs. One William Townsend received a pittance for his work, as did a George Peckham. Duncan figured he knew their descendants as he reached for another ledger.
A noise unlike any other met the investigator, and he turned to see Viking had relocated to the bookshelves. The beast sat in front of the ledger required by the investigator, at eye level, staring him in the face.
Brilliant. Not an animal lover, he wished Mr. Lincoln were with him now. He'd put Viking in his place. The Scotsman grew up with a family cat and could tolerate the animals, but Viking was a whole different matter. He wished Reggie could see his pet's poor manners now. He gave up and pulled the bell cord. If further clues lay in the family accounts, he'd have to come back later and lock the door to discover them.
When Reginald arrived to retrieve Duncan, he wasn't alone. Davey Peckham dipped his head and entered the archives before his client, a leather portmanteau tucked beneath one arm. He gave the Scotsman a slow once over, then proffered the investigator a sly smile before turning to Reginald with a subservient expression.
"I'm so sorry I've inconvenienced you, Reggie. As I said, I could come back another time."
"No, no, Davey, you haven't inconvenienced anyone. Right, Duncan?"
Davey Peckham shifted towards the Scotsman, an obliging smile now stretched across his face. He found the accountant's oily behavior revolting.
"Not at all, Reggie. I'm Duncan Dewar, by the way," the investigator said, reaching for the sycophant's hand.
The unctuous manner in which Davey shook his hand made him want to puke or at the very least yank his arm away. Instead, he forced a pleasant expression and took in Peckham's appearance. The bookkeeper's feet bore expensive shoes. His wool navy and green plaid trousers weren't shabby, either. A bespoke leather blazer worn over a cream fitted shirt seemed ill-suited to the gaunt individual before him. New calf skin driving gloves matched his belt and shoes, while his navy cap appeared the only worn item on Davey's body.
"I'll only be a few minutes," Davey said, tapping his leather carrying case. "Transactions to record," he added.
"Forgive my manners," Reginald said and proceeded to introduce the men.
"You've perfect timing, Mr. Peckham. I've finished for the day," Duncan stated.
"I insist you call me Davey. All the islanders do," the accountant added, attempting to sound courteous in front of Reginald.
Peckham's friendly veneer didn't fool him. By bringing up Islanders, Davey labeled the Scotsman an Interfere, without saying the words. Duncan feigned ignorance, grinning at the accountant as he left.
In the kitchen, he stalled for time, requesting a cup of tea. He'd just begun sipping the hot beverage when Dottie arrived. She hadn't expected to find the investigator at the table with Reggie, according to her surprised, unpleasant expression which she quickly masked behind an insincere smile.
"I'm here to pick up Davey," the shrew said, flustered, after an uncomfortable moment.
Reggie's back was to the doorway and he hadn't heard her enter. Duncan gave the woman a blank stare and said nothing, which had forced her to speak first.
"Oh, Dottie, good day. I didn't see you there. Come in and join us in a cuppa tea," Reginald offered, looking over his shoulder at Mrs. Peckham. He continued, "We've finished our meeting and he's just finishing up with the books. He'll be down any moment."
"No, thank you. I'll just pull up a chair and wait for my husband," she responded.
Duncan eyed Dottie with a sidelong glance as she sat next to him at the table. He heard Mr. Peckham's footsteps descending the back stairs near the kitchen and sauntered to the sink with his tea things, his back to the others.
Rinsing his cup, the Scotsman said in a nonchalant manner, "Say, Reginald, what are your plans for those pamments dug from the old chapel? They're worth quite a tidy sum, I'd think. Quite popular with interior designers these days, aren't they?"
The investigator glanced over his shoulder and saw both Peckhams stiffen. Then he threw a satisfied smile their direction to make them squirm.
"Sell them, I suppose. I hear pamments are in vogue down south. The smart set loves them for their c
ountry cottages," Reggie replied without much thought.
-13-
A Viking Invasion
The next week passed with tense anticipation, as each day they uncovered more of the labyrinth. Harold worked mornings, spent the afternoons with Penny, and sometimes dropped by the chippie to see her at night. Duncan and Julien excavated from early until nightfall, taking breaks for lunch and tea. Reginald spent more time in the chapel every day, observing their progress and offering encouragement. Donald popped in often, always making a remark about what he would give to be young again or some other bromide regarding hard work standing cheek by jowl with youth.
Early the following week, Harold proposed to not only attend Reggie's lectures, but visit Durham and view its copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels as well. Donald still planned to head home for a few days to give his daughter, Skye, a break from the inn. Duncan looked forward to a day or two alone and intended to set up another fault tree analysis.
As more of the labyrinth became visible, he found himself inexplicably drawn to the mosaic. At night, he dreamed he walked, meditated, and even sang his way along its paths. He increased his efforts each day and as the week went on, progress increased exponentially. He hoped the entire mosaic would be revealed before the others left the island and that he'd have that time alone, with the maze, to experience its mysteries.
He had heard of gold fever taking hold of men and driving them to imprudent and reckless actions. If the stories were true, then he had mosaic fever. Whatever mysteries the design held regarding ancient treasure, those came secondary to Duncan. He longed to experience walking the labyrinth.
As the sun sank behind the horizon on Friday, they came close to achieving their goal. More than three quarters of the mosaic lay exposed in the dim room. One of the surprises they encountered excavating was that none of the quadrants of the design were identical. The overall shape, that of a cross, proved symmetrical, but each area contained either different designs, colors or motifs.
Peach, gold, and cream tiles composed the base of the cross, with two stylized flowers at its outer border. Lines here formed four Greek keys, two by two. Soft green and gold mosaics made up the right quadrant, which featured a birdlike creature with brown and gold feathers. The monks utilized blue, gold and white squares on the left arm, along with touches of light pink marble. A face framed by golden wings, Duncan assumed an angel, stared with red eyes at the observer from this area.
The paths along each arm of the cross still made the investigator think of Peru's Nazca lines. The center of the cross contained black and white marble tiles, forming their own mini-maze, with a round empty space of beige in the middle. Only a portion of the top of the cross remained buried. Tan, brown and gold stones peeked out where the debris had been removed. The designs took on a round shape within the borders of the top of the cross, but a total picture was not yet evident.
Duncan resisted the urge to walk the uncovered portions of the labyrinth. He'd already decided to wait until the entire maze was uncovered before experiencing its effects. He wanted to be alone then, as well.
"Come on to the kitchen, Duncan. It's getting too dark to see in there," Reggie called from the hallway.
The Scotsman stepped into the corridor and felt something brush his leg. He looked back into the old chapel before closing its door. There, from the middle of the labyrinth, two green orbs reflected the muted light from the hall, like matching tiny funeral pyres. Duncan left the door ajar, so Viking could see himself out later. It had become their evening ritual: Duncan the last to leave the room, and the strange feline taking his place as guardian of the maze.
"Reginald, has Julien left yet?"
"He's just gone out. Why?"
"If he's willing to put in a long day tomorrow, I think the three of us could finish the excavation."
"Really?"
Duncan nodded over his shoulder at his host as he washed his hands in the sink.
"Quite right! I'll run after him."
The older man sprinted from the kitchen to the front garden. Duncan moved to another window to watch Julien's response. Reginald joined his employee at his bicycle. After a short exchange, the handyman shook his head, climbed on his bike and peddled up the drive. Reggie returned to the house, disappointment all over his face.
"Impossible," Reggie proclaimed, exhaling a sigh. "He's got commitments across the way."
Duncan knew across the way meant on the mainland.
"I could try Peckham or even Anna's husband. What do you think, Duncan?"
"Any or both would be a help. Harold and I will be here either way."
"Thank you, Duncan. I'll ring them both up tonight and see if they'll come."
* * * * * *
The Scotsman lay in bed waiting for Harold's return, thinking about what they'd find tomorrow. He hadn't seen his brother since he'd left Norcroft Manor that afternoon for his date with Penny. Duncan had grabbed a quick bite at the Puffin and retired to call Angela. He'd been calling her each night, discussing whatever had emerged of the labyrinth. Confiding in his former assistant had been easy. She seemed eager to hear about each day's progress. When he told her he feared he had become obsessed, Angela disagreed. She calmed his anxiety, telling him she'd feel the same way if she were there. He was involved in a true discovery, an archeological find that could lead to a real treasure. Everything he'd explained about labyrinths peaked her interest, and she had even met with her vicar to learn more. Their conversations had become smooth and easy, to Duncan's delight.
"There's a possibility we may finish uncovering the labyrinth tomorrow, if we can get some help," he explained, glancing at the blisters on his hands. "The others are all leaving Monday for a few days away, and I'll have the place to myself. I'm hoping to make some headway on the case, after I learn how to walk a labyrinth!"
"Duncan, I'm not sure you can learn a thing like that. Remember, it's supposed to be a spiritual experience," Angela said with a laugh.
"Is that what your vicar told you?"
"Yes, and I've read similar statements on the internet. There are societies all over the world that engage in the practice, you know," she said.
"Did your vicar say anything else? Any pointers, tips, or rules of which I'm not aware?"
"As a matter of fact, he suggested you begin by just praying or giving thanks as you walk your way through the patterns. You might want to play some sacred music on your phone to enhance the mood."
Duncan laughed.
"I'm serious, Duncan. Remember what you said about utilizing both sides of your brain. Music might help with that."
"Say, that vicar of yours isn't young and single, is he? I think you're spending too much time together."
Now, Angela laughed.
"If you could only see him, Duncan. He's about sixty. But, I have to say, he's rather debonair and he is single. I've always seen myself with an older man," she teased.
He felt a pang of jealousy before he realized she was most likely joking. In his thirties, he was an older man after all. Hope surged through him and gave him the courage to ask what he'd been wondering about since they'd been together in Spain.
"Angela, are you still seeing Johan?"
Angela and Johan Stark, an expert in game theory and psychology, had been an item for several months. They'd met on the merlon murder case and Johan had pursued Duncan's then assistant relentlessly. When she joined Duncan in Spain, Johan was pressing her for a commitment. By then, Angus decided Angela was the one for him. That's when things got really complicated. It had taken the investigator years to recognize her worth and by the time he developed feelings for the lass, everything had grown knotty.
"No."
Duncan's heart raced.
"I still need help with the office furniture. Will you come?" he asked.
"I'm free for a four day holiday in three weeks. Can you wait that long?"
"I'll wait forever, Angela."
He didn't know how that slipped out. Without realizi
ng, he held his breath as silence permeated their conversation. After what seemed like five minutes, he gasped for air, then coughed.
"Are you well, Duncan?" she asked, alarmed.
"Yes, I'm fine, Angela. What station do you want to leave from and on which day?"
"I'll get my own ticket and let you know the details later. I've got to hang up now, Duncan."
"Alright. Sleep well, Angela," Duncan added, although his former assistant had already disconnected.
Their conversation had not gone as he planned. He never got around to asking Angela about Angus. Instead, he'd blurted out that he'd wait forever for her to pick out his furnishings. What a bampot!
Harold entered the room with a gust of frigid air. He sat on the bed, unwrapped a knit scarf from around his neck and smiled at his brother.
"Guess what I just did," Harold said.
The investigator looked at his brother's glowing face and was afraid to ask.
"Uh, tried a salmon chippie?" he ventured.
"Nae. I've already done that. I prefer the mackerel with gooseberry jelly."
"Well, out with it then, what did you do?" Duncan asked with trepidation.
"I had the most brilliant day! First, Penny took me to a small bay to the south. There's sand there and you can even swim in the summer. But, you have to be careful because a child did drown there years ago, or was swallowed by a sand dune or some such horrible thing. Anyway, we explored the old lime kilns and nearby rock formations. There's a sea cave no one can access, but when the sun is just right, you can look down through a crag in the rock and view the ocean. I stuck my head in and smelled salt water!"
Mystery: The Laird's Labyrinth: A Duncan Dewar Mystery of Murder & Suspense (Duncan Dewar Mysteries Book 4) Page 11
