“What?” George settled on the pew in front of Callum, his expression now intent.
Seeing the same demand on every face, Callum explained his theory that the lane that ran north beside the village might have been a track for the merchant to access the stream. “If Silvesterius Magnus sited his compound roughly midway between the stream and the Salisbury-Southampton road, that would place it more or less level with the village and, I would suggest, most likely within a hundred yards or so of the lane.”
Henry’s gaze had grown distant. “So Witcherly Farm, Crossley Farm, and the manor grounds, and all the woods between.”
Callum nodded. “I think Swindon Hall is too far north.”
Henry frowned. “There’s a lot of untouched woodland south of Crossley Farm—although, presumably, we’d only be looking at the area from the farm’s southern boundary to level with the rear of the cottages along there.” He arched a brow at Callum. “If we want to keep closer to midway between the road and the stream?”
Callum nodded again. “We’ve only got two days before the majority of us will have to leave, so—”
“Actually,” Mandy broke in, “we’ll only have one day.” She glanced at the others. “Don’t forget Grandmama has invited you all to lunch tomorrow after church.”
“And afterward,” Melissa added, “we’re all to lend a hand in hauling in the yule log.”
“We can’t forget that!” Lottie declared.
Melissa looked at Callum. “Grandmama asked us, if we saw you, to invite you as well.” She waved at the others. “It’s really just us—the younger people—and the professor and Miss Webster.”
George grinned. “Those who will enjoy the food and the fun of hauling in the yule log.”
“I…see.” Callum glanced sidelong at Honor.
Leaning forward, she said to Melissa and Mandy, “Please tell your grandmother that, while I accept with delight, my uncle must decline—he’s too far behind in his writing to attend, but he thanks her ladyship for the invitation.”
Melissa and Mandy nodded, and when the pair looked at Callum, awaiting his response, he smiled. “I’m honored to be included and gladly accept.”
“Well!” George Wiley said. “That means we have only one day left—Monday—in which to locate this compound.”
Callum refused to be—couldn’t find it in himself to be—glum. “Buck up!” He looked around at the others and smiled, encouraging and understanding at once. “From experience, I can tell you that, quite often in such searching, as they say, the night is darkest before the dawn. Just when you think matters are hopeless, that’s when something will happen—something you didn’t expect and would never have thought of—which leads you to the item you seek.”
In the momentary silence as the group digested that, heavy footsteps could be heard approaching the church door.
“I suppose,” Dagenham said, “it’s one of those character-building things—that we have to hold to our determination until the very end.”
Henry nodded. “Until we succeed.”
At the edge of his vision, Callum saw the church door open. A familiar shape was silhouetted against the gloom outside.
“Honor?” Webster peered into the church.
Honor shot Callum a look and rose. “I’m coming,” she called. She directed a swift smile at the others. “I’ll see you all here tomorrow.” Then she walked out of the pew and around to the door, where the professor had, thank heaven, remained.
Callum slouched a little lower in the pew as the others chatted over and around him. He saw no benefit in confronting his erstwhile mentor in public, although, obviously, as he wanted to pursue a future with Honor, the time for that confrontation was fast approaching.
As far as possible, he would do it on his terms—namely, the more private the better. He might be determined to make Webster understand that he wasn’t the blackguard the professor had, in his mind, painted him, but he doubted forcing the man to acknowledge his error in public was a viable way forward—not on multiple counts.
Despite all that had passed between them, he owed Webster for his teachings, his encouragement, his support for many years. Given a choice, Callum would prefer to spare the man any unnecessary abrading of his feelings.
Tipping his head, Callum peered between two greatcoated bodies at the door. Honor had met Webster and urged him to turn back; she’d pulled the door closed, but the wind had blown it open again, and Callum could see Honor and Webster walking arm in arm down the path.
Callum’s gaze fixed on Webster’s broad back. He needed to set his mind to how best to build the necessary bridges—or more accurately, how to repair the bridges that had once been there. Until he had them shored up and functional again, he wouldn’t be able to move forward along the path he now knew beyond question he wished to tread.
Callum looked toward the altar, then gathered himself and rose. Smiling vaguely, he joined the others, and together, they left the church.
Chapter 11
Therese looked around her dining table and smiled to herself. It did her good to occasionally surround herself with those of the younger generations; they widened her horizons and forced her to consider matters from different perspectives.
The main course had been served, and silence had engulfed the table. She seized the opportunity provided by everyone else’s absorption with Mrs. Haggerty’s roast capons to cast a glance up the table. Callum Goodrich occupied the chair there, with Honor Webster on his right. Therese hadn’t been the least surprised that the professor—who had buried himself in the cottage, writing his treatise, even to the extent of not attending Sunday service—had declined her invitation; indeed, given she’d invited Callum as well, she’d rather counted on the professor’s refusal.
It wasn’t her place to force professor and ex-assistant together; it was up to them to reconcile however they may. Her interest lay in fostering the romance between Callum and Honor. She felt perfectly certain Callum’s parents and, even more, Honor’s, were they to be apprised of Therese’s intentions, would thank her; however one measured such things, a marriage between the pair would be an excellent match.
Therese cut a glance at Dagenham, whom she’d directed to the chair on her right. She’d subsequently waved Melissa to the chair on the viscount’s other side, and in between mouthfuls, the pair were conversing in low tones. Indeed, in tones that, to Therese’s educated ear, spoke of a level of ease, of mutual acceptance, that was striking. And telling. To her mind, there was no benefit in attempting to keep Dagenham and Melissa apart or, contrarily, to explicitly encourage them; one of the hallmarks of an experienced matchmaker was knowing when it was necessary to step back and allow Fate to play her part.
Mandy sat on Therese’s left, with Henry beyond her. Therese was aware that, in between bantering with Henry, Mandy often focused on her sister and Dagenham. Meanwhile, to Therese’s continuing delight, Lottie, seated in the middle of the table, was dividing her wide-eyed glances equally between Callum and Honor and Melissa and Dagenham.
Therese looked around the table again and decided she’d given the company sufficient time to take the edge from their appetites. “I fear,” she said, directing the comment to the table at large, “that I have fallen behind in my understanding of your endeavors regarding the source of our three Roman coins.” She arched her brows, inviting their response. “How goes your search?”
Led by Jamie and Henry, but with each and every one bar Honor making some contribution, the group described their efforts in searching for who had placed the coins in the jar, and when that had turned up nothing, their subsequent search for any excavation that might have unearthed the coins.
Therese nodded in understanding. “I’m impressed,” she informed them all. “You seem to have been remarkably thorough.”
“Much good has it done us.” Henry grimaced. “We’ve found no one who recalls the coins, and no sign of any digging.”
“Thus far,” George put in. He looked up t
he table and met Therese’s eyes. “Mr. Harris has thought of where else we should search.”
“Indeed?” Therese looked at Callum and arched her brows.
He dabbed his lips with his napkin, then, while the Crimminses cleared the plates and ferried in a sherry trifle, explained his notion of their Roman merchant’s compound being most likely sited to one side or the other of the lane running north along the edge of the village. “Somewhere along there, roughly level with…” He paused, then continued, “The manor, in fact, would be equidistant from the Salisbury-Southampton road—which was already there at the time—and the river.”
“I see.” Therese served the last of the trifle, then looked again at Callum. “And what evidence is there that this compound existed?” She asked out of interest and also to encourage Callum to display his erudition before the appreciative audience consuming her trifle on his right.
When Callum concluded his mercifully brief, if thorough, listing of all the information on the compound he’d found in the books recording the village’s history, Therese inclined her head. “Excellent. So as matters now stand, how do you propose to proceed with your search?”
Callum looked at Henry and Jamie; Therese wasn’t surprised when the three led the company in formulating a plan for quartering the land on either side of the lane on the morrow.
“If we start immediately after breakfast,” Henry concluded, “we should be able to thoroughly search that area.”
They duly arranged to meet at the manor after breakfast on the following morning.
Therese hid her delight when Callum turned to Honor and asked, “If you can spare the time, would you like to join us? You’ve spent a lot of your stay in the village indoors.”
Honor met his gaze and returned, “As have you. But point taken.” She glanced at the others, all of whom looked at her encouragingly, and smiled. “If I can manage it, I’ll join you all here tomorrow morning.”
“Good-oh!” Henry said. “The more eyes on the ground, the better.”
Callum simply beamed.
Then George Wiley—who, along with Roger Carnaby, tended to be quieter than the rest of the often-boisterous company—shifted in his chair, then looked at Jamie and Henry. “Hearing you revisit our earlier searches… As I recall, we found three of the outlying cottages empty. You said they belonged to men who moved around the area for work. We never went back to see if those men had returned and ask if they remembered the coins.”
“That’s right!” Jamie looked at Henry. “Those three men were the only ones in the village we never asked.”
Henry’s jaw set determinedly, and he nodded. “Right, then.” He glanced around at his friends. “Perhaps, after we’ve helped bring in the yule log, we could drive out that way—there’ll be enough of the day left.”
All agreed. As Jamie said, they would leave no stone unturned.
Inevitably, the talk turned to the looming departure of Therese and her five grandchildren and Henry’s four friends from the village, scheduled for the morning after the carol service, and a thread of concern crept into the voices; the clock was ticking on their search, and none of them liked the idea of leaving without succeeding in their quest to discover the source of the three old coins.
Therese noted the look exchanged between Melissa and Dagenham; the quest wasn’t the only endeavor their departure threatened to prematurely end.
In between the talking, the trifle had vanished. Therese looked up as Crimmins entered.
“My lady,” Crimmins announced, “Pyne, the woodcutter, has arrived and is ready to lead you and your guests to the log he’s chosen as the manor’s yule log.”
Therese smiled. “Excellent!” She looked around the table at a circle of expectant faces. “Bringing in the yule log is an old tradition that is too often neglected in this modern age. It was always intended as a group activity, and to me, it seemed appropriate that this particular group should come together to bring in the manor’s log for this year.” She rose and waved them to their feet. “Shall we?”
They sprang up with alacrity. The next minutes went in donning coats, scarves, and gloves. Carrying heavy ropes looped over his broad shoulders, Simms joined the melee in the front hall, as did Mrs. Crimmins, Mrs. Haggerty, Therese’s dresser, Orneby, and the manor’s maids, Tilly and Dulcie. Everyone was rugged up for a tramp through the woods.
“Just as well,” Therese observed, “that there’s been no more snow.”
“Aye.” Simms nodded. “Should be easy enough to drag a log along the damp ground.”
Crimmins had volunteered to remain behind and prepare the fireplace in the front hall to receive the yule log; when everyone was ready, he opened the front door, and they filed out to join Pyne, a grizzled man of middle years, who had awaited them on the porch.
“Good afternoon, Pyne.” Therese nodded regally.
Pyne dipped his head. “My lady. I’ve found a log that’ll do the manor proud.” He cast twinkling eyes over the assembled crowd. “And I see you’ve plenty of willing hands to help us bring her in.”
Jamie, George, and Lottie were acquainted with Pyne, whom they’d met several times while rambling through the woods. Lottie tugged Pyne’s sleeve. “Whereabouts is our log, Mr. Pyne?”
“Well, Miss Lottie, if you’ll all come with me, I’ll lead you to her.” To Therese, Pyne said, “She’s deep in the manor woods up north of the house.”
Therese waved expansively. “Lead on.”
Pyne tipped her a salute and set off around the house, and Jamie, George, and Lottie went with him. Henry, who also knew Pyne, followed close behind with Dagenham and Melissa, and Mandy, Kilburn, Wiley, and Carnaby trailed after them. The latter group were followed by Therese, Honor, and Callum—who quickly discovered that, although Therese normally wielded a cane and today had brought a shooting stick, she was sprightly enough to clamber about the woods without needing assistance. Simms and the rest of the manor’s household brought up the rear, chatting to themselves as the group struck into the woods directly behind the manor’s kitchen garden.
Pyne led the group steadily up a gentle rise, then they ambled beneath bare branches and detoured around old firs.
There were no pathways through the manor woods; it was an old wood, and the tall, wide-boled trees grew sufficiently far apart to allow easy passage. A thick blanket of dead leaves covered the ground, dappled here and there with clumps of lingering snow. Occasional thickets had grown up, dense enough to afford wildlife refuge, but none were large enough to impede the group’s progress as they followed Pyne deeper into the wintry scene.
“How are things going in East Wellow, Pyne?” Henry called. “Is your rector still that peevish-looking fellow?”
“Oh, aye,” Pyne replied. “But truth to tell, you’re more likely to find me at St. Ignatius’s, listening to Reverend Colebatch, than attending the East Wellow church. You’ve a bigger and happier congregation here.”
George, walking beside Jamie, frowned.
Jamie noticed; he jogged his brother with his elbow and arched his brows.
George hesitated, then looked at Pyne. “Pyne, do you ever stop in at the Arms—or at Mountjoy’s Store?”
Pyne glanced back at his company—now rather strung out—then halted and looked at George. “Aye, young sir. That I do—often enough.” In glancing again at the others, still making their way toward him, Pyne missed the look of surprised awareness his reply evoked on the faces of those who’d heard him. His gaze on the laggards, Pyne continued, “Mountjoy’s carries many more things than our little shop in East Wellow, and the beer at the Arms is better than what one gets at the Wellow tavern.”
Henry could barely contain himself. “I say, Pyne, you don’t happen to remember having any odd old coins, do you?”
Pyne shifted his gaze to Henry’s face, and a puzzled frown overtook his expression. “Old coins?”
Eagerly, Jamie said, “They might not have appeared odd or old, but did you put any coins into the ja
r that was on the bar counter at the Arms? Or perhaps into the jar on the Mountjoys’ counter?”
“The jars that collected silver pennies for the plum puddings,” Lottie put in.
Pyne studied the children, then slowly nodded. “Aye. I put a few coins—three, it was—into the jar at the Arms one evening. The villagers about here give me a lot of steady work, and I picked up the pennies from down this way, so in keeping with the season and all, it seemed right those coins stayed in the village and went into the plum puddings.”
The others had come up in time to hear Pyne’s statement.
While most caught their breath in almost-fearful excitement, Callum asked, “Where did you find the coins?”
When Pyne blinked at him, Callum rephrased. “Do you remember where you picked them up?”
“Aye—more or less.” Pyne glanced at the others. “Why?”
Henry, Jamie, and Callum told him, while the excitement built and gripped everyone in the group.
“We’ve been searching everywhere and asking everyone,” Henry said. “But we only asked those who are part of the village, and no one’s been able to tell us anything.”
Pyne looked amazed. He glanced from one to the other. “Roman coins, heh? Well, I never.” He focused on Callum. “I didn’t take much notice of the coins themselves—I just thought they were pennies some soul had lost from their pocket.”
“So where was it?” Jamie jigged up and down. “Can you take us to where you picked up the coins?”
“Aye.” Pyne looked about, clearly getting his bearings. “It was on the day I came up here, looking for the right log for her ladyship—the one I’m taking you all to fetch now. I started into the woods from the corner where the lanes meet”—Pyne tipped his head to the southeast—“and I tramped up behind the cottage down there, then on and up through the manor woods, making a circuit of the manor’s grounds, see?”
Everyone nodded, the children all but quivering with eagerness.
Lady Osbaldestone’s Plum Puddings: Lady Osbaldestone’s Christmas Chronicles Volume 3 Page 19
