LITMIR.BIZ

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over the bigger dogs who followed her lead on walks.

      ‘What’s that?’ Bolingbrooke bellowed. ‘Strangers at the gate? Are you expecting someone, Guinevere?’

      ‘No, not that I know of.’ A strange excitement coursed through her that it might be one of her friends from the theatre in London. She had worked there as costume designer before she had come here to Cornisea, for the summer only, as the theatre needed renovations and the cast had been forced to leave behind the place they thought of as home.

      ‘I’ll have a peek.’ Bolingbrooke hushed the dogs and left the room.

      He didn’t have to open the front door himself, because he had a butler for that, a taciturn type named Cador, who could give Guinevere a start when he suddenly came upon her, moving through the castle noiselessly on his rubber soles. He seemed to be everywhere and see everything with his sharp blue eyes. Cador was supposed to politely dismiss unwanted visitors so Bolingbrooke didn’t have to deal with them. His lordship then hid in the landing waiting until the danger was averted.

      Grinning to herself, Guinevere walked to the door, still holding the book about treasures in her hand. She could hear Bolingbrooke’s careful footfalls across the creaking floorboards to the head of the stairs. There he seemed to wait, peeking down into the hallway to discern who was calling on him. Soon he’d come galloping back to her and hide in his library, throwing the door shut and claiming he wasn’t at home. There were many people Bolingbrooke didn’t care to see when they came to ask about the castle’s future, about unpaid bills or about donations for charitable projects.

      But now she heard a delighted cry, ‘Gregory! Old man.’ And Bolingbrooke’s heavy footfalls beat down the stairs.

      Dolly beside Guinevere made a surprised sound. Guinevere said to her, ‘Yes, girl, apparently it’s someone Lord B. does want to see. Let’s have a look for ourselves who it is then.’

      She snapped her fingers to tell Dolly to walk by her side instead of rushing ahead, and then she tiptoed to the stairs to look down into the hallway below. If it was an old friend of Bolingbrooke’s, she didn’t want to disturb their reunion.

      A short rotund man stood in the middle of the hallway. He had apparently dropped two suitcases to the floor as they stood on either side of him. Bolingbrooke smacked his large hand down on the visitor’s shoulder hard enough to send the short man tottering on his feet.

      But despite this rough welcome the visitor’s face was all smiles. ‘Is this a surprise or what?’

      ‘Indeed.’ Bolingbrooke grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. ‘How long has it been? Twenty years? Man, I wasn’t even sure you were still alive. No, that’s not true, I knew you were, because you wrote up those amusing articles.’

      ‘Amusing?’ his visitor repeated, his smiling features freezing. Even where Guinevere stood, she could sense indignation quivering through his posture.

      ‘Yes,’ Bolingbrooke continued unperturbed, laughing deep from his belly, ‘all those ideas about priceless artefacts that are hidden in old abbey ruins or remains of ancient keeps. You do know how to tell a tale.’

      ‘They’re not tales,’ his visitor said in a cold voice. ‘Those artefacts really exist.’

      Guinevere cringed at how Bolingbrooke was antagonizing his guest within minutes of reuniting with him.

      But Bolingbrooke didn’t seem to sense the hostile atmosphere and continued seriously, ‘How many have you uncovered?’ He leaned over to his guest as if he wanted to exchange confidentialities with him. ‘How many? Not one, hmmm?’

      His guest stood awkwardly, knotting his hands in front of him.

      Bolingbrooke said, ‘Look. I understand what you’re trying to do. People love stories about treasures and the mysterious circumstances under which they were buried or got lost. Some knight who won loot in an epic battle and then hid it where his enemies couldn’t find it and who devised a map with clues for his successors to recover it. Only nobody could make sense of his clues again. Until you came along of course.’

      His visitor’s round jovial face was tight with tension now. He spoke slowly and meticulously as if he was teaching a class. ‘My line of research is a very serious undertaking. The total value of artefacts that have gone missing through time runs in the billions of pounds. If only a few could be recovered, we would be looking at items that any museum in the world would be desperate to own.’

      Bolingbrooke waved a hand. ‘Yes, yes, of course. I believe you. You’re the expert in this field.’ He looked down on his visitor’s suitcases. ‘I say, you’ve just come back from travels?’

      ‘No, I’m here to stay with you.’

      Bolingbrooke blinked. ‘With me? At Cornisea Castle?’

      ‘Well, I could find a room with some fisherman at those houses near the harbour.’ The short man gestured behind him with a fleshy hand. ‘But I had hoped for your hospitality.’

      ‘Of course. There’s always room for you here. But why are you in the region? What legendary item can be hidden around here?’

      His visitor blinked at him in bewilderment at his ignorance. ‘The wedding goblet, of course.’

      ‘The what?’ Bolingbrooke asked.

      Guinevere came down two more steps, and the creaking of a board made both men look up to her. Bolingbrooke waved at her to come all the way down. ‘Gregory, this is my new assistant Guinevere Evans. She’s helping me catalogue my book collection.’

      Guinevere walked over and held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

      ‘Gregory Wadencourt. Historian.’

      Dolly circled Wadencourt’s feet and sniffed at his shoes and his suitcases. Her tail was trembling as if she detected exciting scents of the place where these well-worn travelling bags had been before. To be honest, Guinevere herself itched to know more about that. And about the alleged priceless artefacts the historian was hunting.

      Wadencourt spotted the book in her other hand and hmmm-ed. ‘I see you’re interested in treasures.’

      ‘Oh, it’s quite a coincidence I’m carrying this with me. We happened to start on a new pile of books this morning, and this was on top of it.’

      Wadencourt looked at Bolingbrooke. ‘A coincidence, hmmm?’

      Bolingbrooke looked down and fidgeted with his watch’s band.

      Guinevere studied him suspiciously. He had just seen some interesting books on the top shelf and taken them down, right? On the very morning his old friend, a treasure hunter, ended up here for a visit!

      Wadencourt said, ‘Well, I can’t blame you for looking into it. I mean, you must realize what will happen now? As soon as the word gets out, people will be flocking here to look for it. Your island will be under siege.’

      ‘My island under siege?’ Bolingbrooke repeated. ‘Why?’

      Wadencourt surveyed him. ‘You mean, you don’t know anything about it? I thought that man had been here.’

      ‘What man?’ Bolingbrooke asked, glancing at Guinevere.

      She shrugged to indicate she didn’t know either.

      Wadencourt gestured with both hands. ‘The gardening expert of course. Vex. The one who wrote the article.’

      ‘I don’t know any Vex. And what article?’

      ‘So Vex hasn’t been here.’ Wadencourt rubbed his chin and peered at Bolingbrooke as if trying to make sense of a conundrum. ‘Or at least he didn’t call on you during his visit. He must have walked about and investigated on his own. Took his photos to illustrate the article. After all, this island is freely accessible to the public. Anyone traipsing down that causeway at low tide can reach it and skulk about. Regrettable really. I wonder …’

      Bolingbrooke

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