Christina sat by an open window, listening to the sea slapping gently against the harbour wall, punctuated by the restless tapping of the pub’s signboard in the wind. Gulls wheeled overhead, their cries thin and distant in the salt laden breeze.
She took a sip of white wine. Opposite her, Hamish had settled in with a pint of bitter, his tweed jacket peppered with Marmalade’s blonde hairs, evidence, like stray lipstick, that he’d been sleeping elsewhere these past three weeks. But he seemed more at ease than he had recently.
Buoyed by the alcohol, she asked him if he would be moving back into the cottage if Flora had been moved into a nursing home.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Of course. I’m not staying to play nursemaid to Hugo.’
‘What’s it been like, staying there?’ she asked tentatively.
He snorted. ‘The evenings have been a bitAlice Through the Looking Glass. Ma drifting around in a haze, Hugo three sheets to the wind, Amy pretending not to notice and Ernest preening over us all.’
His gentle humour encouraged her, and she opened her mouth to talk about their marriage. But he spoke first.
‘I’ve been thinking ... do you remember the tapestries in the Great Hall at Oxburgh?’ he asked suddenly, eyes brightening with the lift of a half-formed theory. ‘The needlework – that same diagonal cross-stitch, it’s on the sampler in the back bedroom at the Manor. Elizabethan revival, perhaps?’
Christina smiled into her glass, trying to decide if he’d guessed she wanted to talk about ‘them’ – their marriage – and deliberately cut her off. ‘Why not take a closer look before Ernest puts that up for sale too.’
Percy arrived carrying a pint and a leather folio, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but was far too polite to say so. Christina’s foot tapped nervously under the table. She kept telling herself he was here on Pemberton business, but what if he had discovered the forgeries and was about to blow her secret?
‘Hope I haven’t kept you waiting,’ he murmured, sliding into the seat beside Hamish.
Christina kept her voice light, though her heart was hammering. ‘It’s a weekend, you’ve come all the way over here, and you’ve got that look, Percy – the one that says something’s bothering you. Should we be worried?’
He offered a tight smile. ‘Not far off.’
They sat in silence for a moment. The fire gave a soft tick as it pulled air; behind the bar, Rose, the landlady, rattled a crate of empties with the cheerful purposefulness of someone who’d been doing that for years.
‘I was at the Manor yesterday afternoon,’ Percy began. ‘I wanted to double-check the items Ernest wants to sell before he prints the catalogue. Just ... to be sure.’
Hamish looked up, attentive. ‘And?’
‘There’s a strongbox. Antique. Very well made. But no key.’
Christina straightened slightly. ‘He wouldn’t list a locked box,’ she said. ‘Not without knowing exactly what’s in it. He’s not reckless.’
‘He hasn’t. It’s not in the auction catalogue, but he says he might include the box as a late lot.’ Percy said. He took a swallow of beer. ‘Which means either he knows what’s inside, or hethinkshe does. And something about it ... feels deliberate. Like something staged, I don’t know ...’ he clicked his tongue, ‘it’s just bothering me. Has he hidden something in there?’
Hamish leaned forward. ‘Not just hidden.Protected, perhaps?’
Percy glanced at him. ‘That’s what I’m afraid of. I’ve been trying to cross-check the protected assets. The tiara’s missing. So’s theHighland Pact Torque.’
Christina froze for half a second. Then, slowly, she rotated her glass between her palms.
‘The torque ... it’s a Jacobite necklace, isn’t it?’ she asked.
‘Exactly. I can’t find it anywhere, and Ernest claims he’s never seen it, but the paperwork is there. It exists.’
Christina was putting the pieces together. The torque evidenced Jacobite loyalty. It tied the family to a cause, a moment in time, and, most crucially, provided a motive to commission a grand gesture of that loyalty in silverwork. The torque would reinforce the loving cup’s provenance – and push her valuation straight to the top of her range. She glanced up sharply. ‘Did you find the rest of the protected assets? Is any of the silver listed?’
Percy shook his head, tutting. ‘Yes, some of the silver is protected, but no, I can’t find everything. That’s why it’s so important to get into that box. It might contain the tiara – or even the torque.’
‘And what does Ernest say about the box with no key?’ asked Christina.
‘He says he’s searching for the key,’ replied Percy, pulling a face which suggested he didn’t believe what he’d been told, ‘but that he might sell it regardless.’
‘He’s planning to sell it without knowing what’s inside?’ said Christina. That didn’t sound like Ernest, the master of strategy. Then in a flash of horror, she saw it. Ernest knew exactly what the box contained. He would get a crony, probably Frank, to buy it for peanuts and then magically “find” the key.
Percy glanced at each of them in turn. ‘I reckon the family ought to be sure what’s inside before the gavel comes down. I think there’s something valuable in there, and Ernest knows what. I don’t think I should confront him; I think its best left to the family to resolve this one.’
