Chapter 38
The weather being indeed as fine as Lucy had suggested, she discovered that the walk home was unreasonably warm.
She had worn a good hat, but regretted not bringing a parasol to offer shade.
With this in mind, she decided it would be more pleasant to take a slight detour down a longer but more shaded path, rather than her usual return route to Atherton.
The noises of the fields were soon replaced by the equally active but more muted tones of the woods.
The temperature was immediately cooler and Lucy congratulated herself on the wisdom of her decision.
She walked on the roadway, confident that any coach or horseman would be heard at enough distance for her to move aside.
Her attempts to identify a particular songbird were all in vain, despite the name being on the tip of her tongue.
Instead she turned her focus downwards to the stones upon which she walked.
Watching as they passed underfoot, she wondered if there might be some manner of improving the grip of wheels as well as their durability and suspension.
Iron wheel rims were a good way to reduce wear and tear and increase grip, but they added weight and still made for a rough ride.
Perhaps she was looking at it the wrong way.
After all, it was the traction of the horses that generated the power, not the coach.
Until she could develop a way to retain greater spring-coil energy, that would always be an issue.
Was it possible though? A coach without horses.
That would be truly revolutionary. But the amount of stored energy required would be enormous, and no mechanism occurred to her.
Perhaps some manner of mining pump? But the devices were so massive that she might as well stick with springs.
It was this she was pondering when a noise attracted her attention.
She walked more slowly, the noise coming closer and more directed, off in the woods to the side of the road.
She noticed a small overgrown path. It originated from behind a curious sight, a mid-sized oak that had grown from the decaying trunk of an older tree.
She hesitated only for a moment before stepping around the tree and off into the forest.
It was a seldom-used path but not wholly overgrown, though the trees and bushes encroached upon her as she walked.
Lucy resolved not to ruin a second dress in so short a period, so she took her time navigating the tangles, keeping the fabric clear of any malicious twigs or thorns.
Here the air felt even cooler than on the road, the sunlight high above, filtering diffused light through the canopy.
Her slow movement meant she was near silent and was able to freeze in place once she spotted movement ahead.
She perceived a small clearing, so small in fact that it might not be noticed as such were it not for the figure standing in the centre.
It seemed to be that of a man, wearing a rough, dark cloak, which, with the addition of him facing away, quite obscured his identity.
Currently he was in the act of digging, and it seemed he had been doing so for some minutes, for there was a small mound of earth to one side.
What his intention might be, she was unsure, but she was quite confident that it was of no legitimate nature.
Lucy observed in silence, considering what her course of action should be.
She could not turn on the tight path nor reverse course without giving herself away.
She doubted she could run faster than him, certainly not for long enough to reach aid.
Her dress was of a bright spring style, about as far from camouflage as could be possible.
Dismissing instantly the option of climbing a tree, she slowly raised her hand and drew a large pin from her hat.
Given the element of surprise, she might find use for it, though she doubted its effectiveness against a determined opponent.
While she pondered this, the man in the clearing paused, shaking his head, seeming to scout the forest before him.
She tensed, readying herself to act if she were seen, but instead his gaze seemed to fix on a point opposite to her.
Lifting his shovel he set off on a course into the forest without once peering behind him.
Lucy only realised she had been holding her breath when his footsteps faded into the distance. She let it out slowly, remaining still until she was quite sure she could hear no more than a few songbirds.
A chaffinch. The name came back to her at the most inappropriate time.
Objectively she knew that she should return to the road, but there was something too tempting to pass up about a half-dug hole in a clearing.
It was absurd to check, really. Whatever the man had been looking for, clearly it wasn’t there, and what clues were to be gleaned from turned-over soil? And yet the compulsion to see was irresistible. She brushed aside the foliage and stepped cautiously forward into the clearing.
To her surprise, the hole was not empty at all. She could see the edge of a wooden box, half-exposed.
Why had he abandoned the task, half done? There was no practical reason that she could think of. Unless he’d known he was being watched. Unless he had known that whoever was watching would check.
Instinct overcame both curiosity and reason, and she spun about, racing back along the path. She made it several strides into the woods before she was stopped by a voice.
‘Lucy?’
She froze, her heart pounding as she tried to locate the source of the call so that she could head the opposite way.
‘At that pace it is certain that the woods or path shall do you more harm than I ever should.’
The voice was so calmly opposed to the flight reflex in her mind that it took her a moment to process it.
‘Captain Dashwood?’ she asked in confusion.
‘I apologise for the deception,’ he continued, unseen. ‘I was unsure of who might be observing me and circled about to catch sight of them.’
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand waving through a clump of scrub.
‘Had I known it was you I should have dispensed with subterfuge at once. If you wish to leave I should neither blame nor stop you, but I hope you shall give me the chance to explain myself.’
‘I am at a loss,’ she replied. ‘Any attempt to flee would, as you note, likely do me more harm than good. I can only hope your intentions are honourable.’
And if not, she thought, I still have a hat pin.
‘If you would meet me back at the dig?’
She turned and walked back the way she had come. All she knew of James Dashwood recommended him as an honest man, but she was equally aware of his talent for deception, and this strange behaviour would require a solid explanation indeed.
She arrived before him, watching as he stepped out of the overgrowth somewhat sheepishly. Beneath the heavy cloak, he wore rougher trousers and shirt than even his workshop attire. He still had his shovel in hand, which he pointed back to the hole.
‘I suppose it would appear that I am digging up a hidden cache of some manner.’
‘It would be difficult to deny otherwise.’
‘I shan’t deny it. Though I shall deny burying it in the first place.’
‘Please elaborate.’
‘It came back to the case of brandy. It would have been a unique thing to steal. Something that would attract attention even if sold by the bottle. How then to deal with it? When I perceived it from the angle of highway pirates, the classic method occurred to me.’
‘Buried treasure?’ Lucy asked sceptically.
‘Perhaps a fanciful notion. But all my other lines of investigation have thus far been fruitless. I concluded that if this were the method, the case would not be far off the road from where the coach had travelled. Likely off a path but not a common one, though one well indicated by a landmark, such as the oak by the road.’
‘And you happened to chance upon the right spot?’
‘Not chanced. I’ve been scouting the area for the better part of three days, finding a lot of dead ends and false trails.
I almost passed over this one, but I noticed the leaf fall in the clearing was off for this time of year.
Sure enough, I found disturbed earth. So today I came back with a shovel. ’
‘It appears you were correct.’
‘That remains to be seen. Clearly something is buried here. Shall we discover the contents together?’
She nodded, stepping back so that he might work. She did her best to focus on the mystery at hand, and not the unhelpful thought that she much preferred the sight of him digging without his shirt on.
Unhelpful perhaps, but definitely not inaccurate, she admitted to herself.
After a few more minutes, he had cleared the edges around the box, so he kneeled down and levered it open with a small bar from his pocket. There was no mistaking the contents now: a full complement of brandy bottles, destined for St Martins and now consigned to a subterranean fate.
Dashwood replaced the lid and sat back on the ground thoughtfully.
‘I must assume from your reaction that this is not entirely good news?’ Lucy wondered aloud.
‘It is positive news. But not easy. What do you think should be our next course of action?’
‘Why, to inform Sir Walter that we have recovered his property.’
‘How did I discover it? Was it by chance? Or was I looking, in which case I abandon a good deal of cover that I have in the district as to my purpose. Whoever buried it here would surely suspect me of hunting them.’
‘Well … what if I found it? I heard something in the woods, went to investigate it and found it half uncovered.’
‘I admire your willingness to help, but that outcome might be even less preferable. It might well mark you to the eye of the guilty party, and I should not wish to be the cause of any harm to you, Lucy.’