Chapter 12 #3
The baron snorted. “No. I just wanted to see it funded. As it is we are eighty-six quid past our goal. I’d say that was a success.”
“That much! Congratulations,” Cecilia said.
Then she turned contemplative. “There is something that has me confused. I have seen excitement for the dig and have heard that different individuals have spoken of wanting to take the lead. What I don’t understand is why?
Is there a monetary value to an excavation? ”
The baron laughed. “Hardly! It’s more a money sinkhole.”
“Then why the scrambling for control?”
He smiled. “It is like a bet on a long shot in a horse race. If your horse wins, the winnings would be astronomical.”
“What makes for a winning excavation?” she asked.
“A hoard, Lady Branstoke. The outside possibility of discovering a hoard,” the baron told her with an all-knowing wink.
“There have only been a few found in all of Britain, am I correct?” she asked.
“Yes, and they have been valued at far beyond the worth of the gold and jewels value.”
He paused, then explained further. “A hoard is not restricted to gold and jewels. There have been few instances of jewels in hoards. Buried payrolls for a legion of soldiers have been found, as have the funeral goods of a high-ranking person.”
“I see,” she mused.
“Hiding a payroll is not uncommon. Coins are heavy to transport. On the retreat to Corunna, Wellington’s army dumped an entire payload over a cliff to shed the weight and to hope the forces chasing them would try to recover the gold and silver, so giving our army the chance to make it to Corunna,” the baron said.
“Still, I find it interesting that a rare possibility should garner such interest in the excavation overall.”
“I admit to being one of those with hoard fever and I also vied for leadership,” he told her. “Even a minute chance is more than no chance.”
“I shall have to revise my thinking!” Cecilia said.
“This certainly presents me with a different viewpoint,” she told the baron.
“Forgive me for being dumbfounded. I need to think on this,” she said, as she turned away from him.
She looked about the room. Who else here had the baron’s attitude and desires? she wondered.
Mr. Coggle opened the drawing-room door and announced, “Dinner is served, my lord.”
Per Mrs. Norcroft’s seating plan, Cecilia sat between Mr. Hawley and the vicar, Mr. Wayne, an interesting pairing. Mrs. Hargrave sat on the other side of Mr. Hawley; however, she paid him little heed.
On her other side was Dr. Pettigrew at the corner of the head of the table by Gideon.
Dr. Pettigrew, his bass voice clearly heard down the table, droned on about the upcoming expedition and how Mr. Hawley was too young for the responsibility.
His voice easily heard by everyone. Mr. Hawley compressed his lips but did not take exception to Dr. Pettigrew’s words.
If he saw someone looking at him, he shrugged, turning to one of his dinner partners to talk on something else.
Cecilia silently commended him for his restraint. She decided to ask him about the rumors of hoards and what were his thoughts of a likelihood.
Mr. Hawley laughed. “As a properly built Roman road runs through the area and suggests a long Roman presence, one might easily suppose a hoard also existed here—even if it had since been scattered. I have not heard of a single coin being found in the area.”
“But there has been!” Miss Nieves exclaimed. Her excitement brightened her eyes to luminous emeralds. Cecilia watched Gideon suddenly stare at her, his brow slightly furrowing as if he didn’t know who she was.
“I saw it. My late brother-in-law found a coin. He said it was a den-something.”
“A denarius?” Mr. Hawley suggested.
“Yes, that was it.”
Mrs. Norcroft nodded. “My husband was quite astounded and pleased with his find.”
“What happened to this coin? I’d like to see it,” Mr. Hawley said.
“I believe my husband gave it to the old earl. As it was found on the earl’s property, he thought it only right.”
“I have not heard this story,” Gideon said. “Can you tell us more, Mrs. Norcroft?”
She shrugged. “There isn’t much to tell.
You know Robert often walked across the orchard and up the back pasture to Pomum Court when he visited your father.
One day, he spotted something shiny and bent down to pick it up.
At first he thought he’d found a lost gold sovereign, but when he brushed the dirt away, he saw it was a Roman coin.
He continued his way to Pomum and gave the coin to the old earl.
Miss Nieves nodded. “Together they cleaned it properly, and then realized it was not gold, it was oridcum.”
“Orichalcum,” corrected Mr. Hawley.
“What’s that?” Cecilia asked.
“A mixture of copper and zinc,” Mr. Hawley said. “Gold and orichalcum are often mistaken for each other. Done it a few times myself when the excitement of finding gold hits.”
“I have a Roman coin as well,” revealed the Baron. “I found it not far from where the excavation is to take place.”
Mr. Hawley clapped and then rubbed his hands together. “Two coins, of course, prove nothing, but they do invite questions, don’t they?” he said gleefully. “This will be an interesting excavation.”
“Baron, when did you find your coin?” James asked.
“Hmm, let’s see. Shortly after I gave that former steward of mine the boot.”
“Might I see it,” Mr. Hawley asked.
“Of course. It is at home I will show you later tonight after we return.”
“What will be interesting to see is if the two coins are from the same era, or two different eras which, can demonstrate how long Romans were in an area. Lord Monteith, do you have the coin your father was given?”
“I don’t know. I shall have to look. I know of a few locations he might have put away a Roman coin,” he said with a smile. “He did not have a passion for Roman artifacts. And you should know, he could be careless with things he did not hold to have value, like historic artifacts.”
“I’m with the old earl. I take no interest in something from more than one thousand years ago. I prefer to look forward, not backward,” Squire Kassell said.
“I have something to share with everyone that is both old and new,” Gideon said. “With the assistance of Mr. Coggle, I found my father’s cache of Pomum apple brandy.”
The dining room exploded in conversation.
Cecilia saw Mrs. Hargrave’s head spin like a top in Gideon’s direction. Her eyes wide.
Gideon grinned at the reception his announcement received. “I think it is magnificent and I think you will as well. Coggle?” Gideon called out to his butler.
The man entered the room bearing a large silver tray filled with small cut-crystal glasses of brandy.
“How did you find this?” called out the baron from his end of the table.
Gideon laughed. “From a casual comment made by a former distiller to Lady Branstoke… I’d like to propose a toast: To things long hidden—may they be discovered at the proper time, and by the proper hands.”
After a round of cheers, the guests all took a sip in silence, then again burst into conversation. Three voices were heard louder than the others.
“I say Monteith! This is extraordinary!” claimed the baron.
“Would you happen to know its age?” Mr. Kassell asked.
“Might I buy a bottle off you?” Mr. Bagnall-Bently asked.
Cecilia didn’t pay attention to the words people spoke. She looked around the table for hesitance, or any other reaction that seemed out of the common. Only Mrs. Hargrave looked disturbed by the announcement of the brandy. Curious.
Gideon set down his glass and raised his hands, palms out, in a request for silence. If he tried to grin any wider, Cecilia thought his face would split.
“There is more, I assure you, not only of this year, but also of earlier vintages and some as recent as three years.”
“What do you intend to do with this sudden bounty?” asked Mr. Lamont.
“Sell it,” Gideon said flatly. “I will keep a few bottles for myself, naturally, but everything else will be sold.”
Cecilia looked around the table, observing reactions—or the lack thereof. Mrs. Hargrave had reverted her expression to display little interest.
“Why?” asked the baron.
Gideon shrugged slightly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have the recipe my father used so I cannot replicate the brandy.
I am sending a letter to his previous buyers asking if they are interested in purchasing what will be the last of the Pomum brandy.
I’m hoping that will increase its value in the market. ”
Cecilia smiled. She knew he had not sent a letter to any of his father’s buyers as he didn’t know who they were. Gideon was also looking for reactions.
“Damned shame,” said Kassell. “I always found it better than that French stuff.”
“Squire Kassell, shame on you,” Mrs. Norcroft said, smiling and shaking her head.
“What are you about, Mrs. Norcroft?” demanded Squire Kassell.
“A magistrate indulging in smuggled goods, for that is the only way you could have sampled French apple brandy over the last few years.”
He snorted. “If I was served French brandy, I never asked how it got here. The smuggling was done. I only try to stop it in route.”
“A convenient loophole,” observed Mr. Lamont.
“A not uncommon one,” inserted James smoothly. “We have something similar in our county.”
“It was unfortunate your brother died in such a horrible accident,” Mr. Kassell said, shaking his head sadly.
“Accident!” piped in Mrs. Wayne. Her head jerked upward. The calm, placid vicar’s wife glared at the magistrate. “He was murdered. —And you’d know that too if you had spent five minutes looking at his body
“Now dear,” protested Vicar Wayne.
The source of the protest drew Cecilia’s attention stronger than the words. Her chin rose as she listened. Mrs. Hargrave’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Mrs. Wayne.
“At the inquest the jurors ruled it an accidental death,” the magistrate said firmly. Cecilia thought he considered that the End of Discussion!
Mrs. Hargrave raised her chin and smiled at the magistrate.