Set in Stone (Forevers in Fenwick #3)

Chapter 1

One

The currents off the coast in these parts were temperamental, responding to changes in the weather anywhere in the North Sea and to fluctuations in water flowing from the land.

Since Thomas Medlock needed near-perfect conditions to send down his divers, and the weather was working up to another storm, he was at a loose end for the day. Particularly given his unwillingness to risk the diving bell that was his newest acquisition.

“I’m off to have a drink with the divers,” said his friend and partner, James Benniston. “Come with me, Thom. We’ve finished all the preparations we can make without putting to sea, and what else is there to do in this village?”

“I’m going out for a walk,” Thom said. “I might drop in at the church. It’s Norman, and the innkeeper says it has retained many of its original features.”

“That’s kicking up your heels with a vengeance,” mocked Jim. “Viewing churches! What will be next? A piece of Roman wall, perhaps? A medieval guest hall? You truly know how to party!”

It was all said with affection. Jim was a sociable fellow who was happiest in a noisy group, which made him perfect as the man in charge of the divers when they were on an operation, and responsible for selling their salvage services when they were between jobs.

The third partner in their operation, Paul Arkwright, was the captain of their ship, the Cormorant, and responsible for the eight-man crew. Paul had refused to stay at the village inn, the Queen’s Barque, preferring to remain with the Cormorant and his sailors.

Thom was the man for calculations, the one who labored over maps to account for tides, currents, and where a wreck might have ended up, the one who made certain that their price for the salvage covered all of the costs and left the three of them with a profit.

But when it came to dealing with people, he was often at a loss. He, Paul, and Jim were a stronger team together than they would ever be apart.

“Tell the lads I send my best wishes,” he said. “And remind them to keep their mouths shut.”

“I’ll remind them, Thom. But people will see the diving bell and guess. As long as only you, Paul, and I know where the ship is, villains can do nothing. Once we get our break in the weather, we’ll set guards.”

The voice of reason. Jim was too polite to say Thom was fussing about nothing. “I can’t help but think of these things, old friend,” Thom said.

Jim grinned. “Each to their own. Worrying about details is your job, and many a time I’ve been grateful for it. Off to your church, Thom, and think about arches instead of arch villains. I’ll see you later.”

Jim was right to say their presence would be easy enough to explain.

For this job, they had managed to acquire a second-hand diving bell in excellent condition.

It and the crane that would lift it into the water were both on the deck of their ketch.

The money for the purchase had come from the client for this salvage operation and would be written off if they were successful.

If they did not find what they sought, the contract obliged them to pay it back, with interest, over the next five years.

It was a carefully calculated risk. If they had to pay for the new equipment, they’d have narrow their margins for a short time, and improve the profitability of every job that followed, speeding up simple salvages and making more complicated operations possible.

As to the current project, their equipment was covered, of course, to mislead curious minds.

But the shape would tell an informed watcher that a salvage operation was planned.

That, in turn, would lead such a watcher to conclude that the wreck of interest held a treasure, for this type of operation was expensive, and most shipowners, having lost a ship in waters such as these, would just take the insurance and let the ship lie.

Thom walked out of the inn and looked back at it.

It, too, was interesting from an architectural perspective.

It was a hybrid like so many buildings of considerable age, with additions over the centuries, a long period of neglect, and a recent rebuilding and renovation effort.

Parts of the building were Tudor, parts Stuart, and parts Restoration.

Nothing Georgian. Apparently, the place had been a thriving port until the river that kept the harbor scoured had shifted elsewhere.

The town had declined into a village as all but smaller fishing vessels abandoned it, and it had been moldering away ever since, though to hear Brewster, the innkeeper, talk, it was about to embark on a new period of prosperity as a seaside resort.

Thom snorted. As if people would travel all the way out to the coast of North Suffolk for a holiday, even if it did, purportedly, have a magic well.

Thom, being a man of reason, had no faith in the well, but perhaps later he’d take Brewster up on his offer of a tour of the inn just to take a closer look at the architecture.

In the meantime, the Norman church was a greater lure.

Thom strolled around the outside first. It was typical—a square tower, stone walls with hefty buttresses, small high windows with arched tops.

The rose window in the western wall must be more recent, he decided.

In fact, Brewster insisted it had been a present from Elizabeth I herself, in acknowledgement of her visit to what then had been the town of Fenwick.

It might well be Tudor, at that, but Thom would have a better idea once he’d looked at it from inside. Otherwise, the church seemed to be untouched—a near pristine example of the Norman style of church architecture.

The entrance was through a porch to the side at one end of the building, with a door under a round arch that had been carved with patterns. Another arch covered the doorway into the nave of the church, and here Thom could easily see the thickness of the walls.

Inside was less dark than he expected. Of course, the rose window would contribute as much light as all the rest of the windows put together, especially with the afternoon sun streaming in.

Opposite the door, an arch led into the base of the tower.

At the eastern end of the church, another larger arch, supported on bulky pillars, led to the chancel.

A few pews had been built at the eastern end of the nave, but apart from those and the rose window, the church must be much like it was in the Middle Ages.

Thom paused in the center of the nave to look for the other feature described to him by Brewster—a series of painted scenes above the windows, each one picturing one of Christ’s parables.

Ah yes. There they were. Somewhat hard to make out in the shadows above the windows. Presumably, they had originally been painted in bright colors that stood out better in the gloom, but they had dulled with time.

The one directly before him seemed to have two people embracing. Did one have a beard? Perhaps it pictured the return of the prodigal son.

His thoughts scattered as something—no, someone—crashed into him. He put out his arms instinctively to save the person from a fall and found himself with an armful of fragrant woman.