Chapter 43
Chapter Forty-Three
‘We’re just heading out to the cottage gardens.’
Katie stared from me to Mason and back again. Mason was holding my hand in his, while in the other he clutched two trowels I’d located in the gardener’s storeroom.
Katie couldn’t seem to decide whether she was more fascinated by Mason’s and my handholding or by the trowels. ‘Are you two…?’ she asked in a stage whisper.
I hoped my love-struck glow answered her question.
‘And what’s with those?’ she asked, pointing a confused finger at the trowels. ‘Are you about to take part in some pagan garden ritual?’
Mason smiled at Katie. ‘I can’t explain right now, but I will.’
I produced Georgina’s diary from my shoulder bag.
‘If we’re right,’ I said to Katie, ‘the answer to saving Bluebird Cottages could lie out there.’
Katie followed my pointing finger to the office window, where the small, neat lawn and banks of hedgerows could be glimpsed running at the back of each cottage. ‘I don’t mind admitting I’ve got no idea what’s going on here.’
‘Trust us,’ assured Mason. He stood beside me and took Georgina’s diary. He’d flagged several pages with thin strips of coloured card. ‘Here. Read this section.’
As the office door swung open and patches of lemon sun alighted on Georgina’s sweeping black handwriting, it was as though I was stepping into her world, between these vanilla-scented pages, etched with the passage of time. She was giving Mason and me permission to see into her life.
I snapped my head up from reading Georgina’s diary, my mind reeling.
‘So, the jewellery box could be anywhere out here.’ My excitement gave way to pessimism at the sight of the blanket of green grass in front of us, with its rustling hedgerows.
‘I know the gardens are a modest size, but where do we start?’
I turned to Mason for a reaction, expecting an equally perplexed expression. But he was smiling. ‘Read on a little. There’s more information further down from that entry.’
My eyes slid away from Georgina’s writing to a few additional sentences she’d added like a P.S.
Like wild water running free,
Forever in my heart he’ll be.
And there beside this silver stream of fountain water, where we would hold each other and kiss below the stars, I would bury my precious pendant whenever I could not wear it.
‘Come on,’ urged Mason, ‘we’re so close.’
‘But there’s no stream or water in any of these six gardens, from what I can see.’
‘Not a stream, but there could be the remnants of a fountain.’
He gave my hand a gentle squeeze and began to search around, brandishing a trowel, while my stomach rolled with nerves. I knew what was riding on our success. I squared my shoulders and assisted him.
I rubbed a hand down my face. My hair was still loose from when Mason had loosened it from its ponytail and my locks flipped and flapped down my back. I pushed some behind my ears, only to notice Mason watching me.
‘You look like you’ve just fallen out of bed.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘My bed, preferably.’
‘You just keep your mind on the task at hand, please.’
Mason continued to prod at the earth of Capercaillie Cottage, where we had started, and search the section of hedge.
After a while, I was beginning to experience the first pangs of defeat. ‘What are you looking for, Mason? A crumbling fountain? I think we should stop. Perhaps we’re wrong.’
Mason shook his dark head and marched towards the second cottage. ‘I don’t think we’re wrong. We should keep looking.’ He headed straight for the next stretch of hedgerow and began raking and jabbing at the soil, peering into the thicket of twigs and leaves.
A few minutes later, he beckoned me over to a clump of dense hedgerow towards the back of the garden. A strip of rich, dark flower bed ran in front of it.
‘What is it? Have you found something?’
Mason’s hand pushed against the hedge. ‘I think I can see something concealed in there.’ He used both hands to separate the tightly knitted leaves. As he did so, a section of pale-grey stone emerged.
‘Is it a fountain?’ I asked, craning my neck for a closer look.
‘It does look like some sort of small Georgian water feature. It probably acted as a bird bath out here. Look at the gorgeous, raised decoration on the front.’
I clenched my fists. ‘Water! Could Georgina’s jewellery box be around here?’
‘Let’s see.’
Mason cleared away some further branches that had accumulated around the base of what was remaining of the water feature. Picking up his trowel from the grass, he sank it into the bed of earth. ‘I’m sure Georgina would have hidden it not to close to the base, for fear of water damaging the box.’
‘And she said to the Scarlet Highwayman she would wear it whenever she met up with him, so presumably she wouldn’t have buried it somewhere complicated or too deep.
’ I knelt down beside him and picked up the spare trowel.
‘This feels so strange. I mean, if Blake Summers was the Scarlet Highwayman and he gave Georgina this pendant, it’s as if I’m reaching back into my own past.’
Mason turned to me, his eyes soft like the harbour water. ‘We’re getting closer to finding out the truth and a lot of that is down to you. You don’t give up easily, do you?’
‘No.’ I stroked his hand.
He flashed me a smile. ‘Get digging, Rapunzel.’
We scooped out earth, its damp aroma rising up to greet us. The knees of my black trousers clung to the damp grass, and Mason’s biceps tensed under his shirt. We edged away clumps of dirt, scooping it to one side.
I was beginning to feel a little deflated, when Mason shovelled up another trowel full of earth and stopped. ‘I think I might have found something.’
My hand shot out and gripped his arm. He leaned across and playfully stroked my cheek. ‘Don’t get too excited until we see what it is.’
I flopped onto my bottom and watched, not daring to breathe.
Mason rolled up one shirtsleeve and angled his right hand into the hole he’d made. Then he used his other hand to lever out the object.
‘Is that it?’ I asked faintly. ‘Oh, please tell me that’s it.’
Mason placed the dirt-speckled, faded jewellery box on the grass in front of him and dusted off his fingers. On the lid was a carving of two entwined roses. Some of the rich detail had evaporated over time, but there was still a special curve to the layers of petals. They reminded me of something.
‘You open it, Poppy.’
My mouth opened and closed.
‘Go on,’ Mason urged. ‘You deserve it. You never gave up on the Scarlet Highwayman.’
Doubts surfaced, threatening my optimism. ‘But what if there’s nothing in there? What if the pendant is missing?’
Mason flicked one eyebrow. ‘Well, you’re not going to know until you open it up.’
I fiddled again with my hair. This could be a major disappointment for us after everything.
‘Poppy,’ warned Mason.
‘Okay, okay!’ I breathed, reaching for the lid. It let out a petulant squeak, followed by a creak as it eased back.
Inside the musty interior nestled an ornament of gold, coiled up as if it were asleep. Come to think of it, I suppose it had been. I hooked in one finger and withdrew it, bringing the horseshoe pendant out and lowering it onto my trembling palm. In the evening glint of sun, it shimmied and twisted.
Tears clustered at the corners of my eyes. ‘Thank you. You’ve done it.’
‘No. We’ve done it,’ whispered Mason as he pressed a soft kiss against my lips. ‘We still don’t know the true identity of the Scarlet Highwayman, though.’
He eased the jewellery box closed, and I sat there beside him, marvelling at the loop of the gold pendant that spun around my finger.
Again, I took in the rose carvings on the lid.
I sat up straighter and then tugged my mobile out of my back pocket.
They were familiar. I’d seen them before somewhere… Wait!
‘What are you looking at, Poppy?’
An image parked itself in my head. ‘Of course!’ I burst out in a frenzy of relief. ‘Those flowers. They’re the same ones I photographed at McKerron Castle so I could paint them.’
Another thought lodged itself in my mind about the tangled roses.
Under Mason’s puzzled gaze, I pulled out my phone and searched for the Rose Mount Royal Orchestra, hoping against hope that my assumption was right.
I scrambled to my feet in a most unladylike fashion, pulling an alarmed Mason with me. ‘We need to check something out. Come on and bring the jewellery box with you.’
We arrived at Port Starr cemetery as the sun was disappearing into the skyline.
Mason held Georgina’s jewellery box. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked, but I didn’t answer. I was too busy charging ahead up the gravelled path. The assorted headstones planed and arched and there was an occasional burst of evening song from a blackbird in the trees.
My trepidation started to rise. What if I was wrong? What if I was making a mistake? But that carved design on the lid of the jewellery box was unmistakable.
I rounded the path and took a few more steps. There it was.
‘Can I have the box, please?’ I asked Mason, my breath quickening.
He handed it to me and watched as I moved around to the rear of the headstone.
I had no idea if there was something else there, but we had to check.
It would be dreadful if we missed something.
I hunkered down and pushed away the out-of-control heather that was forcing its way across.
My eyes scanned the twinkly grey granite before settling on a small carving of two intertwined roses that had been engraved into it about four feet from the top.
I beamed up at Mason as I touched the carved roses ingrained there. Then I lifted up the jewellery box.
Mason’s eyes followed mine. ‘It’s the same design.’
‘I think we’ve found the Scarlet Highwayman.’ I shook my head, emotion surging through me. ‘It wasn’t Blake Summers.’
He dropped down beside me at Gideon Kelly’s grave. ‘How did you work it out?’
‘I remembered the mention of Gideon being a member of the Rose Mount Royal Orchestra and I just had a look at their website when we found the jewellery box. That emblem is almost identical to theirs. It also matches what I saw at McKerron Castle and the jewellery box he gave Georgina.’
Mason’s eyes drifted to the carving on the headstone and a broad smile broke out on his face. ‘Well, well. So, Gideon Kelly, music tutor to Oscar Lapley, was the Scarlet Highwayman.’
A contented warmth spread through me. ‘When I saw that lid, I knew I recognised that same carving from McKerron Castle. Remember, I took a photo of them.’ I swiped to the picture from a few weeks ago.
‘I spotted the carving in one of the bricks when we visited Eliza Compton together and I remembered thinking how beautiful it was.’
My attention swivelled between the carving on the gravestone, the impression on the jewellery box and the picture on my phone.
The image of the wide, fluttering petals of the two roses, their stems wound together, shone out of the greystone and up into my face.
‘I took the picture and decided I wanted to paint a version of it. It really is the same on all three, isn’t it? ’
Mason’s encouraging smile made my heart sing. ‘It is.’
I let out a happy gasp.
Mason grinned at me and turned back to Gideon’s headstone.
This time, he focused on the lower, damaged carving.
He rubbed his fingertips across and over it a few times, before rising to his feet and returning to stand on the path.
‘Come over here, Poppy, and tell me what you think that other shape reminds you of.’
I walked over to stand beside him and screwed up my eyes. ‘I’m not sure.’
Mason’s sooty lashes flicked above his light eyes. ‘If I were to suggest that could have been a carving of a horseshoe, what would you say?’
He moved back towards the gravestone to where Georgina’s jewellery box was sitting beside it.
He eased open the lid and removed the horseshoe pendant from inside.
He lowered himself until his angular face was almost touching the granite.
As he held the pendant up beside the crumbly hole where the original piece of artwork had been, the gold horseshoe spun gently on its chain.
‘I think you’re right.’ I grinned. ‘Yes, it looks like it was a depiction of a horseshoe.’
Mason slipped the pendant back into the box and the lid closed with a satisfying clunk. ‘If I were a betting man, I’d say Georgina had the roses and the horseshoe carved into Gideon’s stone as a token of her love for him.’
‘And someone took exception to it – the Lapley family, no doubt – and had the horseshoe engraving damaged out of jealousy.’
Mason nodded. ‘I reckon so.’ He strode back to me and slipped his arm around my waist.
‘So, what now?’
‘Let’s sleep on it,’ he suggested. ‘Well, when I say sleep…’
My stomach pirouetted. He was grinning.
‘And tomorrow?’ I asked him.
Mason tilted my chin so that I was lost in his eyes. ‘Tomorrow, we save White Willow Cottages.’