Rubies in the Roses

‘I don’t even know what goblet he means.’ Bolingbrooke waved a hand. ‘I’m sure he’s let himself be dragged into some wild goose chase again. But he’s an old friend and I can’t … Oh, Gregory, do come in.’

Guinevere swung round to the door where their guest was waiting on the threshold. He had taken off his coat and was now in his jacket with leather elbow patches, a pipe between his lips. He looked around. ‘Your library is almost bigger than mine.’

Bolingbrooke hitched a brow at Guinevere because of the ‘almost’ but said with a charming smile, ‘You have to tell us about all your travels. Where were you last? Corfu?’

‘Close, my friend. Another of the Ionian islands. Very friendly people and a lovely climate. You should travel more.’

‘And what did you find there?’ Oliver asked, carrying in the tea.

Wadencourt walked to the window and stared out.

‘Tea?’ Guinevere suggested quickly and began to pour for their guest.

‘No milk, no sugar,’ a voice beside her said and Max DeBurgh stood there, his hair swept back, a twinkle in his dark eyes. He was still carrying his camera. ‘If we find that goblet, I want you to play Lady Anne in the photo shoot I’m going to do. You’d be perfect for the part.’

Guinevere answered his smile. ‘I’m a costume designer so I could certainly make a dress for it.’

‘Perfect,’ Max said. ‘That’s agreed then.’

‘The goblet of Rose and Stars is not here,’ Bolingbrooke intoned. ‘You’ve come for nothing.’

Guinevere noticed that although he had just denied any knowledge of the goblet Wadencourt was after he was now using its actual name. So he had known more about it than he was willing to admit. Her heart skipped a beat. Why hadn’t he mentioned it to her or at least to Oliver? His own son.

‘I’m here to help you out.’ Wadencourt spun away from the window. ‘The article about its whereabouts is going to be published this week. People are going to pour in with metal detectors to dig up every inch of this island. Give me a chance to find it ahead of them. It will keep your precious gardens intact. And we are old friends.’

‘What article?’ Bolingbrooke asked with his brows drawn together. ‘Published in what?’

Wadencourt exhaled in agitation. ‘I’ve already explained all that. Some gardening historian has been here, a man called Vex, and he has deduced where the goblet is hidden. He has written an article about it, including hints and clues, and it’s going out to the public this week.’

‘Like a treasure hunt?’ Bolingbrooke asked. ‘Are they raving mad?’

‘Well, this chap Vex,’ Max said, ‘has done it before, you know, written up articles about supposedly valuable finds hidden in gardens. It’s sort of a … legends series he has, I imagine. Nothing was ever found, so I don’t think you have to be afraid that his readers will suddenly believe him this time.’

Guinevere hitched a brow at his tone. If Max was so sure there was no actual goblet to be found on Cornisea Island, why had he accepted to come along as Wadencourt’s photographer? What find would there be to photograph then?

He had just suggested to her she could play Lady Anne!

Wadencourt waved a hand. ‘You’re taking this far too casually, Max,’ he said with irritation thick in his voice. ‘Vex’s former articles might have been mere tales and fluff, nothing to them. But now he’s onto something. The goblet of Rose and Stars is a real artefact. A historically important piece.’

‘That’s what you say,’ Max said, leaning back on his heels. ‘I’m not convinced.’

‘Still you came,’ Wadencourt said in the same challenging tone. ‘You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t believe I would turn up something.’

Max shrugged. ‘Maybe I had nothing better to do?’

They sized each other up as if they were combatants, then Wadencourt turned to Bolingbrooke. ‘Just let me have a look around before the article goes live.’

Bolingbrooke studied him. ‘If you do find it, it belongs to me.’

‘Of course,’ Wadencourt acknowledged at once. ‘I only want the credit for the find. For proving that it exists and that its tragic history is true as well. That the lady in question came here and was killed here.’

‘Killed?’ Guinevere echoed, shocked by this suggestion.

Wadencourt looked at her and nodded solemnly. ‘Lady Anne, as they call her, ran away from home with the goblet because she wanted to marry another man than the one she was engaged to. She married him here at this castle. Her family then came with her fiancé and put the castle under siege. Lady Anne hid the goblet for safekeeping. When the castle fell into the besiegers’ hands, both Lady Anne and her groom were killed. Her family searched the castle high and low for the goblet. But it was never found.’

‘Because Lady Anne was the only one who knew its whereabouts,’ Guinevere concluded slowly. ‘And they had killed her, not knowing that meant they would never recover what they had come for.’

Wadencourt nodded. ‘Exactly. How tragic is that for all parties involved?’

‘But if the knowledge of the goblet’s whereabouts died with Lady Anne,’ Oliver said, ‘how can you have figured out where it’s hidden?’

Wadencourt folded his arms, a superior smile on his face. ‘You can read all about my deductions in the news release I will send out to all the media as soon as the goblet is in my hands. Max will take the photos to go with it.’

Max made a mock bow. ‘Much obliged.’

Guinevere kept looking at Wadencourt. ‘How do you know what Vex is going to say in his article even before said article has gone to print?’

‘Someone who works for the gardening magazine knows of my interest and let me know.’

‘He leaked the information to you,’ Max corrected, ‘for money.’

Wadencourt turned purple. ‘Don’t you have something to do?’ he bellowed, waving his fleshy hands in the air.

‘Not right now, no.’ Max held his gaze. ‘There’s nothing to photograph yet, is there?’

‘Go snap some shots for your fans then.’ Wadencourt continued to the others, ‘Max is so popular on all these social media things you have to be a part of these days. I think it’s all just a waste of time, but he thinks it’s very important to get thousands of likes.’

Max’s jaw set. His eyes shot fire at Wadencourt. ‘It’s not about likes, but about getting your name out. I don’t want to keep working for cantankerous old bastards for all of my life.’

And he quit the room, slamming the door shut. The teacups rattled on the tray, and Nero growled.

Dolly stared at the closed door as if she wasn’t quite sure what to make of Max.

Guinevere felt the same way. Wadencourt was patronizing to everybody and ordered Max about outright, but then he was Max’s boss. Max could show some respect to him and not call him a cantankerous old bastard to his face.

Guinevere wasn’t even sure if Max believed in the goblet or not.

‘He’s quite rude to you,’ Bolingbrooke said to Wadencourt, studying him curiously, ‘for an employee.’

The other shrugged. ‘Young people have no respect these days. And he is good at what he does.’

He picked up his tea and blew on it. Then he put the cup down again, chose a sandwich, and took a bite. He returned to the window and studied the view. Nervous energy quivered in his tight posture. He was serious about his quest here. Very serious it seemed.

Bolingbrooke looked at Oliver and Guinevere, pulling a questioning face. He scratched Rufus’s head with slow movements as if he was barely conscious of what he did.

Oliver gestured to Guinevere to come with him into the corridor for a moment. He said softly, ‘Wadencourt could have taken any photographer. Why this DeBurgh chap who’s treating him like dirt? I think we need to know just a bit more about him. After all, if Wadencourt can be believed, there’s a priceless goblet at stake here. Why don’t you offer to show DeBurgh around and ask him some innocent questions? Find out what he did before he signed up with Wadencourt. How he even knows him.’

‘Why me?’ Guinevere asked.