Page 75 of Fair Weather Enemies
Jane smiled at Adam. “I believe we have, and then some.”
The old man rubbed his hands together. “Good. Very good.”
Adam, however, remained perplexed by the final lines of the letters. “Mr. Chance.”
“Please call me Thomas.”
“Very well, Thomas. You are at present an elderly fellow; no offense intended.”
“None taken. I am well aware of my ancient status.”
“However, as you were eight years old at the time, and your father was not likely very old, then who is the pockmarked old man to which the letter refers?”
Thomas laughed again, nearly doubling over before the laughter trailed away into a fit of coughing. Adam held him steady until the hacking subsided. Thomas straightened and went to retrieve his hat from the table where he had been sitting. After placing it snugly on his head, he began walking toward the tavern door. “Come, Miss Hancock and Mr. Ashford. I will introduce you to the pockmarked old man.”
Seized by curiosity, Adam mutely followed Thomas through the tavern door and into the street. The others trailed along behind him. When they had gathered around Thomas, their guide lifted an open palm toward the fell overshadowing Coniston.
“Behold, my friends, the great hill of Coniston. Or, as we locals prefer to call it, The Old Man.”
“Of course,” cried Jane. “The mines. The tailings. Those are the pockmarks of the letter.”
“Exactly so. My father was quite proud of that particular riddle.”
Adam was forced to agree. However, the final riddle remained unsolved. As he stared at The Old Man, a startling thought occurred to him. The letters did not mention gold, or treasure, or valuables of any kind. What if the puzzle was not a treasure map at all? What if the gold did not exist? What if the letters were simply a pretense to reunite the warring families? If that were true, then the contract would be void. In short, the worst-case scenario. He and Jane could be together, but only to witness each other’s mutual destruction. Wracked by conflicting emotions, he stepped toward Thomas.
“Mr. Chance, our family lore tells us that the letters lead to a treasure. Gold, to be precise. But the letters do not speak of treasure. Is there no gold after all?”
He held his breath as Thomas gathered a reply. Hope and dismay flared at the prospect of a voided contract with Mr. Rutley. His world would upend, and he might not survive the tumble.
“There is a treasure, sir.”
His surging emotions began to settle. “There is?”
“Yes. Gold guineas, to be more precise. They lie hidden on the face of The Old Man himself.”
“Sixty-four hundred guineas?”
“Every one, as my father promised to Mr. Hancock.”
Adam’s tense shoulders sagged as he turned aside from Thomas. Jane met him, her eyes hollow, and features grim with disappointment. “It is over then, Adam. The contract stands.”
He stepped away, his head hanging low with disgust and guilt over his relief. Meanwhile, Hester gathered Jane into her arms. “There, there, my love. The coin toss yet remains. You may win the gold after all.”
She shook her head. “You misunderstand, Auntie. With the contract still in effect, win or lose, Mr. Ashford is forever lost to me.”
Thomas stood by in puzzlement while Hester consoled Jane. Barlow laid a hand on Adam’s shoulder. “My condolences, sir.”
Adam mumbled halfhearted gratitude. He rubbed his face and briefly considered the prospect of turning back without the gold. However, Barlow seemed to guess his thoughts.
“My boy, you cannot walk away now.”
Adam lifted his head. “Go on.”
“If you abandon the hunt, I will be forced to testify to that fact. Willful breach of contract would bring legal ramifications. You cannot help Miss Hancock if you are incarcerated or under continuous financial duress from a lawsuit.”
He glanced at Jane to find her nodding slowly. His head fell again, and he sighed heavily, hoping Jane would not perceive his guilt. “Of course, you are right. We must press onward.”
“Very well, then.” Barlow pivoted to address Thomas. “Perhaps you might explain the details of the gold. Where it lies, and how it came to lie there.”
