Page 17 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
As if on cue, an ethereal cry travelled down the chimney and filled the room.
‘It was the peacock!’ Lark and Nate said in unison before falling about laughing.
‘Have I missed something?’ asked Jasmine, glancing between them. The reason for their amusement slowly dawned on her. ‘Don’t tell me you thought it was a ghost?’ she said, her hoots of laughter joining theirs.
After a quick discussion, the three of them managed to ascertain that the bird belonged to a new resident of Old Micklewick who’d brought it with them from their previous home that had benefitted from a much bigger outside space. It had been wreaking havoc in the nearby back yards and gardens ever since.
‘They used to eat peacock in Tudor times, didn’t they?’ said Jasmine.
‘I believe they did,’ said Lark.
‘That bird wants to watch out then. If it ruffles any more feathers – pun intended – it might find itself stuffed and roasted.’
‘Don’t mess with our Jazz.’ Lark chuckled.
Jasmine flashed a jokey grin. ‘So, folks, one of the reasons I’m here is to let you know that Skitey Bank’s been ploughed and gritted, though I guess you already know that since I spotted Nate’s van parked at the end of the lane – unless you stayed over at Lark’s, Nate?’ Jasmine gave a playful waggle of her eyebrows.
Lark replied with a good-natured roll of her eyes.
‘I spent the night in my own home,’ said Nate. ‘Headed down here as soon as I saw the roads had been cleared.’
‘Ah, right, if you say so.’ Mischief twinkled in Jasmine’s bright green eyes.
‘It’s true!’ said Lark, her non-verbals telling Jasmine to stop this right now! She could feel the heat of a blush rise up her neck and spread over her face.
‘It’s none of my business, flower.’ Jasmine flashed her a cheeky grin. ‘Anyroad, the other reason is to have a quick nosy round here. I’ve always wondered what this place was like. Mags said you were heading here this morning and since I had a birthday cake to drop off, I thought I might as well pop in and say a quick hello.’
Jasmine was a much-in-demand celebration cake maker. Not only did she work freelance, but she was also contracted to make wedding cakes for the Danskelfe Castle wedding packages – a luxury wedding destination near Lytell Stangdale on the North Yorkshire Moors. It was a role she loved.
‘I’m glad you did pop in or we’d never have known it was a peacock making the spooky sounds,’ Lark said, chuckling. ‘I was just about ready to make a run for it.’
The three of them had congregated in the living room after showing Jasmine around the cottage, and were just about to turn their attention to the suitcase when Jasmine’s mobile started ringing. She fished it from her jacket pocket and groaned as she looked at the screen.
‘Why would school be calling me at half past nine in the morning? The kids have only just got there.’
Lark pressed her mouth into a sympathetic smile. She knew her friend would be worried about Zak and Chloe after her children had experienced a bout of bullying earlier in the year.
Jasmine took the call, Lark and Nate looking on to see relief washing over their friend’s face as she listened.
Ending the call, Jasmine puffed out her cheeks. ‘I need to head off. The school’s heating’s on the blink so they’re having to close for the day. Can’t imagine how gutted the kids are going to be about that.’ She gave a chuckle, pushing her phone back into her pocket.
‘Looks like a day of sledging, snowman building and snowball fights is on the cards,’ Nate said.
‘Hmm. The secretary just told me they’ll have to do some lessons online, but I’d like to think they’ll get the chance to have a bit of fun outside, like we did when we were kids and had snow days. Remember that dim and distant time before computers took over the world and spoilt everyone’s fun?’
‘Can’t say I do, to be honest,’ said Nate.
‘Right then, I’d best head off and get the kids. See you later, folks.’ Jasmine bid them goodbye and hurried off.
With Jasmine’s bubbly personality gone, the room quickly took on its strange air once more. Lark and Nate turned their attention back to the case and, in particular, the tin. Lark looked on, the feeling of unease making itself known once more as Nate reached in and lifted out the pistol she’d wrapped back up in the oily cloth.
‘Wow! This is an original, and it’s seriously old,’ he said. ‘I’m certainly no expert, but looking at the elaborate metalwork, I’d say it belonged to someone wealthy. And there’s a set of initials here.’ He squinted, heading over to the window, examining the firearm more closely in the light. ‘“J.W.F.”.’
‘James William Fitzgilbert,’ said Lark, excitement suddenly thrumming through her and pushing her disquiet aside. ‘He’s the wealthy man who was in league with the smugglers. You do realise this is a serious piece of Micklewick Bay history, don’t you?’
‘I do. And the burning question is, what’s it doing here, in what’s very possibly Jacob Crayke’s cottage?’
‘That’s a very good question. If I recall from local legend, the two of them had a particularly vicious falling out, though I can’t remember the reason.’ The detail on the pistol made Lark more determined to speak to the curator of the local heritage centre, see what she could learn from her.
