Page 25 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
Lark’s heart was thudding so loudly, she was sure the others would be able to hear it. She wondered if Louisa had sensed the change of energy in the room. Lark certainly had. She took another steadying breath, concentrating on putting up an invisible shield to the sensations that were now rushing over her and vying for her attention. There was an undeniable power in the energy, but it had grown weaker since she and Nate had opened the case yesterday. Had the sage burning helped? Lark felt the pressure lift slightly and heaved an inward sigh of relief. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as stressful as she’d feared.Nate’s voice drew her back into the conversation as he replied to Louisa.
‘I’ve no idea, but according to Mr Thurston and other locals, the place has stood empty for decades.’
‘May I?’ Louisa asked, her hand poised above the item wrapped in the piece of eiderdown.
Nate nodded. ‘Of course.’
Lark and Nate focused their attention on Louisa, watching as she carefully folded the eiderdown back and lifted the tin out. The lid came off more easily this time, revealing the pistol, the ornate metalwork and the rich patina of its wooden handle glowing under the bright lights. It felt as if the room and everyone in it was collectively holding its breath.
‘Oh my days!’ Louisa’s face was transfixed as she examined the pistol, gingerly turning it over in her hand, her fingers smoothing over the embossed initials. ‘J.W.F.,’ she said softly. ‘James William Fitzgilbert.’
‘That’s what we thought,’ said Nate, excitement in his voice.
‘If this is original – which I’m pretty certain it is – then it’s of great historical importance to the town. I’m not a fan of guns by any stretch of the imagination, but I can hardly believe I’m looking at the pistol that belonged to and was very likely held in the hand of Benjamin Fitzgilbert,’ she said, her voice filled with awe.
‘How will we find out if it is genuine?’ asked Lark, concentrating her focus on keeping a clear head and not letting the energy that was prodding at her interfere with her thoughts.
‘I know an expert who can examine it. He should be able to age it quite precisely.’
‘Wow!’ The larger-than-life stories of danger, daring and suspicion that had been legend for so many years were suddenly becoming very real. They were talking about actual people whohad once walked the very same streets in Old Micklewick that she had. The realisation sent a shudder running through Lark.
‘What about the other things in the case?’ asked Nate.
‘Yes, there’s a leather-bound book and a piece of paper with some odd words written on it that I couldn’t quite decipher,’ added Lark.
‘Let’s have a look.’ With great care, Louisa placed the pistol on the table before lifting the book out of the case. She agreed with them that the leather was too fragile to handle for her to consider looking inside right now, but the curator assured them she had a contact who was an expert in working with such artefacts, and would contact her later that day.
‘I expect it’s some sort of ledger, keeping records of smuggling activity. I’ve heard there are other such books in existence. And how thrilling to think there’s one for Micklewick Bay.’ The prospect sent excitement dancing across Louisa’s face.
‘Hey, you never know, Lark, you might even find a distant relative listed in there.’ Nate chuckled, giving her shoulder a nudge.
‘Oh, blimey, can you imagine what my mum would make of that!’
‘Pfft! Not so sure she’d be impressed. Your dad would love it though.’
‘I reckon you’re right on both counts there.’ Though she laughed, his comment set her thinking. Could that explain why she’d had such a strong reaction to the small suitcase? Thanks to her dad researching her family tree, she knew her family on both her parents’ sides had lived in Micklewick Bay for many generations, since long before the newer Victorian part of town was built. There was every possibility she could have a splash of smuggler’s blood in her veins. However, her mother being such a lover of peace and kindness wouldn’t be too happy to learn she potentially had cut-throat forebears; if the history books wereto be believed, some of the smugglers of Micklewick Bay had a reputation for being ruthless and weren’t afraid to use violence. The most infamous of them all being Jacob Crayke. Heaven forbid she turned out to be related to him.
Lark put that thought aside for now. ‘I’m interested to hear what you make of the piece of paper, Louisa.’
‘Me too, though would smugglers have even used paper?’ Nate asked. ‘Wasn’t it expensive at the time? I never think of smugglers as having loads of money.’
‘Yes, good point, paper was an expensive commodity in the eighteenth century, but Benjamin Fitzgilbert’s pockets were well-lined so he’d have had the funds to pay for it. And, being a man of great wealth, he very possibly funded the local smuggling ventures, too.’
Nate nodded thoughtfully as he absorbed the information. ‘So d’you think the note might have come from him, then?’
‘Quite possibly,’ Louisa replied. ‘As for the ink used to write the note, it was very probably made from iron salts and oak galls – they’re funny little growths found on oak trees. The galls were usually soaked in water or vinegar to help release the dark colour. That and the iron salts would then have been mixed in water. Sometimes gum arabic was added to make the ink a bit more durable and long-lasting, though it still didn’t stop it from fading. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, but they wrote using quills dipped into the gall ink.’ Louisa laughed. ‘Sorry, history lecture over. I can sometimes get a bit carried away, sharing little facts.’
‘No need to apologise, it’s all so interesting and helps add depth to what we already know,’ said Lark, meaning it.
‘I agree. Keep the facts coming,’ added Nate. ‘I never tire of hearing about stuff like this. Lark and me both have businesses in vintage and reclaimed items, so we’re already interested in things from the past.’
Lark thought her friend had a good point – their choice of work very probably did mean they shared an interest in local history. Maybe she got it from her dad; he was a history teacher after all.
It suddenly struck her that her father would get on well with Louisa. Maybe she could introduce them while he was here. She stole a quick glance at the curator’s wedding finger and found herself being pleased to see it was free of rings. She’d have to handle any potential introductions gently, make sure her dad didn’t think she was match-making – which wasn’t her intention at all. She knew he’d find that upsetting and she didn’t want to set him back now he was taking tentative steps on the road to being his former upbeat self. But making a new friend who had a shared interest in history could surely only be a good thing in her book.
‘I don’t mind admitting I have been referred to as a bit of an anorak in the past, so it feels rather nice to have people willing to listen to me gabbling away. But please feel free to haul me back if I go off track,’ Louisa said good-naturedly.
Her words made Lark smile – she used to tease her dad affectionately about his love of history. She used to call him an anorak, too.
