Page 7 of A Snowy Seaside Christmas
She set the tin down on the floor and went to remove the lid, a feeling of uncertainty creeping over her, so different from the emotions Betty’s belongings evoked. She paused a moment, hoping she hadn’t unearthed something that would make her regret ever bringing the suitcase into her home.
Pushing her doubts aside, she leant forward and gripped the lid firmly, ready to prise it off, when Luna started hissing alarmingly.
‘Oh my days!’ A spike of alarm shot through Lark. Pressing her hand to her chest, she glanced over to see the cat crouching down in the chair, her ears and whiskers flattened to her head and her tail tucked under her. It was completely out of character, she’d never seen her usually tranquil feline behave in such a defensive way.
‘Luna, what is it?’ she asked, concerned. She went to give her a reassuring stroke, but Luna continued to hiss and spit, making Lark withdraw her hand; she didn’t want to risk the cat lashing out at her.
‘It’s okay, Luna, it’s just a tin. It can’t hurt you,’ she said soothingly.
But despite her words of comfort, Lark had already got a sense of something unusual about the tin. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. It wasn’t what she’d call sinister, but neither was it what she could describe as innocent and friendly. It had a story behind it, and instead of making her reluctant to open it, she found herself intrigued to know what was inside.
She turned back to Luna, whose yowling and hissing had subsided.
‘S’okay, sweetheart. Everything’s fine. If I find anything unpleasant, I’ll put it outside. Promise.’ This time, the cat allowed her owner to smooth a hand over her head.
Lark was relieved to see her words seemed to pacify Luna who sat watching quietly, though her ears were still flat to her head.
Turning her attention back to the tin, Lark went to remove the lid, but it would appear to be as reluctant to budge as theclasps of the case had been. It evidently wasn’t eager to share its secrets.
After a brief struggle, the lid surrendered, but before Lark had a chance to think, it was as if the energy of the contents rushed at her. ‘Oh!’ She was no stranger to picking up unusual sensations from the items she was considering for her shop, but this was something else.
Luna gave one final hiss of alarm, before leaping down from the armchair and darting out of the room and racing upstairs.
Lark steadied herself, wishing she’d asked Nate to stay; she could do with his level-headed, calming influence right now. She set the lid down, her nose twitching at the bitter smell that rose from the tin, a discombobulating energy loitering around her. A frown crumpled her brow as she tried to make sense of the odd cluster of items arranged within.
Taking up most of the room in the tin was something large wrapped in a piece of heavily stained cloth. Tucked beside it was a container made of dulled copper, alongside a worse-for-wear leather pouch, several pieces of torn cloth and what appeared to be small round balls of lead. There were also several coins, the sort of which Lark had never seen before. But what she found most intriguing was the rusty metal key. It was huge, the type she could imagine for the door to a castle or a dungeon.
She reached in and lifted out the item wrapped in the stained cloth. It was a solid weight in her hand and she had a sickening feeling she knew what it was. Unfurling the fabric, her fears were confirmed, sending nausea swirling in her stomach.
Looking back at her was an old-fashioned pistol.
SEVEN
Her stomach clenched and her pulse started to race. In an instant her mind was flooded with an image of moonlight shimmering on a dark sea, clouds scudding over a troubled sky. The silhouette of a sailing ship, its sails billowing, cries carried on the wind mingling with the sound of gunshot. A sense of fear and danger permeating the misty air.
Lark gasped. ‘Oh my God!’ She was overwhelmed by the urgent need to get the pistol out of her hands. With her heart pounding, she hurriedly wrapped it in the cloth and set it back in the tin so quickly anyone would think it was burning hot, almost dropping it as she did so. She sat back, putting some distance between herself and the tin when a crumpled piece of paper with writing in an elaborate cursive hand caught her eye. Tentatively, she reached for it.
‘“William’s pig is farrowing”?What?’ She turned the paper over but other than a smattering of oily stains, the underside was blank. ‘“William’s pig is farrowing”?’ she said again. ‘What on earth could that mean?’
Once more, a sense of danger crawled over her as she became aware of the sound of shoes scraping over stone, urgent voices giving orders, the crack of a cannon firing in the distance, thesmell of smoke swirling under her nose, the thundering crash of waves as they lashed against the shore. An image of shadowy figures hurriedly moving items – barrels, sacks, packages – from the beach before being swallowed by an ink-dark cave played out in her mind. In the next moment, a gunshot sliced through the air, the whiff of gun smoke, figures dashing about, voices raised in alarm. Lark gasped, her heart racing even faster. She dropped the paper into the tin, snatching her hand away. This was too much. She needed to break free of this unpalatable mix of distress and agitation, it was so at odds with her naturally peaceful and calm disposition.
When her heart rate had finally settled, Lark puffed out her cheeks and released a slow breath, trying to make sense of it all. Still feeling slightly punch-drunk, she felt her eyes being drawn, magnet-like, back to the tin. The small rounds of lead must surely be ammunition and very likely linked to the pistol, though she wasn’t so sure what the pouches contained. Maybe the leather one was for coins? As for the key, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what that unlocked, though her gut told her it was something at Crayke’s Cottage. A secret room or passageway? Or an old coffer, even? As for the piece of paper with the odd mix of words in cursive writing, she wondered if it could have been code for some illicit dealings, and if so, why have it written down? The thought of it sent a shiver running through her. There was no wonder poor old Luna reacted the way she had. Lark had an overwhelming urge to get as far away from the suitcase as possible too.
With dregs of adrenalin still lingering in her bloodstream, she secured the lid back onto the tin, then returned it to the case, making sure to fasten the clasps securely. She didn’t want it, and more particularly, the pistol in her home for a moment longer. She needed to get it outside, and get the usual calm ambience restored to Seashell Cottage. Nate may have said shewas welcome to anything else that caught her eye at Crayke’s Cottage but, right now, she didn’t want another thing from there getting over her doorstep. After what she’d just experienced, it didn’t bear thinking about what kind of energy it might unleash. There was no way she was going to risk it. She was thrilled with Betty’s case and was now wishing she hadn’t clapped eyes on the smaller one.
Thinking of Nate, much as she was keen to tell him what she’d found in the suitcases, getting the smaller one out of her house and into the shed in the backyard was a priority, snow or no snow.
Lark hefted it up from the floor and hurried through to the kitchen. She slipped her feet into her wellies and pulled on the raincoat she kept on a peg by the back door. That done, she flicked the switch for the outside light, grabbed the shed key and braced herself for what the weather had in store for her.
Outside, the icy air took her breath away. The snow was considerably deeper than when she’d waved Nate off earlier, and flakes were still tumbling from the sky, settling on her head and shoulders. Lark hurried to the shed, wintry air nipping at her face and hands, making her eyes water. In her haste, she fumbled with the key, pushing the suitcase inside when she’d finally unlocked the door. A sense of relief followed her all the way back to the warmth of the cottage.
Back inside, she gave a shiver. What a day it had been. She couldn’t remember one where she’d been bombarded with such an array of emotions. It had left her feeling quite exhausted. On top of that, she wouldn’t feel settled until she’d cleansed the atmosphere of her home and made sure she’d ridded it of any lingering negativity. Hopefully, that would tempt poor Luna to venture back downstairs.
Lark busied herself, gathering all she needed to begin her cleansing ritual. It was one she carried out on a regular basis there at the cottage and also at Lark’s Vintage Bazaar.
To start, she retrieved her bundle of dried herbs from the sideboard. It was one she’d made herself and consisted of sage, lavender and a sprig of eucalyptus, all bound tightly together with twine. The sage and eucalyptus she’d added for their powerful cleansing properties while the lavender was included simply because it was one of her favourite herbs and she valued its calming qualities – something she felt in great need of right now! All three were known to be attributed with the power of protection, too, which Lark considered a formidable combination.
Though the wintry weather made it less than ideal, it was necessary for her to open the windows before commencing the cleansing ritual, the reason being twofold: not only did the smoke need to escape, but she also needed to create an outlet for any negative energy. As soon as Lark cranked open the horizontal sliding sash window (a style typical of the vernacular cottages in the area), the freezing air didn’t waste a moment and rushed in, diving into every corner of the room. Lark methodically went around the rest of the cottage, opening the windows in each room and temporarily disabling the smoke alarms so the smouldering herbs wouldn’t set them off and startle her neighbours – they were well used to the smell of burning herbs emanating from her home and wafting into theirs. That done, she lit the top end of the herb stick and allowed it to catch fire before blowing it out with a gentle puff of breath, then carefully leant it against a terracotta bowl set on the sideboard.
