Page 47 of Stolen By the Rogue
Simple enough. Or not.
She read the rhyme a second time.
“Who the devil was the one true heir?”
Her fingers drummed on the table while she wracked her brains.Thrump. Thrump.
“It’s obvious we are talking about the British throne, which means . . . oh!”
If the note had been written by Jane Whorwood after Charles the First had been removed from the throne, then the true heir should have been his son. Parliament had proclaimed Charles the Second King of England some eleven years after his father’s execution.
She got to her feet and excitedly waved the paper about. This moment called for a little jig on the spot. The first part of the riddle had been solved.
After placing the drying note back on the table, Jane focused her attention on what she knew of Charles the Second.
Scoundrel and unashamed adulterer. Fathered at least a dozen illegitimate children. Loved a good party. Popular king. Known as the Merry Monarch.
“No. That would have come later. What else? Think, Jane.”
Yet again, her attention returned to the note. “So, Charles the Second must have stayed at a particular place and that is where the treasure is buried?”
Her hopes dimmed.
After his father’s arrest, the younger Charles and the rest of the royal family had left England for the safety of the continent. The future king had returned later and tried to claim the throne but had been defeated at the Battle of Worcester, after which he had fled the country once more.
“And after Worcester, he was on the run, during which time he famously had to hide up a tree at Boscobel House in Shropshire,” she muttered.
If the boon had indeed been buried, then it wouldn’t be under stars or moon. What if Jane Whorwood had buried the treasure where the future king had taken refuge before his flight from England?
The pieces of the puzzle were beginning to fall into place.
But why Jane Whorwood would have chosen Boscobel House as the place to bury the treasure wasn’t so clear. Shropshire was a long way from London, and it would necessitate a special trip for anyone who sought to retrieve the treasure.
Which makes even more sense now that I think about it. By hiding it far away, no one would accidently stumble upon it.
The Royal Oak Tree at Boscobel House may well have held the secret of the royal treasure for many years; now it might also hold Jane’s fate in its leafy green hands.
“I have to go to Shropshire.”
If she took the fast mail coach headed to Holyhead via Birmingham, and then alighted at Shrewsbury, she could possibly make it to Boscobel House in a day or two. Allowing for time to dig around the tree, hopefully locating the treasure and making good on the return journey, she could be back in London in under a week.
What about George?
She should really wait for his return. He would expect it.
“Yes, well he didn’t hesitate to disappear off to Kent. There was no consideration as to what I thought of him helping Gus handle smuggled goods, was there?” she muttered.
George had spoken of giving up his criminal ways, but it would appear that old habits die hard.
After retrieving the note, Jane folded it in two. Her mind was made up.
At first light she fully intended to be on the doorstep of theSwan with Two Necksin Lad Lane, and once inside, she would purchase herself a return ticket to Shrewsbury. If George Hawkins had any problem with her plans, he could take it up with her once she got back.
I’ve made no promises to him. He hasn’t any right to be angry with me.
And if she did return to London with a king’s secret treasure in her possession, she was certain all would be forgiven.
Chapter Thirty
