Temptation and Surrender (30 page)

COLYTON

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move—could only stare.

Then she dragged in a breath to shriek—and discovered her vocal cords had seized.

She remembered the stone shard in her hand. Looking to left and right, she saw a line of stonework one brick wide bordering the back face of the arch; the rest of the face was also stone but laid in a different, horizontal pattern, incorporating the plaque in the center of what had to be a door. Holding her breath, with the sharp sliver of stone, she probed the line of what looked like mortar between the curving border stones and the ones she thought were the face of the door…the shard slid in easily. All the way. When she pulled it out, dust came with it, leaving an empty line between the border and the door…

“I’ve found it,” she breathed. Following the border around, she noticed a large, dense spiderweb. Gritting her teeth, she lifted a fold of her skirt and quickly brushed it away—a keyhole lay behind it.

She cleared her throat, almost desperately raised her voice. “I’ve found it!”

A second’s silence followed, then, “Where are you?” Henry called.

“Behind the angel.” She shuffled and wriggled around, putting her back to the door. Reaching beneath the angel’s wing, she waved one hand. “Here!”

“Good Lord.” Jonas looked over the angel’s wings.

Filing came up behind him and looked as well.

Em pointed excitedly behind her. “The back of this alcove is really a door and there’s a plaque with Colyton carved into it.”

“I thought it was just the angel’s place.” Filing looked bemused.

Jonas crouched at the foot of the angel statue. “This can move—it has been moved, although not recently.”

Em jigged. Pointed. “It’s a Fortemain. It should be over there—between Sir Cedric and his mother—it’s her child.
That
Sir Cedric died two years after my great-grandfather. They must have moved the statue so they could set his coffin in that great tomb—”

“And then they forgot to move the angel back.” Filing had gone to check the Fortemain dates. “You’re right.”

She was sure of it. “And as there were no more Colyton burials here—my great-grandmother had already passed on and their children all died far away—then nothing occurred to remind them that the angel was in the wrong place—”

“Blocking the entry into the Colyton vault.” Jonas put his hands on the statue’s base. “Let’s return the angel to its proper place. Em—stay where you are.”

She did and helped by pushing as they edged the heavy statue out of the alcove, then maneuvered it across the aisle back into its rightful place.

Then they all turned to the now revealed door. Henry stepped close, reading the plaque, then looked at the door, pushed. “It’s locked.” He glanced at Filing. “Do you have the key?”

“The only key I have”—Filing took it from his belt where he’d hooked it—“is the crypt key.” He handed it to Henry. “Try it.”

Em stood beside Jonas and watched, all sorts of emotions coursing through her as the last male Colyton of their line slid the key into the hole.

Henry tried to turn it. Frowned. “It fits, but it’s stiff.”

Jonas started to move, but then stilled. Waited.

Henry wriggled the key, pressed hard—with a horrible grating screech, the key turned.

“That’s it!” He looked up at the door, pushed, then set his shoulder to it; the door inched forward, then stuck.

Jonas stepped past Em. He braced both hands on the edge of the door above the lock. “On the count of three,” he told Henry. “One, two—three!”

Jonas shoved, Henry pushed, and the door creaked, groaned, and gave. Jonas stepped back as Henry kept pushing.

Em expected a musty smell—the vault had been sealed for decades, after all—but instead a stream of cool air wafted out.

Jonas exchanged a glance with Filing. “The vault must connect with one of the cave systems.”

Filing nodded. “I was surprised the crypt itself didn’t, but perhaps it did, but the connecting chamber was made into the Colyton vault and subsequently sealed.”

The door almost fully open, Henry halted just over the threshold. Em joined him as Jonas fetched the lantern from its hook, then returned to hold it above their heads—shining down into the chamber beyond the door.

It was instantly apparent that Mrs. Smollet’s brothers had had cause for their complaints—the stone steps that led down into the rock were precipitous, and the walls and roof of the stairwell were so close they left barely enough space to imagine grown men getting a large coffin down the slightly winding steps.

The cavern below ate the lantern’s light. There was only enough illumination to make out the ghostly shapes of tombs close by the steps, with the barest hint of yet more tombs beyond.

Filing looked at Henry. “You’re fastest. There’s another lantern in the vestry.”

Henry nodded, turned, and, his face alight, raced off through the crypt, then pattered up the steps.

He was back a bare minute later, the other lantern in his hand.

Filing took it. As he lit it, he remarked, “This might explain that last line in the rhyme—‘in a box only a Colyton would open.’” He nodded at the stone door. “Traditionally, this vault door would only be opened by a Colyton—or more precisely
for
a Colyton. Either to bury one, or for family members to visit the dead.”

“Not a bad place, then, to hide a family treasure,” Jonas said.

Em nodded. Her insides felt knotted with a species of dread excitement. She’d dreamed of the treasure for so long, dreamed of finding it—had embarked on a quest to hunt for it—and now there she was, standing on the threshold of solving the last part of the riddle of its location—and she could barely breathe for the anticipation welling inside her.

Filing handed the first lantern back to Jonas. “We may as well take both—no need to leave one here.”

Jonas nodded. “From the looks of the size of the Colyton vault, we’ll need both to search it.”

He and Filing looked at Em, waited. She glanced into the crypt of her ancestors; no matter she wanted to rush in, it was still dark. She waved Jonas ahead of her. “Light the way.”

He moved past her and started down the steps. Lifting her skirts, she followed.

The Colyton crypt, vault, or mausoleum, call it what one would, was enormous, if anything larger, certainly more spacious, than the church crypt. Where tombs were squeezed together in the latter, here they were well spaced and generously proportioned. Many had ornate canopies; all were large, full-sized tombs, even those for children.

Henry and Filing had followed Em down the steps. The four of them spread out, moving silently through the short avenues of tombs.

“What are we looking for?” Henry whispered.

“A box.” Em answered in similar hushed tones; it seemed only fitting. “A receptacle that could hold treasure.”

Jonas glanced her way. “Do you have any idea what size of box the treasure required?”

She shook her head. Halting, she surveyed the room, mentally counted…there had to be more than one hundred edifices dotting the space.

Jonas put her thoughts into words. “It’ll take weeks to open and search all these tombs. Do you have any idea which one, or ones, the treasure will be with?”

Resting a hand on the tomb of a long-dead Colyton, she thought back to all she’d ever heard about the treasure, about the rhyme. “The rhyme supposedly came into being in the early sixteen hundreds, so the Colyton involved was from that time or before.
But
…” She grimaced; as always there was a “but.” “There’s nothing to suggest that the treasure—presumably in some sort of box—will be associated with any particular tomb.”

Filing had been surveying the extent of the crypt. “I suggest we search first for any boxlike structure—whether associated with a tomb or not. If nothing turns up via that avenue, then we can think about which tombs to open first.”

Em, Jonas, and Henry murmured agreement. They set to work in pairs, each pair with one lantern; Jonas and Em walked to one end of the crypt, while Filing and Henry took the other half, working from the center toward the far wall.

Reaching the last of the tombs, Em and Jonas saw that the crypt extended some way beyond. Jonas held the lantern high and peered. “There’s a tunnel leading away—probably to some other cave.” He glanced at Em. “That explains the relatively fresh air. This area is riddled with cave systems.”

“There’s another tunnel there.” Henry’s voice reached them through the gloom.

He pointed to another darker area on the wall opposite the steps.

“By my reckoning,” Filing called softly, “all the tombs I would expect for the Colytons are in here. There’s plenty of room still left in here, so I doubt we need search for any others elsewhere.”

Jonas signaled that they’d heard. He and Em turned their attention to the tombs around them. Searching for possible boxes wasn’t a simple matter; the tombs came in a large number of configurations, with lots of segments built into their construction; in essence each tomb was a conglomeration of rectangular shapes buried beneath ornate stonework. Only by careful examination of each tomb, verifying that each boxlike segment was an essential part of that particular tomb, could they discount it as a potential treasure chest.

It was slow work, especially with only the light of two lanterns. They could only effectively search where the light fell; immediately beyond that, the shadows cast by the larger canopied tombs, or the more ornate edifices, broke up the light.

Em eventually halted. While there was nothing in the family’s stories to suggest the treasure chest was associated with the tomb of the Colyton who’d won it, there was nothing to say it wasn’t, either. She looked around. “I’m going to see if I can find the older tombs.”

Absorbed with one of the larger structures, Jonas nodded.

He’d set their lantern on the top of the tomb; Em glanced around, checking how far the circle of light extended. Far enough, as it happened, to allow her to check the dates of about fifteen surrounding tombs. Picking one with a soaring angel as a marker, she commenced her survey.

By the time she returned to the soaring angel, on a tomb from the seventeen hundreds, her eyes had grown accustomed to the dimmer light. While all the tombs she’d thus far checked had dated from the late sixteen or seventeen hundreds, the next section of tombs beyond the angel looked different. Most incorporated effigies, for one thing, and the decoration on them seemed simpler, more stylized—of a different style certainly to those she’d been examining.

Moving silently forward, she searched for the dates. Some were on obvious plaques on the stonework, but others were buried within the carving; those were much harder to decipher. All had to be brushed free of dust and grit before she could make out their meaning.

She was so far from the lantern she was using her fingertips to trace letters and numbers, when she realized with a sharp jolt of excitement that the tomb she was examining—that of one Henry William Colyton—stated he was a sea captain who had died in 1595.

“Jonas.” Her voice quavered; she strengthened it. “Bring the lantern—I think this is the tomb of the Colyton who amassed the treasure.”

She’d spoken in little more than a whisper. Jonas looked her way, then glanced down the chamber, but Henry and Filing hadn’t heard.

Straightening, he lifted the lantern and wove through the tombs to where she stood.

She patted the top of the tomb. “This is him—I’m sure of it.” Excitement thrummed through her; anticipation bubbled through her veins.

In the stronger light, Jonas read the inscription she’d brushed clear. He set the lantern down. Glanced at her. “This is a simpler sort of tomb. Not so many sections to check.” But he bent and set about examining the plinth, then the body, then the long rectangular top for any openings or detachable sections.

Em checked the effigy itself—trying the stone bible resting on the man’s chest, then tugging at the block beneath his head—all to no avail.

Jonas stood and looked at the top of the tomb. Walking to its end, he set his hands to one corner, braced, and pushed—hard—but the heavy stone didn’t shift. He straightened. “We’ll need a few others, and a crowbar.”

Em pursed her lips. The rhyme repeated in her head—while it might mean the treasure was inside a tomb, she had an instinctive aversion to opening a tomb, especially of one of her own ancestors; surely the Colyton wife who had hidden the treasure would have felt the same way.

Frowning, she lifted her gaze—and focused on the next tomb. The effigy was that of a woman.

“Wait.” Em moved to the woman’s tomb. Brushing aside the dust, she read the inscription, much easier now with the lantern so near. “Yes,” she breathed. “This is his—the captain’s—wife.” She looked at Jonas. “It was she who caused the treasure to be put aside, rather than spent on more ships, more adventuring.”

Jonas moved to her side. “In that case.” He crouched and started to examine the base of the tomb.

Em looked at the effigy, wondered if the face on it was anything like her long-ago, many-times-great-grandmother. Moving to the head, she pushed and pressed the sides of the box-shaped headrest, but nothing seemed remotely giving.

The woman was much shorter than her husband; Em inwardly snorted—lack of inches was apparently one Colyton trait she’d inherited. The woman’s soles rested against another stone box, necessary to balance the placment of the effigy on the tomb’s top. Going to the foot of the tomb, Em placed her hands on the corners of the box, and, as she had so many times before, pulled.

The box shifted. Not by much—just a fraction of an inch. Barely able to believe it—not breathing at all—she released it and went to peer at the box from the effigy side—and saw a newly formed gap between the effigy’s soles and the back of the box.

A real box—one that was meant to be lifted away.

“I think this is it.” Her voice wobbled. She felt…dizzy, nauseous, and so excited she could barely stand.

Jonas appeared beside her. She pointed to the box. Prodded it with a fingertip. “I think it pulls out.” Her whisper was a mere thread, but he heard.

He frowned at the box. “There are words engraved on it.”