Time After Time (209 page)

Tristan sighed, disappointment evident in his stance, the sloping of his shoulders, the grim set of his mouth. “It’s a dead end. We’ll have to turn back.”

“But I feel cool air.” Dr. Trevelyan watched the flame of his candle move as if carried by a breeze. “Where is it coming from?”

“Perhaps we missed another tunnel.” Tristan held the lantern high. Shadows and light danced on the moist walls. “In any case, the space is too small. None of us can fit through.”

“I don’t like this,” Jemmy whispered as he sidled closer to his father.

“You can still wait outside with Mac,” Tristan suggested but the boy shook his head.

They turned around as one and this time, Graham led the way back into the main chamber.

“Since I chose so poorly, perhaps someone else would like to try,” Tristan said.

Graham dug a coin out of his pocket. “Heads, we take this tunnel to the south. Tails, we take the one leading west.” He tossed the coin high in the air, caught it in his hand, and slapped it on his wrist. “West it is.”

Another dead end of sorts. Instead of the walls closing in, the passageway led to an opening . . . and a drop of several yards to the ocean below. Though the view was nothing short of amazing and the warm air circulating around her eased some of the nausea roiling in Caralyn’s stomach, they could proceed no further.

As one, they turned and went back to the main chamber.

The last tunnel led upward at a slight grade. Caralyn heard rushing water. She thought it could be the river, which fed one of the waterfalls on the island, but couldn’t be sure. Strange. The sound came from above her. The sides of the cave gleamed with moisture. Small puddles of water shimmered on the ground. She glanced at the ceiling of the channel, which was so low, it seemed to scrape the top of Tristan’s head. For once, she thanked heaven for her short stature.

Caralyn knew they hadn’t been inside the mountain for very long and yet, between the oppressive darkness, the rank dampness, which surrounded them, and the way the passages twisted and turned, time had lost all meaning. She couldn’t tell if only a few minutes had passed or if it had been hours since they first discovered the cave behind the waterfall. She closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated on the treasure—and precious freedom—soon to be in her grasp.

The passage led to another chamber, smaller than the first but high-domed with an irregular oval shape. Fresh air and a single ray of sunlight filtered in through the hole in the ceiling to illuminate the pile of bones and a small wooden chest in the center of the chamber. The skeleton of a human hand rested atop the strongbox, the bones undisturbed after all these years. Tears welled in Caralyn’s eyes as hope and expectation died a painful death in her heart. This was not the treasure she imagined, for there could not possibly be a fortune in gold and jewels in one tiny wooden box. Caralyn took a deep breath and a step forward.

“Wait.” Tristan commanded and grabbed her arm. “Look at the floor.”

Caralyn did as he asked. All around the chest, two-inch long needle-like spears of wood littered the floor. Hundreds of them, some still stuck in the remnants of clothing in disintegrating piles.

“Poison darts?” Though she’d heard tales about natives of the Caribbean islands using such things, she’d never believed. Until now.

“It’s within the realm of possibility,” Dr. Trevelyan admitted as he hunched down and carefully pushed the darts around with a bone. “There are such poisons that can kill instantly. Some paralyze your muscles first—”

“Brady!” Mrs. Beasley said. The doctor glanced at her then at the young boy beside her. He continued on, but in another vein. “The chest must be a trap. Anyone who tries to move it will be struck with these darts.” He rose and walked around the chamber, shining the light from his candle on the rough rock. He paused and pressed his fingers against several small slits in the wall. “I would imagine the darts come from here but I cannot see how.”

“No matter, Stitch.” Tristan turned up the wick on his lantern to chase the darkness away. He crouched low and inspected the area around the chest without getting too close. Caralyn admired the way his movements caused the muscles in his back to ripple.

He stood and ran his fingers through his hair. “Obviously the chest is a trap, as this poor fellow learned,” he pointed to the skeletal hand atop the box, “but I see no strings or wires. The ground beneath it seems solid.”

“Here.” Mrs. Beasley held out her umbrella. “Use this.”

Tristan grabbed the offered item. “Everyone stand against the wall. I don’t want anyone hurt.”

Caralyn motioned to Jemmy. “Come stand by me.” The boy carefully picked his way around the bones on the floor and joined her at the far side of the chamber. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed. “You’re very brave, Jemmy,” she whispered in his ear. The boy’s smile lit up his entire face.

The others did as they were told as well. Once certain they were out of harm’s way, Tristan used the umbrella’s pointed tip and brushed the skeletal hand from the top of the box then pushed the chest an inch.

Caralyn held her breath. Nothing happened. No poisoned darts flew, no sound echoed in the small chamber.

He tried again, pushing at the coffer with the tip of the umbrella. Another inch. Then two. Still nothing.

One more time, Tristan shoved the strongbox. A metallic ping resonated in the air as the chest scrapped across the hard packed dirt. Her nerves on edge, Caralyn jumped, as did Tristan, but still, nothing happened. No darts flew across the chamber, the walls didn’t suddenly collapse, the floor remained solid beneath their feet.

Tristan gave a relieved chuckle. “I can only assume the last poor fellow to touch the chest released all the darts.” He glanced around the chamber at the people under his protection and grinned. “I think it’s safe now.” He returned the umbrella to Mrs. Beasley. “Caralyn, would you like to—”

Before he finished his sentence, Caralyn approached the chest and knelt in front of it. She held her breath and said a silent prayer. With trembling fingers, she lifted the lid. No gold coins filled the box. No fortune in loose gems either. The sweet taste of freedom, so recently acquired, turned bitter as she stared at a burlap wrapped object inside the coffer.

With great care, she untied the string and peeled away the fabric to reveal a jewel-encrusted statuette of the Virgin Mother. How she wanted to cry, to just let the tears roll down her face and give in to the painful realization that she would never be able to buy herself out of a marriage she didn’t want. She bit her lip and swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“Well, what’s in there?” Graham stepped away from the chamber wall. “Emeralds? Rubies? Gold?”

Caralyn took a deep breath to get her emotions under control and lifted the golden figurine from the chest. “No precious gems, Graham. No gold coins,” she said, her voice tight even to her own ears. “Just this.”

She held the effigy as if it were made of glass instead of gold and showed them all what this adventure beneath the mountain had brought.

“I warned you, didn’t I?” Mrs. Beasley
harrumphed
and grabbed the statue from her hand. Her eyes, behind the lenses of her glasses, narrowed as she pinned Caralyn with an unforgiving stare. Her voice hardened. “I knew from the beginning there was no such treasure, that this was all a lark to avoid the inevitable. Now, perhaps, you’ll listen and we can leave this godforsaken place for England.”

Even a small piece of paradise couldn’t please her companion. Caralyn hung her head. Her hopes, her dreams, died a painful death, and yet she wasn’t willing to concede defeat. Not yet. She still had time, still had the rambling thoughts Andrew Pembrook had committed to paper all those years ago.

She shifted from one foot to the other. Angry words were on the tip of her tongue. Tired, hungry, so filled with disappointment her heart hurt, she opened her mouth to unleash those words but couldn’t utter a single one.

“There’s a piece of parchment.” Tristan’s comment grabbed her attention. Caralyn faced him as he pulled the folded note from the bottom of the coffer.

She gazed into his eyes, saw the twinkle of understanding in their depths, and knew his faith hadn’t faltered, not for a moment. He believed in Izzy’s Fortune, believed they would find the legendary treasure so many sought. “Read it.”

A slight smile curved the corners of his mouth as he unfolded the heavy parchment. “It says, ‘Take the hand of the Blessed Virgin.’”

Caralyn studied the statue Mrs. Beasley held. This Virgin Mary did not have hands which one could hold, which meant there was another statue, one that did. The disillusionment and frustration of moments before disappeared as quickly as they had come. Hope once more flooded her heart.

“There was a chapel on Pembrook’s plantation,” she all but whispered. “He mentions it many times in the course of his writing—I believe he spent a great deal of time there, praying—perhaps for forgiveness for stealing the treasure; perhaps so Morgan wouldn’t find him and kill him. What say you?” She retrieved the golden statuette from Mrs. Beasley and held it up. “Does this warrant a visit to Jamaica?”

“Jamaica!” Mrs. Beasley exclaimed. Her entire body stiffened. Bright spots of color stained the woman’s cheeks and her eyes glittered. “There is no treasure, Miss McCreigh! No reason to continue this—this farce, no logical—”

“Lovey.” Stitch said the word softly and gently touched her shoulder. Mrs. Beasley’s mouth snapped closed, and her lips pressed together into an unflattering line. She sniffed and her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears. With one last glare at Caralyn, she allowed the good doctor to draw her away toward the tunnel. He spoke to her softly, the words a quiet hum Caralyn could not hear, but whatever he said to the woman seemed to appease her.

“We set sail tomorrow after a good night’s sleep,” Tristan announced to those remaining in the chamber. “But we’ll have to stop for supplies first. We’ll continue on to Puerto Rico.”

Caralyn glanced at the statue then at him. In the light of the lantern, his unusual eyes sparkled. A sweet smile lifted the corners of his mouth, and she wanted more than anything to touch his tempting lips with her own.

“Faith,” he whispered as he tilted her chin with the tip of his finger. “Keep your faith. I believe Izzy’s Fortune is out there. And it’ll be more than just that gold statue in your hand.”

Caralyn nodded then smiled and slid her hand into his.

• • •

They’d spent more time beneath the mountain than Tristan had realized. No longer overhead, the sun had long begun its decent into the horizon. The heat and humidity seemed to dissipate, and a cool breeze whistled through the palm fronds, making them rattle against each other. The colorful birds were silent.

While in the cave, Jemmy had been quiet and reserved, hovering close to Tristan. Now, full of renewed energy, he scrambled over rocks and fallen trees, and swung from the vines within his reach, his constant chatter a balm for the weary group trudging down toward the secluded cove.

Tristan turned his head and studied Caralyn beside him. She had grown quiet, as if lost in thought. Perhaps she still bristled from her companion’s unkind words. If he could find a moment with Mrs. Beasley, he would talk to her about the way she spoke to Caralyn. No one had the right to disparage someone else’s dreams. “Cara?”

“Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She responded with a single word but didn’t say anything more.

It didn’t take nearly as long to reach the camp as it had to reach the tunnel, and the smell of roasting pork met Tristan’s nose. His entire crew, except for two, were in various stages of activity. A few more canvas tents dotted the sand. Stacks of firewood rested beside the fire pit. Socrates walked the length of the beach, back and forth, the blade of his long knife reflecting the light of the fading sun, on the lookout for feral pigs, in case there were more.

Woody, Coop, and Ephraim made use of one of the dilapidated grass huts and played a game of chance. A few more of his men were lounging in the cove’s crystal blue water.

Hash had cut the wild pig into four sections, each one on a spit, which Gawain Jacoby and Mad Dog turned slowly. Flames danced in the fireplace and sizzled each time a drop of pork fat dribbled into the heat. Hunger made Tristan’s stomach rumble.

Mrs. Beasley, ahead of the small group, marched straight to her tent without a word and closed the flap. Tristan watched her and a slight smile curved his mouth. Judging by the way she had stomped across the sand, back ramrod stiff, perhaps Stitch had already taken care of the problem of her criticism and harsh words.

His smile grew and his suspicion proved correct as Stitch sidled up beside Caralyn. He heard the good doctor’s words clearly. “I’m sorry.”

Caralyn glanced at him. “For what?”

“For the way Mrs. Beasley spoke to you in the cave.” His face flushed as he rammed in hands into his pocket. “She doesn’t mean it, you know.”

She placed her hand in the crook of his arm and smiled at him. “You have nothing to be sorry about, Stitch. Mrs. Beasley has never been afraid to speak her mind, and she means every word of it. She should take a lesson from the way Tristan reprimands his son. Never a harsh word. Always with love and kindness.”

The flush on his face deepened. “I’ll have a talk with her.”

Again, Caralyn flashed him a beaming smile. “I appreciate your offer, but it isn’t necessary. It’s the way she is and I’ve accepted that. I realize she isn’t happy being dragged from pillar to post in search of a treasure that may or may not exist. I realize I give her cause to chastise me.”

“Be that as it may, Miss Cara, I shall still speak with her. Despite her tendency to chastise you, as you put it, Mrs. Beasley has a beautiful heart. When she chooses, she can be kindness itself.”

“You’re quite fond of her, aren’t you, Stitch?”

If possible, the man’s face turned even redder, the color staining his ears as well as his throat. His mouth opened several times, but no words issued forth, just a strangled groan.

Tristan couldn’t help himself. He chuckled as the doctor made a hasty retreat to his own tent. “You embarrassed him,” he said to Caralyn. “He didn’t think anyone noticed.”