This is insane. I’ll make a big fool out of myself.
My phone rang. It was our former butler turned de facto estate manager.
“Mr. Montague, this is Harry Schulenburg,” he said.
“Yes, Harry. I need you to open the house first thing tomorrow morning,” I said wiping my nose.
“It can be arranged, Mr. Montague. May I ask if you’ll be traveling alone?”
“Yes.”
“Will you be requiring any assistance?”
Good old Schulenburg. He’d started to work for my father when they were both young men in their twenties. He’d come from South Africa to see the land of his predecessors and decided to stay. He’d married a local lady, but she’d gotten sick and passed away after only ten years. He never remarried. He volunteered to stay behind and look after the house. He said that he was “tied to this land until the day he was no longer needed,” and we couldn’t imagine the house without him. Nothing could rattle his professional calm, which had helped him run the house without its owners and deal with the tenants for the past twenty-three years.
“I think I’ll be fine. I may need a flashlight and the keys to the basement, though.”
“I’ll have them and a guest room ready for you tomorrow morning.”
“Could you do it tonight, just in case, if it’s possible?”
“Certainly, sir,” he said without a hint of surprise.
“Thank you, Harry,” I said and rang off.
I placed my head on the back of the seat, not worrying too much about the cleanliness of it, and closed my eyes. I needed a few moments to understand what had just happened back in the pub and the possible ramifications of whatever was going to happen tomorrow.
What was Jared saying back there again?
“My mom told me what happened when we were on the way to the States,” he said, nurturing the glass in his hand. “Later, she told me that you guys had left the house. I know it might sound strange to ask this now, but was it properly searched?”
It did sound a bit odd, but I kept my poker face. “Well, we and the police searched everywhere the next day. A hundred people were looking for him in the park and nearby villages night and day for a month.”
“I see. I don’t know why, but I just thought of something Charlie told me about.”
I noticed Jared’s phone–that he had put down on the table–was blinking with incoming messages, but he did not check it. I was sure that he was going to tell me whatever it was, so I just looked at him, waiting for another flashback to surface.
“He told me about this scary chest that your family kept in the attic,” he said. “If I remember correctly, it was a pirate’s chest filled with cursed treasure, and if you took anything from it, the pirates’ ghosts would hunt you forever.”
“Yes, there were actually two. One was in the attic and “‘his identical brother’” was in my dad’s study. The one in the attic was ‘cursed,’ and I was the one who told him that story. It’s kind of a thing that gets passed from one generation to the next to scare the bejesus out of the younger kids in the house so that the older kids can hide their stuff in it. A family tradition, as it were.”
I didn’t need to tell Jared that this was the place where I kept my product. I had to reinvent a few scary stories to make sure Charlie never got closer to that chest. There was some powerful weed, and it smelled so strong that I had to double bag it and keep it inside so that no one knew.
“Were they really pirate chests?” Jared sounded intrigued.
“Well, the legend has it that the first Montague, Ezekiel, wasn’t a savory character. He travelled a lot and was involved in some shady trading business somewhere close to the end or right after “the golden age of piracy”.
“When was that?”
“I imagine it was in the early or mid-1800s. In any case, for some reason, he got to keep what he ‘traded,’ I think he was pardoned, and invested it in railways. Later, he was smart enough to pull his money plus interest out before the railway mania and the revolution in France …the last one, I think. Anyway, he bought the land and built the house in 1862. The chests were among his possessions when he moved in. It was said that he got them from some Chinese sailors in Asia. My grandfather used to say that the chests were filled with gold coins that helped the family through some challenging times, but I haven’t seen any of that alleged pirate loot.”
“Interesting.”
“Yeah,” I said, twisting the glass in my hand and looking at my drink.
As a little boy, I had been fascinated by the story myself and kept asking my father to tell it to me again and again. Unfortunately, it had been a rare treat because my father had usually been too busy for this sort of things.
“All the kids in the family, including Charlie and I, were trying to find those coins. Alas, the chests were filled with everything but.” I shrugged.
Jared smiled. “I remember wanting to look at that thing and being scared at the same time. I also remember Charlie thought that it was an ideal place to hide from everyone.”
“He was a bit afraid of the attic and the chest. Plus, the lid was too heavy for him to open anyway,” I said, massaging my belly which had started to feel strange. It wasn’t a “nature call” type of strange, but a feeling as if my mind was trying to tell me something and it chose my gut to send me the message.
I remembered what happened during that day in more detail, which wasn’t hard to do. When I found out that my parents had called the police, I had that chest moved down to the cellar the next day. I did not want the police with a dog anywhere near it. I did not have any desire to be questioned about where I had got the money to buy that batch.
“Why did you mention the chest?” I asked.
“I don’t know. As a kid, every time I watched a pirate movie I would think about that chest,” Jared said and had another sip from his glass. “In any case, I’m sure you did everything you could to find him.”
Chapter 6
Back in the taxi, I was thinking about that chest. Did we check it before it was moved down to the cellar? Of course, we didn’t. I was too worried about the police, and it never occurred to me that someone could’ve been hiding in it. Besides, I was not actually there when a couple of our footmen carried it down upon my request. No, it was crazy, but it’s driving me off the wall now. I had to be sure.
I arrived at the train station on time and gave a generous tip to my indifferent taxi driver. I got on the train and threw myself into the seat. Now I could think a bit.
“Alex?”
I turned my head and saw my old university friend James Harding. His family were our neighbors. The Hardings had lived in the area where our estate was long before Ezekiel Montague arrived but lost most of their land piece by piece over the years. They had been land-rich but cash-poor and had to make a lot of compromises to stay afloat. They still owned their Baroque-style manor house, Wintersmith Hall, which was built in the late 1600s, but was mostly uninhabitable due to lack of proper maintenance and funding. James’s family had been occupying one wing and using former stables for their needs for as long as I can remember. Our fathers were friends, until James’s dad passed away seven years ago, but our great-grandfathers weren’t as such. I remembered my father used to tell me that when I became the head of the family, I would have to make sure that the Hardings were always welcome in the house. I used to see him and his family at the parties that my parents had organized, but we hadn’t been awfully close. Perhaps the closeness of our fathers had been the reason why James and I went to the same university and that technically made us close enough to call each other friends. He studied history and I took business courses. After graduation, we didn’t keep in touch much but occasionally saw each other at different events in town.
I always thought of him as a sloppy nerd whose head was always in the clouds. He was a bit shorter than me and paid attention to neither the cleanliness nor tidiness of his wardrobe and hair. I remembered once, when I came to his dorm room to pick him up for some event when we were students, marveling at the mess that cluttered his living space. He pulled a white dress shirt from under his shoes, put it on and was ready to go. James had started to hide his weak chin under his dark beard long before it became fashionable, but food crumbs that had got stuck in his facial hair like little hostages. His lean body that rarely saw the gym, never looked too sexy to women. After his father had passed away, James returned to his house to help his formidable mother with what was left of their estate, which as far as I could remember, wasn’t making them much money. After that I hadn’t seen him much until today.
“It’s been years,” he said. “How the heck have you been?”
It felt unexpectedly good to see him. I could see a few greasy spots, sauce from burgers no doubt, on his jacket.
“James” I said, “I haven’t seen you since …” I squinted my eyes, trying to remember when was the last time when we’d seen each other.
“Since forever would be the right estimation.” I laughed.
“Come, man,” I said pointing to the seat next to me.
He sat down.
“How’s your back?” he asked.
I’d had a nasty car accident a few years ago when my car’s brakes malfunctioned, and I crashed into a brick wall. I hurt my back, spent some time in hospital and went through an unpleasant recovery therapy after that. I had my car, a Firenze red Range Rover, fixed because it was new at the time and a real chick magnet, but had been driving it rarely ever since.
“It’s all right as long as I don’t need to stand for a long time,” I said.
“So, what brings you to this neck of the woods anyway?” he asked.
I didn’t know if I should tell him the reason why I was on the train, but I had a feeling that I needed to share what was on my mind to feel better. Well, at least sharing some of it couldn’t hurt.
“I had a business meeting with Jared Shannon.”
“As in Jared Shannon, the founder of QC Solutions?”
“That’s the one. Trying to get some investors for this project that I have.”
I was trying to be as vague as possible yet attempting to make it important at the same time. It was futile because James didn’t have that much money nor did he have any good connections that could’ve been useful to me, but I couldn’t help it.
James widened his eyes and nodded. Suddenly he looked as if he just remembered something important.
“Hey, didn’t his mother work for your family?” he asked. As a frequent guest at Maple Grove House, he knew most of our staff. When we were kids, we would sneak into the kitchen to steal something that had been “forbidden before dinner.” James would always tag along and enjoy the fruits of our raids, which we would happily devour, hiding somewhere in the park.
“Yeah, he sort of reminded me about that,” I said.
“He did? That’s strange.”
“Why?”
“Well, I would think he’d try to avoid the subject, but it’s been years and I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“What subject?”
“Oh, that incident with his mother. Don’t you remember? She was fired. She was accused of something. Stealing, was it?”
“What? I don’t remember her being fired.”
“Well, it was just before … you know, Charlie’s disappearance,” James said, scratching his beard and releasing some questionable particles from its depths. “So it wasn’t that important to remember I imagine.”
“Still, it’s interesting why he never mentioned that,” I said mostly to myself, thinking out loud.
“Anyway, how have you been? Do you still date that girl I saw you with last time?” James asked, changing the subject for which I was thankful.
We talked all the way until my stop, reminiscing about our university days, talking about our families, James’s tense relationships with his mother, who kept him around but didn’t want to give him the reins to the estate, and discussing my poor choices in women. Even though I couldn’t stop thinking about Jared, I tried to keep him out of our conversation. James, never a nosy fellow, didn’t ask me anymore about my meeting. When it was time for me to get off the train–James’s stop was the next one–we agreed to catch up in the City next week. I forgot about that promise as soon as I got off the train.
Chapter 7
Our former footman-turned-maintenance person, Benjamin “Benny” Hudson, was waiting for me on the platform ready to drive me to the house. He was a short, heavy-set, spectacled man in his sixties with a very friendly wrinkled face. It was almost midnight when I saw the dark silhouette of our family nest with only two lit windows on the second floor – the guest room I was going to stay in.
Maple Grove House was a red brick Georgian style stately country house that had three floors. It was of simple rectangular form, with harmonious symmetry, sash windows and a central doorway. There were some smaller buildings behind the house – former stables, a carriage room, and a few cottages where the servants used to live. The house was set in grounds of almost five hundred acres, which also included a stream and a closed pig farm, but most of which was covered by the park with old fields of maples and oaks. There was a big old maple tree in a round clearing, right in front of the house that Charlie and I used to call The Giant. Its girth was more than two meters, and it was a great spot for hiding. When I was about five, my grandmother Anna told me that there was a large talking cat living in the tree that could tell fairy tales. I tried to find it on numerous occasions, hiding in various locations in order not to spook him. Later I learned that it had been a hoax created by Anna to make sure I’d spend more time in the fresh air.
Harry appeared at the main door as soon as our car pulled up.
“I expect your trip was pleasant, sir,” he said stepping out from the darkness of the hall.
“It was good, Harry,” I said, trying to sound cheery. “How have you been? Still in shape, I see.”
“Life has been kind to me, sir. Thank you. No luggage?”
I only had the bag with Charlie’s shirt with me. “It was a spur of the moment kind of thing.”
Before we stepped into the house, Benny turned on some lights in the hall and I couldn’t help but notice the bareness of the once opulent entryway. The slightly lighter squares on the brick walls and wooden panels indicated where the pictures were when the house was full of life.
“Would you like something to eat, sir?” Harry asked. “I’m sure we can even find some refreshments.”
“I’d have a glass of single malt if you can manage to find that.”
“Certainly, sir,” Harry said as we were walking through the hall. “Would you like me to serve it in the library, sir?”
“Oh gosh, does it still have furniture?”
“Well, we keep a few chairs and the table there, just in case.”
“Good man,” I said, contemplating where I should go. “Let’s see the old place. Why not?”
Harry and Benny went downstairs to the kitchen, and I continued to the library. I needed a few moments on my own before proceeding with the plan I didn’t have yet. I was hoping that the magic power of whiskey would show me the way and relax me a bit. Besides, I still had a bit of Ching left. I thought I could give my weary brain one more boost for another hour.
I looked at the empty bookshelves that used to be filled with the leather backs of hundreds of folios collected by my predecessors. Some of those had to be sold at closed auctions to keep the family afloat. No one had to know that the collection was getting smaller.
I saw our old taxidermy fox still standing near the fireplace. James’s father, Richard Harding, gave the thing to my father as a gift about thirty years ago. It had a secret pocket inside big enough to hide a bottle of whiskey – something Richard used to do because his wife, Margaret, was quite strict on alcohol. We used it to hide presents and snacks. No one seemed to want this old fur for anything anymore and it was destined to be eaten by moths.
I thought if I said something loudly in here, I would be able to hear the echo. I didn’t test my hypothesis and went straight to the red leather armchairs that were still placed by the fireplace and sat down. I tried to remember the end of my conversation with Jared back in the pub.
“We looked everywhere,” I said to Jared. “I believe there was no stone left unturned in the search for my little brother.”
“Right,” Jared said and chewed on his upper lip.
The pause was getting a bit too long and the silence was calling either for another round or for the meeting to be adjourned.
“Well, thank you for giving the shirt back,” I said finally.
“You bet.” Jared stood up and pressed a few buttons on his phone.
I also stood up and felt that I’d had just about the right amount of alcohol. I waved to Hugh to come and give us the check. He understood me but gestured that there was no need.
“Don’t worry about that,” Jared said. “My treat.”
“Thank you,” I said.
