“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 recalled the events of that day in more detail, which wasn’t difficult. When I found out that my parents had called the police, I had the chest moved down to the cellar the next day. I didn’t want the police and their dog anywhere near it. I had no desire to be questioned about where I’d 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 situated long before Ezekiel Montague arrived, but they had lost most of their land piece by piece over the years. They had been land-rich but cash-poor and had to make many compromises to stay afloat. They still owned their Baroque-style manor house, Wintersmith Hall, which was built in the late 1600s, but it was mostly uninhabitable due to a lack of proper maintenance and funding. James’s family had been occupying one wing and using the former stables for their needs for as long as I could remember.
Our fathers had been friends until James’s dad passed away seven years ago, but our great-grandfathers had not been. I remembered my father telling me that when I became the head of the family, I would have to ensure the Hardings were always welcome in the house.
I used to see James and his family at the parties my parents organized, but we had never been especially close. Perhaps the closeness of our fathers was the reason James and I attended the same boarding school and later the same university, which technically made us close enough to call each other friends. He studied history while I took business courses. After graduation, we didn’t stay in touch much, though we occasionally saw each other at various events in town.
I had always thought of him as a sloppy nerd with his head perpetually in the clouds. He was a bit shorter than me and paid little attention to either the cleanliness or tidiness of his wardrobe and hair. I remembered once, when I went to his dorm room to pick him up for some event during our university days, marveling at the chaos that cluttered his living space. He pulled a white dress shirt from beneath a pile of shoes, put it on, and declared himself ready to go.
James had started hiding his weak chin beneath a dark beard long before it became fashionable, though food crumbs often got stuck in it like little hostages. His lean body, which rarely saw the inside of a gym, was never particularly attractive to women. After his father passed away, James returned home to help his formidable mother with what remained of their estate, which, as far as I could remember, had never made 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 it was the last time 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 to my stop, reminiscing about our university days, discussing our families, James’s tense relationship with his mother—who kept him around but refused to give him control of the estate—and dissecting my poor choices in women. Although I couldn’t stop thinking about Jared, I made a deliberate effort to keep him out of our conversation. James, never a particularly inquisitive person, didn’t ask me any more questions 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 the following week. I promptly forgot about that promise as soon as I stepped 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 noticed our old taxidermy fox still standing by the fireplace. James’s father, Richard Harding, had given it to my father as a gift about thirty years ago. It had a secret compartment inside, just big enough to hide a bottle of whisky—something Richard often did because his wife, Margaret, was rather strict about alcohol. We used to stash presents and snacks in it. Now, it seemed nobody had any use for this old bit of fur, and it was destined to be devoured by moths.
Looking around, I wondered if speaking loudly in here would produce an echo. I didn’t test my theory and instead went straight to the red leather armchairs still positioned by the fireplace and sat down. I tried to recall the conclusion of my conversation with Jared back at 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.
Jared waved to Hugh, and we walked out of the bar. It was chilly, but I found it refreshing and congratulated myself for wearing the jacket. Jared’s car, a big black SUV, was parked right outside and Freddy was standing near it, ready to open the passenger door.
“Do you need a ride?” Jared asked. “Freddy will take you anywhere you want.”
I felt that I’d had enough of Jared and his people for one evening. “I’m good.”
“Cool,” Jared said and turned to Freddy. “I’ll walk to the office, Freddy.”
Freddy nodded, walked around the car, and got in.
“Listen Alex,” Jared started. “I didn’t mean to stir up the past with all those questions back there. I was fascinated with your family once and I guess I got carried away with my nostalgia a bit.”
“No worries,” I said, feeling surprised at this sudden correctness.
“Good,” he said. “I’ll have my people contact you about the proposal in a day or two.”
“Thank you, Jared,” I said and felt that it would be better not to push my luck by asking if I’d got it.
***
I was deep in my thoughts when Harry appeared with my drink on a tray.
“Cheers,” I said taking the drink and getting the first sip. “Wow, how can we possibly still have this in the house, Harry?”
It was The Balvenie, the Scotch my family had been buying since the distillery began production all the way back in the nineteenth century. All the men in my family had preferred it to any other whisky. I was certain we had emptied our cellar when we moved to France.
“I kept a few bottles, just in case, sir,” Harry said.
“Good man.”
Suddenly, I felt at home and at ease enough to take my business a step further.
“So, the foxy is still here, huh?” I asked and pointed to the thing with my index finger because other fingers were busy holding the glass.
“It is, sir,” he said. “Would you like us to put it down in the basement?”
“Nah, keep it here where it belongs,” I said taking a sip. “I say, Harry, do you remember the old pirate chest we kept in the attic?”
“I do, sir. We moved it together with all the other old furniture to the cellars.”
“I’d like to take a look at it if it’s not too much trouble.”
