Star Gazey

Chapter 6

It was a relief to see Eleanor standing at the head of the path, smiling.

She frowned, however, when she saw my face.

"What's wrong?" she asked concernedly, "you look as though you'd seen a ghost!" The old idiom made me choke slightly, but I lied swiftly to cover up.

"I was starting to consider just how cold the water is going to be."

Eleanor laughed, and the concern vanished from her face.

"Nonsense, we're more or less the Riviera here, don't you know? Come along now."

Swimming in the ocean was everything I needed at that moment. The water was refreshing, rather than cold, and the feeling of diving into the surf and gliding beneath the surface was exhilarating. The sea was another world: rough, restless and singing on the surface but calm, quiet and serene underneath. Eleanor and I ran in and out between lounging in the sun on the sand and chatting languidly.

At some point, Johnny made an appearance, seemingly no longer needed by their mother. He stood on the edge of the water, smiling appreciatively as we laughed and splashed in the surf, but then left and reappeared a little later in his own bathing suit and joined us.

"This is just what the day called for isn't it?" He asked me as we floated gently in deeper water.

"You know, it really is."

"Sorry about earlier, by the way. Mum had some errands she needed me to run, and then I got caught up in business talk with one of my carpenters. I'm happy to be here now, though."

"What do you do for business?" I asked conversationally, feeling curious.

He hesitated for a moment. "I oversee the building of fishing boats, buy and trade in vessels and run a small fleet of my own."

"A little like my great-grandfather," I smiled. "Is it a family business?"

"In a way," he said shortly. Then he returned the smile. "Not as prestigious as the Youngs', I'm afraid."

Just then, Eleanor called from the beach that their mother would be ready for dinner. This effectively ended our conversation, and we both headed to shore.

Not wanting to intrude upon their family time, I said my goodbyes and headed home with just a tinge of nervousness about what might await me there.

All I found at the door was a basket containing a note from Mrs. Locke and another of her excellent pies for my dinner. This kindness comforted me a little, and the comparative quiet of the house when I entered calmed me further.

It had been a lovely, exhausting day, and when I finally crawled into bed I was able to fall asleep quicker than I might have otherwise, despite a mind that raced with all the questions left unanswered.

For now, they'd have to remain that way.

***************

The day dawned fresh, bright, and cheerful. If ghosts and footsteps in the dark had haunted my dreams, they scattered before the light of day like wretched creatures of the night.

Friday, I mused, stretching my arms up over my head lazily.

Friday seemed as good a day as any to investigate something I'd heard while I was out at the Keigwin the day before. In the spirit of indulgent gossip, some of the older gentlemen, who were far from the clamouring gulls that Johnny had teasingly painted them as, had told me how the Big House was rumored to have been the haunt of smugglers back in the days before it had been ruined in the raid.

"Story goes," one of them whispered to me, low and confidential, "the smuggler and his wife escaped the raid but left behind their bounty, hidden somewhere within the walls of the garden. And the Spanish never found it. Whether it's there to this day or not, only Time itself may know."

I had laughed and speculated a little with him on the variety of treasure seekers who might have found their loot over the years, but a little flicker of interest had sparked in the back of my mind, and I knew that I was intrigued.

"Now, mind you, it's just a story," he had finished, "and only known to a select handful of us more privileged villagers, so mum's the word, you hear?" His tone was only playfully threatening, but I got the impression that he may have been serious about the exclusivity of the story.